by R. L. Weeks
I watch the children as they play in their drab, grey playground, and my smile evaporates. Tabitha’s face floats back into my memory. She will never play again.
I walk past the white-and-grey building and around the corner to the flats on the dirty street. Lines of washing hang from the windows. I gaze up and take it in. Grandmother told me that in her day many people did not use washing lines or metal tubs to wash in and that soap was not as readily available or low priced as it is now.
It is nice to see it all for myself instead of reading about the world from her books or hearing stories.
I walk past a dressmaker’s shop, Elegant Belles, and gaze into the window at the dresses hung on manakins. The fabrics look expensive. This must be where Grandmother goes to get our dresses and corsets. In the window is a poster reading “Corset too tight? Lose weight.”
I don’t hover. Several people walk down the street, and someone leaves the dress shop; I hear the bell tinkle above the door. I hurry past the shop and the apothecary next door. I try to remember the route Emmett took me on the night he found me, but I no longer recognise any of the streets around me.
“Okay, it’s okay, Raven,” I say aloud to myself and earn a look from a passerby. “This is a small town. I will find home again. I will get back home.”
Bam.
Some man knocks into me. I look up at him, as he’s easily six inches taller than me. He has red hair, freckles, and a chiselled jaw.
“So sorry, Miss.”
“It’s my fault,” I say quickly. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” I cut it short, hoping he will leave me alone.
“Are you sure you are okay?” he asks.
“I’m okay.” I look past him nervously.
It has an effect I don’t want. He tilts his head and furrows his brows. “Excuse me, Miss, but you don’t look okay.”
“I’m lost,” I admit. I need to get home, and he may be my only way. “I live on First Avenue.”
“I know where that is.” His cheeks ball up when he smiles. “Want me to take you?”
I bite my lip. Why is it not ever easy when I leave the house?
I either injure myself or get lost, and I always find some man to help me home. I almost laugh at the humour of it but stop myself. “Please.”
“What’s your name?” he asks me.
“Raven Pride,” I say. There’s no point in hiding it. I will be caught for being out anyway.
“I’m Tom. Tom Smith.”
I smile. “You didn’t seem shocked when you learned my name?”
He smirks. “Should I be?”
I lift an eyebrow. “I’m the town rumour. My grandmother owns the Pride mansion.”
He laughs. “Well, I just work at the factory. I don’t hear many rumours. Not from your part of town anyway.”
I glance sideways at him. His hair is wispy on top and dances as he walks. “Well, now you know.”
He laughs again, and I notice his dimples. He walks with poor posture and seems a little too relaxed. Although, what can be expected from a factory worker?
“So, Raven Pride,” he says and places his hand over his heart, “why are you out walking at night alone?”
“Would you believe me if I said that I have had the oddest week, and although my whole life is rather odd, that this week tops all that in comparison and I really don’t know what I’m doing anymore?”
Why on earth did I just say that? I mentally kick myself again. Well done, Raven, you sure do not know when to keep your mouth shut. Thankfully, his smile does not waver.
“We all have odd weeks.”
“Not as odd as mine.”
He raises an eyebrow at me as we walk onto First Avenue. “You sure do like to come out on top it seems. I guess a poor person like myself must not know how it feels to be so important.”
I purse my lips. “Excuse me, but that’s very rude. I think you’re taking what I say out of proportion, and with being uneducated—”
“We’re here,” he says, interrupting me.
I turn my back on him.
“You’re welcome,” he says when I don’t say anything.
I feel the frustration build inside of me, but I ignore him and open the door, which is thankfully unlocked. The chef must have forgotten to lock it when he came in.
I glance back, and Tom is smirking at me. I flush red with the embarrassment of being caught looking back and storm into the house.
Nora hurries over to me. Her teary brown gaze meets mine, and she wraps her arms around me. “Raven, I’m so sorry.”
I look up at her, wide-eyed. Why is she hugging me? I was just caught sneaking out.
Nora lets go and presses her lips together. Tears are falling down her cheeks. “Gertrude has died.”
I look at her blankly. Grandmother can’t be dead.
She elaborates, mistaking my silence for confusion. “She fell down the stairs and broke her neck.”
I finally exhale after not realising that I had been holding my breath. “What do I do now?”
Nora looks at me darkly and glances over to the living room. “Your uncle’s here to look after you.”
“No.” I take off my raven ring and fiddle with it. “I need Grandmother here, not him.”
Nora doesn’t say anything. Instead, she hugs me again and strokes my hair. “We’re going to be okay.”
I just stare blankly over her shoulder. I’m alone, for real this time. Happy Birthday to me.
Eight
I swallow hard as her casket is lowered into the ground. The leaves have deserted the cemetery and have been replaced by frost. The stormy weather matches my mood.
Over the last week, no matter how hard I looked, I could not find her ghost, which means Grandmother must have decided not to stick around and say goodbye to me for some reason.
Condolences are given as strangers shake my hand and pat my shoulder. The fog has set in, a permanent layer over the gravestones. I look at the wooden cross at the head of her grave and press my lips together to stop myself from crying again.
My uncle, who does not know about my gifts, doesn’t confine me to the house. It’s the strangest feeling, being able to leave the house when I wish. I’ve gotten what I wanted for years: freedom. But I never wanted it like this.
I stare at her headstone.
Not like this.
I dread going back into the house. My uncle sits downstairs on my grandmother’s chair, drinks brandy, smokes his pipe, and talks to other men who all compliment each other on how brilliant they are.
He pays little to no attention to me. He has inherited my fortune, a fortune he doesn’t deserve.
Nora screams in the night when he enters her room, and I plug my ears with my fingers like she tells me to do. Sometimes, I still feel like an eight-year-old girl, but this time, I have no one left to catch me when I fall.
Everyone slowly leaves until I’m left standing alone. I kick a rock across the ground and look into the hole.
“I will miss you, Grandmother.”
My eyes are still raw from the constant crying. One minute I feel okay again, and then without warning, the tears come back with a vengeance.
Uncle didn’t bother attending the funeral. Something about some business deal. I don’t care. He never bothered visiting her all these years, so why come to her funeral?
I walk down the path and wipe my eyes. The black veil I wear impairs my vision, and I almost step on the body of a dead raven.
I almost laugh at the irony of it.
Each step is painful. I don’t belong at the house anymore. It’s a ghost of my life with a family I no longer have and a future I no longer care about, a painful memory that’s hard to swallow.
I reach the wrought iron gates that creak with the sudden offset of wind. I walk around the corner and stop in my tracks. Emmett walks out the door of the orphanage. He props his cane under his arm and sucks in a deep breath.
“Emmett.” My glee is nothing more than delight
at a familiar face.
“Miss Pride,” he says with exasperation.
I look at him, confused. He was more forthcoming with me before. He looks at me with tired eyes and a vacant expression.
“Sorry, I just wanted to say hello…” I sigh. “Never mind.”
He searches my expression. “I apologise. It has been one crazy week.”
I point to my veil. “I’ve had a similar week.”
He sighs. “I’m so sorry. I did hear about your grandmother.”
“Oh.” I feel a twinge in my stomach. I thought he would come check on me when he heard. I don’t know why.
He extends his arm out for me to take. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, sounding genuine. “I have been unwell.”
I purse my lips and take his arm. “It is what it is. Are you well now?”
He nods but seems unsure. “I will be fine.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
I feel him tense up. “Nothing that can kill me.” He looks down at me and brushes my loose strands back. “I’m just tired. I’ve been staying up late…searching for answers.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask him to. I, too, have been searching for answers. Mine are just different to his.
“Well, I hope you feel better,” I say.
“Thank you. I heard your uncle is looking after you?” His mouth twists in disgust. “Albert Pride.” He spits the words out like venom.
“Yes,” I say. “Uncle Albert.” The name leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“He doesn’t care for me. He inherited the family fortune; that’s why he puts up with me. I believe I am quite the inconvenience to him.”
His gaze searches mine. “Has he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I huddle closer to him for warmth. “It’s depressing, but as long as he leaves me alone and I don’t bother him, I think I’ll be okay.”
Well, as okay as I can be without a soul in the world. At least I have Nora. I gaze at the brown and red trees in the orchard, which is covered with soot from the chimney of the factory. “I don’t how long I will be okay though.”
Emmett’s expression darkens. “You are of marrying age, Raven. Be careful that he does not marry you to one of his friends.”
“If he does, there is not much I can do about it. Anyway, perhaps his friends are not as bad as him.”
Emmett lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, sweet Raven, I know that all of them are as rotten as the apples that have fallen from these trees.”
I look over at the apples rotting by the tree’s roots and turn my head back to him. “What do they do? I mean, how are they bad?”
A couple hurries past, shielding themselves from the drizzle that begins to fall. He lowers his voice, not wanting to be heard. “He has his fingers in many pies, but there are whispers that he is involved in sex trafficking.” He clenches his jaw. “Selling virgins to men. Many believe that sleeping with a virgin will cure diseases.”
I gasp. “Oh my goodness.”
“Exactly.” He lowers his gaze to me. “That is why I beg of you to be careful. I was planning a visit to you sometime to warn you myself.”
I swallow hard, but the lump still remains lodged in my throat. At least Emmett actually planned on coming to see me, if only to warn me of my wretched uncle. “What do I do?”
“Stay out of his way.”
I pause. “I’m worried, Emmett, not just about my uncle but some other things I cannot explain, and I no longer know who to come to.”
I play around with telling him the truth but worry he may send me to the asylum.
We stop by the sign for First Avenue. “I know,” he says with conviction. “We all have demons we must bear.”
He turns without another word and walks away.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs and peek my head around the doorframe into the living room. Uncle Albert is sitting alone in front of the fire, holding a glass of honey-brown liquid.
“Uncle…” I say, hesitating.
“What is it?” he asks without looking at me.
“I was going to ask Nora to draw me a bath, but I can’t find her. Do you know where she is?”
“I fired her,” he says as if it is nothing, even though my world has just shattered. The last person from my childhood is gone.
“Why?”
He drinks the rest of his drink and slams the empty glass down on the mahogany side table. “You dare question me on who I fire?”
My heart races.
He points a thick, sausage-like finger at my face and looks at me through beady eyes. “You have been spoiled here.”
“I just wanted to know.”
He looks at me with disgust. “I do not care what you want to know.”
I remember what Emmett said. Just stay out of his way. “Sorry, I’ll go.”
His gaze trickles over my figure. “If you want a bath, then you can bathe in front of me,” he says with greedy eyes.
The statement sends shockwaves through me.
“I could make you,” he says. He grins, showing off his black teeth, which makes me want to gag. “No?” He raises a thick brow. “Well then, do not ask for a bath again. You have been spoiled for far too long as if you were his son. My stupid brother always had his head in the clouds, and you will end up with the same sticky end as him if you do not realise your place in this house.”
“What is my place?” I ask.
I feel it before I see it. I am thrown back as his hand hits my face. My cheek throbs as I regain my balance.
“Do not answer me back, child!”
It was honestly an innocent question. I really don’t know what my place is. I daren’t argue back, so I just nod.
He turns, and I watch him leave the cold room before I let the tears fall. I rub my cheek, which feels hot against my fingers, and fall to my knees.
I choke on sobs and feel the room drop a few degrees. Cold fingers touch my neck. I freeze, wondering if Uncle has come back.
I almost have a heart attack when I see him.
“Tom?”
His red hair is lighter. He looks at me with sad eyes. The mischievous glint has dulled. I stare at the gaping wound along his throat.
“Oh, Tom.”
Nine
I pull the covers over my head. “Can you not leave me alone for a second?”
Tom laughs. “Oh, come one, it’s not like I want to spend the rest of my existence stalking you, but seeing as you are the only one who can see or hear me, you have to deal with it.”
“Why, God, why?” I say jokingly.
He props himself on the end of my bed and shakes his head. “I have been asking the same question, girl.”
He still smiles.
I push my blonde waves back and arch an eyebrow. “I can’t believe you can still find humour in things. You’re dead.”
“Thanks for clarifying that,” he says and jumps up. “Now come on, we have a busy day. Like you said last night, I’m here until my unfinished business is taken care of, and you are the key to…” He points up at the ceiling and whistles.
“Okay, okay,” I say and groan as I get out of bed.
He grins. “You are dazzling in the morning.”
“Enough,” I say with no patience. I have slept for all of three hours, and my eyes feel heavier than the burden of finding his killer.
“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine.”
I sigh. “Not for you.”
He puts his hand over his heart. “Devastated.”
“Turn around,” I say as I pull off my nightdress and put on a simple purple dress. Since Albert has taken over the house, my maids have been dismissed and I cannot seem to get my expensive corsets on—or the dresses that go with them—myself. I have to admit, it is much more freeing to walk around without one constricting my every breath.
I let my hair fall in waves and don’t bother putting it up. It falls down to my belly button. I look in the mirror. I look dulled.
He turns around. “I have to say, I prefer this Raven to the stuffy, corset-wearing one with a tight updo.”
I almost smile, but my lips only curve slightly. “Well, I prefer this version of you,” I say jokingly.
“Ouch.” He grins. “In my defence, had I known you were a witch, I wouldn’t have said what I did.”
“I would throw a pillow at you would it not go right through you,” I say.
He smirks. “So, like I said last night, all I remember is walking into a room. They had a couple girls tied up,” he says, getting back to the task at hand. “They were talking about one girl who did not comply and almost got them caught.”
I bite my lip. “Did they say who she was or where they killed her?”
He shakes his head. “No, but they said she was from the orphanage. The other two girls were orphans too, and they were going to be used for something, but they did not say what.” He somehow grows paler. “That is when they saw me. The tallest of the two men shoved me into a wall and cut my throat with a knife. Then I woke up outside the butcher’s shop.”
I rub my forehead. “But that’s the part makes no sense. You would have woken up where your body was. You say you looked?”
“Well,” he says, waving his hand, “I wasn’t aware that I was dead, so I wasn’t looking for a body, but yes, I did walk up and down the street, and I didn’t see a body. It was only when my hand passed through the door to the shop that I realised something was wrong.”
“That’ll do it,” I say.
“Maybe my body is being kept in one of the houses.”
I walk over to my window, lean on the ledge, and look across the road. “Where exactly did you wake up? Show me.”
He points to the house next to the butcher’s shop.
“Right there.”
I look at the shop window and read the sign: “Fresh Meat Now For Sale.”
“That house is empty,” I inform him, “and I doubt the butcher would have done it.”
He shrugs. “Maybe I woke up there so I could find you?”
“Maybe, but we need to start somewhere.” I think for a moment. “I know where to start.”
