The Ghost Of Crutchfield Hall Part 4

Filled with revulsion, I threw the doll across the room. Her head hit the edge of the mantel and she landed on the oor. Like a child fatally injured in a bad fall, she sprawled on her back, arms flung out, head broken.

Stricken to see such a pretty thing ruined, I picked her up and hid her in the back of a drawer full of extra linens. It wouldn't do for Aunt to see her gift to Sophia so badly treated.

Stricken to see such a pretty thing ruined, I picked her up and hid her in the back of a drawer full of extra linens. It wouldn't do for Aunt to see her gift to Sophia so badly treated.

Not daring to leave the dress on the bed, I scooped it up and stuffed it into the wardrobe, behind my best dress and my coat.

Once dress and doll were hidden, I ran downstairs. I did not want to remain alone in my room for fear Sophia might return.

Seven.

UNCLE AND AUNT HAD NOT come back from their trip to town, so I joined Mrs. Dawson in the kitchen. To my relief, Nellie wasn't there. After speaking to her so rudely, I couldn't face her.

"You look poorly," Mrs. Dawson said. "Are you coming down with something?"

I shook my head. "I'm just tired."

"Drink your tea. It should perk you up."

I poured milk into my cup, added sugar, and filled it with tea. Steam rose around my face, comforting me. I breathed in the sweet smell of Earl Grey, my favorite blend, rich with bergamot.

Mrs. Dawson sliced bread and pa.s.sed it over to me, along with a serving of shepherd's pie. Its mashed-potato crust was baked golden, and the vegetables and beef inside filled the kitchen with an aroma that made me hungry in spite of myself.

Mrs. Dawson watched me eat. "You may not be ailing," she said, "but something's eating at you."

Looking Mrs. Dawson in the eye, I said, "Do you believe in ghosts?"

Mrs. Dawson must have heard the fear in my voice. Studying me closely, she said, "Has something frightened you, Florence?"

Surrendering to my need for comfort, I flung my arms around her and pressed my face against her soft body. "Sophia," I sobbed. "I saw her today. She was hideous, horrible, monstrous."

Mrs. Dawson rocked me gently. "No, no, Florence. Sophia is dead and gone."

"But I tell you, I saw her," I insisted. "She spoke to me."

Mrs. Dawson took me by my shoulders and held me at arm's length. "And I tell you, you dreamed it." Her eyes implored me to agree with her. "You're lonely here, you want a friend, and you've made yourself believe in Sophia."

I shook my head. "Surely Aunt has seen her-"

"No more, no more. I'll hear no more." Mrs. Dawson's voice quivered as if I was scaring her. "The poor child's soul rests in peace now. Father Browne saw to it. He blessed her proper."

Making a shooing motion, she said, "Go on now. Find a book to read. Forget the dream. Forget Sophia. Say nothing about her to Nellie or anyone else. You'll only bring grief on yourself."

Defeated, I gave up and left Mrs. Dawson to her work. As I walked away, I heard laughter in the shadows. A cold finger brushed my cheek. Footsteps pattered behind me. I did not look back. I knew who it was.

At the top of the steps, Sophia appeared beside me, her face tinged blue, her eyes circled with dark smudges like bruises. "Why don't you visit James?" she whispered. "I know you want to."

I drew back, repulsed by the smell of damp earth that clung to her. "Aunt and Uncle forbid it."

"I never let others stop me from doing what I want." Keeping her hand on my arm, she floated into my room as if no more than air, but I could not break away from her.

My wardrobe opened, and Sophia pulled out the blue silk dress. "Wear this. You must be presentable if you are to visit James."

Even though I knew it was futile to argue, I said, "I am not going to visit James." But as I spoke, I found myself taking off my own drab brown dress and slipping into the blue silk. The fabric touched my skin, as delicate as b.u.t.terfly wings.

Sophia picked up my brush and comb and began brushing my hair. When it shone as brown and glossy as hers once did, she tied it back with a blue velvet ribbon. "There," she said. "You're not nearly as pretty as I am, but I suppose you'll do."

I wanted to tell her she was not pretty now, but instead I stood silently before the mirror and admired my reflection. Instead of a wretched orphan, I saw a well-dressed girl, the sort I'd admired on the streets of London.

Behind me, I noticed Sophia kept her back to the mirror. "Why don't you stand beside me and look at yourself? Then you can see who's prettier-you or me." It was a terrible thing to say, and I was ashamed of myself for speaking the words out loud.

Ignoring my question, Sophia seized my hand and led me away from the mirror and out of my room. As we walked down the hall, the blue silk rustled like autumn leaves. My hair was a soft, sweet weight on my shoulders and neck. I walked lightly, gracefully. I forgot to be afraid, forgot to worry. At last I was going to meet my cousin James.

Sophia stopped in front of James's door. First she pressed her ear to the wood and listened. Then she bent to peek through the keyhole.

Straightening, she favored me with her thin-lipped smile. "He's all alone, sitting in bed, reading. Don't bother to knock. Just walk in and stand quietly until he notices you. He loves surprises."

"Aren't you coming with me?" I asked.

But I was speaking to empty air. Sophia was gone, leaving an echo of her laughter behind.

For a moment, I hesitated. Perhaps it was unwise to enter without knocking. Suppose I frightened James? What if Sophia was tricking me into doing something I shouldn't? Could I trust her to be truthful?

But I simply could not resist visiting my cousin. Quietly I turned the k.n.o.b and slowly opened the door. The curtains were closed tightly, and the fire burned low. An oil lamp beside the bed gave enough light for me to see James. Propped up on pillows, he was deeply engrossed in a book.

Like Sophia, he bore little resemblance to the child in the photograph. His round cheeks were gone, leaving his face narrow and solemn. His skin was pale, and the hair tumbling over his eyes was long and curly. Even from this distance, I could see he was thin and frail. Sickly.

Cautiously I took a few steps forward, unsure whether I should approach him or tiptoe out of his room. What I was doing seemed intrusive, rather as if I'd entered a sanctuary without permission.

I must have made a sound, for suddenly he turned and saw me. His reaction horrified me.

"No," he screamed, "you can't cross my threshold. It's forbidden! Get out! Get out!" He was on his knees now, hurling a book at me. Then another and another.

The heavy volumes. .h.i.t the wall over my head, and I ducked this way and that to avoid being struck. He was definitely stronger than he looked.

When he ran out of books to throw, James fell back against his pillow, shrieking and crying. "Don't come near me!"

I ran to him and seized his hands. "Don't be afraid. I'm Florence, your cousin. Hasn't Uncle told you about me?"

"You can't trick me," James cried. "I know who you are-I know what you want!"

"No, no, James, please listen. I'm Florence Crutchfield. My father was your father's brother. I'm an orphan, just as you are. We're both wards of our uncle, Thomas Crutchfield."

Gradually, James's struggles lessened, and I re-leased his hands. Although he still trembled, he breathed more naturally and his body began to relax.

He studied my face. "You're not Sophia," he whispered, "but you're wearing her dress and your hair is like hers. When I saw you in the shadows by the door, I was certain..."

He lay back against the pillows, his face as white as the sheets tumbled about him. "You frightened me."

"I'm so very, very sorry. I didn't mean to, but Sophia-"

"Do you see her too?" he interrupted, his eyes wide with surprise. "I thought I was the only one."

"She made me wear her dress, she fixed my hair, she sent me here..." I clenched my fists in vexation. "Please forgive me, James. She, she..."

I looked warily around the room. Was Sophia hiding in the corner by the wardrobe? Was she watching from behind the curtains?

James looked at me. "You're afraid of her too."

"She terrifies me. She could be here, she could be there, she could be anywhere."

James took my hands in his small ones. "Not here. We're safe in my room," he said. "She can't cross the threshold."

"Everywhere I go, she goes. The house, the garden. I can't get away from her." I shuddered and continued to search the corners for signs of Sophia.

James shook his head. "Spratt made a charm and hid it over my door. As long as it's there, she can't come in."

"Spratt made a charm?" I stared at my cousin, thinking I'd misunderstood him. "What sort of a charm?"

"Since you come from London," James said, "I doubt you believe in potions and charms and such, but Spratt's mother was a healer. And so was her mother and her mother before her and so on, back and back in time. She taught Spratt all she knew, including the making of charms to ward off evil."

Not sure what I believed, I looked at him, huddled under blankets and propped up on pillows, trusting in a charm to protect him from his own sister. His dead sister.

I moved nearer to him, fearful of the shadows around us. "What can Sophia actually do to harm you? We see her, we hear her, but she doesn't have a real body."

Fixing me with the same blue eyes we all had, James sat up straight and leaned closer to me. "Sophia doesn't need to be flesh and blood. Haven't you felt the cold touch of her hand? Hasn't she influenced you?" He paused and added, "Was it your idea to come to my room? Did you want to do it, or did she make you?"

My silence answered for me.

James lay back against his pillow, but he kept his eyes on me. "My sister has no body. She's never hungry. She's never tired. She's never sick. She's free to concentrate all her energy on one thing and one thing only. It's all she wants, and she's determined to have it."

He closed his eyes for a moment as if talking about Sophia's strength had exhausted his own. The room was so silent, the very air seemed to hold its breath.

"What does she want?" I whispered.

James looked at me then, his face as pale as the pillow. "She wants me to die." His voice was flat and dull, his eyes almost as lifeless as Sophia's.

"She can't hate you that much. It's unnatural, it's wicked, it's-"

"You don't understand." James's voice rose until he was almost shouting. "It's my fault she's dead. I killed her. I didn't mean to, but I did. And now she wants to kill me."

"How could you have killed her?" I asked. "You're younger and smaller than she is. You-"

"I don't want to talk any more," James cried. "I'm tired and need to rest-you've overexcited me. Go away!"

Confused by the change in his behavior, I reached out to comfort him, but he swung at me, striking me with his fists, not caring whether he hurt me or not. "Go away, I tell you," he shrieked. "Go away!"

Afraid of making him truly ill, I shrank back from the bed. At that moment, the door opened and Aunt entered the room.

At the sight of me, her face lit with joy. Holding out her arms to embrace me, she cried, "You've come back to me! I knew you would. I've saved all your things. I've waited and prayed for your return."

When I recoiled from her touch, Aunt realized her mistake. Immediately her happiness turned to rage. Seizing my shoulders, she shook me so hard, my head bobbled on my neck like a rag doll's. "Where did you get that dress? It's Sophia's, not yours. You have no right to help yourself to her things."

James cowered in his bed, his anger at me forgotten. "Stop, Aunt-you're upsetting me. Do you want me to die too?"

Pushing me aside, Aunt ran to him. "My poor lamb. What has Florence done to you?"

She reached for his hands, but he pushed her away. "Leave me alone! Florence has done nothing to me."

Aunt drew back, rigid with anger. "How dare you speak to me like that! After all I've done for you! Have you no grat.i.tude?"

"Can't you ever leave me alone?" James cried. "I hate you! You wish I'd died instead of her. I heard you say so when you thought I was sleeping."

Unable to bear any more, I ran out of the room. The things I'd imagined in my days at Miss Medleycoate's mocked me. Sisters and brothers were jealous and hateful; they didn't love one another as I'd thought. Aunt was mean and spiteful. Sophia had despised her little brother. James claimed he'd killed his own sister.

After locking myself in my room, I stripped off the blue silk dress, ripping a sleeve in my haste. b.u.t.tons popped off and rolled across the floor. Without pausing to think about what I was doing, I stuffed Sophia's dress into the fire.

It smoldered for a moment and then burst into flame. Fire shot up the chimney. Seizing a poker, I did my best to keep it contained. As unhappy as I was, I had no desire to burn Crutchfield Hall to the ground.

With relief, I watched the fire subside. The smoke made my eyes water, and the room reeked of burnt silk. Wearing only a thin slip, I ran to the window and let in a torrent of cold fresh air.

As the cas.e.m.e.nt swung outward, I saw that the constant rain had turned to snow. Trees and shrubbery, roofs and walkways, everything blended together in a sparkling white. Sharp lines disappeared, square shapes softened, hills and flat land merged.

If I'd been in a happier frame of mind, I might have thrilled to the snow's beauty. I'd certainly never witnessed its like in London's crowded, dirty streets.

But today I stared at the snow without really seeing it, too angry and scared by the morning's twists and turns to appreciate it. I'd reached a point so low that I almost wished to return to Miss Medleycoate's establishment. Perhaps the food was worse and the beds less warm and comfortable, but no ghosts roamed the orphanage's halls. I had Miss Beatty to comfort me and friends to laugh and talk with. I was often sad but never lonely or frightened. Here I was all three.

Eight.

FINALLY THE COLD DROVE ME to close the window and put on my own dress, rough and brown and scratchy against my skin. Afraid to stay in my room alone, I took my book and ran down to the sitting room and made myself comfortable in the big leather chair by the wood fire, much warmer than my coal fire.

I was so deeply immersed in Vanity Fair that I didn't notice Sophia until she exhaled her cold breath on my cheek. Startled, I dropped my book. "Go away," I begged. "I've had enough of you."

"But I haven't had enough of you, dear Florence." She perched on the arm of the chair and studied me with her dull eyes. "I see you've changed your clothes. Did you not like my dress?"

"I hate your dress!" I told her. "When James saw me wearing it, he thought I was you."