Hargrove House: The Haunted Book One

by Allie Harrison

  “We can.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Did you just call me Victoria?”

  He grinned at her. “It is your name, isn’t it?”

  “Only by my mother when she’s mad at me,” Torrie informed him. “Now, I’m going to tuck Eleanor in and then I’m leaving. I have a job to do here.” She still clutched the table to keep herself on her feet.

  He still held her arms. “And you’ve surpassed my expectations with it, too.”

  “Then don’t distract me. Let me finish it. You promised slow, remember?” She had never before mixed her business with any type of pleasure, especially the pleasure he gave her just then. And yet, these were the hardest words she’d ever uttered. She wanted nothing more than to grab him by the shirt and pull him close for another kiss.

  He let go of her completely. This time she couldn’t fight the shiver that slipped through her entire body.

  Then he slowly licked his lips as if to still taste her. “I’ll try to let you finish, but I think I have to give up on the slow part especially if it means denying my feelings for you, since that is impossible. But if you insist right now, I suppose we should go up and tuck in my daughter.”

  Torrie could not ignore the warmth of his hand on the small of her back as she went up the stairs.

  When they reached the first room at the top of the stairs, Torrie couldn’t ignore the warmth in there, either. The soft light of the lamp and the warm hues of pink all but said welcome. Eleanor wore a long white, flannel nightgown and stood near the nook that covered the stairs. But she ran to them as they came into the room.

  Before Torrie even knew what was coming, Eleanor hugged her tightly. It was impossible to stop the skip in her heartbeat as the little girl’s arms when around Torrie’s waist.

  “I’m so glad you came,” Eleanor said, her voice filled with excitement.

  “I told you I would,” Torrie replied, hugging the girl back for a moment.

  “Come see the bed I made for Miss Velvet. She likes this nook. I like this nook, too. If I didn’t like my new bed so much, I’d sleep up there, too.” As she spoke, she took Torrie’s hand and led her toward where she’d made a bed for Miss Velvet.

  “I’m surprised Miss Velvet doesn’t sleep in your bed with you,” Torrie put in.

  “I’m getting too old for that,” Eleanor replied frankly.

  “I see,” Torrie replied.

  “It’s time to climb into bed,” Will said. “Tomorrow is another busy day for all of us.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Hesitantly, she reached up and kissed the cheek he offered her. Before she climbed under the covers that he folded down for her, she hugged Torrie tightly again. “Please promise you’ll come and tuck me in every night.”

  Torrie smiled to hide the embarrassment that surged through her. She would love to be here to tuck this girl in every night, and she didn’t want to break Eleanor’s heart by telling her that idea probably wasn’t possible. “We’ll see,” she said instead.

  “And can you help me with my studies again?”

  After a slight hesitation, Torrie replied, “We’ll see about that, too.”

  Once Eleanor was in bed, Torrie tucked the blankets around her. “This is how my mother used to tuck me in,” she said.

  Eleanor snuggled under the covers and giggled. “It’s how my mother used to tuck me in, too.”

  Torrie’s heart caught, and it took a moment for her to recover. Then she leaned down without hesitation and kissed Eleanor’s brow. “Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise,” Torrie promised.

  “And will you eat breakfast with me? Alice is making her famous cinnamon buns.”

  “Is that so?” Torrie didn’t question the fact that Alice hadn’t been there working long as a housekeeper. Had she been there long enough for Eleanor to know she made famous cinnamon buns? Obviously so.

  “Yes.”

  Torrie smiled. “Save me one.”

  “I will.”

  Chapter Five

  Torrie showed up at Hargrove House very early the next morning. She needed to put things into perspective, needed to sort her feelings, needed to look at the job as just that—a job, as she set her mind to doing the job. She knew she might see Will. She knew she might see Eleanor or Alice, but she needed to get back into the feelings of the house and what it needed before the work crews showed up. She stood in the ballroom and tried to feel what else it needed, just as she had done with so many of the other rooms. Then she stood in those other finished rooms and made sure they had everything she thought they required. She also wanted to see her work completed. It was the only way she could keep the job business and put her personal feelings aside.

  The only problem was she didn’t want to keep her personal feelings aside. Not anymore.

  And the minute she walked through the front door, let the familiar smells of the house—lemon furniture polish, fresh paint, wallpaper paste, new wood and plaster—touch her, she knew she would never be able to put any feelings aside. Why try any longer? What made it all the harder was the scent of cinnamon that seemed to fill every room as Alice’s cinnamon buns obviously baked.

  But that didn’t mean Torrie couldn’t still do the job.

  She could and she would. Why not have the best of both worlds? Why not see where her feelings for Will could lead?

  But first—the job. It wasn’t easy because as she stood alone in the ballroom for fifteen long minutes, all she thought about was the man she knew occupied the master bedroom one floor below her. If all went well, the floor of the ballroom should be finished today. The round sofas were supposed to be delivered today. She planned go up to the attic herself and look at the paintings later that day to decide what would look best hung where. She didn’t even know what was up there or even how to get up into the attic, just that Will had told her they were there.

  She took a deep breath, feeling again as if she was in control, feeling again as if the job—the house—was in its rightful place in her list of priorities. Yes, Will and Eleanor were there, too, but at least her thoughts were on the details the house required. If she had to share them with Will and Eleanor, then it was part of the job, she decided, the best part.

  Then she thought of Eleanor sleeping downstairs in the room that Torrie had planned, designed and created, and her heart took a painful twist. It was so easy to forget about the ballroom. It was just as easy for forget about her job and her business when she thought of Eleanor. She could quietly go down there to see Eleanor at play or perhaps still sleeping in the bed Torrie had ordered with a little girl just like Eleanor in mind.

  Hargrove House was Torrie’s greatest project ever, and she had fallen in love with it. She’d also grown to love Will and Eleanor and she wasn’t sure she could function without seeing them every day. Lunch would just never be the same. Hell, Torrie thought, even if she did get Alice’s recipe for chicken salad, she knew hers would never taste as good. And tea—would Torrie ever enjoy another cup of tea without thinking of Will or Eleanor or even the lovely flowered tea pot from which Alice served tea?

  She closed her eyes. She had to finish this job. She had never started a project and not finished it. Nor had she ever let her emotions become so tangled in it.

  Filled with a better sense of control, she quietly made her way down the large spiral stairs past the second floor before her feet moved on their own and headed to Will or Eleanor’s bedroom. She couldn’t help but notice that all was quiet on the second floor, Will and Eleanor must still be asleep. Again, Torrie considered looking in on Eleanor. She told herself she wasn’t Eleanor’s mother, she had no right, even if Eleanor did hug her at every opportunity and ask Torrie to tuck her in.

  Drawn by the heavenly aroma of cinnamon, she approached the kitchen just in time to hear the faint sounds of shoveling from the cellar. She stopped right where she was and listened as the sounds continued and a shiver moved slowly up her back like ic
y fingers trying to scratch her.

  The house called to her, welcomed her, but the cellar…

  Something horrible was in the cellar.

  Torrie didn’t know how she knew, she did. She couldn’t go down there.

  She tried to convince herself that just as Eleanor was not her business, the shoveling wasn’t either.

  It wasn’t easy. She stood completely still and thought of the night before. The kiss had been unreal. But it was the way he’d said her name that sent her heart slamming into the wall of her chest. “Victoria…” He’d said her name as if he always called her that name. He’d said her name as if he knew her intimately.

  Okay, she said to herself. You have to shake this off. You have a job to do—a big job. Get over the shoveling sounds, and do your job. If he wanted you to know what he was doing down there, he’d share it with you.

  Yet, she had to know. She had to at least know why the sounds ate at her insides as if begging her to discover their meaning.

  Her feet remained rooted to the floor. And then before she knew what she was doing, she was standing at the cellar door.

  It let out a loud creak as she pulled it open and looked down.

  Again, the stairs faded into nothing as they were swallowed by the darkness.

  The sounds of shoveling stopped abruptly.

  “Miss Torrie.”

  At the sound of Alice’s voice from the across the kitchen, Torrie jumped and nearly stumbled down into the darkness. She started and let out a gasp as she looked at Alice. “You have got to stop sneaking up on me, Alice. You scared the hell out of me…” She clamped her mouth shut to keep from babbling further, given she’d just been caught like a child with her hand in the cookie jar.

  “Is there something I can get for you?” Alice asked, not bothering to apologize for scaring Torrie as she did.

  “No—no, I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll make you a pot of tea and put it in the parlor for you.” Her footsteps making not a sound on the tile floor, she came closer and closed the cellar door.

  Torrie recognized a dismissal when she saw and heard one. “Tea would be fine, Alice, thank you.”

  “And Mr. Dalton would like you to meet him in the ballroom at eight. He plans to go up into the attic and bring down the paintings he wants to hang in the ballroom. He’d like you to accompany him and give your opinion.”

  Torrie nearly laughed at the idea that Will might be reading her mind since she had already been in the ballroom and bringing down paintings was what she’d planned to do today anyway. “I’ll be there, thank you.”

  She turned and walked away, heading to the parlor—to her office, to her work.

  “And Miss Torrie?”

  From the doorway, Torrie turned back to Alice. “Yes, Alice?” Her words were slightly clipped. Torrie was still a bit miffed by the way Alice had startled her and never apologized.

  “I understand the washing machine and the dryer arrive today.”

  “I think so, yes. I know there hasn’t been much done to that old wash room, I mean laundry room, but—”

  “I don’t want much done. It looks like an old-fashioned wash room. And I wondered if we could leave it that way.” Alice looked so stiff, prim and proper in her black dress and straight stature, Torrie couldn’t imagine her ever stepping foot in an old-fashioned wash room, much less scrubbing clothes in a sink with a wash board.

  “I don’t see why we couldn’t if that’s what you want,” Torrie replied. “There are plenty of other things that need done, as long as it’s all right with Will. I’ll talk to him about it.”

  Alice nodded.

  And Torrie headed on to the parlor. She could have sworn as she left the room, she again heard the faint sounds of the shovel.

  A short time later, she sat in front of her computer doing work she’d neglected when she was studying math instead. Alice came and delivered a pot of tea and a tray of scones, complete with butter and whipped cream, as well as two cinnamon buns.

  “You’re amazing, Alice,” Torrie said. She knew better than to ask how Alice could whip up scones or buns as perfect as the two before her without an oven.

  “Thank you, Miss Torrie.”

  “A bit on the dry side,” Torrie added to herself once the woman was gone again, “but you sure know how to cook and serve.”

  She met Will in the ballroom promptly at eight. “You’re going to like the stairs going up to the attic,” he said, taking her hand.

  His hand in hers felt dry and callused, but still so warm.

  “I don’t think I like the sound of that already.” Torrie heard the workmen with their usual good morning cantering making their way up the stairs. She would have liked to wish them a good morning and let them know what a good job they were doing, but Will whisked her away toward the wall at the far side of the room. He pushed a hidden door to reveal a small set of narrow stairs going up. They were old and dusty and didn’t look as if they would support a child.

  Torrie let out a nervous chuckle. “I think I’ll let you go up there alone. After all, one of us should stay down here and call 9-1-1 when you fall back down.”

  “Oh, come on. As long as we aren’t both on the same step at the same time, we should be fine.”

  “I think we should let Rex Walker or someone in his crew come in and check them first, maybe add a few supports.”

  He grinned like a school boy at her. “I doubt they even know the steps are here. In fact, I’m sure no one knows they’re here.” The hidden door slid closed behind them, and the darkness swallowed them.

  It was enough to cause Torrie’s breath to catch. She suddenly couldn’t move, much less hardly speak.

  Will must have felt her tension. “What’s wrong?”

  “Dark…I don’t like the dark,” she let out, her words breathy.

  “It’s all right,” he assured.

  “No, I really don’t like the dark, I don’t know why. But I can’t breathe.”

  “Torrie?”

  “Oh…” The room was closing in on her. She was going to suffocate, be buried alive. She would have screamed but she couldn’t draw in enough breath, her chest was too tight.

  “Torrie?” He took both her hands in his and squeezed them, hard, almost painfully hard. “Listen to the sound of my voice. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes…” Her single word answer was hardly more than a whisper.

  “Keep listening to my voice. Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t leave you alone. I promise. We don’t need light,” Will said softly. “Close your eyes. Hold my hand. I know the way by heart.” He gave her hand another squeeze. “And I promise you’ll be fine. I’ll hold you tight, and I’ll catch you if you fall.”

  “Well, that makes me feel so much better. We can fall together.”

  He laughed as if that was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Really—close your eyes. Stay close to me.” He pulled her against his body. Then with his hand holding hers tightly, he pulled her up the steps. The steps creaked and groaned under the weight, but they held.

  Torrie realized she’d been holding her breath all the way up and finally let it out when they reached the doorway at the top.

  She opened her eyes and let her breath out in a huff.

  “You really are afraid of the dark,” he noted.

  “I always have been. It’s why I’m afraid of storms—it’s not the thunder and lightning. It’s the fear that the electricity will go out, and I’ll be in the dark. I know it sounds crazy but I have two flashlights in my car and two under my bed and one in my purse.”

  “Interesting…”

  The attic was just as she’d imagined. Filled with light from an oval attic window on all four sides of the house, the attic was dusty, neglected, huge, and filled with treasures. Trunks, a dressmaker’s mannequin, and standing mirror, a folding screen, and various toys were just some of the things Torrie took in on her first quick inspection. “Wow,” she let out. “This is worth
coming through the dark.”

  Will still held her hand and pulled her further into the room. “Yes, this would be a fun place to explore, wouldn’t it?”

  “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Torrie said. “I could decorate the whole house with what’s up here.”

  “We could stay up here all day,” he teased.

  “I have work to do.”

  “You’re working with your boss right now.”

  “I am, huh?”

  “Yes, look at this.” He led her to another dress maker’s mannequin.

  “It’s beautiful,” she let out, talking about the green gown that hung on it. Complete with beads and gemstones and ruffles, it was an elegant turn of the century ball gown.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked as she stared at it.

  “I was thinking it reminds me of a ring I have,” she muttered more to herself than to him.

  “I’ll bet it would fit you,” Will said. He reached out and touched it as if it were something made of gold.

  “I’ll bet I’m not going to find out since I’m not going to try it on. If it’s been up here for a century, it’s liable to come apart with my pulling or tugging on it.”

  “What difference would it make? It’s not like anyone is going to come up here and claim it. I’m sure it would look beautiful on you.”

  “Oh, stop.”

  He chuckled. “Why do you hate when I compliment you?”

  “I’m not used to compliments, I guess.”

  “We’ll just have the change that, won’t we.”

  “I said, stop,” she insisted. She looked around more. “If the family just disappeared without a trace, how do you suppose any of this got up here?”

  “Perhaps William Hargrove had a friend, a friend who knew about this room, a friend who searched for him but never found him. So the friend hid everything up here to keep it safe.”

  “That’s a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?”

  “I think anything’s possible. Here, look at this.” He changed the subject as he directed her to an old crank record machine. Absently, he winded the crank and put the arm down on the thick record. The tune that poured from the speaker was scratchy but audible.