The Ghost Of Crutchfield Hall Part 5

"Much more flattering to you than to me. Even dead, I'm far prettier than you are." She laughed her spooky little laugh and ran her bony fingers through her tufts of hair. Looking at me closely, she touched my nose. "Consider that b.u.mp in your nose: it's especially unattractive and bound to get worse as you age."

She jumped off the chair and did a few turns about the room, as graceful as a sylph in a ballet. Perhaps more so, for a living ballerina could not have floated as lightly as Sophia did.

"I must say, I enjoyed hearing Aunt's response to the sight of you in my dress," she said. "Poor old thing to mistake you for me-her eyesight must be failing."

She twirled around the room again, her ragged skirt floating around her. "I still have Aunt wrapped around my little finger, but she positively detests you."

"Why don't you haunt her and leave me alone?" I asked. "She'd be happy to see you."

"Aunt is a boring old bat. She was useful when I was alive, but now..." Sophia shrugged. "I have no need of pretty things or sweets. Indeed, it's a relief not to make a pretense of loving her. Why should I continue the charade by appearing to her?"

"You are the most wicked creature I've ever met," I whispered. Despite my own feelings toward Aunt, I was glad she hadn't known Sophia's true nature.

Sophia smiled as if I'd complimented her. Twirling back to the chair, she settled next to me, numbing me with cold. "Poor James is so afraid of me," she giggled. "Did he scream and cry and throw a tantrum at the sight of you?"

I tried to move away from her, but she kept me close to her. "He told me you want him to die," I said.

Sophia twirled a strand of hair around her finger and curled it into a ringlet. "I was cheated," she said. "James was meant to die, not me."

"How can you believe such a thing?" I asked. "No one knows who is meant to die and who is meant to live."

Clenching her fists in anger, Sophia jumped to her feet. "It's not fair! It's not fair! It's not fair!" she screamed like a small child. "Why should he be allowed to make me miserable even after I'm dead? Didn't he make me miserable enough while I was alive?"

Frightened by her anger, I cowered in the chair. "I cannot believe James ever caused you pain," I whispered.

"He was born, wasn't he? Isn't that enough?" Giving me a look of pure hatred, Sophia ran from the sitting room. Behind her, the fire died down, nearly extinguished by the draft of cold air she created.

As soon as she was gone, the flames on the hearth leapt up, snapping and crackling, but it took a long time for them to warm the icy air.

When I was certain I was alone, I drew my knees to my chest and curled up in the chair like a cat. I tried to lose myself in my novel, but instead of reading Thackeray's words, I heard Sophia's voice in my head, taunting me. What did she want with me? Could I really resist her? Or was James right about her being too strong for me to fight?

Just before the clock struck seven, Nellie appeared in the doorway. "Miss," she said almost fearfully, "I come to say dinner be ready and they be a-waiting on ye."

"Nellie." I ran to her side and took her arm. To my dismay, she flinched as if she expected me to hit her. "Oh, Nellie, I am so sorry I spoke harshly to you. I don't know where those words came from. Please accept my apologies."

Nellie studied my face, her eyes troubled. "Ye scairt me, miss. I thought I'd done summat wrong to make ye so mad."

"No, you did nothing wrong." I gave her a quick hug. "I promise never to speak to you like that again."

Nellie nodded and darted out of the room as if I'd embarra.s.sed her.

Behind me, I heard a mocking laugh. "You have the mind of a servant," Sophia whispered. "Soon you'll be helping that detestable girl with her ch.o.r.es."

A draft swept out of the room ahead of me and vanished into the shadows.

In the dining room, Uncle sat at the end of the table and Aunt sat at his right. They looked at me but neither smiled. Their faces were solemn. Indeed, Aunt's was grim.

"Sit down, Florence," Uncle said.

I sank into my chair across from Aunt. It was clear she'd told Uncle about my disobedience. Lowering my head, I toyed with my spoon, moving it to the right and back to the left. I had no appet.i.te for the steaming soup in front of me.

"You know that James needs peace and quiet," Uncle said. "He must not be upset or disturbed in any way. Yet you entered his room without permission and frightened him."

"I'm very sorry, Uncle." My face burned with shame. Unable to meet his eyes, I kept my head down. "I never meant to harm James-I just wanted to meet him. I didn't think-"

"You are a thoughtless, selfish, disobedient girl," Aunt interrupted. "Excuses cannot change what you did. It is unforgivable."

"Now, Eugenie-" Uncle began.

"The girl is a troublemaker. I sensed it from the first." She took a deep breath and added, "If you need to be convinced, listen to what else Florence has done. She went to the attic and removed things from Sophia's trunk."

To my mortification, Aunt pulled Clara Annette from her lap and brandished the doll as if it were evidence in a criminal trial. "I found this hidden in a drawer in her bureau."

For a moment, we all stared at the doll as if we expected it to speak.

"The head is broken beyond repair," Aunt went on, nearly in tears. "It was Sophia's favorite, very expensive. I brought it home from Paris. A Madame Jumeau doll with a little trunk of clothing, made to order to match Sophia's wardrobe. And look at it. Look at it!" She shook the doll in Uncle's face.

Uncle tried to say something, but Aunt wasn't finished. "There's more. When I caught her in James's room, she was wearing Sophia's best dress. Then do you know what she did with it? Thrust it into the coal fire in her bedroom. She could have burned down the house!"

"That was very foolish." Uncle turned to me, clearly puzzled. "I don't understand your reason for burning the dress."

"I had to get rid of it," I wept. "I had to!"

"You see?" Aunt leaned toward her brother. "The girl doesn't have good sense. Who knows what she'll do next?"

Uncle shook his head sadly. "I do not understand," he repeated. "Your thoughtless act endangered us all."

"I recommend locking up the kitchen knives," Aunt said, her lips pursed so tightly, she could barely speak. "Next she might take it into her head to murder us in our beds."

"Now, now, Eugenie," Uncle said calmly, "you are on the verge of hysteria."

"I'm sorry." I wrung my hands in dread and remorse. "I'm truly, truly sorry, Uncle. If you wish to send me back to Miss Medleycoate, I'll go."

"Send you back to Miss Medleycoate?" Uncle stared at me. "Whatever gave you such an idea? You're my flesh and blood, Florence. I have no intention of sending you away."

"Except to boarding school," Aunt said primly. "We have agreed to that, brother. At Saint Ursula's Academy, Florence will be taught etiquette and deportment. She will cease reading novels and apply her mind to serious moral works."

Uncle Thomas winced at his sister's rising voice. "Perhaps we should discuss these issues at some other time," he said, "when we are all calmer. It's obvious that Florence is sorry she behaved thoughtlessly."

"Thoughtlessly." Aunt looked heavenward as if seeking patience. "Her behavior is more than thoughtless, Thomas. In my opinion, it borders on malice."

Malice. I stared at my aunt. If she knew Sophia as well as she thought she did, she'd have a better idea of the difference between malice and thoughtlessness.

"She is clearly jealous of her cousin Sophia," Aunt went on. "Why else would she destroy her things and upset her brother? Poor, blameless Sophia, struck down in her youth and beauty by a cruel accident. How can anyone be jealous of a dead girl?"

"I am not jealous of Sophia," I said. "She-"

"Sophia was your superior in every way," Aunt interrupted, before I could tell her the truth about her precious Sophia. "Beauty, intelligence, grace, and rect.i.tude," she went on. "Perfect manners, too."

Uncle frowned at his sister. "Sophia had her faults, Eugenie. We are all flawed. You as well as I."

"Speak for yourself, Thomas!"

Ignoring his sister, Uncle began to carve the roast. "Let us eat while the food is still hot." So saying, he pa.s.sed a plate to me. "Please help yourself to potatoes and carrots, my dear."

Suddenly Aunt leaned across the table and tapped my hand sharply with a bony finger. "Have you begun reading Pilgrim's Progress?"

"No, I have not." I looked her in the eye as I spoke. "I do not care for it."

"You do not care for it." She shook her head. "I suppose you do not care for the state of your immortal soul either?"

"Eugenie, please." Uncle patted his sister's hand. "Allow the child to enjoy her dinner."

"As you wish, Thomas." Aunt rose from the table. "Please tell Nellie to bring my dinner to my room."

In the silence that followed her departure, the air settled around us comfortably.

"I'm sorry, Uncle," I said. "It seems I can do nothing to please Aunt."

"Don't blame yourself, Florence. Eugenie is not an easy person to please." He smiled at me. "Now stop fretting and eat your dinner. You don't want to disappoint Mrs. Dawson."

Pus.h.i.+ng my cold soup aside, I picked at the food on my plate. What little I ate, I did not enjoy.

When Nellie came to clear the table, Uncle and I retreated to the sitting room and settled by the fire to read, he with a thick book of essays by Thomas Carlyle and I with Vanity Fair.

"Uncle," I said, "am I really to go to boarding school?"

He looked up from his book, his face rosy in the firelight. "You need a proper education, Florence. You're obviously a highly intelligent girl."

"Couldn't you teach me here?"

"Me?" He chuckled. "I wouldn't have the slightest idea of where to begin. My mathematics are quite rusty, and my scientific knowledge is limited to the ancient Greeks."

"Aunt teaches James."

"Not very well, I fear." He looked at me closely. "I don't think you'd enjoy her methods."

"No, probably not." I snuggled deeper into my chair and watched the fire dance upon the logs, slowly consuming them.

"I've been considering hiring a governess for James," Uncle continued. "Eugenie is opposed to the idea, but she hasn't the skill to teach the boy more than the rudiments-which he has already mastered, as have you."

Remembering my cousin's hysterical behavior, I touched my uncle's hand. "Is James well enough to have a governess?"

"Yes, I think it will do him good." Uncle smiled at me. "She could give lessons to both of you. I can't think of anything better for him. Or for you."

Suddenly worried, I looked at Uncle anxiously. "Will James want to see me again?"

"I talked to him before dinner. He wants you to know he's sorry for his outburst."

"I'm relieved to hear that, Uncle. I would enjoy taking lessons with James." I paused a moment before asking an important question. "But will Aunt agree to my staying here? She seems determined to be rid of me."

Uncle contemplated the fire as if the words he needed might be found in its flames. "My sister often wants things she doesn't get," he said softly. "She hasn't had a happy life."

With an attempt at a cheerful smile, he turned to me. "I prefer to keep you here with James. So here you will stay. Tomorrow I shall begin my search for a suitable governess."

With that, he reopened his book and I reopened mine. For some time we read in silent harmony. It didn't matter that Sophia joined us. It didn't matter that she crept close and whispered, "Aunt might not get everything she wants, but I do." It didn't matter that she drew some of the warmth from the fire. With uncle beside me, I felt safe.

Going up to bed after supper was a different matter. Buried under a heap of quilts, I s.h.i.+vered as if I'd never be warm. Although I didn't see or hear her, I knew Sophia could be anywhere, visible or invisible, hiding in dark corners, watching and planning, mocking me, scaring me, a presence following me as closely as my own shadow.

Nine.

IN THE MORNING, I WENT down to breakfast feeling more tired than I'd been before I'd gone to bed. Sophia had chased me through dream after dream all night long. She wanted me to do something, she said I had to, and I knew I mustn't obey her. She was wicked, and the thing she wanted done was wicked too. I had to escape, but we were in the garden and she was here and there and everywhere. I couldn't get away from her. Or the thing she wanted me to do.

"You're up early," Mrs. Dawson said.

Yawning a great yawn, I reached for my teacup. "I had bad dreams."

"Never tell a dream before breakfast." Mrs. Dawson handed me a plate of bread, b.u.t.ter, and jam. "It's the surest way to make it come true."

I shuddered. "That's the last thing I want," I told Mrs. Dawson.

As I was finis.h.i.+ng my oatmeal, I saw Nellie hesitating in the doorway as if she weren't sure of her welcome. I raised my hand and beckoned to her.

Like a mouse, she scurried across the room and slid into a place beside me. "I been thinking, miss," she whispered, eyeing Mrs. Dawson's broad back. Deciding the cook was intent on her ch.o.r.es, Nellie continued in a voice so low, I could barely hear her. "Maybe it were her that made ye speak so mean." As she spoke, her eyes darted around the room. "Her ain't here now, is her?"

I looked around uneasily. "No, not now."

"But her can come anytime her wants." Nellie laid a cold hand on mine. "I been feeling her meself. Like a shadow her be, dark and cold and hateful."

"Can you see her, Nellie?"

"Almost." Her body tense, Nellie peered about just as I had, checking dark doorways and corners. "Her scares me something terrible, miss."

"How long have you known about her, Nellie?"

"Her been comin' upon me slowly." Fl.u.s.tered, Nellie knocked a spoon off the table and onto the floor.

Surprised by the noise, Mrs. Dawson looked over her shoulder. "Are you finished with your ch.o.r.es, Nellie?"

"No'm. I come to fill me bucket." With that, Nellie scooted to the sink and pumped water into her scrub bucket. Giving me a small, scared smile, she hurried out of the kitchen.

Left on my own, I took my book to the sitting room and sat down to read. Before long, Sophia waltzed across the room, dipping and turning as if she actually had a partner.