The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) (17 page)

Troubled, Bran rose and unlocked the bottom drawer of a highboy, then withdrew a thick hand-bound book that an old friend - a woman some considered a great healer, and others a witch - had entrusted to him on her deathbed twenty-five years earlier. He took the book back to his desk, opened it, and squinted at the spidery handwriting through a looking glass. It was both a grimoire and a medical book. Lanval had taken the peppermint tea recipe from it; it was a mixture that also contained certain herbs that wouldn’t be familiar to most modern apothecaries, herbs and should have cured Master Parnell by now.

But they hadn’t.
 

“He needs limes.”

“If I want your opinion, I’ll ask you for it,” Lanval told the raven.

He had expected Parnell to heal after the removal of the fetish bag, but that hadn’t been the case; it had had an effect, to be sure, but there was more magick afoot and Lanval knew he had to figure it out without letting the child’s parents or grandmother suspect there was a witch at Ravencrest. The Mannings did not suffer witches kindly, hadn’t for two hundred years and more, since one had laid a curse upon them. In Bran’s opinion, rash behavior would endanger Parnell. No, he had to keep this problem to himself for the time being, and so far from London, he couldn’t even discuss it with his fellow knights in the Order of the Mandrake. Having seen Edward’s reaction to the murdered stableboy in the barn, he knew the baronet was already suspicious and uneasy. Bringing up witchcraft would make it far worse.

 He stood once more and took the book over to his workbench and began choosing herbs and other ingredients to put in his own medicine bag to help protect the boy. He knew Edward and Alice would react poorly if they knew what he was doing, so he worked quietly and quickly, stitching the ingredients into a small white satin pouch that would be hard to spot and easily mistaken for a lavender sachet if found.
 

“Come along, Odin. You are good medicine for Parnell.” Lanval tapped his shoulder and the raven fluttered to its master.
 

When they arrived in the boy’s room, he found Alice at her son’s bedside and Prudence in her lap. Parnell’s eyes were open, but still feverish as he listened to their chatter.
 

“Odin!” the boy cried.

“He needs limes,”
Odin decreed as he flew to the bedpost and perched.

“Excuse me one moment, m’Lady,” the physician said. Alice moved herself and her daughter out of the way, allowing Lanval to listen to the boy’s chest - and to slip his medicine bag under the pillows unnoticed.
 

“There now,” he said to Parnell. “I’ve asked Merlin himself, King Arthur’s own magician, to cast a special spell to heal you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Lanval smiled at the child, then nodded to the mother, who looked on approvingly, then gestured to Odin to return to his shoulder. As he left the room, he prayed to the old gods that his own small magick would help. If it did not, he would have to take firmer actions.
 

He hoped Thomas would soon arrive from London. He was a Manning of a different sort; one who had always been open to talk of the arcane.

Bran Lanval’s Concerns

December 23, 1788

“Uncle Thomas arrives tomorrow!” Parnell told Bran Lanval when he entered the boy’s room.

“I see.” Bran smiled.
 

“Papa came and told me just a little bit ago.” Parnell began coughing and Lanval put a cloth to his mouth, then looked at the results. Since he had placed his medicine bag, the boy’s sputum was a lighter shade of green; he was improving, but still far too slowly; Bran knew more continued to go on here than met the eye. Late the night before last, when no one was in Parnell’s room, Lanval had gotten down on his old, sore knees and, with a lantern, peered beneath the bed to see if perhaps there was another hex bag. He saw nothing, but that did not satisfy him; something was still wrong. Once Thomas arrived, he would enlist his aid in lifting the mattresses properly.
 

“Did you hear me?” Parnell asked when the coughing eased.
 

“I did indeed, young master. And it’s wonderful news.”

“He’s bringing a coach full of presents, too!” Coughing wracked the boy’s thin body.

“Hush now. I have a special syrup I’ve made for you. It should help your cough. You want to be strong when your uncle arrives tomorrow, do you not?”

The boy nodded, exhausted, and Lanval eased him back on his pillows as Lady Alice entered with hot milk, tea and porridge.

“I’ll be back, Master Parnell,” Lanval said after giving him a spoon of syrup. “Be a good lad and eat for your mother.”

Parnell looked doubtful.

“And for your uncle. You must be strong if you want me to give him permission to visit with you. Promise me you’ll eat?”

The boy nodded. “I promise. But don’t forget to bring Odin on your next visit!”

Christmas Eve

December 24, 1788

Thomas Manning arrived on horseback, ruddy-cheeked, blond hair tangled from the wind, hours ahead of the carriage bearing his luggage and gifts. The day had been clear and cold and he was glad to be at Ravencrest well before dark.
 

He gave his mare, a high-spirited dappled gray named Lady Berlin, over to Long Stephen. “Take good care of her,” he said, feeding the mare the last carrot left in his greatcoat pocket.
 

“I will, indeed, Sir Thomas.” Long Stephen paused. “Congratulations on the title.”

Stephen and Thomas had been boys together and the familiarity was welcome. “What can I say, Stephen? The royals at Buckingham House decided my wares entitled me to become a Knight of Bath.” He smiled. “I guess they didn’t want to purchase fragrances from a mere commoner.”

Long Stephen grinned, then led Lady Berlin toward the stables.
 

Thomas turned to enter the house. Pershing held the door, closed it behind him, then took his coat, hat, and scarves. A trio of young maids tittered and blushed as he nodded in their direction, an act Edward would never approve of, which made it even more fun for Thomas.

“Sir Thomas!” Bran Lanval called, approaching at a pace brisk for an old man.

“Are you my official welcoming committee?”

“Edward is out choosing the Yule log and Lady Johanna, as always, is overseeing the choice of evergreen for tonight’s tree-trimming.”

No English household Thomas knew of except his own had the German tradition of the tannenbaum. He and Edward had grown up with it since their German-born mother had brought the tradition to Ravencrest and he could not imagine Christmas without a sparkling sweets-laden fir.
 

“Lady Alice is with Parnell,” the doctor continued, “as is Miss Prudence.”

“How is my nephew?”
 

“He improves, but slowly. If you would come to my chambers, I would like to discuss something with you.”

“Of course.”  Thomas turned to the butler. “Pershing, would you have the kitchen send us up a hot repast - roast beef if you have it - and plenty of ale?”

“Very good, Sir Thomas.”

“Excellent.”  Thomas and Lanval reached the broad staircase at the back of the hall and he slowed a little to accommodate the physician’s creaking knees. At the top of the stairs, they ran straight into Carmilla Harlow. Lanval spared her a bare nod and Thomas did the same. “Miss Harlow. I hope you are well.”

“I am quite well, thank you.”
 

She gave him a brief flutter of eyelashes as she passed, and ran her eyes up and down his body. Normally, Thomas would have appreciated this wanton act from a woman of such beauty, but when Carmilla Harlow did it, it unnerved him.
 

***

Bran Lanval pushed his plate away and drained his ale cup before looking at Thomas, who had eaten four times what Bran had consumed. Such was age; the appetites diminished, but it was not altogether a bad thing.
 

Odin leaned forward on the doctor’s shoulder.
“He needs limes.”

Bran gave the raven a bread crust and made him take it to his globe to eat. “Beggar,” he said with fondness, then turned his gaze back to his companion. “What do you think?”

“Witchcraft,” said Thomas. “I would almost wish that to be true, my guilt over my nephew’s plight weighs so heavily. I should never have allowed him to come so close. I should not have allowed Miss Harlow to distract me. I was a fool.”

“Don’t blame yourself. It was an accident.”

“One that should not have happened,” Thomas said bitterly.

“Thomas,” Lanval said. “Witchcraft is afoot. Give up your guilt. It will not help Parnell.”

He nodded. “And you have not told Edward of this?”

“Of course not. His actions would alert the witch and we cannot allow that to happen.”

“Do you suspect anyone?” Thomas asked. “Someone in the household?”

Bran Lanval sighed. “It might be anyone. We have a number of new servants here. Whoever left the hex bag under his pillow has access to the house.”

“Or tricked someone into placing it.”

“Possibly.” Lanval studied Thomas. “There is one I would suspect though I’ve seen no outward signs beyond the chill she gives my heart.”

“Miss Harlow,” Thomas said. “She is the one who comes to my mind as well. She has charge of the children yet cares nothing for them.”

Lanval nodded. “I have seen her try to catch your brother’s eye. And Pershing’s. I’ve seen her talking to the groundsmen in ways that appear too familiar. But that does not make her a witch.”

“She tried to seduce me as well. At the Frost Fair. That is how she distracted me.” Thomas leaned so far across the table that the candlelight warmed his face. Although they were alone, he felt the need to whisper. “You know me, Bran Lanval. Women are my weakness, but Carmilla Harlow, for all her beauty, turns me to ice. Her eyes are hard like flint. They are soulless.”

Lanval nodded. He looked like an old lion, lamplight forming a nimbus around his white mane flowing loose over his shoulders. “She has been here two years and in that time, not only did your niece, Celia, disappear, but we have had four murders on the grounds. Jacques, the stableboy, was found hidden beneath the hay only three nights ago, his throat slit from ear to ear.”  

“Surely you don’t think a woman would so wield a knife.”

“I don’t know, but there were no murders at Ravencrest for many years.” Lanval sat back. “These deaths are not evidence of witchcraft, but I have seen Miss Harlow talking with two of the victims with my own eyes. It makes me suspicious.” He paused. “The babe. No one has ever found it. I pray it is living happily with a family who take good care of it, but I fear that is not the case. I believe I have heard its cries late at night.”

Thomas straightened. “Do you think it is alive somewhere in this house?”

“I think it is somewhere in this house.” Bran folded his hands. “But not alive.”

“Why would anyone kill an infant?” Thomas had trouble imagining even the chill Miss Harlow would do such a thing.

“Remember the Lancashire witches? They stood trial for infanticide a century ago. They were cannibals and the flesh of an infant was particularly toothsome to them.” The physician rubbed his chin. “I wonder where Miss Harlow is from.”

Perhaps it was the long ride, the full belly, or the warmth of the fire, not Bran Lanval’s words, which made Thomas feel a rush of dizziness, though he doubted it. “Even if she is from Lancashire, it is still not proof.”

“True. True. We need to catch our witch in the act. But first, let us search Parnell’s room. I will take you there and we will volunteer to sit with him so that his mother may leave. When we are alone, we will see what else we find.”

***

Edward Manning helped his men carry the Yule log through the great hall. In times past, the log had been dragged in whole, so long that only the end lay within the drawing room’s huge fireplace and you had to step over the log for days until it had burnt down enough to fit inside the massive hearth. Today, they brought in only six feet of the log, enough to fill the huge fireplace, but no more; the rest of the timber would be cut and stacked.
 

Alice, holding Prudence’s hand, watched alongside her husband. He was glad. His mother, Johanna, had just returned from her trip into the woods and her contingent of servants was cleaning and drying a tannenbaum in preparation for trimming. It was especially important this year, she said, because it would help Parnell heal. He had no doubt she was correct.
 

***

“I have it!” Thomas cried.
 

“Have what, Uncle?” Parnell asked from the Chesterfield chair beside the fireplace in his room.

“Something that was under your bed making it difficult for you to rest properly,” Thomas said.

Parnell watched his uncle and Dr. Lanval as they stood by his dismantled bed, heads together, looking at something and murmuring. “May I see?” he called.

Dr. Lanval pocketed the item then approached him as Uncle Thomas began putting the bed together again, replacing the straw mattress and then positioning the big heavy feather mattress on top of it. “There’s nothing to see, young master,” the doctor said, a smile on his lips. “I don’t want you to think of it again, do you hear?”

“But-”
 

“No buts. Let me listen to your chest.”

Parnell leaned back in the chair as the doctor moved a blanket and put his ear to his chest. “That tickles,” Parnell said. “Your hair tickles.”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “I forget to tie it back.”

“It’s all right.” Parnell was feeling a little better as he watched his uncle replace his bedding. He’d never seen a man do such a thing before. It made him smile.
 

“My boy, I do believe you’re on the mend,” Lanval said, standing back to let Thomas lift him from the chair and carry him back to bed. “If you’re good and eat the broth I’m having sent up to you, tonight you’ll be well enough for a surprise.”

“What?”

“Your grandmother has chosen a tannenbaum and it will be trimmed tonight… with your help.”