by Clara Cody
"Then tell me what you know about Fredrick's death," Stephanie said, leaning in.
He gave her a confused look. "There isn't much to tell. He drowned one morning."
"You didn't look into it at all?"
"Should I have?"
"We won't know unless we try. Was there anything suspicious about it?"
"Nothing whatsoever. He went out on the lake every morning. A storm came in while he was out and the boat must have overturned."
"But isn't that strange in itself?"
"How so?"
"If he was an experienced boatman, he should have known better than to get trapped out on the lake during the storm. And the lake isn't that large, anyway."
"He was also known to be quite the narcissist. He probably didn't think anything of the approaching storm."
"Still," Stephanie said, letting her mind wander off. Could what Maggie said be true? Did they really murder Fredrick and leave his body floating in the lake? She turned her attention back to Theodore, who watched her carefully. "What if I told you Fredrick wasn't dead? I have reason to believe—" she started just as the man re-entered the small saloon. Stephanie shrunk back in her seat.
The man lumbered up to their table. "You Stephanie Kitling?"
"Yes," she said, looking between the man and Theodore.
"A woman's here to see you."
Stephanie looked around the man but didn't see anyone.
"She's in the hallway." He shifted on his feet, his eyes flitting about awkwardly. "I thought it would be best for you to meet in private."
"But whatever—" she started, confused.
Theodore stood up from the table. "It's not a problem, Stephanie," he said, giving her a pressing look. "You needn't worry on my account."
Stephanie rose slowly to her feet. "But—"
"No, no, it's quite alright. I can hear all about your Great-Aunt's poodle over lunch, don't fret." He took her hand and kissed its surface. "I'll come by in a few hours. When I can have you all to myself." He winked and nodded a courteous farewell to the man.
She nodded. Her heart raced, surprisingly from the touch of his cool lips on her warm skin. "Until this afternoon, then," she called as he hurried from the motel.
Stephanie sighed, grasped her skirt and started towards the hallway. As she got closer to the hallway, a heavy feeling settled on her chest. She slowed her pace as she crept closer, searching her thoughts. Her stomach gradually shifted downwards. She stopped suddenly and closed her eyes, telling herself to relax. Opening her eyes, she started towards the hallway again.
When she rounded the corner, her stomach dropped heavily and hard.
Mrs. Callowell stood square and erect at the other end of the hallway, waiting for her.
Chapter 37
Stephanie
STEPHANIE SWALLOWED hard and began making her way down the hall. Meeting Mrs. Callowell before her door, Stephanie inclined her head slightly in a nod. "Ma'am."
Mrs. Callowell pursed her lips together. "May we speak in private?"
"Private?"
"Your room, perhaps." She gestured towards Stephanie's door.
Stephanie scratched her neck, looking down at the ground, searching her mind for any excuse. As seconds ticked by, she chewed the soft flesh of her lips more aggressively.
"I won't take much of your time, Stephanie, and I'm sure you'll find what I have to say most enlightening." From the purse she held at her side, she pulled a small, brown wrapped package. "This arrived for you this morning." She tilted her head to the side as though waiting to see how Stephanie would react, angling the package so that the sender's address was hidden.
Who would send me anything?
Stephanie sighed and extracted the key from her pocket. "Very well."
They entered the room and Stephanie closed the door behind them. She turned to face Mrs. Callowell. Their eyes locked as they circled each other. Mrs. Callowell looked at her as though seeing her for the first time.
"I hadn't expected you to come," Stephanie finally said.
Mrs. Callowell halted, eyeing Stephanie, re-evaluating her. "I hadn't expected you to leave."
Stephanie held out her hand. "The package?"
"Yes, of course." Mrs. Callowell placed it in Stephanie's hand. There was no return address on it.
Stephanie took the package to the small table beside the bed and wasted no time in tearing the paper. She opened the box and turned it over, letting the contents fall into her hand.
Her gold locket and a folded note.
Stephanie's breath caught in her throat. She closed her hand around the necklace, crumpling the paper. She unfolded the note and read it, holding her closed hand against her chest.
Stephanie,
I am returning the locket to you. I don't want it anymore.
I've always been a rational, logical woman, not prone to fits of wild imagination, but it is clear to me that this artifact is cursed. When I close my eyes, when I'm left alone, the strangest thoughts and visions fill my mind. I hear mother's voice as I fall asleep. The locket disappears and re-appears, only to disappear again. I haven't slept in days. Richard thinks I'm going mad.
I suppose that makes you happy, that I am suffering. I'm not surprised. At any rate, whatever is plaguing this vile necklace has made it clear it wants to be returned to you. It matters absolutely not to me, and you're welcome to have the evil, black thing. I'm not surprised it prefers you, low as you are.
It felt as though a great weight was lifted from Stephanie's chest. She slipped the chain around her neck and pressed the locket between her chest and hand, a warm smile spreading across her face.
Mrs. Callowell cleared her throat, reminding Stephanie that she was not alone.
Stephanie straightened to face Mrs. Callowell. "You didn't come here just for this."
"No, I didn't. Charles told me what he'd said to you. I don't blame you for leaving. In fact, I admire it."
Stephanie lifted her chin. "Why?"
"It's not an easy feat, abandoning the man you love to his fate. I never managed it, but it seems to have come quite naturally to you. How lucky you are."
A bitter, foul taste filled her mouth. What a cruel thing to say. "I suppose it's easier when the man is a liar and a coward. Not to mention a lunatic."
"Ah, so you don't believe it then?"
Stephanie raised her eyebrows. "Of course not." She wanted to finish this conversation as quickly as possible. The sooner Mrs. Callowell left, the sooner she could leave as well.
"You know there are spirits roaming the halls of the manor, do you not? You feel them, just as I do. Just as everyone does," she said matter of factly. "Ann's been in the house barely a full day and she knows it."
Stephanie shifted. "I don't see what that has to do—"
"It has everything to do with it. Why wouldn't a wandering spirit want to take form and be able to act out his desires, his perversions? What if he was powerful enough to do it?"
"You and Charles." Stephanie shook her head. "You've spent too long walled up in that house. It's driven you mad." Stephanie walked to the door and flung it open. "I don't think we have anything further to discuss."
"He spoke of you to me," Mrs. Callowell said, turning her head and taking a few steps toward the door as though nothing had happened. "Fredrick did. Or rather, he spoke of your mother."
Stephanie's stomach lurched. Her grip on the door handle grew shaking as she slowly forced the door closed. "My mother?"
"Hm." She focused her eyes on Stephanie again. "I won't tell you everything he said." Her lips curled as she paused a moment. "No, that would not be a kindness. But I will tell you this: he told me you have his favorite trophy and he wants it back."
"Trophy?" Stephanie barely managed the word. It couldn't be.
"Your mother's wedding ring."
A choked sob sprang from Stephanie's throat. How could she know that?
Mrs. Callowell's face grew hard and unyielding. "He said he could never f
orgive her for leaving him so he'd make it so that she could never leave him again."
Stephanie collapsed to the floor, holding herself up only by the doorknob she gripped. Her breaths came in short, fierce gasps. Her other hand curled around her locket.
"He murdered your mother, Stephanie." Mrs. Callowell was on the floor beside her, gripping her arm.
Stephanie closed her eyes, pressing her face against the door. "But he's dead." She shook her head wildly.
"No, he's not. He lives and he will kill again."
Stephanie's eyes flew open. She pulled her arm away from Mrs. Callowell's touch and stood, towering over her. Stephanie's whole body shook with the effort. "What do you want from me? Why did you come?"
Mrs. Callowell stood, holding back her shoulders and facing her squarely. "I want you to come back to Ripewood Manor. The truth is we need you."
"For what?"
Mrs. Callowell sighed. "We always needed you. Without a person to hold Fredrick's attention, he is unpredictable, he moves between us, slips through our fingers. It's like trying to grab a hold of water."
Stephanie's lips twisted into a sneer. "That's what I am to you? A carrot on a very short string?"
Mrs. Callowell set her jaw. "Unfortunately, yes."
Stephanie couldn't believe what she was hearing. She stepped back, shaking her head. "You really are crazy. How many women have you sacrificed for your cause?"
Mrs. Callowell stepped towards her. "How many women have we saved by stopping that monster when we did?" Her face fell as she realized what she'd said.
"So you did murder him."
"Murder?" She sneered. "Please! If a dog goes rabid, is not putting a bullet in the back of his head the most humane thing to do? For his sake as well as others?"
"A human is not a dog! There are laws for—"
"Laws?" Mrs. Callowell laughed callously. "My father had the law in his pocket well before doing anything to necessitate it. Investigating my father would have meant exposing their own misdeeds. No, Stephanie, no! Man's law and man's justice are for the sake and benefit of men, not women."
"What about your husband? After what he did to Tilly, he could have been put in jail. He wouldn't be able to hurt anyone from there."
Eloise sneered. "Is that what I was supposed to do? Condemn my husband to a life of imprisonment because of something my father did? He is still innocent. I may not be, but he is. I will go to prison before he does, I can promise you that. I won't forsake him. He's all I have."
Stephanie watched her, waiting to see if she was finished. "No, it is other women you have forsaken. Women that were sacrificed for your husband."
"That is what I'm trying to stop," she shouted. Her voice went cold again as she continued. "But we need your help."
Stephanie turned away. Resting her palm on her chest, she felt her mother's presence again, like a hand touching her shoulder. "I can't. I can't go back there."
"I can give you money."
Stephanie turned. "Money?"
Mrs. Callowell lifted her chin slightly, as a response to the look of disgust on Stephanie's face.
"Enough money so that you won't have to work as a maid anymore." She stepped around Stephanie, giving her a wide berth. "Just think, you and Charles could leave afterward. You'd be free to live together, far from all of this. You would be happy."
"Stop."
"You could buy a small farm, have children. He always wanted to be a father."
Stephanie closed her eyes. She could almost picture it; herself, a mother.
"You didn't know him before. He was so good, so kind. He would be a wonderful father. And a loving husband. Any woman—"
"No," Stephanie said. "I won't be used anymore." The strength behind the words she spoke surprised even herself. She meant it.
Mrs. Callowell's face drained of all its power and fight. She sucked in a quick breath and swallowed it down like bitter medicine. Her eyes grew watery and she looked to the floor.
"Please," she whispered, sounding like she was choking on the word. She looked up again, thick tears waiting on her eyelids. She blinked, releasing them down her face. She quickly dabbed at them, making the tears disappear in seconds, erasing any hint that they'd ever fallen. Stephanie wondered if they'd ever been there at all. "He's my life."
Stephanie felt her will softening.
"My father has taken so much. You lost your mother, I lost my mother. Don't let him take my husband too."
Stephanie took a deep breath. "What would you have me do?"
Mrs. Callowell gasped, releasing her breath. "Just be in the house. That was enough before and you'll be perfectly safe. We just need you there until the exorcism is finished."
"I have one condition."
Stephanie sat in the coach across from Mrs. Callowell. She watched her carefully as the other woman looked out the window. Next to her, Maggie moaned with each bump and jerking movement that rocked the coach. Stephanie looked over at her, leaning against the side of the carriage, her face as close to the window as possible.
Despite the obvious pain Maggie was in thanks to her hangover, Stephanie felt happy for her. At least now, she wouldn't have to go on drowning her sorrows in cheap beer and self-loathing. Maggie was going home. It hadn't even taken that much effort to convince Mrs. Callowell to take her back. Either she was that eager for Stephanie to return, or she missed Maggie's presence herself. Stephanie thought it might be a mixture of both reasons.
The carriage stopped in front of the Lamplighter Hotel. Stephanie excused herself and climbed out just as Charles was coming around to open the door for her.
"I would have gotten that for you," he said.
"I can open a door for myself, thank you," she responded and turned on her heel, making her way towards the hotel. This was a stop she had to make before returning to the manor.
Theodore was waiting for her in the restaurant. He immediately folded his paper and set it down. He rose but remained standing next to the table as she approached.
He took out his pocket-watch and looked at the time. "I hope that your meeting served you well. I've been thinking," he began as he lowered himself back onto his seat after she took a chair across from him. "If we take the eleven o´clock coach, we can arrive by seven this evening. There's a man who thinks that Fredrick—"
Stephanie shook her head.
"Why? We have no more trails to follow here."
"I'm sorry, Theodore. But I can't go with you."
"You prefer to stay here? We can do that, too. I'll go myself and return when I'm finished."
Stephanie looked out the window to the waiting carriage. "The key to Ripewood Manor is not in the city, Theodore. It's in Ripewood."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm returning with Mrs. Callowell."
He reeled back from her. "You can't! You said yourself it's too dangerous there."
"It's already done, Theodore. I'm leaving now. I just wanted to say goodbye."
Raking his nails against the fine, blond hairs on his chin, he paced before her. "All right, all right. We could use this to our advantage. I could accompany you, as your—"
"No!" she cried, reaching for him. She turned him to face her, gripping his arms. "You can't come. It's too dangerous."
He chuckled, raising his eyebrows. "It's too dangerous for me, but not for you?" He grinned at her with eyes full on condescending pity.
She wrung her hands, letting her gaze wander to the window again. Now, Charles stood in front of the carriage, kicking at the ground. Light rain drizzled around him, dripping from the rim of his hat. She looked back to Theodore just in time to see his gaze follow her over to the window. The smile fell from his face and his eyebrows drew closer together.
His eyesight snapped back to her. "So that's it, is it? This morning you wanted to get as far as possible from that place, and now you're ready to go running back to him? I can't help but wonder what he could have possibly said to you to change your mind so drastically."
"Charles didn't visit me," she explained, taken aback by his sudden anger.
He stabbed the air with a pointed finger. "But you're going back to him, you don't deny that."
"It's nothing to do with him. We have to end it, once and for all."
"We? You're in league with them now?"
Stephanie took a deep breath. She had to choose her words carefully. Theodore wasn't one to easily drop a bone once he'd sunk his teeth in. "I know how it sounds, Theodore, but—"
"No, no, Stephanie, I don't think you do. You're returning to a madhouse, filled with people who believe the master of the house is possessed and whose hero of the day is an excommunicated priest who already has one death under his belt. What did she say? Did she threaten you with something? There must be some reason you're doing this."
"It may not be the safe thing or the easy thing to do. But it is the right thing."
"That's foolish."
Stephanie looked into his impassioned but cold, logical, calculating eyes. How could a man so devoted to facts and the rule of law ever understand?
She shook her head. "I have to go, Theodore. I can never thank you enough for the help you've given me, but I have to do this. You can still walk away, though. I hope you will." She let his hand drop from his and turned to leave. She didn't look back, but she could feel his eyes following her.
She was abandoning him. She could only hope that he would do the same and forget Ripewood Manor and herself along with it.
Chapter 38
Stephanie
BY THE TIME THE CARRIAGE arrived back to Ripewood Manor, Maggie had fallen into a deep, rumbling sleep. Stephanie was thankful for her snores for once since it prevented the silence from bearing down on her.
As Charles pulled up in front of the manor, Maggie jolted awake. Stephanie reached for the door just as Mrs. Callowell cleared her voice loudly.
"We have another guest staying with us at present, a Mr. McGregor," Mrs. Callowell began. "And, although you aren't returning in an official capacity—as the maid, I mean—let me advise you that I might prudent to remain in the maid's quarters."
