“Unwed mothers had to live in a home?” I could hardly believe it.
“Social mores were very different then,” May said. “Unwed mothers were hidden away until they gave birth, and their babies were put up for adoption. Then they could be rehabilitated, returned into respectable society and made marriageable.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Who thinks that way?”
“This was a while ago, remember,” Mavis qualified. “People were less tolerant than they are now. They’d lock the girls up in a room and leave them totally alone throughout delivery. They weren’t allowed out until the baby was born. Can you imagine, going through that alone?”
“No, but how does it relate to the little boy?” I asked quickly.
“Oh yes!” Mavis came back to the topic under discussion. “Well, we’ve checked local records and it seems that in 1955, Benjamin’s mother showed up here. She was only sixteen years old at the time. But once her child was born, she refused to give the baby up.” I was genuinely listening now. “To avoid being cast out onto the street, the girl took on the job of housekeeper. She earned her keep and was allowed to live here with her son. Even after he died, she remained at Grange Hall. It was the only home she ever knew.”
“When did she leave?” I asked. Mavis gave me a level stare.
“My dear, she didn’t.”
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t following their logic at all.
“She’s here still—she came with the place. I don’t think your grandmother had the heart to turn her away.” I froze as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
“Miss Grimes,” I breathed.
“Exactly,” May said and checked her watch. “Now we really must be going.”
“Where?” I asked.
“To make necessary preparations, but we’ll be back at midnight as planned. Make sure to wait for us.”
“Why midnight?” I called after them as they almost ran out the door.
“Surely you know the answer to that, Chloe?”
I returned them a blank face.
“Why, it’s the witching hour, of course.”
“That’s not a real thing,” I muttered under my breath. Or was it? Maybe I needed to get up to speed.
They scurried out of the room, leaving me more confused than ever. Climbing out of bed, I shut the door firmly behind them. I couldn’t shake the image of sixteen-year-old Miss Grimes showing up here with no one in the world to help her. She was probably scared and alone, with all her possessions in one suitcase, knowing her life was over before it had even begun.
Then I thought about my brother and how close I’d come to losing him so soon after Mom and how Isobel would keep on taking lives that didn’t belong to her, as carelessly as plucking daisies from the earth. A switch flicked inside me.
My body was racked with despair so strong I couldn’t stay upright. I buckled and curled up on the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees and my cheek pressed against the boards. The pain was like lashings to the heart.
“Get up,” I told myself out loud, fixing my gaze on the baseboard at eye level. “Pull yourself together, Chloe.”
What did that expression even mean? I wondered. It wasn’t like you could gather all the damaged parts of yourself and superglue them back together. I felt like glass that had shattered into splinters and shards. Nothing short of a miracle could make me whole again.
I was lost in my own thoughts when I heard someone speak.
“Stay there as long as you like.”
I raised my head to see Alex sitting at the rolltop desk, the sun revealing strands of copper in his hair. He didn’t seem concerned or unsure how to act despite finding me in the throes of a meltdown. I’d never had one in front of anyone before, but somehow it felt okay. Alex didn’t offer some meaningless platitude or tell me he knew what I was going through. He was just there.
“I…I’m sorry,” I hiccuped.
“Never apologize for feeling things,” he replied. “It’s what makes you human.”
“I just don’t know what to do without her,” I said between ragged breaths.
“I know, darling,” Alex said softly. “I know.”
A moment later, his shimmering form crossed the room and knelt down beside me. I shuddered, feeling invisible fingers trace down my cheeks. The sensation was not dissimilar to cool running water. The touch was too familiar now to startle me. In fact, it had the opposite, soothing effect.
“Alex?” I whispered, my voice thick with tiredness and pent-up emotion. “My little brother almost died today.”
“But he didn’t,” Alex replied. “We caught him in time.”
“What if you hadn’t come? What would’ve happened then?”
“I’ll always come, Chloe.”
“How can I be sure of that?”
“Grange Hall is my home and my prison,” he replied. “I see everything that happens, and I will know if you’re in trouble.”
I pressed my face into my hands. “We can’t keep doing this. One way or another, it has to end.”
A forlorn expression came into Alex’s blue eyes. I waited for him to say something but he didn’t.
“Mavis and May think they can help. I don’t know what they have in mind, but it better work.”
“There’s only one thing that will work for certain,” he said finally.
I felt my chin lift involuntarily. A spark of hope ignited in my belly. “What is it? Tell me!”
“You have to go home.” His words sank into me like stones. He didn’t meet my gaze, and I felt like the world was falling away beneath me.
“What?” It was a struggle to get the words out. “You don’t mean that.”
Alex bowed his head. “It’s the only way I can think to keep you safe.”
“But I don’t want to leave,” I blurted.
“I don’t think we have a choice now.” He was merely articulating the same conclusion I’d come to myself as I watched Rory’s trembling frame being lifted out of the boat. So why was it so hard to accept coming from Alex?
I was still shaking my head, unwilling to believe he wasn’t joking. “I’m not going anywhere!”
“Chloe, listen!” He pressed his fingertips together, as if in prayer. “Until today, I thought I could keep Isobel in check. But I don’t know how much longer I can control her.”
“If I leave, she wins.” I clenched my jaw.
Alex sighed audibly. “It’s not about winning or losing. If you leave, you and Rory will have your lives back. You were never going to stay at Grange Hall indefinitely. You have a life to get back to.”
I wasn’t ready to contemplate that thought yet. My home in America—in fact, the entire world outside Grange Hall—seemed so far away now. It was as if my whole life was now contained in this house and its grounds. I wasn’t even sure I would remember how to place an order at Coffee Bean or navigate traffic on the 405. Even if it was the smartest thing to do, I couldn’t leave yet. I couldn’t let Isobel drive me away. Maybe I could orchestrate things so that Rory went home without me, even though he’d complain vociferously and feel betrayed.
“Why does Isobel hate me so much?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from departures. “I know she’s jealous of our friendship, but there has to be more to it.”
“The dead never stop envying the living, Chloe,” Alex replied. “That’s a fact.”
“Why?”
“Life may be unpredictable and sometimes painful, but once you die, you realize how precious it was. It’s normal to feel anger or sadness or despair, but that doesn’t detract from the value of living. Who in their right mind would choose death over life? Isobel hates you because you can feel the sun on your skin and the earth under your feet. When she looks at you, she is reminded of
all that she’s lost.”
“I guess that makes sense.” I looked up slowly. “But why harm Miss Grimes’s son? It was Isobel, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know why she took that little boy,” Alex said heavily. “There’s no explanation other than revenge.”
“But Benjamin was from a different time.”
“I’ve never known revenge to be rational, have you?”
“Couldn’t you reason with her? Make her understand she has to stop?” I looked at Alex pleadingly.
“Isobel and I ran out of things to say to one another many years ago. I would talk to her if I thought she had any humanity left. The woman I loved died a long time ago. The thing that remains…that’s just a monster.”
“There’s something else…” I shook my head, trying to zero in on the thought skating around in my brain.
“What?” Alex asked.
“I sometimes get the feeling that… No, it sounds too ridiculous.”
“Say it.”
“That maybe I’m not the only one who’s afraid,” I said tentatively. “Maybe Isobel is afraid, too. But I don’t know why.”
Alex reached over and touched my cheek with the pad of his thumb, like he was wiping away invisible tears. It lifted my sadness and replaced it with an entirely different sensation, one I couldn’t quite describe. “It pains me,” he whispered. “Knowing the upheaval I’ve brought into your life.”
“Don’t worry.” I gave a faint smile. “My life was pretty boring before you came along.”
Alex’s face looked pinched. Even in death, I could see that he felt everything acutely. “I will not allow you to be placed in danger. You have dreams to realize, a future to look forward to. I have nothing but sadness and memories to offer.”
“Then tell me one thing.” My voice was hushed. I desperately wanted to touch the arc of his cheekbones and wind my fingers in his hair. “Why am I happier when you’re around?”
“I am nothing but a phantom,” he answered, sadness hanging over his elegant features like a shroud.
“No, you’re not!” I exclaimed. “You’re here, you’re talking to me. I could reach out and touch you… .”
“Yes, but this is all there will ever be.” Alex squeezed his eyes tight shut. When he opened them, they seemed brighter. “Don’t you want to marry someday, have children?”
“I don’t care about that,” I scoffed. I edged closer, so that we were almost nose to nose. “All I know is that I’m sad almost all the time. My mom’s gone and I’ll never see her again. But when I’m with you, it’s somehow easier to breathe.”
Normally I’d be cringing after going out on a limb like that, but I didn’t care anymore. I wanted Alex to know everything…to know me inside and out. He watched me, his expression inscrutable.
“Perhaps,” he murmured, “it’s because I carry enough sadness for the both of us.”
“Do I make you happy?” I asked.
“You are so full of life,” Alex said simply. “How could anyone be unhappy around you?”
Without thinking I slipped a hand around the back of his neck, amazed to find I could make contact. He didn’t pull away, and it ignited a tickling sensation that rippled across the surface of my skin. Goose bumps rose on my bare arms. Alex’s face was so close to mine, but I could hear only my own breathing. Our foreheads touched. My touch seemed to solidify him and infuse his body with warmth. We spent a long time like that, just gazing at each other. I didn’t want the moment to end. When he finally moved, I felt his lips graze mine. They were warm! Just as they did, the grandfather clock in the foyer floors below reliably chimed the hour.
Midnight.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Alex vanished on cue, leaving me clutching the empty air. There was no reason for him to go, but I supposed it was habit now. It would be weird, talking to people with him standing right beside me, knowing they could never see what I saw.
A moment later, Mavis and May stole silently into my bedroom, holding lit candles, which lent a ghoulish aspect to their appearance. I was reminded of the weird sisters in Macbeth, except I hoped these girls had better intentions. Then I noticed they were wearing bunny slippers and fleecy pink robes. If that wasn’t enough to kill the mood, I didn’t know what was. I sat up quickly and tried to compose myself.
“Hi,” I said as casually as I could.
“Good, you’re still up.”
May had a burlap bag tucked under her arm. Without saying a word, she headed straight for the window, where she dipped into the bag and began scattering white powder in a line across the windowsill like some kind of medieval herbalist. Meanwhile, Mavis withdrew a leather pouch and a stoneware bowl. I watched her reach into her pocket for matches.
“What the heck are you doing?” I hissed.
May tossed me a look over her shoulder, as if gravely injured by my doubt in their abilities.
“Trying to stall your vengeful spirit,” she replied.
“With spells?” I slipped off the end of the bed to get a closer look and dipped a finger into the white granular powder. I touched it to my tongue. “Salt?”
Mavis pulled a container of herbs from their never-ending bag of tricks.
“You really think salt and a few herbs are going to keep Isobel away?”
“Hardly,” Mavis scoffed. “We’re just trying to distract her.”
“Umm…” I tried to think of a tactful way to word this. “Do you ladies have anything that will have a more lasting effect?”
May looked at me and sighed. “Chloe, we’re talking about the invisible world here, another dimension. It’s hard enough to catch glimpses of those that dwell in it, let alone try to control them.”
Any glimmer of hope I’d placed in their expertise vanished like smoke. I felt them plummet in my estimation.
“Then why are you even here?”
“It’s not as hopeless as you think,” May answered, reading my face. “There are other things we can try later.”
“Later?” I asked bitterly. “You mean before or after Isobel realizes what we’re up to and takes us all out?”
“Listen,” Mavis said. “Before we can deal with this haunting effectively, we need more information about the woman in question. Otherwise, we’re just taking stabs in the dark.”
“What do you need to know?” I asked as Mavis struck a match and held it to the little dried bundle. The room was immediately infused with the acrid scent of burning herbs. She walked around, allowing the smoke to waft into every corner of the room. I looked on, mystified.
“Where and how she died would be a good start,” suggested May.
Suddenly, I was aware of how little I actually knew about Isobel besides the random flashes I’d been offered. She had shown me only what she wanted me to see. When it came to concrete facts, I had zip.
“I don’t know,” I said, crestfallen.
“The lake. She drowned herself there in 1853.” The voice came from behind me. I swiveled my head to see Alex. He was sitting in his usual place by the window, legs crossed and arms folded, his face unreadable. “The anniversary of her death is exactly a week from today.”
He nodded, prompting me to share the information. The Hunt sisters showed no awareness of his presence. How could they be so oblivious? To me, Alex seemed to fill the room. I could hear the soft tapping of his foot on the bare boards. I could even catch notes of his scent in the air.
“Why?” I stammered.
“Why what?” Mavis looked at me intently. “Are you all right, dear? You seem distracted.”
“I’m sorry. I’m fine.” I snapped to attention. “I just remembered. I do know how she died. She drowned herself in the lake in December of 1853.”
May narrowed her eyes. “Did she tell you that?”
&n
bsp; “I just know, all right?” I snapped. “What else?”
“Did she have any weaknesses in life? Anything that might prove useful.”
There was only one weakness I could think of, and he was sitting a few feet away, regarding the women with an expression of curiosity mingled with a vague distaste. I glanced at him questioningly and he shook his head.
“She’s wasn’t the weak type,” I told them.
“Don’t be silly, Chloe. She was human once. All humans have weaknesses.”
“Vanity,” Alex said in a low voice. “She was always very vain and proud.”
“Vanity,” I parroted.
They both drew sharp intakes of breath, like I’d just made the revelation of the decade. They were drama queens; there was no question about that.
“What makes you say that?” May asked.
“Umm…I’ve met her, remember?”
They glanced at one another, a spark in their eyes. “How very interesting,” Mavis said.
“Sure, but is it useful?”
“It might be. Do you know how old she was when she died?”
“Twenty-two,” Alex answered promptly. I obediently relayed the information. Then suddenly, his forehead creased and he doubled over, like he’d just taken a punch.
“Are you all right?” I was immediately on my feet.
The Hunt sisters watched, openmouthed. Alex’s gaze flickered across the room, until it fell on the smoking bundle of herbs. I picked them up, burning my fingers.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s a concoction of myrrh, mandrake and lavender,” said May. “It’s a well-known remedy to repel spirits that dates back to the Middle Ages.” She gestured toward the window. “Salt does the same trick.”
I dropped the smoldering herbs on the floor and ground them under the heel of my shoe. “Not cool,” I told them. “Not all spirits need to be repelled.”
Mavis raised an eyebrow. “You should never let the dead call the shots, dear. It lets them think they’re in control. No offense to your friend…”
Ghost House Page 17
