The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) (28 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know who Dr. Lanval was?”

“I think Eric mentioned him. But I don’t recall anything except something about his keeping a lot of journals.”

“He was the Manning family physician for many years. He was a scholar, physician, and historian. He was also wise in the ways of the occult.” Grant sipped coffee. “I’ve been reading Lanval’s notes since you mentioned seeing Prudence’s spirit. He thought he knew what happened to her.”

Belinda waited while Grant savored his last bite of pie.

“Are you familiar with possession, Belinda?”

“I went to Catholic school and they were death on possession. They wouldn’t talk about it. But I saw
The Exorcist
. Is that what you mean?”

“Basically, yes. Dr. Lanval believed that at the moment of her hanging, the witch Carmilla took possession of Prudence Manning and, quite literally, tossed her out of her body. Bran Lanval later wrote of seeing the ‘small apparition in the red dress.’” He paused. “And after that, ‘Prudence’ never behaved in her old manner; by the time she was thirteen, she even tried to seduce her own uncle, Thomas. That got her sent away to a convent. Eventually she married into some wealth, but her life was unhappy and relatively short. She caught a pox that scarred her, and for a woman who traded on beauty, that was especially horrific.”

Belinda barely heard anything after he said ‘Thomas.’ “Grant, when I was trapped in there, the little girl was trying to help me hide from the nuns. But she said something I’d forgotten until now. She told me to find ‘Uncle Thomas.’”

Up shot Grant’s eyebrow; Sean Connery couldn’t have done it better. “Indeed. Prudence and Parnell were favorites of his. He was still a bachelor - a very randy one - but he adored the children.”

“Does
he
haunt Ravencrest?”

“I’ve heard stories that indicate he’s among us. He, like Alice, is buried in the family cemetery, after all.” Grant smiled. “I sound rather mad, don’t I? Telling you all this?”

“Not after what I’ve seen.” Belinda finished her pie. “I want to see his portrait.”

“I believe there’s one just five paintings down from the Christmas portrait in the gallery.”

“Grant, may I look at the journals?”

“Well, perhaps sometime. To be honest, you must never tell anyone they exist. I keep them under lock and key and under some rather obscure, well, wards, for lack of a better term.”

“What do you mean, wards?”

“Special locks that keep prying eyes like Mrs. Heller’s from finding them.”

“Magic?”

“If you wish to call it that.” Rose-colored embarrassment kissed his cheeks. “Belinda, I’ve said too much. If a word of this gets out, we are both - especially you - in serious trouble.”

“With Eric?”

“No.”

Belinda nodded. “I understand. I won’t talk about this with anyone but you, I promise.”

“Thank you. If you wish to speak of these things in the future, we must be as discreet as we are today.” He put a twenty on the table. “I have some duties waiting. Any more questions?”

“Lots. I want to hear all about the nuns, but for now, just tell me one thing.”

“We can talk about the nuns at Ravencrest, just not too openly,” Grant told her.

“This concerns Prudence.”

“Go on.”

“As I said, she helped me hide from the nuns. Does she have anything to do with them?”

“The nuns arrived long after Prudence.” He rubbed his chin. “I’m surprised she’s cognizant of them. Ghosts are rarely aware of spirits from other eras. But it does happen on occasion.”

“Alice Manning said your name.”

He nodded. “Did she say it quickly?”

“No, not at all. She kept saying ‘Doctor ... Lanval,’ as if she was trying to recall your name. She actually sounded frustrated.”

“That makes sense to me. I’m amazed she came up with it at all. We’ve never even bumped into one another.”

“Are you related to Dr. Lanval? Is he your ancestor?”

“Clever girl,” Grant said, rising. “But no, he is not a blood ancestor. Now, let’s get back to the house.”

Grant held the cafe door open then the door to the Aston Martin. She watched him as he slid into the driver’s seat and slipped on his sunglasses. He was the perfect gentleman - and he had a secret. One she very much wanted to learn.

A Tongue Lashing

“Walter? Are you here, Walter?”

At the sound of Cordelia Heller’s voice, Walter Hardwicke jumped, hitting his head on the open hood of Eric Manning’s red 1968 Dodge Charger. “Here,” he grunted. “Back here.”
What do you want now, you old ball-breaker?
Walter had dealt with a lot of thugs in his years as a bodyguard for various unsavory types - from rock stars to company men - and Heller was colder than the worst of them. Even so, he kind of liked her; she appreciated his special hobby and had covered for him on more than one occasion.

Cordelia appeared in the work area of the vast garage a moment later, her nose wrinkled in disgust at the good smells of oil and grease and rubber. “We need to talk, Walter.”

“Just a minute,” Hardwicke said. He was trying to unscrew a broken spark plug. “Almost done.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her approach the low freezer he’d bought from an old Route 66 gas station a few years back. It was red and emblazoned with Coca-Cola art, now faded, but still in good shape. “Have a soda, Mrs. Heller,” he called, trying to keep amusement out of his voice.

He heard her slide one of the doors open, and waited. And waited. Finally, she chuckled. “Did you have fun with him, Walter?”

“I did.”

“Good. Might you have room in here for one more body?” Her voice was as calm as a corpse’s.
 

He withdrew the broken plug. He liked it when Cordelia brought him toys. “You tell me. Is it a big guy?”

“It’s a female and I have no idea what she looks like, except for the Facebook photo which was an extreme close-up.”

“Fatty for sure.”
 

“Exactly.” Heller cackled.
 

“When?”

“This evening. It seems our new governess’ former roommate is worried about her and wants to visit. I thought you might be a nice fellow and go down and lead her up ... and take care of her.” She paused. “How many are buried on the grounds now?”

“I’ve lost count, but there’s still plenty of room.” Walter smiled. “How do I recognize her?”

“Thanks to Facebook, we know she drives a vintage Aquarius Blue Volkswagen Beetle.” Cordelia’s laugh was low and throaty. “How trite, yet so easily recognizable. Call your friends at the chop shop to pick it up. I don’t want any trace of her left behind. Got it?”

He nodded as he lit up a Camel.
 

“Those things will kill you, Walter.”

“Not if you kill me first.” He set the butt down and approached her. “You’re looking good, Cordelia.”

She leaned against the freezer where the boy from last night awaited burial and smiled like a dragon. “Go wash your hands, then come take care of my business.”

He washed up then turned to see her naked ass disappearing into the back seat of the Charger. “Mr. Manning won’t appreciate any stains. I’ll grab some shop towels.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind. Let’s stain his seats.”
 

“Mad at the boss?”

“Mind your own business,” she ordered as he unzipped. “No need to undress. I want a tongue-lashing. A good one.”

That’s all Cordelia Heller ever wanted and while he didn’t mind doing it, he hated how long it took to get her spunk out of his mustache. Cordelia’s cootch was one big snail trail; she was always horny. “You got it, schweetheart,” he told her in his best Bogey.
 

Revisiting the Gallery

“Who is that?” Belinda asked Grant.
 

Dinner was finished and they had just entered the Gallery of Ancestors. As eager as she was to see the portrait of Thomas Manning, she was curious about the hollow-eyed woman in a portrait just inside the refrigerated corridor, one that had caught her eye before.

“That, my dear Belinda, is Amelia Manning. She was grandmother to Edward and Thomas, Prudence and Parnell’s father and uncle.” He studied the portrait. “I’m curious. Why do you ask about her?”

“She looks so sad.” The young girl - barely a woman - had been painted sitting at a table, a baby in one arm. Her other hand rested on the table, lightly grasping the handle of a beautiful silver mirror that reflected a fraction of her face. She wore a dark gray gown trimmed in white.

“She’s in mourning. Her husband died tragically before they’d been married even a year. Their son was born after his death. In fact, Bran Lanval delivered him when he was no more than a lad with dreams of becoming a physician. Amelia never recovered from the loss of her husband, though she lived a long life. There’s quite a story to go with her. I’ll have to refresh my knowledge. She became known as ‘The Bride of Ravencrest.’”

“Why? Did she remarry?”

“Yes. She married the manor itself, believe it or not. Hence, her title.” Grant moved to the other side of the gallery and pointed to a painting Belinda hadn’t noticed before. “This is Amelia just a few years later. She’d gone very strange by then.”

Belinda examined the picture. Amelia Manning, hollow-eyed and dressed in an ivory gown, sat on a high-backed chair. A matching lace hood covered her hair. In her lap, she held the same silver mirror. “What’s the story on the mirror?”

“You’ve seen nothing yet. There are at least two more portraits of her in this gallery alone and she always holds the mirror. It was a wedding present from her husband and she-” He paused, looking beyond the glass door that separated the Gallery of Ancestors from the rest of the house. “Mrs. Heller just walked by, and she saw us. I daresay she’ll join us any minute now. We can talk about The Bride another time. Let’s show you Thomas before we’re interrupted.”

“Right.” Belinda kept pace with Grant. He slowed as they passed the Christmas portrait and came to a halt a moment later. “This is Thomas Manning.”

Belinda took in the handsome man and gasped.
 

“If our Eric Manning was blond, he could almost be his twin,” Grant said. “He is Eric’s direct ancestor, after all.”

“I’ve seen him several times already, Grant. I thought I was having uh, a dream - but it was him.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell Grant she’d thought this man was Eric. Her face turned hot.
 

“When?”

“Since the first night. I really thought they were dreams.”

“You bear a striking resemblance to Alice Manning, Belinda. Thomas was in love with her but she chose his brother. I doubt he ever got over it.” Grant’s smile was gentle. “May I ask, were they rather pleasant dreams?”

“Why?”

“You’re blushing.”

“Extremely pleasant,” she admitted.
 

He nodded. “I’m glad - oh, here comes trouble.” He glanced toward the door just as Cordelia Heller opened it.

Damn it.

Heller’s heels clacked down the marble hall. “Are you giving Miss Moorland another family history lesson, Phister?” she asked. “Is he boring you, dear?”

“We’ve just finished, Cordelia,” Grant said. He offered Belinda his arm. “I believe I owe you a cup of tea.”

“Yes,” she said, taking the arm. “I’d like that.”  

“To the kitchen, then.” He paused to glance at Cordelia. “Or would you like to join Riley and me for tea at the carriage house, Belinda?”
 

“That would be delightful. I’d love to see Riley.” They walked right past Heller without pausing, each giving her a bare nod. Belinda felt very good about that.
 

As they exited the gallery, she glanced back. Cordelia Heller was still standing where they had been, staring at the portrait, no doubt wondering what they’d been talking about.
 

Randi’s Road Trip

Randi Tucker had loaded her blue VW Beetle with all the things she knew her roomie would appreciate. The cooler contained Belinda’s favorites: Randi’s special homemade mac and cheese casserole, a big bowl of baked beans and hot dogs, and a box of Teddy Grahams along with a bottle of Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup to dip the Teddys in. In a plastic grocery bag, she’d placed half a dozen pairs of panties and just as many pairs of new fuzzy socks, all directly from the 99 Cents Only Store. My, how Belinda loved the fuzzy socks! And the panties were so cute. One pair had teddy bears on them. Randi hoped she’d model them for her.

At seven p.m., Randene Tucker pulled out of her parking spot at the apartment building and got on the road to Devilswood, where she planned to ask directions to Ravencrest. But when she finally arrived on the outskirts of the snobby town and saw all the overpriced homes and fancy landscaping, she was so turned off she decided not to talk to those people. Instead she pulled into the lot of the Devilswood Pharmacy, which was closed for the night. Peering at the tiny Google map on her phone, she tried to figure out what road to take to the mansion.

Randi lost a tiny squirt of urine when someone tapped on her window.

She looked up to see a dark man smiling at her. There was a big black car two slots over; it had to be his. Randi revved her engine and started to pull out - she had no intention of getting herself raped.

“Wait!” the man said. “Belinda sent me.”

Randi hit the brakes and rolled her window down an inch. “What? You know Belinda?”

“It’s hard to find Ravencrest if you’ve never been there, especially at night. She asked me to come see if I could find you and lead you up. She’s eager to see you.”

“Really?” Randi smiled. “I’m eager to see her, too. She’s okay?”

“Absolutely fine. Follow me.”

The man returned to his big car and waited while she pulled up behind him, then led her about half a mile back into the countryside before turning up a narrow paved road. As she followed him, she said a little prayer of thanks - she never would have found the place without this man. And Belinda, she knew, needed her. She was certain her little Lindy wanted to come home but was afraid to say so. Randi would take her in her arms and make it all better.