The Ruby Locket

The Belrose Abbey Mystery Series

By Hillary McMullen & Anita Higman

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Copyright 2016 Anita Higman and Hillary McMullen

Forget Me Not Romances, a division of Winged Publications

Published by Forget Me Not Romances, a division of Winged Publications

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real events or to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental
.

All rights reserved.

Chapter One

Anne

T
he creeping dusk seemed to tighten its grip on us as our old beater car bumped along the rough dirt road. “Mom?”

              “Yes, darling?”

              “I think there’s something seriously wrong with this road.” I glanced around. Cedar trees that looked like freaks of nature loomed on both sides of us. It was a sickly kind of forest, as if someone had poisoned all the roots. In fact, the trees seemed like they’d enjoy reaching into our car with their crooked arms and squeezing the life right out of us. But the scenery didn’t matter, since we were hopelessly lost. Shrugging away the shivers, I unbuckled my seatbelt and latched onto the back of the passenger seat. “Mom? This really does look like a dead-end.”

              “It’s just a little overgrown.”

              A little overgrown? The potholes and weeds under the car pounded so loudly it reminded me of Poe’s tell-tale heart—required reading my freshman year.

              Mom maneuvered the car around a tentacle-like root jutting up out of the earth. “Ivan’s house is more secluded than I’d imagined. I guess he doesn’t entertain much.”

              “Ya think?”

              Mom laughed, but it came out as lifeless as the terrain. Then she tuned into a sad song on the radio—some singer named Loretta Lynn. The music popped and crackled amidst sorrowful lyrics. Mom reached for a tissue and patted her eyes. Her cheekbones appeared more prominent than usual, which meant she wasn’t eating again.

              It was good that there would be a cook at the abbey. Perhaps it meant Mom would get her strength back. Widowhood hadn’t agreed with her, so we were chasing a dream called Ivan Helsburg—her fiancé. And my stepfather-to-be. The knowledge that I would soon have a stepfather still unsettled me. And it made my dad seem even further away—if that were possible. Sighing, I rested my chin on the passenger seat.

              “I hope we get to the house soon. It’s pretty dark already.” Mom pointed toward the hill. “There’s something up there. Anne, look. I’m sure it’s the entrance to his estate.”

              I saw no entrance. Only more gnarly cedars and the lonely stretch of road. For some reason Mom couldn’t bring herself to say the words that needed to be said—we’re lost. She was a loving, devoted mother, but she lived in denial about some things. We’d been a happy family but also a family of secrets. Of unshed tears. And trap doors of the heart. It made for strange dreams. The kind you wake up from at night with a sinking terror that the world is no longer spinning the right way. So, in the midst of my hope for Mom and our future with Ivan, I also felt as though we were headed toward something terrible—that instead of chasing a dream, we were the ones being chased. But then Mom always did say I had imagination enough for the both of us.

              Mom tensed her shoulders.

              “You okay?”

              She snapped off the radio. “Do you hear something?” She glanced my way, wearing that same helpless expression that I’d seen on her face ever since Dad’s death eight months ago. “Ivan said it could get windy here, but I didn’t expect it to sound so…”

              “Angry?
I hear it too.” I rolled down the window to listen. The gusts pounded our car and then died suddenly as if the forest was holding its breath. Mom slowed the car, and I leaned outside the window. Chilled air consumed the summer heat and mugginess in one swirling draft. The moment was startling, reminding me of the time I’d reached into my father’s coffin and placed my hand over his. I felt that same unnatural coolness. I sighed and then breathed in the scents of the night—eucalyptus and damp earth. It calmed me. But only a little.

              I turned my attention to the ancient cedars all around us, straining to see through the “gloaming” as some of my favorite gothic novels liked to call it. But what was I searching for? I had no idea.

              Then something moved in the faded light. Not the dipping of a branch in a breeze or a small animal scurrying away. But a movement of something larger, something watchful and unafraid. What could it have been? A large dog perhaps?

              I bit my lip and remained quiet. No need to tell my mother, to frighten her unnecessarily. It was gone, anyway, whatever it was.

              Running my fingers over my eyebrows, I wondered if my mother’s woeful expression had already etched itself into my face. Permanently. I loved my mom, but I didn’t want to
be
my mom. It was hard enough just being me.

              I continued to scan the scraggly cedars for another glimpse of the beast, and then I chided myself. Come on, Anne. Really. I’d need to write off the beast as imaginary, since I did admit to a slight love for drama. But instead of feeling relief at the thought, a sickening panic filled my gut as I once again saw an outline of something in the darkness, just inside the trees. It was a form I still couldn’t recognize, crouched and stalking, but this time it came with two gleaming orbs, yellowy and fierce. Unblinking, its gaze locked on our moving car.

              I pulled back, unable to breathe. Those unearthly eyes in the forest—they had been looking for something. And I felt, somehow, the search had ended with us.

Chapter Two

Anne

I
rested back in my seat, but my heart raced wildly, making the blood roar in my ears. Hopefully Mom hadn’t seen what I’d seen. How could I ever forget that fiery gaze?              “I see some flickering lights up ahead.” Mom leaned toward the windshield. “Thank God,” she whispered. “We’re here.”

              I saw the lights too—friendly lights this time—glimmering through the trees. We’d be safe soon. My stomach relaxed a little. One more bend in the road took us to a majestic entrance. As Mom drove closer, though, the grandness dissolved into a forbidding barrier. The closed double gates rose in front of us, creating a rusty iron wall, which stood between two gigantic stone pillars. Flaming gas lanterns hung on each side of the columns, giving us the impression that we were entering the foreboding domain of Dracula, not an ordinary man of means. “This is creepy, Mom. Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

              “Yes, I’m sure.”

              Our car rolled to a halt in front of the gates. “I wonder if it’s locked. How will we get in?”

              As if some actor had been given his cue, a hunched man dressed in tattered clothes hobbled out from a clump of shrubbery. He lumbered over to the gates, dragged them open, and then disappeared again.

              “That man. He looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame,” I said.

              “I suppose he did. Poor man.” Mom put the car in drive and entered through the gates.

              The graveled lane led us under a canopy of ancient oaks. We were closed in—almost tomb-like—but this time I didn’t stare into the trees. I was too much of a coward for that now.

              Once we’d been freed from the tunnel of oaks, we were overtaken by a great lawn. It was like a dark emerald ocean flowing all around us. And then I got a glimpse of the house on the hill. “You never told me your fiancé lived in a castle.”

              “Well, Ivan never mentioned it. He just said he lived in an abbey.”

              “Like a place where nuns live?”

              “No, not that kind. It’s just called that. Not sure why. Maybe could ask Ivan. He would love to answer all your questions.”

              Good, because I would have a lot of them. “The house is enormous.” I tried to grasp the immensity of the building—wrap my mind around the idea of living in such vastness. “It’s like the castles in Europe. Or maybe from the novel, The Mysteries of Udolpho. It even has battlements and turrets and flying buttresses. At least I think they’re flying.” I sputtered a laugh. “Are we really supposed to live in this place?”

              “That’s the plan.”

              “No one will ever believe us.” I moved to the other side of the car for a better look. “Don’t castles usually have names? I’ll bet this one is something literary like Thornfield Hall.”

              “Yes, it does have a name,” Mom said. “I think Ivan called it Belrose Abbey.”

              “Wow, Belrose Abbey. Sounds so ominous and so, well, feudal. Cool.”

              Mom chuckled. “I suppose it does sound that way a little.”

              We passed a lake with a stone bridge, several tiered fountains, and a company of peacocks that strutted around like they owned the place. “I knew you said Ivan was rich, but this kind of money…I don’t know. It’s kind of scary, Mom.”

              “I have to admit I’m surprised by it all. I had no idea that it would be so…” Mom released an empty laugh. “But what do you mean, Anne? How can money be scary?”

              My mouth had been gaping open for so long a drop of drool fell onto my hand. I wiped it off onto the underside of my shirt. “I don’t know. Maybe that someone with this kind of money could buy anything in the whole world. Buy any
one
in the whole world.”

              “True, but Ivan isn’t that kind of man.”

              I wondered what kind of man Ivan really was. Surely someone decent and good if my mother had chosen him. I just wish I’d had a chance to actually get to know him before she’d changed our lives forever with her “yes.” I’d only met him in passing and we hadn’t really had a real conversation. He was nice, I guess. Although a little detached.

              But whenever I found myself wanting to pitch a fit about my mom’s new love interest, I remembered her grief after Dad died—the weeks spent in bed, the meals skipped, her eyes hopeless and dull. I’d honestly thought she’d never recover. And then she’d met Ivan and her smile returned little by little and I began to hear her laugh again.

              So even though I barely knew this Ivan guy, I did know that he’d brought some of the light back into my mother’s eyes. And that was okay in my book.

              We drew closer to the towering Belrose Abbey, which was illuminated by hundreds of gaslights. Menacing, and yet alluring too, with its stone walls, gothic windows, and carved figures. I felt repelled by its terrible beauty and equally mystified. At least Belrose would give me something to do this summer. There would be a great need for exploration.

              “Anne, look up ahead of us. On the circular drive.”

              I followed Mom’s gaze to a crowd of people who were all lined up like pawns on a chessboard. “Ivan’s servants?”

              “Must be. But there are so many.” Mom sighed. “By the way, darling, you should refer to Ivan as Mr. Helsburg until he offers his first name. I get the impression things are going to be more formal here.”

              “No kidding. It’s like a funeral procession, but no one’s died. At least not yet anyway.” I chuckled.

              “Darling, maybe you’d better hold onto your…witty harpoons. For now. At least until Ivan gets to know you better. I’m certain he’ll grow to love you as I do.” Mom reached back and cupped my cheek with her palm, which took some of the sting out of her words.

              She eased onto the stone drive and parked. “I wonder how long they’ve been waiting for us.”

              Men and women of various sizes and ages turned toward us in one sweeping movement. All eyes were on us. I shivered. Some of the people were smiling, others merely had a look of tired curiosity. And then there was an older woman who appeared to be in charge. She marched toward us like she would be happy to pinch off our heads. She nodded to us as we got out of our car.

              “Madam?” The woman’s face was as hard and shadowy as the gargoyles adorning the turrets. And she also had the slightest hint of a mustache.

              “I’m so sorry we’re late.” Mom’s voice stammered. “I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble. We’re not familiar with the mountains and woods here, and—”

              “You were expected
three
hours ago. Master Helsburg has been worried.”

              “Please let me—”

              “What’s done is done.” The woman’s voice had a nasal quality to it as well as a slightly foreign accent. Maybe she was Hungarian—like Ivan.

              “I’m Dauphine Knight. It’s good to meet you.” Mom reached out her hand to the older woman.

              The woman stood straight as an ironing board, her pasty complexion giving us no warmth or welcome.

              My mother lowered her hand and then fidgeted with her dress.

              “I’m Miss Easton. I’m the head housekeeper here. I’ll get you both settled in the guest house.”

              “That would be lovely. I’m afraid we’re both a little worn out from all the—”

              “Yes, I’m sure.” Miss Easton raised a forefinger, and with the slightest twist of her wrist, a man bolted from the line. “Jacob. Their bags.” She turned back to my mother. “Leave your car here. It will be taken care of. Master Helsburg says you won’t be needing it again.”

              What could Miss Easton mean? Surely we’d still need a way to get around.
I’d
need a car. Otherwise the place would be a prison. Maybe Ivan had his own fleet of vehicles. Maybe even a jeep to explore the property. My mood lightened.

              “Master Helsburg regrets not being able to meet you.” Miss Easton sniffed.

              “I hope he’s not ill.” Mom folded her arms around her waist, suddenly looking as fragile as a porcelain doll.

              “No.” Miss Easton’s face clouded with an unreadable expression. “Master Helsburg is not ill, Madam.”

              “Oh, well then, I’m sure we’ll see him tomorrow.” Mom glanced up at the towers, which were decorated with flags from various countries. I noticed there was no American flag displayed, and I wondered why. I had a feeling there would be a lot more questions than answers in this medieval place.

              I circled my arm through my mother’s and felt as if I’d officially entered the pages of a Charlotte Bronte novel. I half expected to look in the mirror and find my wavy brown hair pulled back in a ridiculously fierce bun. I didn’t say any of this out loud, since I was trying to keep a rein on my peevish comments. At least for a few hours.

              “It’s getting darker,” Miss Easton said. Her forefinger twitched in the air again. “Come.” She strode past the line of servants, ignoring them all, and we followed her like stupid sheep.

              Amazingly, all the servants wore vintage clothing. Like they’d been digging around in the wardrobe room at my old high school’s drama department. Why were they all wearing costumes? Ivan must be the theatrical type. Was there a whole closet full of Jane Austen clothes just waiting for me? Well, Miss Easton would have to wrestle me to the ground if she wanted to take away my jeans and Converse shoes.

              It seemed rude to walk past Ivan’s employees without any hellos or even an acknowledgment of their existence, so I caught the gaze of a black haired boy about my age who was standing in line. “Hi.” He was the only one in the line of servants who was dressed in modern clothing—jeans and a T-shirt. Did he forget to pick up his costume from the dry cleaners or something?

              He said nothing to me in return, but his eyes held my gaze. Much longer than expected. His pale blue eyes weren’t sad or beseeching or bored—they were laughing at me. But why? Was all this formality really a joke? I glanced away from him, oddly annoyed, and determined to see him again when I was no longer under the constraints of holding my tongue.

              The head housekeeper, Miss Easton, didn’t alter her brisk stride. “Please keep up.” A massive batch of keys hung from her waist, constantly jingling as she walked.

              “Everything will look better in the morning,” Mom whispered to me. “I promise.”

              Since Dad’s death Mom had made so many promises it was hard to keep track of them all. Most promises she’d kept. Others became as flimsy as cotton candy.

              “We’ll take the stone path.” Miss Easton led us on a lit walkway through a rose garden.

              “Oh, the flowers here are so lovely. Everything is,” Mom said. “The whole place is like a fairytale.”

              Yeah, Grimm’s maybe.

              Miss Easton anointed us with a little grunt.

              I plucked a rose from one of the bushes just to see if I could get the head housekeeper all riled up. No response came this time. Perhaps Miss Easton would keep a secret tally of my crimes and then punish me later in some villainous way.

              Miss Easton halted in front of a large cottage, unhooked the ring of keys from her waist and inserted an iron skeleton key into the lock. After opening the door, she turned on a few lights in the entry. There had been such a feeling of going back in time that the modern lighting suddenly looked totally out of place.

              The man called Jacob placed our bags in the entry and then made his exit.

              “Thank you so much for your help,” Mom said to Miss Easton. “I think we can manage—”

              Miss Easton raised her chin as if to silence my mother. “Meals are served in the main house promptly at seven, noon, and eight. Let the servants know if you need anything.” She went back to the front door. “Good night.” And then Miss Easton was gone, leaving an odd smell in her wake, like she’d doused herself with the scent of overripe fruit.