The House on the Hill: A Ghost Story Read online

  “You are welcome anytime,” Lauren replied, smiling. Now that he was there, she was thrilled to see him. Being with Xavier was like wrapping herself in a favorite blanket that made her feel warm and safe. “How long have you been here?”

  “About ten minutes.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Not yet. Why don’t you sit down and tell me how you are,” Xavier invited.

  “Did Mom and Dad send you here on a reconnaissance mission?” Lauren asked as she took the other chair.

  “You bet. They’re worried about you, Lori.”

  “Well, tell them there’s nothing to worry about,” Lauren replied. She gazed out over the bay in order to avoid looking at Xavier.

  “Isn’t there?” he asked gently. “You seemed to be doing all right, under the circumstances, then you suddenly picked up and left, without so much as a word to anyone. And last week Mom found out you’d put your apartment on the market. What gives?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Lauren replied archly. “I just needed a change of air. Everything in that apartment reminds me of Zack.”

  “So, then why did you wait almost a year to begin the process?”

  “I simply wasn’t ready to deal with the hassle of moving.”

  “And now you are?” Xavier asked. “I would think you’d want to be there when potential buyers come to see the place.”

  “I’m working with a real estate agent. She’ll let me know about any potential offers and I will make a decision.”

  “It’s not like you, Lori,” Xavier persisted. “What’s changed?”

  Lauren shook her head. She wished she could tell him the truth, but telling Xavier would lead to her parents knowing. He’d never be able to keep it from them, nor should he. They’d always had a close relationship, and she didn’t want him to lie to them. “Look, I simply needed a change. Now, tell me about you,” she said, hoping he’d get the hint and change the subject. She was surprised to see a rosy blush spread across her brother’s lean cheeks. “What?” she asked, smiling at him.

  “I started seeing someone,” he confessed. Lauren didn’t say anything, hoping he’d feel compelled to fill the silence. Xavier had had plenty of relationships in the past, but she’d never seen him act sheepish about them. Perhaps this one was special. “I’m a little nervous about it,” he confessed.

  “Why?”

  Xavier exhaled loudly as if he were about to get something off his chest. “Because it’s Brooke.”

  Lauren let out a hoot of delight. “She’s been in love with you for ages. It’s perfect.”

  Xavier gave Lauren a pained look. “I really like her, Lori, but we’ve just started dating, and I don’t want to hurt or disappoint her. I can’t guarantee that we’ll be together forever.”

  “No one can. But can you see a future with her?”

  “I think so,” Xavier replied. “I just don’t want to rush into anything. You know how Brooke is; she’s probably bought a dozen wedding magazines and is looking for the perfect dress even as we speak.”

  “Look, Xav, just be honest with her. You knew what you were getting into when you asked her out, and so did she. Clearly, there’s a strong attraction on both sides, but fantasy and reality are two different things, and Brooke has yet to reconcile the two, having fantasized about you for the past fifteen years. How’s it been so far?”

  Xavier blushed an even deeper red. “Great. I never realized how sexy she is. I mean, I always knew she was smart and funny, but I guess I never really saw her. I always thought of her as your little friend, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Lauren replied. “Xav, Brooke is a grown woman now, not a teenage girl. She’s been hurt before and so have you. She understands about giving things time to develop. Don’t underestimate her.”

  “I just don’t want you to hate me if things don’t work out between us.”

  “I won’t hate you. Either one of you. What happens between you is private, and I don’t need to know the details. I love you both and will still love you both should you break up. I hope you don’t, though,” she added. “Brooke would be my dream sister-in-law.”

  “There you go, just like I knew you would,” Xavier cried, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

  “I’m just teasing you, you idiot. I’m happy for you. Truly. I hope it works out.”

  “Me too,” Xavier replied, smiling. “I will kill you dead if you tell her this, but I can see spending the rest of my life with her. I really can.”

  Lauren nodded and looked away. She could see Xavier and Brooke together. She’d always thought they’d be good for each other. She only hoped they’d have a better chance at a future than she and Zack had.

  “Have you found any good restaurants around here?” Xavier asked. “I’m taking you to dinner.”

  “There’s a nice Asian-fusion place in Chatham,” Lauren replied.

  Xavier immediately whipped out his phone and went on OpenTable to make them a reservation. “God, that took forever. How do you deal with such slow internet service?”

  “I manage,” Lauren said with a sigh. “I’m learning to do things the old-fashioned way.”

  “I bet,” Xavier muttered.

  Lauren didn’t bother to tell him there was no cable or Wi-Fi in the house. He wouldn’t stay long enough to be troubled by it. If she knew Xavier, he’d leave right after dinner, so he’d be home to report to their parents over Sunday breakfast.

  Chapter 29

  Sophie

  December 1727

  As the golds and crimsons of autumn gave way to the grays and whites of a New England winter, Sophie’s mental state noticeably deteriorated, so much so that Reverend Chapman remarked on it when they all dined together on Christmas Day. As much as Sophie didn’t enjoy the company of the Chapmans, she was glad not to be alone with George.

  “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you haven’t been yourself lately, Mrs. Holland,” Reverend Chapman said, studying her over the rim of his glass. “Have you been unwell?”

  “I’m quite all right,” Sophie remarked, desperately trying to maintain her composure. She wasn’t all right, or even passably well. George’s rages and moods swung so frequently between loving charm and brutal violence that she lived in terror, never knowing what would set him off. She’d initially feared not being able to love her husband, but she’d never imagined that she’d live day after day in fear for her very life. George, on the other hand, seemed most content, going about his life as if this were the type of marriage he’d hoped for. Perhaps he had.

  The reverend’s face transformed, as if by sudden understanding, and he smiled broadly at the younger couple, winking playfully at George. “Nothing a few months won’t cure, eh?” he said.

  Mrs. Chapman seemed to shrink, as if the words had hurt her physically. The Chapmans had no children, a state always blamed on the wife’s barrenness rather than a husband’s inability to get her with child, but they fostered several orphaned children from the parish who were, in essence, their unpaid servants.

  George looked at Sophie with some surprise, as if the idea of a child had never occurred to him, then toasted the reverend and Mrs. Chapman, wishing them a merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year. Sophie was plied with food and drink, as if her pallor and haunted expression had anything to do with a lack of sustenance, but the Christmas goose stuck in her throat, her stomach sour as she tried not to imagine what George would say once they returned home.

  He was quiet on the walk back, supporting her arm in the attentive way of a caring husband. Sophie gulped fresh air like a landed fish, desperate to calm her racing heart.

  George started in on her the moment they got in. “Are you ill?” he demanded.

  “No.”

  “Are you with child?”

  “No.”

  “Well, thank the good Lord for that at least,” George replied.

  Sophie dared to sneak a peek at his face. She’d never imagined George wouldn’t want children, so hi
s reaction took her by surprise. “Why?” she asked softly.

  “Because I can’t abide squalling infants,” George snapped. “And I don’t like to share my playthings,” he added, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her pale face.

  A plaything, that’s what I am to him, Sophie thought bitterly. He plays with me the way a cat plays with a mouse before it bites its head off.

  “The reverend is right; you don’t look well.”

  Perhaps because I live in terror of being physically hurt and emotionally abused, Sophie thought, but said nothing.

  “You need a rest,” George announced, shocking her to the core. “Sending you to my parents is out of the question. They’ll ask too many questions, but Amelia would be glad to have you for a few weeks. Her husband has been sent away on some military mission or some such, so she’s alone with her brat. She’ll be glad of the company. I’ll write to her tomorrow,” George promised. “Go on upstairs. I won’t trouble you tonight,” he said gruffly.

  Sophie’s chest swelled with gratitude toward the reverend. If his observation had bought her a reprieve, then she was grateful for his forthrightness. A few nights to sleep without fear of being woken in the night or beaten for George’s amusement was a gift she cherished above all others. She only hoped George wouldn’t change his mind come morning.

  He didn’t. Having written to Amelia and received a reply with the messenger, he packed Sophie off to Boston, telling her he’d come for her in two weeks’ time. Two weeks seemed like an eternity, an enchanted holiday during which she could spend time with Amelia and rest.

  “If you so much as utter a word of complaint to my sister, there’ll be hell to pay when you return,” George said with a smile as he lowered his head to kiss her goodbye. “I expect to see you rested and ready to resume your wifely duties. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes, George.”

  “Off you go, then.”

  He watched as the trap, driven by John Miller, a middle-aged man who served as George’s groom, coachman, and general man-of-all-work, pulled away from the house. Sophie gathered the folds of her cloak closer around her and leaned back against the bench, relief surging through her as the wagon left Cambridge Village and headed toward Boston.

  “Pleasant day for a drive,” John said.

  “Indeed, it is,” Sophie replied. And it was. The January morning was cold and crisp, but the sky was blue and the freshly fallen snow sparkled playfully, making the world look clean and fresh. How she wished she could be made clean again. Was her marriage to George a punishment for lying with Teddy and conceiving a child out of wedlock? Was losing her baby not penance enough? She was barely nineteen and all she’d known was loss and pain. She realized with a start that she couldn’t recall the last time she’d laughed at anything, or even smiled with genuine joy. All the men in her life had not only let her down, but had crushed her like a bug, leaving nothing but a pulpy mess where a young woman had been. How she wished John would just keep on going and take her far away, somewhere where no one would find her.

  As much as she looked forward to seeing Amelia, she knew she’d be watched and evaluated. George’s parents would no doubt wish to see her and study her narrow waist as they shook their heads with disappointment. Did they know of their son’s proclivities, or did they only see the mask George wore before the world? If only she could confide in someone, ask for help. But there was no one. Even her own father was powerless, and indifferent. He hadn’t seen her or written to her since the wedding, having no wish to have any dealings with the daughter who’d disappointed him so bitterly. She couldn’t turn to him any more than she could beg assistance of Lionel Holland. She was all alone and would remain so for years to come.

  Chapter 30

  “Sophie, it’s so good to see you,” Amelia gushed as she drew Sophie into an affectionate embrace. “How I wish we could see each other more often. Come, you must be tired from the journey.” She pulled Sophie toward a well-appointed parlor that overlooked the street. Gentle snow had begun to fall, and a hush seemed to settle over the room once Amelia shut the door.

  “It didn’t take us long to get here at all,” Sophie replied. “Good thing the snow held off until we arrived.”

  “I can’t wait for spring,” Amelia said with exasperation. “All this snow is damn inconvenient. I’m going mad with boredom. Come sit and tell me everything. How is dull old Cambridge? Oh, I do hate all those intellectual types. All they do is belabor points that no one with even a hint of a social life could possibly care about.”

  Sophie accepted a seat on a butter-yellow settee and turned to face Amelia, who settled across from her in a matching wingchair. Amelia looked as elegant as ever, but there was a brittleness in her manner that hadn’t been there before, making Sophie wonder what her marriage to Major Dawson was like.

  “Where’s your boy?” Sophie asked. “I’d love to see him.”

  “Later, perhaps,” Amelia said dismissively. “He can be most trying at times. He cries and cries. I simply can’t bear it.”

  “Is he ill?”

  “He’s teething. I suppose it is uncomfortable for him, but it’s not as if there was anything I could do. Jeremy picks him up and walks with him. He says it soothes the baby.” Amelia looked bemused, as if the idea of trying to ease her son’s discomfort had never crossed her mind. “He’s pleased as punch, of course, to have a son. The future baronet. I do wish Jeremy’s father would hurry up and die. I want to be a lady now, not when I’m dreadfully old, like thirty.”

  Amelia blanched, as if realizing how callous her statement sounded, and instantly changed the subject. “How is dear George? You’d think he was in Philadelphia or New York from how infrequently he visits.”

  “He doesn’t like to leave the shop.”

  “Doesn’t he have an assistant? That colorless little man, Mr. Watkins or Walters or something?”

  “He does have Mr. Williams, but George likes to oversee everything himself. He takes great pride in his work.”

  Amelia scoffed. “He can be such a bore. Ah, here’s tea.”

  A servant entered the room carrying a tray laden with a teapot, cups, saucers, and a platter of sliced cake. The cake looked fancier than anything Mrs. Quarry ever produced and smelled appetizing.

  “I have a new cook,” Amelia boasted. “Dumb as dirt, but she’s an absolute marvel when it comes to baking. You have to try this cake. I ask her to make it once a week, in case anyone comes to call.”

  Sophie accepted a cup of tea and a slice of cake. It was light and fluffy and had an unexpected flavor. “What’s in it?”

  “Grated orange peel. Oranges are hard to come by, but Jeremy manages to procure some on a regular basis. He says they help in preventing scurvy. Imagine that!” Amelia broke off a bite-sized piece of cake and popped it in her mouth. “Say you like it,” she invited.

  “It’s delicious,” Sophie replied truthfully. It’d been a while since she’d enjoyed anything, mainly due to her mental state, but her brief taste of freedom was already casting its spell.

  “I suppose George is disappointed,” Amelia said. She sipped her tea daintily, but her gaze never left Sophie’s face.

  “Disappointed?” Sophie asked, wondering what Amelia had heard.

  “That you’re not with child yet. Oh, sorry, are you?” she whispered, as if someone could overhear the indelicate question.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Well, don’t worry, there’s time. Motherhood is not all it’s rumored to be, you know. No one ever tells you the truth of it. First you go through months of unspeakable discomfort, then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, the pains come and you think you’re almost done, but the birth is the most awful, demeaning, excruciating finale to the whole ordeal, until you realize it’s not quite over yet.”

  “How do you mean?” Sophie asked, doing her best to pretend that this was all news to her.

  “Well, first, you’re lactating like a cow, which is utterly
disgusting,” Amelia said, scrunching up her face. “I couldn’t pass that baby on to a wet nurse fast enough. And then there’s the bleeding and the saggy skin on your belly. And of course, as soon as you give birth, it’s like you’re fair game again, if you know what I mean.” She made a face to let Sophie know exactly what she thought of that.

  “Does Jeremy want more children?”

  “Of course, he does. Don’t they all? They think it’s all we are good for. Well, not me. I’ve been taking precautions.”

  “What kind of precautions?” Sophie asked, hoping Amelia would share and not clam up.

  “Vinegar, my dear. It kills their seed.”

  “How do you apply it?”

  “You soak bits of thick fabric, like wool, and push them up there before he comes to you. Works wonders.”

  “Where have you learned this?” Sophie asked, shocked that Amelia would take such a risk.

  “From mother’s maid. She was quite the chatterbox, that one, always saying the most inappropriate things. Mother dismissed her, of course, but not before I gleaned some useful things.”

  “Does the vinegar not smell?” Sophie asked, scandalized.

  “It airs out, and Jeremy hardly notices anyway. He’s usually half-drunk by the time he joins me in bed,” she replied dismissively. “Does George trouble you often?” she asked, blushing prettily. When Sophie didn’t immediately reply, she went on to answer herself. “I suppose not. He’s such a pussycat, our George. He probably worships the ground you walk on. He always was a one-woman sort of man. There was one maid he was obsessed with when he was younger. Father had to dismiss her because she was frightened of George and refused to be in a room alone with him. Imagine being frightened of George. Why, he’s the most harmless man I know. Now, Jeremy, when he’s in a temper, look out. It’s the soldier in him. His first instinct is always to fight, not sue for peace.”