The Haunting of Alcott Manor, page 13
part #1 of Alcott Manor Series
In the quiet, and while the sun shone through the second story windows, she calmed her nerves by counting off the benefits of being upstairs alone. First, she might get more information on this house that felt more human to her than inanimate. There was something about it that rose to her touch, that resonated with some part of her. She was meant to be here—why, she didn't know. Maybe that would become clearer to her if she had some time to herself. She ran her hand along the chair rail that lined the hallway.
Second, she would also evaluate the design details for the upstairs. Everything needed to be perfect for the judge’s walkthrough, and aesthetics went a long way to giving people a sense of confidence. After seeing Paisley's dubious wall design choice in the foyer, checking the bedrooms was a good idea. She might be able to improve upon what was there.
And third, bedrooms were typically a very personal and unguarded space. She might figure out some vital information there that she could heal. Though, hopefully, nothing like the guest room.
The job was going well, she reminded herself—aside from Benjamin's newest destruction. She'd have to start clearing those deeper imprints as soon as possible to put an end to that. Any restoration was fraught with hurdles. Typically, homeowners’ pained expressions accompanied endless questions of why and how much.
The court-imposed deadline apparently eliminated those for Henry. They were down to do or die, and he didn’t want to lose his ancestral home.
It was important to him to help Benjamin move on. She appreciated the kindness in that. “Ghosts are people, too,” her mother had always said.
The anniversary of Anna Alcott’s death loomed. They had to get Benjamin gone, one way or another, before that night.
Asher was the other hitch. She sneered when she thought of him. "Opportunistic bastard." His presence at the house was suspicious, and she was convinced he was trying to sabotage the job in some way. Tom would need to hire another security guard and that would help. Though he would also need to have some discussion with the workers, or at least the foremen. He could offer a reward for anyone who reported Asher's presence on the site.
“Ow!” Sharp pain shot through her index finger, and she jerked it away from the railing. A thin nail was jammed beneath her fingernail. She inhaled a hiss through bared teeth, ripped it out, and cupped her hand beneath the dripping blood.
She jogged to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. The tarnished doorknob was loose, and the nearly black wooden door was thick and heavy.
Benjamin Alcott’s bedroom was fitting with a Napoleonic sleigh bed, a bureau, a wardrobe, and a chaise in red at the foot of the bed. There was a lot of red—there were deep red walls, red carpet, and a crown of red fabric behind the bed. All of it seemed to recognize her as a female, and it pulled at her, making her feel like she'd landed in Dracula’s lair. The room pulsed and she swooned to its hypnotic heartbeat.
She wondered if Henry would let her repaint and re-fabric some of this bedroom. She made a note in her portfolio with her left hand: change carpet and wall coverings to beige/taupe combo to lighten the room. She found her way to the master bath.
She pushed the iron-colored knob on the sink with the back of her hand and rinsed her finger. An unsettling stream of blood ran into the sink, then ran clear under the running water. The cold felt good on her skin, and without soap at hand, she continued to rinse. She hadn’t asked where they kept the first aid kit. The kitchen, she assumed. A Band-Aid and antibacterial cream were in order.
Red swirled thick and free across the bowl of the sink. She gasped and held up her finger, but the cut was not bleeding. There wasn’t any blood on her hands.
The water ran clear from the spigot into the sink, but once it hit the bowl, it turned into a gelatinous, red liquid. Cautiously, she put two fingers into the sickly sweet scented liquid and rubbed it between her fingers and thumb. It ran down her hand in streams.
Blood.
Benjamin.
Murderer.
Panic jolted through her nerves and she shoved her hands into the clear running water until they ran clean. She turned off the water and the blood disappeared down the drain, leaving the white bowl tinted with red.
Her insides shook until she thought she might rattle, and she pressed both of her hands tight against her chest.
Settle, Gem. It's just an imprint. Maybe a living memory as Henry said. Something happened here. That's all. You'll deal with it. You're strong now.
Her body only calmed slightly at her words. The terror continued inside, in part from memories it seemed she'd never forget.
You have a job to do.
Her breath was shaky and her finger throbbed. She pressed her thumb against the pad of her injured finger repeatedly, which brought about an ache, a hurt, but a slight release of stress.
She stepped slowly, one, two, three. A scent floated by—orange, lavender, and something spicy like clove. She glanced around the room for a candle or a bottle of cologne, but there was no obvious source.
She tried to pull in a deep breath, but her lungs ached and were so tight they would only take in a shallow breath. It scared her to move, as if it might draw too much attention to her presence in the room.
Inspect the furniture. Move on. You’re okay, Gem.
She could almost feel her mother comforting her, encouraging her, just as she had for years after it happened. Sunlight streamed in through the red-framed windows. The house wouldn't be truly active for some time yet.
Pick a piece. Focus.
She counted her steps lengthwise across the room, to measure, she rationalized. When she tugged on the wardrobe door, it opened more easily than she’d expected and a black arm swooshed toward her.
“Oh!” The muscles in her chest gripped at one another.
The lone black tuxedo swung to and fro, the metal hook squeaking against the gray rod. The sight of its movement spooked her, and she steadied it. The room spun and tilted, and events sped by her too quickly to see clearly: music and laughter, screaming and crying, patches of silence, and above all, someone yelling, “Benjamin!”
The sleeve of the suit filled out under her hand. Warm, muscular movement surrounded by fine fabric. Gemma found herself on the opposite side of the room and touching the back side of the arm of a man who slid white dress gloves onto his hands.
She gasped and stumbled backward until she bumped into the footboard of the bed on the other side of the room. Lively notes from a string orchestra danced into the room from the downstairs, and she recognized it as the same violin melody she had heard before. She stared at the man's broad back. His tuxedo tails swished while he seemed to adjust his sleeves to fully cover his wrists. A black top hat rested on the table next to him.
“Benjamin,” a soft voice said.
Gemma leaned to the side with exacting slowness until she saw a young woman with tired, sad eyes. Her soft brown hair lay tangled on her white, buttondown undergarments, and a toddler, maybe a year old, was attached to her leg.
“Da-da,” the little girl said.
“Anna. Get dressed,” the man said.
“Promise me that I can have the divorce, Benjamin, and I'll do what you want.”
“Do not try to force my hand, Anna. You won't like what happens if you do. Put on the white dress. The President and his wife will be here soon. Tonight, of all nights, pull yourself together and try to think of someone besides yourself.” He said it through his teeth, like a growl, like a warning, like a dog whose bite would hurt far worse than his bark.
The little girl crawled along the floor and tugged on Benjamin's pant leg. “Up, Da-da. Up.”
He lifted her into his arms and kissed her. She patted his chest with her tiny hands as if to say, Mine. All mine.
“Tonight is an important night for me. For all of us. You would do well to remember that,” he said to Anna.
She sighed and pushed away a long brown curl that dangled to the side of her cheek and it fell again.
A young woman in a white frilled cap and apron entered the room. “There you are, Lizzie Mae.” She stood in front of Benjamin and took the baby from his arms, and Lizzie Mae promptly let out a wail. “Mr. Alcott, I’m sorry, sir. She crawls too fast these days. I must have left the nursery door open while I was changing the bedding.”
“It’s okay, Dorothy,” Anna said.
Dorothy bounced and patted Lizzie Mae, but the baby only cried and reached for her father. Benjamin took the child, kissed her head, and stroked her round, baby-doll cheeks to calm her.
Anna put her head in her hands and leaned on her knees.
“Dorothy, the children must be settled and quiet while the guests are here. If you need to, you can take them to their grandparents’ home for the evening,” Benjamin said.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Dorothy curtsied. “It’s just that whenever Miss Lizzie Mae knows that you’re here—”
“Maybe it's best if you take her and the other three children to Mrs. Alcott’s parents’ home and keep them there until the morning.” He handed Lizzie Mae to the nanny and the baby cried.
Dorothy curtsied again. She cut a glance to Anna, then scurried out of the room.
“Da-daaaaa!” Lizzie Mae screamed down the hallway.
Benjamin pushed both hands against his temples. “Anna. Tonight is the most important night of my life. After everything I've done for you, you can put on the white dress I bought for you, fix your hair and makeup, and at least pretend to be a good wife and mother. Just for tonight.”
Anna looked at him with a blank stare. “I can’t, Benjamin. I can’t do this anymore.”
“One night. One night, Anna. That’s all I ask. After that, we'll keep you in the background.”
“And what about when you’re elected? What then? I'll never get out!”
“Well, you can’t get out, can you? Not now. I gave you your chance to walk away before you married me. What’s done is done. You've made your bed.” He grabbed her by the upper part of the arm.
“Stop it!” She slapped at Benjamin’s arm.
“Get. Dressed.” He deposited Anna into the hallway, slammed the bedroom door, and both figures disappeared into a wisp of gray shadows.
The only sound left in the room was Gemma’s shaky breath. The room returned to how it was when she first arrived, though the sun was much lower in the sky now. The shadows in the room were dusky. Her eyes scanned the area in front of her and found a black marble clock on the center of the mantel. Bronze cherubs flanked the white face. Six o’clock.
Six o'clock. How was that possible?
It had only been fifteen minutes, at most, since she’d come into this room. With her portfolio clasped to her chest, her hands trembling, she thought to check the space behind her. But she wasn't sure what frightened her more: what might be hiding behind her, or what could be staring her in the face when she turned around. This house was not predictable.
The spiced scent of cologne that had hung in the room faded. She eyed the door that Benjamin had slammed. It was about seven or eight steps away. She rolled her shoulders back and tightened her insides. No one was going to come and rescue her from where she stood. She needed to move. She had to get out of the house before the sun slipped from the sky.
Chapter 17
Benjamin's bedroom door shut behind her, and she fought the panic that whirled through her chest. She had never seen such vivid images in a client’s house before. There were often impressions, feelings, and ideas about the energy that was trapped within a house—all in a sort of generally intuitive way. That, combined with conversation from the owners, often led her to implement some transformative changes.
What she had just seen was not that.
Pop, Janey, and even Henry had said the house was haunted. But those weren’t ghosts. They didn’t see her. It was more like…the house was replaying the past and pulling her into it.
What had Henry said about the house? Something about how memories of the night Anna died replayed. First in snippets and then, eventually, all the way through.
Living memories.
That's what he said. He also said he thought they were dangerous.
Shock worked its way through her system. She didn’t shake on the outside, but everything inside quivered. She grasped the smooth wooden chair rail that lined the corridor, but the lingering pain in her finger reminded her not to slide her hand along it blindly. Rather, she chose to touch it periodically and lightly to keep her steady while she cast several glances behind her.
Possessed. Possessive. The manor was intent upon replaying its history. Telling its story. From imprints, maybe, but she'd never seen imprints like this before.
Like the manor had an agenda.
An intent.
To solve something? The suicide note. Or it could have been something more than that—the mystery of it all.
Was that why the manor wanted her here? Because it somehow knew that she could clear the negativity it had absorbed over the years? Maybe the manor overheard her parents talking about her and what she could do?
She couldn’t believe what she was suggesting. That a house could have a spirit or a want—or, God forbid—a way of getting what it wanted.
She'd clear as much as she could as fast as she could. Though she didn't know how to clear what she had just seen. Henry had asked her not to, not today. And, most importantly, at least for right now, she needed to get downstairs and out of the house before the sun set.
The long hallway extended ahead of her, and an eerie sensation of being watched crawled down her back. She took the quickest peek behind her. The hallway was completely empty, though she felt the presence of others.
Many others.
Talking. Laughing. Keeping their identities a secret from her.
They were a quiet presence. But she could feel them. Sort of like when someone passed by her in a library, and the cool, air-conditioned breeze brushed silently against her skin.
Footsteps sounded in the direction she headed. Along with a clank, clank, clank. Metal against metal. Maybe a ladder that jostled with each step, or painting materials? The footsteps weren't Henry's, or even a man's step. They were quick and light. Paisley, maybe. For the second time today, Gemma would be happy to see her.
The female figure appeared in stages when she rose to the top of the stairs. First the white bonnet, then the round face, and finally, the dark uniform with the white apron. Clank, clank, clank. She carried a coal bucket and small shovel that made noise when they jostled against one another.
Gemma jumped at the sight. Her hand felt where the end of the chair rail opened onto a door. The maid nodded and sent her a look with curious eyes. Gemma fumbled with the doorknob until it opened and she darted through it. After shutting the door quickly behind her, she waited. Hoped. Prayed that the maid—
The ghost?
The memory?
―wouldn’t find its way to her. The jangle of metal on metal hit an even rhythm, accenting every other beat. It struck its peak when the maid walked nearest to the door. When the clanking metal finally passed into the once again quiet, she felt her heart resume a steady beat.
Her vision settled on her immediate surroundings, the sizable room with floral carpet and wallpaper in earthy gold, blues, and browns. Where Benjamin’s room had been seductively bold with rich color, this must have been Anna’s room. It was more understated and feminine, with print and flowers and a thin gold rope painted as a border near the ceiling that was scalloped every foot or so.
She sat on the side of Anna’s Louis XV bed and filled her lungs with air, waiting, just to be certain, that the hallway was empty now. Her empathy for the woman she had seen in Benjamin’s room overwhelmed her. Anna appeared tired and sad, worn out from Benjamin’s temper, Gemma supposed. Her hand traced the gracefully carved walnut headboard decorated with embellishments at the top and sides, as well as a few additions she'd never seen on a piece like this.
A painted bouquet was centered on the headboard, the stems hidden in a white lace doily and tied together with a blue ribbon. On either side were white flowers mixed with red tulips and tied in white ribbon—white flowers that appeared to be the same fragrant ones that lined the backyard of the estate.
Other odd-looking flowers in red and purple were painted to look as if someone had laid them beneath the arrangements. Some curled, brown leaves were scattered around the flowers.
Anna’s room was plain and orderly in a Victorian way. Everything in its place, all at right angles and centered around the rectangular windows that stood on end on the far wall. From the second story, they offered Anna a view of another world, but not a way out of the one she was sentenced to.
The beauty was stunted by walls that were too firm and a floor that was too solid. Benjamin’s room nearly throbbed with a pulse, it was so bold. Anna’s was more of a decorated holding cell. It was thankfully quiet and keeping its secrets to itself. She would inspect the furniture another time with Henry. For now, she would go downstairs.
When she stood, a strong scent of perfume filled the room, and she turned to find a crackling fire in the fireplace that heated the too-flowery scent. For the second time in the past few minutes, her heart skipped double time on its regular job.
The same woman she’d seen next door sat at an ornate walnut vanity with a white marble top, wearing knee-length, beige undergarments. Two silver candelabras were lit and placed on either side. Several medicine bottles crowded on the left-hand ledge, and a glass of wine rested on the other side. A young maid stood behind her and pinned and twisted her loose curls into an effortless pile at the top of her head.
“So real,” Gemma whispered.
Memories.
Imprints?
Three dimensional.
So alive.
She stepped toward the woman she now knew was Anna and held her position just a few feet from her. Anna’s lifeless expression stared at her, unseeing from the mirror. Her eyes and lips were swollen, and a blush of red from crying dotted the end of her nose. Gemma waved her hand in a slow half-circle, but no one noticed her.
