Haunted

by Alexandra Adornetto

  “Please open your books to page forty-seven,” he said.

  Keeping my head down, I followed his instructions until I heard the door open again and someone enter. “My apologies for my lateness,” said a soft-spoken voice with a British accent.

  My head shot up to see Alex standing at the front of the room perusing the students. Adrenaline bolted through me, nearly causing me to leap from my seat.

  Alex had no textbooks, no notepad and no writing implements whatsoever, and his face was set in a calm mask. Something about him had changed: he no longer seemed overwhelmed by the modern world. In fact, he looked as if nothing could faze him. What had happened to cause this transformation?

  “Who might you be?” Doctor Ritter asked. “I don’t remember seeing any additions to my class list.”

  “My name is Alexander Reade,” he said, without offering any further information.

  “Are you certain you’re in this class?”

  “It has taken me a while to get my bearings, but yes, I am in the right place.”

  “Why don’t you take a seat then, Mr Reade? We’re glad to have you.”

  Alex slid into an empty seat beside a girl named Michelle Kramer, who snuck a long and unsubtle glance at him. He was wearing all black again, with his dark gold hair tied away from his face. So far he seemed oblivious to my presence. He hadn’t so much as glanced in my direction.

  “If you could open your textbook to page forty-seven,” Doctor Ritter said.

  “I am afraid I do not have a book,” Alex said unapologetically.

  A strange energy shot through the room and, one by one, heads lifted until everyone was paying attention.

  “I’m going to assume that’s a joke.” It was clear Doctor Ritter was pissed now. He was running the tip of his tongue along his upper teeth and his eyes had narrowed to slits. He must think there was a serious discipline problem at this school.

  “I rarely jest,” Alex replied. “But when I do, it is apparent.”

  I couldn’t tell if this performance was deliberate or not. Was he trying to push Doctor Ritter’s buttons, or did he simply have no idea about student–teacher decorum? A line like that might fly at a nineteenth-century ball, but here it just sounded sarcastic, like he was asking for trouble.

  “Tell me,” Doctor Ritter’s voice had gone stone cold, “how do you expect to learn the syllabus and pass your exams without a textbook? It’s rather an essential tool, don’t you think?”

  The whole class was now riveted by the exchange. They looked at Alex, expecting him to be intimidated, but he only smiled.

  “I am not concerned about that,” he said. “I doubt I will learn much from this class.”

  Doctor Ritter was growing more flustered by the second, speaking now through clenched teeth. “What do you mean by that? Are you questioning my pedagogy?”

  Alex shrugged. “I am not here to judge your competence. But I am already proficient in French.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. I lived in Paris for several years.”

  “Where?”

  “Saint-Germain-des-Prés.”

  “I see.” Doctor Ritter gave a smile so forced his skin seemed to stretch like plastic. “If you really can speak French, then by all means go ahead. Amaze me.”

  “Very well,” Alex said. “Je ne voudrais pas vous offenser, mais parler estfrançais est facile pour moi. Si vous avez besoin, je serais ravi de vous aider.”

  Doctor Ritter’s annoyance seemed to morph into suspicion. He watched Alex curiously, drumming a finger against his chin. Had he figured out Alex didn’t belong in this world? No, he couldn’t have.

  “If you don’t need to learn, what, may I ask, are you doing in my class?”

  “I am here because Miss Kennedy is here,” Alex said, as if it should be obvious, and he turned in his seat to look at me.

  As he did, every other head in the room swivelled in my direction. Whispers broke out all around me. What the hell was he doing?

  When our eyes met, I held his gaze and gave a tiny shake of my head as if to say, Please don’t do this here. That kind of display would get the whole school talking and it was the last thing I needed.

  “Enough of this nonsense!” Doctor Ritter cut in. “I don’t know what game you two are playing, but any further disruptions and I will ban you both from ever attending this class again. Have I made myself clear?”

  Alex was having difficulty containing his amusement. It was obvious he was untroubled by the threat. In the grand scheme of things, I supposed our whole world must have seemed trivial to him.

  “Yes, sir,” I said quickly. “Crystal clear.”

  Doctor Ritter gave me a withering look before turning his attention to Alex. “And you, Marie Antoinette.” The class sniggered. “Will I have any more trouble from you?”

  I could tell by the way he stiffened his shoulders that Alex wasn’t accustomed to being insulted. In his lifetime he’d been a gentleman and had probably never had to take orders from anyone. There was a flicker in his eyes that told me he wanted to offer a reply worthy of his class and education, and I bet he would have known exactly what to say to put Doctor Ritter in his place. Something witty and acerbic. But something stopped him. Me. He didn’t want to do the wrong thing by me, so with great restraint he swallowed whatever was on the tip of his tongue and said, “Definitely not.”

  As soon as the lesson was over, I grabbed Alex and hurried him out into the corridor so we could talk. I was about to launch into a speech about the importance of flying under the radar when I realised that almost every student from our class was now lingering in the hall. They watched us intently, straining to catch snippets of our conversation. We had suddenly become noteworthy and what schoolkid doesn’t love a drama to break up the monotony of the day?

  I glared at Michelle Kramer, who was dawdling near us under the pretence of checking her phone, and took Alex by the arm. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere a little more private.”

  I made sure to say it loud enough for everyone to hear, but I still felt their curious eyes burning into the back of my head as I led Alex away.

  We walked until we came across an empty science lab. I checked the timetable on the door and it looked like the room was free for the next two periods so nobody was likely to disturb us.

  “Okay, what the hell was that?” I exploded as soon as the door clicked shut behind us.

  “I am back,” he said simply.

  “Yeah, I got that. In fact, I think the whole school probably knows you’re here by now.”

  “You are angry with me?”

  He looked so confused that I let out a long breath and decided to change my tune.

  “I’m not angry. I’m glad you’re back, I really am. But do you really think extra attention is what we need right now?”

  “You are right. I apologise.” He shook his head. “I have been attempting to work out this whole operation, but I simply cannot understand it.”

  “What operation?” I asked.

  Alex waved a hand around the lab. “This place. You keep your books in strange metal boxes on the wall, there appears to be no set dress code, and when I went to the dining hall people were drinking a strange effervescent brown liquid and eating what I can only assume was yellow gruel.”

  “I think that was probably mac and cheese.”

  “What is mac?” he asked. “And why was the liquid bubbling?”

  “It’s called soda. It’s carbonated.”

  “I do not care what it is called,” he replied with a slight shudder. “It cannot be good for you.”

  “Things that are popular aren’t always good for you. I’m sure it was the same back in your day. What about those opium dens?”

  “Is that where you picture me spending my time?”

  “No, of course not.”

  This was going to be harder than I’d thought. How much had changed since the nineteenth century? Everything. Half the things we used on a daily basis hadn’t ev
en been invented during Alex’s lifetime. So I couldn’t blame him; it was a natural human instinct to mistrust things we didn’t understand.

  “Just forget the soda, okay? I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

  “I have been longing to return,” Alex said and I noticed a twinkle in his eye. “There is something I must tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Chloe, I remember.”

  I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t I said, “You remember what?”

  He watched me with a small smile on his face and I realised he was looking at me differently somehow. My heart started pounding against my ribcage. Something in his eyes had changed. Before they had been shutting me out. Now they seemed to be inviting me in.

  “Are you saying …” I broke off, too timid to finish the question.

  Alex drew a little closer and the new playfulness in his manner reminded me of our time together at Grange Hall.

  “Yes,” he said. “I am saying I remember you.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I heard Alex’s words, but my brain refused to believe them. It was a way of protecting myself in case they turned out not to be true.

  “Don’t say that unless you really mean it,” I said in a trembling voice.

  “Chloe, I am so sorry for my recent distance.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said, but the sting of it hadn’t left me yet.

  He moved closer so his face was only an inch from my own. “I remember meeting you in the woods and wondering if the dusk was playing tricks on my eyes because you seemed to be looking right at me, and you were so beautiful. I remember nursing your foot the night Isobel attacked you and promising myself I would never let her harm you again. I remember every word we ever exchanged, but most of all I remember wondering how, after everything that happened, you could still bring yourself to love me.”

  I was so moved by his words, my eyes welled with tears. “You do remember me,” I whispered and a strangled laugh of relief followed. “I thought everything that happened between us was lost. I thought the Alex I knew was gone for good.”

  I gave up fighting the tears and let them fall freely. Alex reached out and brushed them from my cheeks with his finger. It had been so long that his touch was startling at first. Then everything blurred into the background as I buried my face in his shoulder. My lips brushed the skin of his neck as I breathed in his familiar scent, something I never thought I’d do again.

  “I don’t just remember you, Chloe.” Alex’s voice was thick with emotion as his fingers combed softly through my hair. “I remember us.”

  As his lips found mine, I descended into a dazzling dreamlike state where I was aware of nothing but his touch and the sound of his breathing. I drank him in like some rare nectar, savouring every last drop. His arms enveloped me and his body gave off a warmth that was almost tangible. It seemed to wrap our entwined bodies, bathing us in a golden light. Even if only for a moment, we were back in our world where no one and nothing could touch us. I could no longer feel my feet on the floor. The walls of the classroom had fallen away. We were somewhere else entirely, moving through space and time.

  “You came back for me,” I whispered.

  “Where else would I go?” Alex said into my hair. “I always knew I would find you again.”

  I wanted to answer him but found myself slipping away. Darkness closed in around me. I could see Alex’s mouth moving but could no longer hear his words. I saw his face fill with alarm when he realised what was happening and his mouth formed my name. I felt myself go limp in his arms.

  Chloe? Chloe? Chloe?

  But I couldn’t answer. I was being dragged under, and all I was aware of were my eyelids closing.

  The disaster I expect to befall Grange Hall does not eventuate. To my surprise, in its place come weeks of calm. Mr Alexander is his usual friendly self whenever I encounter him in the halls or grounds, while the mistress maintains her cool aloofness. I keep an eye out for any signs of misconduct, but other than the mistress looking paler than usual, there is nothing out of the ordinary. I conclude that the pair have come to their senses and put an end to their dalliance. But my relief is short-lived.

  This morning Mrs Baxter informs me that the mistress is out of sorts and will not come down to breakfast. Instead I am to carry a tray up to her room and serve her there. As I am rarely called to attend to the mistress in her chamber, I make doubly sure that my hair is neatly tucked under my cap and my apron is spotless.

  When I reach the gleaming mahogany door that leads to her bedroom, I tap gingerly on the wood. The last thing I want to do is startle Mrs Reade when she is unwell.

  “Come,” her floaty voice answers.

  I turn the handle and enter as quietly as a mouse to find a blazing fire in the hearth and the curtains drawn, allowing only a feeble light to penetrate. It is a gloomy November morning, already threatening rain.

  The mistress is lying in bed propped against lacy pillows. Her eyes are closed, and because she does not open them when I approach I am able to study her briefly. Even with the roses gone from her cheeks and her usually lustrous locks hanging limply around her porcelain face, she still looks regal. I wonder that she does not have the power to command all who enter her orbit.

  The tray rattles a little when I set it down, but the noise elicits no response.

  “Shall I pour your tea, madam?” I venture.

  She opens her eyes then and I see that even feeling poorly is not enough to drive the sparkle out of them.

  “Yes,” she murmurs. “I shall take it black today.” A heavy sigh follows, then suddenly she comes to life, tossing off the bedclothes and sitting up. She fans her face with her hand and her eyes wear a feverish brightness. “It is stifling in here. When you have finished there, Becky, you must open a window and let in some air!”

  “Are you sure, madam? The wind is bitter today.”

  I set down the teapot and hand her the steaming cup. Before I can stop her, she raises it to her lips and takes a large sip. I wait for a reaction, but there is none. How peculiar. The tea must be scalding hot and yet she does not seem to notice.

  “I welcome the cold,” she declares. “All the better to shake off this lethargy!”

  I make no move to open the window.

  Mrs Reade is astute and guesses the cause of my hesitation. “Oh, Becky, I see you are worried I shall catch my death and they will hold you accountable. Well, you need not worry. I shall survive. Now, unless you are too deficient to follow instructions, kindly do as you are told. I will not ask a third time.”

  I only open the window a crack, but immediately a gust of cold air invades the room, like a wolf about to pounce. I shrink away, shivering, but Mrs Reade sinks back against her pillows with a satisfied look.

  “Ahhh,” she sighs. “Much better.”

  Now that the mistress is more comfortable, she turns her face toward me and I am surprised to see that she looks pained. I wonder if she is sorry for her earlier harshness, but if I am expecting kinder words I am disappointed. Mrs Reade does not waste her breath making apologies to people like me. But what she does say makes me squirm with discomfort.

  “I am so unhappy, Becky.” She gives a heartfelt sigh.

  I can hardly believe my ears. If it were anyone else making this disclosure, I might feel some pity, but having witnessed her self-absorption firsthand I am more wary than moved. All I can think is that she wants something of me that I will not be able to deliver. Why else would she choose a housemaid as a confidante?

  “What is to be done?” she continues in a plaintive tone.

  “I’m not sure what you mean, madam. If I’m not needed, I think Mrs Baxter is waiting for me downstairs.”

  “Let her wait. Can you not stay a while?”

  I stand in the room, waiting for further instruction, but her face has taken on a faraway look. When she speaks I am not even sure it is me she is addressing.

  “There must be a way out
. Why does he not find one? Must I take charge of everything?”

  She seems to expect me to know what she is talking about, and I wonder whether the fever has caused a mild delirium.

  “You are not well, madam. You should eat something. Shall I ask Mrs Baxter to send for the doctor?”

  “What troubles me is not physical,” she replies.

  “Shall I call for Mrs Baxter?” I say again.

  “No, leave that silly old dragon where she is! Just stay a moment. I need to unburden myself and you are the only person in this house who can be trusted.”

  I stand stock-still, wishing I could decline the honour of this unexpected confidence.

  “The funny thing is, I have brought it all on myself,” she says. “I have no one else to blame.”

  “You are mistress of this fine house,” I blurt without thinking. “You can do or have anything you want.”

  “Status and freedom are not the same thing, Becky. I shall never be as free as you. Why do you look so surprised? Has it never occurred to you that you may take your labour wherever you please? As for me, I must remain mistress of Grange Hall and fulfil all that position entails until the end of my days.”

  I hardly think being mistress of Grange Hall is a hardship, but Mrs Reade makes it sound as though it is a burden heavier than she can bear. Has it not occurred to her that it is the middle of the morning and she is still lying idle in bed? But of course I do not voice that thought aloud.

  “I am sorry you are feeling poorly, madam.”

  She leans forward. “I must ask a favour of you, Becky. I need a friend in this big lonely house. Will you be that for me?”

  “Of course, madam,” I say, eager to bring this awkward conversation to a close.

  “I can see you are a loyal person,” she says, sinking back against the pillows. “And loyalty should always be rewarded. Bring me that jewellery box on the dressing table.”