The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) (18 page)

The boy sat straight up in bed. “Is it here? Now?”

“No, not yet. First you must eat and visit with your uncle. You must promise to rest.”

“I do! I do promise!” Parnell could barely contain his excitement as the doctor headed for the door. “And tonight, Uncle Thomas will carry me down!”

“I shall,” said Thomas. “As long as Dr. Lanval gives permission.”

Parnell glanced at the old doctor, who stood in the doorway, a small smile on his face, his hand pressed against the pocket where he had placed the thing they’d found under the bed. Parnell wanted to know what it was, but knew Dr. Lanval would not say. Instead, feeling much better now, he said, “I will eat my soup, I promise. And bread, too, if they bring me some.”

At that, the doctor’s eyes brightened and his smile broadened. “I shall hold you to it, young master.”

***

Alice Manning’s heart warmed when she peeked in Parnell’s room and saw him sitting up in bed, animated, talking to both his uncle Thomas and Dr. Lanval. “Hello, darling,” she said as she entered.

“Mama!” her son cried. “The tannenbaum - is it here?”

“Yes, Parnell. It awaits.” The change in the last two hours was miraculous; he seemed more like her boy than he had since the accident. She crossed to him and took him in her arms. He was too thin, but that could be remedied; she had her son back, and that was all that mattered. “Would you like some hot cider?”

“Yes, Mama. And gingerbread!”

Alice looked at Dr. Lanval and saw approval. “He has had broth and bread already, and is still hungry,” he said, smiling.

“Then you shall have it. I will have them bring it to you in no time.” She kissed his forehead. Parnell’s eyes were bright, but not with fever.
 

“Mama, may I get up now?”

Bran Lanval cleared his throat. “I told you I wish for you to rest a bit longer, Parnell-”

“But-”

“So that you may stay up late for tonight’s festivities,” finished the old man.

The boy’s eyes grew wide. “Are we to have a party?”

“Yes,” Thomas said. “But just a small one tonight.”

“Who’s coming?”

“Your parents, your sister, your uncle, and your doctor,” Alice said, smiling at Lanval. “You will come, won’t you, Doctor?”

“I’m honored to attend, as always.”

“What about the others?”

Alice smiled. “We will have all your aunts and uncles and cousins here for Twelfth Night, when you’re stronger.”

“And I shall be the Lord of Misrule,” Thomas promised.

Alice sometimes loathed her brother-in-law’s wild ways, but she felt only affection now. Parnell adored him, that much was obvious, and his presence helped him heal. That made her happy as she had not been in a long while. “No one else is as qualified to be Lord of Misrule,” she told Thomas, smiling and feeling a twinge of the old attraction. She gave her son a hug, then rose. “I’m going to have your cider and gingerbread sent up, Parnell. Just a little, so you can come downstairs and have Christmas dinner with us. I believe I can even smell the scents of roast beef and turkey up here. Can you?”

The boy sniffed. “Maybe.”

One last kiss on the forehead, and Alice left the room, practically flying because Parnell had his appetite back, and not just for sweets. Not seeing a servant at post on the second floor, she descended to the first and swept into the kitchen. There she found Fiona Connor, her favorite young kitchen maid. The comely red-haired girl had her new babe in arms and sang it
Greensleeves
in her soft melodious voice.
 

“Fiona?”

“Lady Alice!” Fiona looked startled, but Alice smiled and came forward to peer at the sweet little face. “May I?”
 

“Of course.” Beaming with pride, Fiona handed the babe over.
 

“You have a lovely voice,” Alice told her as she fought back tears for her own lost Celia. The knowledge that Parnell was mending buoyed her. “Such a pretty little thing.”

“His father returns next spring.”

“A joyful time, to be sure.” Alice rocked the red-haired babe in her arms. “Fiona, my son has asked for hot cider and gingerbread.”

“Cook just took a fresh batch from the oven. I will take it up myself.” Fiona took the infant and placed him in his cradle by the hearth fire.
 

“Thank you, Fiona.”

The sun was setting as Alice hurried back upstairs and entered the east wing, heading for the servants’ quarters. Barely containing her joy at Parnell’s returning health, she nearly flew up the staircase, to the third floor, where she knocked on Margaret Dunwoody’s door. The elderly seamstress answered. “Margaret,” Alice said, “Please come meet me in the sewing room. We must make sure the dresses are perfect for tonight.”

Margaret nodded.

Alice returned to the family wing and entered Prudence’s room, across the hallway from Parnell’s. Her golden-haired daughter played with a doll. “We’re having tea, Mama,” the little girl said. “Would you like some?”

“I would, but perhaps later, Prudence. Right now, we must meet with Miss Margaret.”

Prudence made a face.

“You want to wear your new dress tonight, don’t you?”

“The red one from the portrait?”

“Of course.” Just before leaving for the Frost Fair, Edward, Alice, and the children had sat for a portrait; she and her daughter had worn their not-quite-finished Christmas dresses. Since then, Margaret had put all but the final touches on the gowns. “We both have our beautiful new red dresses and we must have our final fitting now that we have reason to celebrate.” Alice paused. “Your brother is going to join us tonight! He’s much better!”

Prudence clapped her dainty hands together and reached up to her mother, who enveloped her in her arms.
 

The Christmas Party

“There,” Edward Manning said after he climbed down the ladder and surveyed the silver star topping the tree. “Are you pleased, Mother?”

“I am indeed.” Lady Johanna wiped a happy tear from her eye. “One day, Parnell,” she said to her grandson, snug in Thomas’ arms, “you will put this silver star on top of your own tannenbaum.”

“What about me?” Prudence asked.

“We shall have one made just for you,” Johanna promised.
 

“Thank you, Grandmother.” The little girl’s smile was as brilliant as the glint of the seed pearls decorating the new red dress that was so like her mother’s own satin gown. Alice’s low, square bodice showed off her figure and her sleeves came to her elbows, where six inches of crocheted Irish lace draped over her lower arms. Prudence’s had short puffed sleeves and a rounded bodice, befitting a child, but was of the same brocaded satin. Unlike her mother’s gown, Prudence’s was dotted with a myriad of seed pearls. They flashed in the candlelight, like hundreds of sparkling snowflakes.

Two of the servants, dressed in full livery, moved forward and began lighting the candles on the tree. When they retreated, taking the ladder with them, Edward nodded and a string quartet seated at the far end of the grand parlor began playing
Adeste Fideles
as the family and Dr. Lanval admired the tree. Johanna cast fond eyes at Edward, glad her son had hired the musicians, even though tonight’s Christmas party was a small one.

The tree was even grander than the tannenbaums of her childhood in Strasbourg. It towered ten feet tall, the candles making the silver tree topper Johanna had brought with her as a bride, twinkle like a star in the heavens. Candies and cookies and red apples hung on the branches along with silver tinsel and ornaments, including the hand-carved miniatures of harps and drums and trumpets she had collected since childhood.

Johanna was proud of her family and she sent a prayer to heaven, giving thanks for her grandson’s sudden recovery. Thomas had settled him in an upholstered chair, surrounded him with pillows and pulled up a stool for the boy’s injured leg. One day, Thomas would make a fine father. She hoped he would find a wife and settle down soon.

Johanna sat next to Bran Lanval and watched the merriment. The children clapped and gasped with delight at the performance of a small troupe of mummers. After that, a steaming pitcher of hot mulled cider and the wassail bowl were brought in and many toasts were made. Alice recited
The Twelve Days of Christmas
, as the children tried hard to memorize the words, then everyone, Edward and Thomas included, sang
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
and
Hark! The Herald Angels Sing
. Finally, shortly after Edward excused himself, Father Christmas, dressed in robes of green, made an entrance and gave the children sugarplums and hard candy. As soon as he left, Edward returned and the children told him what he’d missed. Oh, how he enjoyed that!
 

At one point, Johanna went to her room to retrieve a handkerchief and heard the servants in their smaller parlor off the great hall singing and laughing. She wondered if Carmilla Harlow attended the servant’s party. She had spotted her staring into the great parlor from the doorway several times tonight, watching, unsmiling, her eyes roaming, coming to land on Thomas over and over.
 

Johanna even beckoned to her once, but either she did not see or chose to ignore her. She was glad that although Miss Harlow had been invited to the family party, as was customary, she only hovered in the doorway and never entered. Johanna was pleased that the nanny would be dismissed after the holidays.
 

The party was perfect from the dinner to the singing, the music, and the mummers. And the drink. Johanna felt a little tipsy from all the toasting. And when, at last, Edward announced it was time to open the presents, the children, who had looked sleepy after their fine dinner and evening of play and song, awoke. Edward passed out gifts. Prudence’s favorite was a new doll with golden curls and blue eyes like her own, and Parnell was delighted with his battalion of wooden soldiers. Johanna saw tears spring to Alice’s eyes when Edward slipped a gold ring bearing a cut ruby surrounded by tiny diamonds onto her finger. Thomas and Edward both received new pocket watches that Johanna and Alice had picked out together. They were inscribed with their names and engraved with the twin ravens from the Manning crest. Bran was given a beautiful magnifying glass and Johanna herself received the best present of all: a new easel, brushes, paints, charcoals and a dozen fresh canvases.

Finally, Prudence and Parnell nodded off on the settee by the huge fireplace and the adults gathered around the wassail bowl for one more toast to a most wonderful Christmas Eve.

The Witch

Carmilla Harlow leaned into the shadowed doorway of the grand parlor, her arms folded, cold despite the heat that poured from the huge fireplace. She gazed at the Mannings. They and their party were ridiculous. The insipid merriment, the illusions of happiness, the absolute lack of understanding of real life. And Thomas Manning hadn’t given her a second glance. She knew he was aware of her gaze because he’d caught her looking more than once. Each time, he turned away and each time, Carmilla’s rage snaked deeper into the pit of her stomach. To have been rejected by him was humiliating and Carmilla Harlow would not be humiliated.

And then there was Alice. The woman was absurd in her red satin dress, fluttering around her husband as if she were a servant girl and he a handsome prince. Carmilla had to admit, however, that he was indeed a fine specimen. All the Manning men were.

Their mother, that wretched German woman, smiled without pause, her glazed joy-filled eyes enough to make Carmilla wish the Manning boys had sent her back to Germany, where she belonged.

As Alice swept around her husband, laughing and flirting, Carmilla caught Thomas looking at his sister-in-law. For the first time, she realized what she should have known all along: he was in love with Alice. Carmilla could see it in the subtle pout of his lip, the fleetness of his glances, the longing on his face.

At first, the realization infuriated Carmilla. Then she calmed. It was perfect, actually. Indeed, Thomas’ feelings for his brother’s wife couldn’t have fit more fully into her plan if she had concocted it herself. After all, in just a matter of hours, Carmilla would
be
Alice Manning as far as everyone was concerned.
As soon as sleep takes her,
she thought. But first, she needed to find a stronger sacrifice to make up for the fact that Alice hadn’t been weakened by melancholy. A spell of this magnitude required something even more powerful than the essence of a stableboy.
 

Carmilla perused the hall. Everyone was preoccupied, just as she’d hoped. Knowing her absence would go unnoticed, she left the room and headed to the chapel on the third floor, to prepare for the final sacrifice.
 

***

Alice and Edward peeked into their children’s rooms before heading to their own bedchamber. The twins were fast asleep; the evening’s festivities had exhausted them and Alice hoped they would sleep later than usual in the morning. She, too, was fatigued and looked forward to a deep, dreamless sleep.
 

“You look lovely in your new gown,” Edward said.
 

“Thank you.”

“I’m glad you and Prudence wore your Christmas dresses for the portrait. It will be one of the most beautiful in the house.”

“I cannot wait to see it,” Alice said, as Edward opened the door to their bedchamber.
 

***

Stealing the baby had been easy. After uttering a simple spell to keep the kitchen maid asleep, Carmilla lifted the infant from the bed without the mother stirring.
 

She carried it from the third-floor servants’ quarters in the west wing across the corridor to the east wing, moving easily in darkness that was relieved only by a few wall sconces. The chapel was all blackness, save for the light from candles she’d lit before retrieving the child. In their amber glow, the babe appeared as angelic as a cherub.

Carmilla scoffed at the thought as she lay the infant down on the wooden altar table. It was bare except for a hammer waiting at one side.

On the east wall hung a crucifix. It seemed to mock her, even to chastise her. She’d always loathed religious icons, especially crosses and crucifixes. She walked toward the allegedly holy object and glared up at it. “God of the new, God of the old, there’s naught difference but the names and rituals. And precious little even then.” With that, she spun the crucifix on its nail so the Christ figure hung inverted. She watched it a moment, smiling as she imagined all the righteousness draining out of it, then she removed it, plucked the nail from the wall, and returned to the infant who now began to stir and whimper.