The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) (32 page)

“Not now, Mother. He’s coming! Please, come and get me!”

“Oh! Hold on, baby. Momma’s on her way! I just need to have lunch and fill up Scooter’s tank. I’ll bring you home and we will pray to the Lord for forgiveness for you.”

Cordelia didn’t know what Scooter was, but didn’t care. She ended the call, set the phone down and, unable to hold it in any longer, let her laughter peal through the room.

***

Her
voice roused him from sleep. The Harlequin ignored the pains in his joints as he stretched his stubby deformed limbs and crawled to the vent to listen. She sounded odd, upset, maybe even afraid. Her voice wasn’t right, somehow.

“Please come and get me!” He heard those words clearly, heard the terror in them. What was wrong? He loved this woman and would protect her. He would gladly give his life for her. He only wished he could recall her name. What was her name … ? Belinda, that was it!

As he craned his neck to see into her room, sudden laughter rang out. Not Belinda’s, no, but the other’s. The other who came to her room when she was gone. It rose and fell, cackling and mad. He stared through the grate, seeing only a woman’s legs clad in dark stockings and tall red heels. There was no sign of the one he loved, only the witch. He didn’t know what to do but he was filled with anger and hate. He growled low in his throat.

The laughter stopped abruptly and the shoes approached the vent. He skittered back into the shadows.

One pointed red toe tapped the metal. “Are you there, little man?” called the witch. “Are you spying on me?”
 

He waited, terrified, remembering the pain she had inflicted on him, crushing him down, compressing his bones until he was a quarter of the height he’d once been. He knew that he’d been normal, that he’d been a man, and not so long ago. That memory was clear. He’d been someone until she had hurt him.

Another low growl formed in his throat and he forced it away before she heard. The witch was dangerous and she would pay for what she’d done, and no matter what, he wouldn’t let her hurt his true love.
 

“My little Harlequin, do you miss me?” the witch crooned. “Why don’t you come out and play with me?” He heard her fingers playing over the vent now. “I can open this with just a few words and you can visit me. Would you like that?”

The Harlequin scuttled away into the darkness as fast as he could.

The Nightmare

The picnic had been a gourmet’s delight, from the antipasto salad to the bruschetta, the Limonata sodas for the kids and the bottle of crisp red Chianti Classico for the adults. The main course, a torta made with ham, provolone, spinach, and herbs, was a dream, and for dessert there were lemon and pine nut biscotti and a thermos of strong hot coffee. Belinda relaxed in the cool shade of a black oak on one of the chaise lounges that Eric had liberated from the ornate folly - an enclosed gazebo where outdoor furniture, cooking utensils, charcoal, towels, and other minor picnic necessities were stored. She felt too full to ever move again and the wine had made her a bit tipsy, a little sleepy. Not a foot away, Eric reclined on his own lounge. Thad and Cynthia were down by the vast pond - almost a tiny lake - feeding the ducks and geese from a bag of stale bread Niko had sent along.
 

“Lovely day,” Eric said.
 

“It is.”  She wanted to say more, but felt so sleepy she wished she could take a nap. Through slitted eyes, Belinda saw Eric sit up and she started to follow suit.

“I’m just going down to the pond for a few minutes. Have a little nap.” He smiled at her. “You’re not used to wine with lunch, are you?”

“Nor with dinner. I’m a real lightweight.” She tried to smile but drowsiness made it difficult. “I’m not used to wine at all.”
 

“You should have said something. We have extra sodas.”

“No, I wanted it. It was nice.” Eric’s face slipped from reality to dream and he suddenly had blond hair - he’d turned into Thomas, who was leaning down to kiss her.

“You look happy,” Eric said. “Stay here, have a little nap. I’ll watch the kids.”

“Thank you, Thomas,” she murmured.

Eric laughed.
 

Sleep fled. Eric had dark hair again. “I’m sorry?” She felt as if she’d missed something.

“You called me Thomas - there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Okay.” Her face felt hot from the wine, and sleep beckoned. When Eric disappeared, she succumbed to it.
 

At first, the images were disjointed. She saw fragments of the rooms of Ravencrest, of dark clouds, and of Poseidon on his throne in the pool building - he turned to look at her. He wore the face of the scarecrow. Belinda began running, and suddenly she was in her room, staring out at the silhouette of the man in the fog, digging in the garden.

“Look into this, dear.”
Cordelia Heller thrust a silver hand mirror at her.

Belinda opened her mouth to say no, but her lips felt frozen shut.
 

Mrs. Heller laughed - a cackling sound that echoed down the long dark corridors, where she suddenly found herself standing.
I’m in the east wing!
Terrified, she ran, disrupting a low, lazy fog that swirled above the hard, cold floors.

“Belinda!” It was the voice of the little girl.

She turned and saw nothing.

“Belinda!” She turned in the opposite direction and saw the three sisters floating toward her. Stark red blood glistened as it streamed from their lips. In unison, they spoke
. “Eat, eat, eat!”
The central nun held out a persimmon. As she neared, the piece of fruit rotted, becoming a handful of decay and maggots. The nun’s clawed fist closed on the persimmon and Belinda watched in sickened horror as the goop turned into a bloody heart. It was still beating. She stepped back, unable to take her eyes off the heart and the glistening tendrils of gore that hung from it. Her feet lost ground and she felt herself falling. As she plummeted downward, the nuns’ synchronistic laughter trailed her.

“Belinda.” This voice was familiar - friendly. “Belinda.”

She shot up in her chaise lounge, her heart hammering, her skin sheened in cool sweat.

“You were dreaming.” Eric Manning stood over her. He chuckled. “I don’t think it was pleasant.”

Belinda shook her head. “No,” she said. “It wasn’t.” The feeling of freefalling finally left her, but her pulse still raced.
 

“Shall we head back to the manor?” asked Eric. He held out his hand.

“Yes.” Belinda gratefully took it and rose on unsteady legs. “I’d like that.”

Hungover

Belinda took two aspirin and chased them with a glass of water. After the picnic, she had reluctantly turned down playing Scrabble with Eric and the kids in favor of a longer nap. She had never had more than a sip or two of wine in her life and the two glasses she’d consumed with Eric had done her in. She rubbed her forehead.
I knew better than to drink like that!
 

She’d been embarrassed, but Eric countered with another apology about the wine. He encouraged her to rest, and tried to make her feel less embarrassed. Now, she left her bathroom and crossed back to the bed to straighten the quilt. She saw her phone on the nightstand, but didn’t check it. Messages from her mother or ex-roommate were not something she cared to deal with right now.
 

She left her room and went downstairs to get a mug of coffee. On the first floor she walked quietly in case Mrs. Heller was around, and made it halfway down the long corridor that led to the kitchen before the house administrator came out of one of the side rooms so fast they nearly collided.

“I’m sorry,” Belinda murmured. “I didn’t see you.”

“Hmmph. It’s quite all right. Are you enjoying your day off, Miss Moorland?” Cordelia Heller’s eyes burned black.

“Yes, it’s a very relaxing day.”

“I saw you and Mr. Manning go for a swim this morning. Did you enjoy yourself then, too?”

“I love swimming.” Belinda eyed Mrs. Heller.
She’s spying on me.
It didn’t surprise her a bit.

“Be careful in the indoor pool, Belinda, especially when you’re alone. It has a … reputation.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Some say it’s cursed. Mr. Manning’s wife died in there, you know.”

“Yes, he told me.”

Heller’s thin arched brows shot up to clown-height. “Did he?”

Belinda nodded, pleased at the woman’s surprise.

“Be careful, dear. The pool took her, and it could take you just as easily. It’s swallowed many over the years.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Excuse me.” Belinda tried to pass Heller, but the woman’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

“Be careful, Miss Moorland,” Heller said. “Be very careful. You have no idea what you’re playing with.”

Belinda nodded, pulled free, and continued to the kitchen. She pushed open one of the doors as Heller’s heels clacked away.
Good riddance!  
She hoped the aspirin would start working soon. Her head throbbed.

“Hi Belinda!” The little redheaded maid, Phoebe Waxwing, smiled brightly at her as she passed by, leaving the kitchen with a steaming tea service, no doubt on her way to Mr. Manning.
 

“Hi, Phoebe,” she called over her shoulder, then headed for the coffee pot and took one of the mugs. She filled it with strong black coffee then turned as the back door opened. Grant stepped inside and beamed at her.
 

“Belinda! How are you?”

“I’ve been better. I think I have a hangover.”

“This time of day? You must have partied very hard last night.”

“No, we went picnicking and I had a couple glasses of wine. I’m not used to it.”

Grant nodded. “I have just the thing for you then. Have a seat and drink your coffee while I make you a cup of herbal tea that will nip your hangover in the bud.”

“Just so there aren’t any raw eggs in it,” Belinda said.

“Perish the thought!” Grant put a kettle on then crossed to a cabinet full of teas and spices and used a stepping stool to reach the top shelf. He retrieved a small red tin, took it to the counter and pinched a little of the tea into tiny tea ball then placed the ball in a mug and poured boiling water over it. “Let it steep until you finish your coffee. It will cure you, I promise.” He poured himself some coffee and joined her. “You had a nice time on your picnic, I trust?”

“It was lovely. Eric gave me a tour of the grounds.”

“Did he show you anything in particular?”

“The giant garden.”

“Oh, yes, the farm. That explains the basket of corn.” He nodded toward one of the counters. “Riley is especially proud of the corn. It’s some sort of hybrid he found, so sweet you can eat it raw.”

“Riley takes care of the garden?”

“It’s his baby. His is the greenest thumb you’ll ever encounter.When he has time, he does a lot of the work himself, but of course he has plenty of gardeners to help.”

“It’s beautiful.” She paused. “Except for the scarecrow.”

“Old Peckerhead?” Grant laughed. “He’s an ugly cur, I must agree.”

They talked about gardening, the swans and ducks, the tiny vineyard, and the scattering of fruit and citrus trees left from vast orchards of days gone by. “The tea should be ready,” Grant said at last.
 

Belinda followed him to the counter and felt relief when he handed her the cup; it looked like normal tea and smelled drinkable.

“Take it with you, and enjoy.”

“Thanks, I will. Grant, I meant to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“My ex-roommate, Randi Tucker, left a message on my phone yesterday morning threatening to come here. She never showed up … I mean, as far as you know? I hope?”

“No. I’ll keep my eye out for her.”

“Please turn her away at the gate if you can.”

“I will, indeed and I’ll leave those instructions for the staff.”

Thanks. If anyone is looking for me, I’ll be in my office on the third floor. I don’t want to take my phone with me. It’s too distracting.”

“I don’t blame you a bit. Enjoy yourself, but don’t forget to relax a little. It is the weekend, after all.”

Momma Pays a Visit

After having a nice Steak-umm sandwich and gassing up Scooter, Rhonda Moorland headed out of Bakerton toward that hotsy-totsy mansion in the hills above Devilswood. Traffic was thick, and more than once, she’d had to beep her horn to keep everyone moving along. She shoved her fist into a family-sized bag of EZ Cheese Puffs and crunched. Flakes tumbled onto her best shirt. As she brushed them off, she heard someone sounding their horn. Realizing she’d weaved into the next lane, she jerked Scooter back into her own. The honker, some hooligan in a yellow Mustang, pulled up beside her and made an obscene gesture with his hands.
Well, I never!
Kids these days had no respect.

As she pulled off the freeway, she thought of her poor Belinda. She was so naive in the ways of the world - no wonder she’d fallen victim to a sex-pervert. Silently, Rhonda prayed the good Lord would forgive her for being so protective of the girl. She’d only wanted to keep her daughter on the path of righteousness … and now, it seemed her intentions had backfired.

No,
she thought.
It’s not my fault.
Belinda had always been a willful child. Why, even when she was a toddler, she’d managed to get herself right out of her crib. Rhonda was beside herself with horror when she’d found the girl sitting on the living room floor watching cartoons while she, Rhonda, was sound asleep in her bed. That was when the palpitations had started. She’d snatched her daughter up and made her sit in her room and think about what she’d done. When Rhonda had gone to retrieve her that afternoon, she’d found Belinda happily drawing in one of her coloring books instead of contemplating her dangerous ways. The child had refused to learn, and there was only so much a mother could do.
 

At a stoplight, she slowed behind a small white Outback. To pass the time, Rhonda started flipping through the radio stations. After passing several, she realized why today’s children were so lost. The music was leading them astray. Over the course of just a few moments, she’d heard men - longhairs, no doubt - crooning about wanting to “kiss you all over,” as well as some
woman
- certainly, she was no lady - singing out, “Call me!” The world was going to hell, and not in a handbasket, but in a crowded venue where these rock and rollers played their devil music for the world’s innocent children.