The Ghost Of Crutchfield Hall Part 8

"You did it on purpose. You saw the cart and you threw the ball."

"You're a stupid little boy. Ask Aunt. She'll tell you it was an accident."

"Aunt wasn't there. It was just you and I." James's voice was getting stronger. Despite the wind and the flying snow, he faced his sister. "Spratt knew the truth. So did Uncle, even if he wouldn't dare say it."

"James, James, James," Sophia chanted, giving his name a nasty sound in the cold air. "Everyone adored James. Spratt, Uncle, the servants, the vicar, the village shopkeepers, the blacksmith. When James and I were together, no one noticed me. I was invisible."

"If you'd smiled more," James said tentatively, "if you hadn't been so sullen, then maybe people would have-"

"What did I have to smile about?" Sophia turned on James angrily. "My dear darling mother died giving birth to you! A brother I neither asked for nor wanted. And what a fuss they all made about the poor, motherless babe, without a thought for me, the poor, motherless girl. Father forgot about me-he paid me no mind at all. He cared only for you. Believe me: I had nothing to smile about and great reason to be sullen."

James had nothing more to say. Frightened, he stared at his sister. His lips shaped the word "please." But he did not say it. We both knew "please" meant nothing to Sophia.

Against my will, I looked down at the ground. Covered in new-fallen snow, the terrace lay far below. Spratt and his helper, a boy about my age, were no bigger than dolls as they went about their business. Dizzy with vertigo, I turned back to Sophia.

"Why have you chosen the roof to settle your quarrel?" I asked her.

She looked at James with contempt. "On this very day, I dared the little ninny to walk the ridge of the roof at its highest point, from this chimney to that one."

She pointed to a chimney about fifteen feet from the one James clung to. "He said he'd do it if I did it first." With a fierce scowl, she turned to her brother. "Didn't you say that? Didn't you?"

James nodded. He'd begun to cry again. His nose ran.

"You promised."

"Yes," he whispered, "yes, I did. I promised to do it if you did it first."

"So I did-just like this." Sophia walked along the roof to the other chimney, touched it, and came back. The wind made her waver as if she were a paper doll, but she didn't fall. "You see? I did it then and I can do it now."

I supposed if one didn't look down, it wouldn't be too difficult to walk along the roof line. But how could one not think about the height of the roof and the certainty of death if one fell? I could never do such a foolish thing, no matter who dared me.

Sophia sneered at James. "Now it's your turn. Let's see if you can keep your promise this time."

"No," James sobbed. "I couldn't do it then and I cannot do it now. Please, Sophia, please, I'm sorry. It's my fault, all my fault. Blame it on me. Say I killed you. Say I deserve to suffer, but don't make me walk to the chimney. I cannot do it!"

Sophia was implacable. "I'm giving you a second chance, James. Not everyone is that fortunate."

"No, no-I cannot!"

Sophia tried to force him to stand. "Hold my hand. We'll do it together."

But James resisted. "I won't. You can't make me."

"You must do what you promised." She tugged at his hands as if to break his grip on the chimney.

"Please, stop," I begged. "Do you want to kill him?"

Sophia turned to me. Never had I seen a more malevolent expression on anyone's face. "Haven't I told you that already? Did you not believe me? Of course I want him to die," she said, "as he should have last year. I was stronger than he was-I was more agile. I had the grace and daring he lacked. What happened was a twist of fate, and I plan to correct it."

"You cannot correct anything," I said.

"You're wrong, cousin." Sophia gave me a scornful smile. "If James falls from the roof and dies today, I shall live. I know I shall. I must!"

I looked up at her wavering on the roof line, a small figure against a turbulent winter sky.

"If James falls, he will be dead," I cried, "and so will you. You can go on fighting for all eternity, but neither of you will ever return to life."

"You'll see." Sophia managed to pull James to his feet.

I watched my cousins struggle. The wind tugged at them almost as if it wanted them both to fall. James teetered, Sophia swayed. He leaned one way, she the other.

"Stop," I cried. "Stop!"

But they paid me no heed. Indeed, I don't think they heard me. Or remembered I was there.

Suddenly James pulled free of Sophia's grasp and tried to retreat. Hands outstretched, she came after him. Terrified, he pushed her away.

Sophia stumbled, her feet slipped on the slates, and she slid down the roof. With a scream, she shot off the edge and disappeared.

"It's just like before," James cried. "I pushed her and she fell. I killed her-I killed my sister!" Sobbing, he pressed his face against the chimney.

Cautiously, I peered over the edge of the roof. Sophia did not lie on the terrace below. She was gone.

With my heart pounding, I inched my way up the slates, struggling to find finger and toe holds. My fingers were so numb with cold, I expected to fall as Sophia had, but somehow I managed to join James by the chimney.

Putting my arms around him, I said, "You didn't mean for Sophia to fall. You were protecting yourself. It was an accident."

With a sob, James pulled away from me. "I must do as I promised. Perhaps I should have died and Sophia should have lived. I have to find out."

Ignoring my cries of protest, he began walking toward the other chimney. Step by step, slowly putting one foot just in front of the other, arms spread for balance, he teetered and tottered along the roof's ridge. The wind tugged at his nightgown, and his hair streamed behind him.

"No, James," I shouted. "Come back! You'll fall!"

He didn't answer; nor did he obey. He kept going with agonizing slowness, swaying as if he might lose his balance at any moment. Somehow he stayed upright. Unable to watch any longer, I covered my eyes and braced myself for his scream.

"Open your eyes and look," James cried. "Look at me!"

With great relief, I saw him touch the other chimney. Now all he had to do was return to me safely. Holding my breath, I watched him begin to make his slow and careful way back. Despite the wind, he kept his footing. Above him, clouds heavy with snow rolled across the sky. Below, crows as black as coal cawed in the trees.

At last, James's fingers touched the chimney. "I did it," he whispered. "I kept my promise, and I didn't fall." Exhausted, he sank down beside me.

"You were very brave." I hugged him, loving the warmth and solid feel of him, the life in his small body. My brother, I thought. He's my brother now. I'll take better care of him than his real sister did.

"But you were very foolish, too," I added in a whisper.

"Don't you see?" he asked. "I had to prove I wasn't meant to die. It was the only way to free myself from her."

I shivered in a blast of cold wind. "Do you think she's gone now?"

James looked at me, a long look that required no words. We both knew we weren't done with Sophia and she wasn't done with us. Her fall hadn't killed her. No one can die twice. She would return.

Thirteen.

AT THAT MOMENT, SPRATT looked up and saw us. "Stay where ye be," he yelled. "Don't take one step. I be sending the boy with a ladder."

While James and I huddled together, Spratt and his helper ran up to the attic. They managed to lay a ladder across the slates from the window to the roof's ridge. The boy climbed out on the slates and crawled up the ladder until he reached our perch. First he helped James climb down the ladder to the attic window. Once my cousin was safely inside, the boy returned for me. Spratt held my hands and guided me inside.

Uncle and Aunt were waiting in the attic. At the sight of us, Uncle ran to embrace both James and me, but Aunt stood aside, her face tight with anger.

Pulling me away from Uncle, she shook me. "How could you do such a thing? And on this day, the very day Sophia died!"

"It's not Florence's fault," James cried. "It was Sophia. She made us do it."

Hearing this, both Aunt and Uncle forgot me and turned to James in consternation. "James, James," Uncle cried. "Your sister cannot make you do anything now. She's dead and gone. Please don't say such things."

"The boy is in a state of shock, and no one to blame but her." Aunt pointed at me. "I don't know what she's up to, but I tell you she's the devil's own."

Uncle ignored his sister. "You," he said to Spratt, "hurry to the village and fetch Dr. Fielding. I fear my nephew will have a seizure."

Spratt scowled at Aunt. "The boy be telling the truth. It were her, all right."

"You daft old man," Aunt cried. "Be quiet and fetch the doctor."

Spratt stood his ground, his brows lowered, his face flushed. "I tell ye, that girl be here yet, a-lurkin' and a-sneakin' and tryin' to do mischief to the little lad. Jealousy be stronger than death, as any fool knows."

"I'll not listen to this." Aunt turned away, her hands clasped. "It's a torment to be reminded of my darling's death."

Uncle took Spratt's arm. "Samuel," he said. "Get the doctor!"

"Yes, sir." Spratt hurried past Aunt and ran down the attic steps. Carrying James, Uncle followed close at his heels.

"Florence," he called, "find Nellie and tell her to build up a good fire for Master James. He'll need hot tea, too."

Eager to escape Aunt's baleful eye, I ran to fetch Nellie and Mrs. Dawson.

Halfway down the steps, Sophia stopped me with a cold hand on my shoulder.

"Now do you see how I suffered?" she whispered. "n.o.body showed concern for me, just as n.o.body shows concern for you. Did anyone ask if you were cold or hurt? Oh, no. It was go fetch tea for James, Florence. Make sure the fire is warm enough for James, Florence. James, James, James. Always and forever, James, James, James."

I wheeled and faced Sophia. "Of course Uncle is worried about James. He's been in bed so long, it's a wonder he has any strength. He needs a doctor. I don't. Why shouldn't he come first?"

Sophia stared at me, her features twisted with anger. "You're on my brother's side, too. When will anyone ever be on my side?"

"Aunt is on your side."

"But I do not care for Aunt. She's such a tiresome old thing. Manners, deportment, etiquette, never a smile or a laugh or even a hug. How dreary it was to sit and play the piano for her. So much effort on my part simply to win a doll or a dress or a pair of fancy slippers. It wasn't what I wanted!"

Sophia withdrew further into the shadows, weeping now. It seemed to me she was dissolving like a paper doll in the rain, blurring, wavering. I could barely see her. But I could hear her.

"I wanted someone to love me the way they loved James," she sobbed. "That's all! If he hadn't been here, maybe someone would have loved me. But no, he took everyone's love and left me nothing. Nothing, nothing at all!"

With a wail of sorrow, Sophia vanished and I was alone on the stairs. All that was left of her was an aching emptiness, a loneliness that hung in the air where she had disappeared.

"The tea," Aunt called to me from the top of the stairs. "You were to tell Nellie to bring tea and stoke the fire! Why are you still lingering on the stairs? Have you no sense? Do you not care what happens to James?"

Without answering, I ran to the kitchen and found Nellie scrubbing the kitchen floor. "Quick," I said. "Fix a good, hot fire in James's room, and bring hot tea for him."

Nellie wiped her small red hands on her ap.r.o.n. "What's happened, miss?"

"Never you mind," Mrs. Dawson said. "Fetch the coal."

"Yes'm." Nellie ran to the scullery.

Mrs. Dawson looked at me. "I knew there'd be trouble today. It was her, wasn't it? Causing mischief like she used to."

Before I could answer, she said, "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know." Grabbing a tray, she added, "Run along. I'll bring the tea."

I left Mrs. Dawson in the kitchen and slowly climbed the stairs. Poor Sophia. Poor pitiful, sad Sophia. Had she gone uncomforted to her grave? I thought of her tombstone, already tilting over her grave, her name, her birth and death dates. What a short life. What an unhappy life.

Anxious to escape my thoughts, I went to James's room. Uncle had gotten him into bed and heaped blankets over him. "More coal on the fire," he barked at Nellie. "Build it up and drive away the chill."

As I approached the bed, Aunt took my arm. "What are you doing here? Your presence is not required."

As she began to usher me to the door, James stopped her with a cry. "Please let Florence stay," he begged. "Please."

"Hasn't she caused enough mischief already?" Aunt asked.

Pushing Uncle's hands away, James sat up in bed. "I tell you, this is Sophia's fault. She made Florence and me go to the roof. She wanted-"

"Nonsense!" Aunt exclaimed. "Sophia rests in peace as do all the dead. No one returns from the grave. It is heresy to think so."

Uncle gazed at his sister, his face solemn. "You heard what Samuel Spratt said, Eugenie. Perhaps there is some truth in this talk."

"Are you mad, brother?" Aunt tightened her grip on my arm. "The boy is ill, the girl is a liar, and Samuel Spratt is a superst.i.tious, ignorant old man."

"Please, Aunt," I said. "You're hurting me."

"Release Florence," Uncle said. "James wishes her to stay."

"Then I shall depart!" With that, Aunt left the room in such haste that she almost b.u.mped into Mrs. Dawson, who had chosen that moment to appear with the tea tray.

Mrs. Dawson set the tray down and beckoned to Nellie. "Come-you left the kitchen floor half scrubbed."