Greenwood Manor

by Shannon Leigh

  "Where are you?” she asked, feeling a bit silly.

  No answer.

  Sensing a presence, she trained her gaze on the marble-topped fireplace on the opposite wall. Her watchful stare slowly slid along the room, briefly settling on the velvet covered fainting-couch in the corner, and then moving to the French-style, double doors leading out to a private balcony. Nothing.

  Now you're hearing things, too!

  Laura clicked off a mental list of all the occurrences she'd experienced over the last twenty-four hours. Seeing, smelling, hearing, what's next? Touching? The idea made her shudder. Let's hope not.

  Exhausted, she attempted to rub some of the weariness from her eyes with the palms of her hands. How did I get in here?

  Someone had obviously removed her unconscious form from the foyer. Knowing William couldn't have lifted her, nor the elderly woman with the gentle face and gray bun, she assumed it must have been the younger man she'd seen just before blacking out.

  Laura closed her eyes and concentrated on bringing forth his memory. At first, the vision was vague at best. But as she willed the image to emerge, his features became strikingly clear.

  She caught a glimpse of auburn hair with fiery highlights curling against a starched collar, thick brows above an aquiline nose, and a firm mouth with generous lips. Her attention lingered there, focusing on the hint of mischief playing at the corners as though guarding some deep, dark secret. Odd she would remember it now, especially since she'd only just noticed his presence a fleeting second before losing consciousness.

  Her interest moved to his complexion. His flawless skin seemed almost too perfect for a man. Pulled taunt over high cheekbones and a firmly square jaw, its pale ivory tones resembled porcelain. Laura wished it were more than just a memory in her mind's eye, for she had the strange urge to touch him, discover if his flesh were warm and stubbled, as a man's should be, or if it were as cold as that of an inanimate doll.

  The heady aroma of sandalwood and pine needles drifted to her nose. Laura inhaled deeply. I ... remember this smell.

  "Do you remember the taste of my lips? The feel of my hands upon your flesh? The pleasure of our bodies joined as one? For not a day has gone by that I haven't dwelt upon those precious memories of you."

  A muffled cry escaped Laura's lips and her eyes flew open as the smooth, male voice sung through her ears. His face hovered mere inches before hers. Had he been any closer, their mouths would be touching. Copper irises ringed and flecked with gold briefly bore into hers before fading away.

  She let out a throaty scream, then jumped off the bed and raced for the patio—the closest exit from the room. Once outside on the balcony, she leaned against the balustrade, eyes glued to the doors. Chest heaving, breaths gasping, Laura waited for the ghostly image to follow her.

  Any second now, he's going to float through those doors, and I'm going to jump over this railing!

  After several tense moments failed to produce any more ethereal images, she forced herself to calm down. All right, Laura. You're seeing things again. She wondered if she'd hit her head when she'd passed out earlier.

  It took every ounce of willpower she had to turn her back to the patio doors and look down at the courtyard below. Her fear ebbed as she took in the massive fountain with its broad marble base and tall central spout. Its diameter easily matched that of a swimming pool. Though, she was sure William would frown upon her wading in their pond.

  Several large, blue herring statues dotted the smooth water, their full-sized frames appearing alive as they stood frozen in timeless stances of regal elegance. Lush green lily pads the size of dinner plates floated gracefully upon the shimmering surface like saucer-shaped life preservers, offering buoyant protection to multiple lilies whose petals were the color of pure ivory and looked as delicate as priceless china.

  Laura's gaze followed along the red brick walkway surrounding the fountain like a ring. The paths came together at the back, joining into one long lane that traveled through a garden maze filled with an indigenous array of plant life and exotic blooms, then disappeared into the forestry behind.

  So caught up in the scenery below, Laura only vaguely registered the pounding coming from her room. When the persistent hammering finally broke through her dazed stupor and she realized someone called for her, she cautiously opened the patio doors and peered inside the bedchamber. Seeing no evidence of her previous ghostly visitor, she hurried across the room.

  She hesitated at the door. Anyone or anything could be out there. Did she dare let it in?

  "Mrs. Flannery, are you all right?” William's voice was shrill and full of alarm.

  Laura quickly unlocked and opened the door, forcing a smile when she met the butler's concerned expression. The elderly woman stood next to him, her features similarly fretful. But Laura's calm façade began to falter when she realized her door had been locked from the inside, and she knew she hadn't locked it.

  "I'm fine. Just ... startled, is all,” she forced out through stiff lips. Feeling an artic chill creep up her spine, Laura shivered. Even without turning around, she sensed her visitor had returned.

  William frowned, the disbelief apparent in his dull brown eyes. “Startled?” he asked, obviously not convinced. “By what? If I may ask.” His beady stare shifted past her to glance into the bedchamber. Apparently not finding anything out of the ordinary, his gaze returned to hers.

  Laura broke out in a cold sweat. By what? she repeated to herself. That's a good question.

  She couldn't tell them she had a ghost in her room. After fainting in the foyer, it was likely they'd think her a lunatic if she started spouting about spirits. “Um ... bad dream,” she hurried on. “I get them, sometimes."

  "I've got just the thing for that,” the old woman butted in, stepping in front of William in an obvious attempt to thwart any further interrogation on his part. “Come on down to the dining room. I'll get you fixed up with dinner and a nice cup of tea."

  The woman bowed to Laura. “My name is Rosie. I'm Greenwood Manor's cook and housekeeper."

  Feeling a little more at ease, Laura returned the woman's offer with a genuine smile. Tea sounded nice. And right now, she didn't want to be alone in her room. Not until she could figure out what was going on.

  CHAPTER 6

  Laura entered the dining room from the adjoining ladies’ parlor. Her hand settled on her chest as she tried to take in yet another spectacular display of elegant décor. She wondered who had furnished Greenwood Manor, for whomever it was had a magnificent taste in antiques and color schemes.

  A lace tablecloth adorned the lengthy, eight chair dining table with elegant grace. When the multi-faceted chandelier wasn't lighting the diner's meal, hurricane lamp candles strategically placed along the table's expanse would provide delicate illumination. And as if the romantic candlelight or lure of the deep burgundy painted walls wasn't enough to spark one's delight, a tall-mantle fireplace would provide enough warmth to surely light one's fire.

  Trying to exude as much of a graceful air as she could muster, Laura selected a chair and seated herself at the table. She wasn't sure why, but she felt compelled to sit at the end, close to the parlor. Not that she expected to need a fast exit, but at least she could see anyone or anything entering the room, whether from the double doorway leading from the ladies’ parlor, or from the one at the other end of the room.

  But Laura scarcely had time to ponder what it was she might be in need of seeing. Rosie whisked through the doorway at the opposite end of the room, carrying a large silver serving tray loaded with an assortment of food. As she watched the woman approach, she noticed that she seemed to float rather than walk.

  Laura mentally shook herself. Don't be silly. Old ladies don't float. Not unless they're...

  She felt a moment of panic as her mind pounced on the idea like a feral dog on helpless prey. No. No, that isn't possible. She refused to believe such a farcical—

  A small blast of stale air pummeled he
r cheeks. Then a familiar aroma of mold and decay stung her nostrils. The same smell from the postcard.

  "Here you go, my dear. I do hope you still like...” Rosie's hazel eyes grew round with embarrassment, then she let out a nervous giggle. “Have a taste for roast, rather."

  Laura tried to give the woman a comforting smile. She hoped it didn't appear forged. But at the moment, she wasn't feeling any measure of reassurance herself.

  She loved roast, but how did Rosie know that? And what had she meant by “still like?” Perhaps it had just been a slip of the tongue. Worse still, where had the horrible odor come from? Hopefully not her meal.

  "Roast is ... fine.” To her dismay, her voice caught, and she nearly choked out the last word.

  Try as she might, Laura couldn't ignore the warning bells clamoring through her head. Something strange was going on here, and it included not only her mysterious ghost, but the butler and housekeeper as well. Then another realization dawned, and her unease doubled.

  "Where are the other guests?"

  Rosie nearly dropped the tray on the table before her. It settled on the lace cloth with a resounding thud. At first, she looked fit to bolt from the room. Then, after gathering her wits, she looked Laura in the eye and smiled.

  "We try to keep our visitors to a minimum. It ensures much better service. Three lumps of sugar in your tea?"

  The last phrase was more a declaration than a question, as though Rosie already knew what Laura would want. Not only had she adequately changed the subject of the paltry number of guests, she'd also made another assumption about Laura's preferences, which was shockingly accurate.

  Minimum? You call one customer a minimum? And how did she know—

  "Eat your dinner now, before it gets cold,” Rosie chided, then gave her a wink, turned on her heels, and glided away.

  Laura stared after the old woman's retreating backside. Her gaze shifted to Rosie's feet. They weren't moving.

  Oh, my God! They're ghosts! All of them!

  Should she get up and run like hell? Or sit there and eat her meal as instructed. Laura looked down at the plate of food under her nose.

  It looked okay. Actually, it looked delicious. Surely if they intended her harm, they would have killed her already. Food poisoning seemed unlikely.

  She speared a piece of roast with her fork and tentatively placed it in her mouth. Tastes all right. She tried a scoop of mashed potatoes and gravy. It was just as delectable.

  Her brows furrowed. Why did they bring her here? She knew this couldn't have been accidental, not with the postcard practically chasing her all over her house, then the strange sense of recognition she'd gotten from the ladies’ parlor, and now the housekeeper ostensibly knowing personal things about her.

  But what did she have to do with all of this? She'd never been to Greenwood Manor, at least not that she could remember. She'd never met Rosie, or William, or the handsome man with the beautiful eyes. Who were these ... people? And what did they want from her?

  Laura quietly pondered her situation while she finished her meal. As if on cue, Rosie returned to clear away her plate. When she sat a bowl of banana pudding before her, Laura merely nodded, then picked up her spoon. She loved banana pudding.

  When she'd finished, Laura dabbed the corner of her mouth with the napkin, then neatly folded it and placed it on the table next to her empty bowl. She didn't know why, but it seemed like the right thing to do. She'd just pushed her chair back from the table when Rosie returned to collect her remaining dishes.

  "I'd like to take a walk through the gardens out back, if that's all right."

  Rosie smiled in return. “There's a door in the kitchen. Follow me, I'll show you."

  Laura could have just gone out the front, but she followed Rosie never the less. Strangely, she wanted to see more of Greenwood Manor, not only the inside, but outside as well.

  Would other rooms of this house spark memories hidden deep within? Part of her feared the answer.

  When they passed through the door at the back of the dining room, they entered what appeared to be the music room. A baby grand piano with a rich cherry finished nestled in the far left-hand corner. Two wall-length windows draped with pale green, satin panels that spilled across the dovetailed hardwood floors, towered on either side. Tiny slivers of sunlight slipped through their protective material to fall across the piano's lid, releasing fiery highlights hidden within the grain.

  Drawn by its beauty, Laura approached the piano. She let her fingertips trail across the ivory keys. Unable to resist, she pressed down on middle C. It responded with an out-of-tune twang that stung her ears and made her cringe.

  "No one has touched it in a very long time,” Rosie said, her voice filled with sadness.

  Laura lovingly stroked the lid. “Who used to play?"

  Rosie was silent a long while before answering. “The manor's mistress,” she finally supplied. “She ... passed away several years ago."

  Laura glanced at the housekeeper. Who was she? she wanted to ask. But fearing the answer, she dared not.

  Laura frowned. “It's a shame to let such a spectacular instrument go to waste. The owner should at least have it tuned."

  Rosie dropped her gaze to the floor. “I'll let him know, Madame."

  Her voice was so quiet, Laura strained to hear it. She immediately felt guilty. She hadn't meant to imply—

  "Shall I take you to the gardens now?” Rosie gave her a warm smile, her good humor returned.

  Laura nodded. “Yes, please."

  They exited the music room through a door in the opposite corner from the piano and entered another part of the house that seemed completely different from the rest. No fancy décor covered the walls; no carved wood framed the doorways. It was as plain as plain could be.

  "Where are we?"

  Rosie chuckled. “These are the servants quarters."

  Servants? It almost sounded barbaric.

  "There used to be a lot more of us. But after the mistress and master ... I'm afraid only William and I remain. With so few visitors, there's no need for any more."

  Laura wondered how long it had been since the owners of Greenwood Manor had died. How long since Rosie and William? And even more disturbing, did they realize they were dead?

  "Here you go, my dear. Now don't wander too far. It'll be dark in an hour or so."

  Laura hadn't realized they'd entered the kitchen. She smiled, then thanked Rosie before stepping outside.

  Not really knowing where she intended to go, she started down the brick-lined walkway trailing through the garden. The sun had already dropped below the treetops, and the air had turned a little cooler. Wherever she went, she better make it quick and get back to the safety of the house.

  Laura snickered. Safety? Was a house filled with dead people any safer than a darkened forest filled with God only knew what? She wasn't so sure.

  Various statues of small children decorated the gardens. Some were of little girls sitting upon concrete chairs while they stitched away on their latest needlework or read an intriguing book. Others were of strapping boys trapped in timeless stances of ball throwing or some other type of popular sport. Laura wondered if they were replicas of children who once lived at the manor, or perhaps those of ones the owners had wished to have.

  She followed along the path until it brought her to the edge of the forest where she stopped. There, she stood for several long moments, indecisive. Darkness approached quickly, perhaps within minutes. Did she dare go any farther?

  Laura glanced back up at the house. Her gaze fell to the balcony outside her room. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a figure garbed in a long flowing gown the color of a pink carnation standing at the balustrade. But when she blinked, the apparition disappeared, leaving her to wonder if she'd merely conjured it up. Strangely, it had looked a lot like her.

  That's not possible, Laura, she told herself. You're not dead.

  A gust of air brushed against her backside, then moved
up her spine to the base of her skull in a rolling wave, spiriting her long hair around her face like a harem of slithering snakes. Laura gasped and whipped around to face the woods. Nothing was there, only the mocking shadows of a sinister forest.

  "Laura..."

  She instantly recognized the male voice as the one in her room. “What do you want with me?” Her words were scarcely a whisper. She took a tentative step forward.

  When he didn't answer, Laura paused once again. What was she doing? She should turn around right now, get her terrified ass back to the house, pack her things, and get the hell out of Dodge. Immediately. No delays.

  She had no business being out here, especially by herself. No wonder the cab driver didn't want to leave her. He probably knew the place was haunted. The least he could have done was forewarn her!

  "Come along, Laura. You're wasting time, and we haven't much to waste."

  A cloud of sparkling iridescent vapor welled up from the ground at her toes, then raced down the trail before her, illuminating her path in an eerie white glow. The darkening forestry seemed to curl along the borders of the lighted trail, creating a long, uninterrupted tunnel for her to follow.

  Okay, Laura, this is obviously where he wants you to go.

  Had she stopped to ponder the logical question of why, she likely would have turned back around. But rather than let her better judgment deter her from what her heart told her to do, she clenched her fists at her sides and started forward.

  Several yards into her trek, Laura chanced to glance over her shoulder. The trail behind seemed to have disappeared, swallowed up within the darkness of the surrounding forestry. The shadows lingered mere inches behind her heels, eager for her to continue so they could consume all evidence of where she'd come from. Forward was her only option now.

  Laura swallowed hard. Still think this was a good idea?

  The aroma of sandalwood and pine needles tickled her nose. She sensed rather than saw a presence hovering around her. He had returned.