The House on the Hill: A Ghost Story Read online

  Sophie angrily wiped away the tears that slid down her cheeks. She’d been weepy for months, the slightest upset bringing her to tears. She knew her melancholy had nothing to do with burnt porridge or spilled milk, or the invitation to Amelia’s wedding. She was frightened and ashamed, and a cold sense of dread was becoming her constant companion as the days wore on with no word from Teddy.

  It was just as the first days of autumn brought some much-needed relief from the relentless heat that the Sea Falcon finally limped into port, its middle mast cracked, its hull marred with ugly patches of tar, and its rigging torn and sagging in places. Sophie breathed a sigh of relief as she watched the great ship drop anchor in the harbor, its journey finally at an end. Teddy was home, and she’d see him in a matter of hours, tomorrow at the latest. He’d make everything all right. She’d no longer have to carry the burden of her pregnancy alone. Teddy would be there to support her and to make the necessary arrangements for their future. She returned home and settled in to wait, but her excitement was too great to permit her to sit quietly. She paced the parlor like a caged animal, her head swiveling toward the window every few seconds to make sure she hadn’t missed Teddy walking past.

  As the flat light of the afternoon began to fade and the shadows lengthened in prelude to evening, she tried to placate herself with the usual excuses. There was much to do before the crew could come ashore. Teddy had walked by without her noticing. He’d needed to reassure his mother and sisters he was well before coming to see her. He feared her father was already at home and didn’t want to risk exposing their courtship.

  He’ll come tomorrow, Sophie told herself over and over as she prepared for bed, her nervous energy replaced by bone-deep fatigue. Divested of her stays, her belly popped out and she felt the child move deep within her, the ripples it made stronger and broader than those of the week before. She stroked her stomach affectionately. At first, she hadn’t been able to think of the child as anything but an ‘it,’ but now that she could feel signs of life, she was beginning to feel great affection for the little person incubating within. She tried to imagine whom the child would look like once it was born and what sort of personality it might have once it grew out of babyhood.

  Sophie climbed into bed, blew out the candle, and stared at the darkened ceiling above. To calm herself down, she began thinking of baby names, trying each one on for size and discarding it immediately. It was strange how the names just didn’t seem to fit, as if the child already had a personality that needed to be considered. Would Teddy want their son to be named Theodore, after himself? Would he prefer something traditional for a girl, or maybe something a bit more modern, like Georgina or Araminta? No, she hated that name, Sophie decided. She wouldn’t even mention it to him. Perhaps Hannah, or Constance. She’d always liked Constance, for the sheer steadfastness of it. Or perhaps Andrew for a boy. Andrew Mercer had a nice ring to it.

  The diversion worked and Sophie drifted, her mind and body exhausted after a day of fruitless waiting. Tomorrow, she thought drowsily as she finally succumbed to sleep. Tomorrow.

  Chapter 16

  The following morning dawned gloomy and wet, with steady rain falling from a leaden sky as gusty winds tore at the branches of the tree outside Sophie’s bedroom window, the glistening leaves fluttering like agitated butterflies. Gone were the dazzling sunlight and heat of summer, replaced by a sudden chill that seemed to creep right into her bones. Sophie washed and dressed, and arranged her hair into a neat bun, but left a few curls to frame her face to soften the effect. Thankfully, her father had risen early and gone down to the printshop, leaving Sophie alone with Agnes, who, having already baked several loaves of fresh bread, was plucking a chicken by the hearth, the feathers landing in her apron.

  Sophie tried to eat, but her stomach was in knots and a nagging melancholy yanked at her heartstrings, making her feel frustrated and irritable for no good reason. She knew she wouldn’t be able to settle to any task this morning, so she marched into the parlor and sat by the window, determined to watch for Teddy until she finally spotted him. Even if he didn’t come right away, knowing he was well was all that mattered. Hours later, she was still at her post, her eyes gritty with the strain of her vigil and her patience worn so thin it was torn in places. She finally gave up and went upstairs to fetch her cloak. She hadn’t seen her future mother-in-law in months and hoped Mrs. Mercer wouldn’t find her unexpected visitor sadly lacking in manners, but she simply couldn’t bear the strain any longer.

  As Sophie braved the elements, she wondered if Mrs. Mercer knew of Teddy’s promise to marry her. Had he informed his mother of their intentions, as he’d said he would, or had he decided to wait until he returned in order to avoid any unpleasantness for Sophie should Anne Mercer reveal their plans to Sophie’s father?

  Sophie skirted the building to reach the back door that led to the apartment above the tavern. When no one answered, she pushed the door open, stepped inside the dank hallway, and peered up the darkened stairs. She heard several female voices, but no hint of Teddy’s rich baritone. Sophie pushed back her hood, patted her damp curls, and walked up the stairs, hoping Mrs. Mercer wouldn’t be too put out with her for simply showing up. The door at the top of the stairs was open, revealing the tiny parlor where the Mercer girls spent most of their time.

  Sophie rapped on the door, hesitant to just walk in. A moment later, Lydia emerged from the bedroom and came to the door. She was the prettiest of Teddy’s sisters, with blue eyes and chestnut curls that framed a heart-shaped face. She was also the one who resembled Teddy the most.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Brewster,” Lydia said, her eyes widening in surprise at finding Sophie loitering outside the door.

  “Hello, Lydia. May I speak to Teddy?” Sophie asked, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. “It’s rather urgent,” she added when Lydia failed to reply.

  “You’d best speak to Ma,” Lydia said, and stepped aside to let Sophie in.

  Sophie hadn’t been to Teddy’s house since she was much younger and came to play with his sisters, but she instantly noticed the drastic changes the intervening years had brought. The settee was worn and sagged in the middle, and the rug on the floor looked faded and threadbare. The drapes were frayed, and there was an empty space on the mantel where a carriage clock had once stood. Mrs. Mercer must have sold it in her hour of need. No wonder Teddy couldn’t rush into marriage. His family was on the brink of poverty, their living conditions sadly reduced since the death of Mr. Mercer.

  Anne Mercer was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. A pot bubbled behind her, the fragrant steam filling the small kitchen. She looked up, her graying eyebrows knitting in displeasure, set down her knife, and wiped her hands on her apron before addressing Sophie.

  “To what do we owe the pleasure, Miss Brewster?”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Mercer. I was hoping to speak to Teddy.”

  “You and everyone else, it seems,” she replied.

  “I saw the Sea Falcon come into the harbor yesterday afternoon. Is he not at home?”

  Anne Mercer looked at Sophie with something akin to pity and shook her head. She tried to retain her composure, but Sophie noticed the shaking of her hands, which she tried to hide by picking up the knife again and resuming her task. “Teddy wasn’t on board. One of the officers came by last night to give me the news.”

  Sophie felt sick with apprehension, but there had to be an explanation for Teddy’s absence. “I d-don’t understand,” she stammered. “Where is he?”

  “I wish I knew. Mr. Lester said Teddy came ashore in Port Royale, Jamaica. He was in the company of several other sailors but became separated from the group shortly after. He didn’t turn up by the time the ship was ready to cast off. Captain Barker sent out a search party, but they found no trace of him. Mr. Lester believes Teddy jumped ship,” Mrs. Mercer said. Angry red spots appeared on her cheeks, but Sophie wasn’t sure if she was upset with Teddy for leaving his companions or with Mr. Lester for jumpi
ng to such a harsh conclusion.

  “But why would he do such a thing?” Sophie exclaimed. “Where would he have gone?”

  “I can’t answer that, can I?” Mrs. Mercer retorted. “That man carried on like my son was a criminal, a deserter. Teddy might have been hurt, or worse,” she went on, her knife coming dangerously close to her fingers. “He might be lying dead in a ditch, for all I know, and all they want to do is punish him for abandoning his post. He hadn’t even received his wages,” she said tearfully. “He’d never have gone off without collecting his pay.”

  “Will you be able to manage?” Sophie asked, hoping she wasn’t being tactless.

  “Mr. Lester was good enough to bring me Teddy’s pay. He knows the girls and I depend on it, but make no mistake, Miss Brewster, if Teddy turns up, he’ll have to face the consequences of his actions.”

  “So, you believe he left intentionally?” Sophie asked, wondering if Mrs. Mercer knew more than she was saying.

  “I don’t know what I believe. Teddy can be unpredictable, moody.”

  That didn’t sound like the Teddy Sophie knew but given that he had been the man of the house for nearly a decade, it was understandable that he should feel the pressure and take it out on those closest to him.

  “Teddy would never do anything dishonorable,” Sophie said. “It’s not in his nature.”

  “Shows how well you know him,” Mrs. Mercer scoffed. She turned and dropped the potatoes into the pot, then sank into a rickety chair with a sigh. “Teddy always talked of striking out on his own, of grabbing something for himself. Perhaps he saw an opportunity and took it. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I just need to know he’s alive and well.”

  “No!” Sophie exclaimed. “He said we’d be married. He said he loves me. He wouldn’t simply leave me behind.”

  “And you honestly believe you’re the only girl he’s made promises to? I love my son, Miss Brewster, but I know him through and through. Just like his feckless da, he is. Can’t help reaching for what he wants, and damn the consequences, and Teddy does have a weakness for a pretty face.”

  “But I’m with child,” Sophie exclaimed. “What am I to do?” Her knees felt weak and she leaned against the wall for support. Her mind was refusing to accept what she was hearing, but her body was already reacting to the shock. She was trembling and thought she might be sick.

  “Here, have a drink of water,” Mrs. Mercer said, not unkindly. She heaved herself to her feet and poured Sophie water from a chipped pitcher.

  Sophie took a sip, then another, and another. After a few moments, the nausea subsided, and she felt a bit stronger.

  “Sit yourself down,” Mrs. Mercer said as she pushed the chair toward her. “How far gone are you?”

  “Nearly five months.”

  “Well, I’m sorry for you, lass, but I can’t help. We’re barely surviving ourselves. With Teddy gone, I’ll have to find a way to put food on the table. My youngest girls will have to go to work, and it won’t be at anything genteel, I promise you that. I’ll be lucky if we manage to keep a roof over our heads. Go home, Miss Brewster. There’s nothing for you here.”

  “But what am I to do?” Sophie wailed.

  “Throw yourself on the mercy of your father. He’s a good man. He won’t turn you out. You’re not the first or the last girl to fall for the sweet promises of a handsome young man. If you’re lucky, the babe will die, and you’ll be free of the shame. You’ll still have a chance for a good marriage. If not, well, then your day is done,” Mrs. Mercer said, her soft gaze diluting the harsh words. “I’m sorry my son let you down. He’s let us all down.”

  A quaking sob escaped Sophie’s mouth. It seemed to come directly from her chest, from the vicinity of her heart. She didn’t want to believe Mrs. Mercer. Something awful must have happened to Teddy. He had to be seriously hurt, or dead, but he would never have simply walked away from them all. Teddy wouldn’t. Perhaps his mother had chosen to believe Teddy had run off since it was easier than thinking he might be dead, and she’d never find out what had happened to him or even get a body to bury.

  But the Teddy Mrs. Mercer described was different from the charming boy Sophie had fallen in love with. Mrs. Mercer loved Teddy the most of all her children. He was her eldest, her boy. A mother knew her son better than his sweetheart, and she’d insinuated that Teddy’s promises were not to be taken seriously. Could Sophie really have been just another willing partner in a string of sordid dalliances? Now that she thought about it, Teddy hadn’t touched her as an inexperienced young man would. He knew what he was about and had seemed intimately familiar with the female anatomy.

  He’d had women before her, Sophie realized as she bowed her head to hide her tears. She hadn’t been his first, as she had naively believed. How many others had Teddy lain with while he was away at sea, putting in at different ports and possibly joining the other sailors when they went ashore to visit dockside brothels? It wasn’t as if he had a wife waiting for him at home, and even if he had, would that have made a difference? How many others might have fallen pregnant with his child? Did he know? Did he care? Had he ever meant to marry her, or was he just having a bit of fun while he was at home?

  Her heart stubbornly held on to her faith in him, but her mind was more rational and was already searching for tangible proof of Teddy’s intentions. Mrs. Mercer had no reason to lie. She looked too tired and defeated to bother with making up stories. She had bigger problems than Sophie’s swelling belly. She still had two daughters to clothe and feed, and she could hardly do that by taking in laundry or hiring herself out as a char woman.

  Sophie got to her feet and stumbled from the too-warm kitchen. Mrs. Mercer didn’t say anything, just returned to her pot, as if Sophie had been nothing more than a figment of her imagination. Sophie glanced at Lydia as she passed her on the way to the door. Janet was only twelve, but Lydia was fifteen, old enough for some men, who’d pay handsomely for her innocence. Sophie hoped it never came to that, but the dingy apartment and Mrs. Mercer’s matter-of-fact attitude spoke of a quiet desperation that could lead to all manner of sins.

  Sophie ambled home but didn’t go upstairs. Instead she entered through the shop and let herself into the back, where her father was busy setting type for a new order. He looked up in surprise, her damp face and droopy curls not lost on him.

  “Sophie, what on earth is the matter? You look a fright. Are you ill?” Horace asked as he wiped his hands on a cloth and came toward her.

  Sophie nodded miserably. She did feel ill, but this wasn’t the kind of ailment that would either pass or kill her. This was the type of illness that would gnaw away at her heart until there was nothing left and she was just a hollow shell of her former self. What she was about to do was the first step toward an uncertain future, but she no longer had a choice; she was too far gone to hope time would bring forth a solution.

  “Father, I’m with child,” she blurted out, praying that her father wouldn’t cast her out on the spot.

  Horace blanched, his ink-stained hand flying to his mouth. “Merciful heavens. Who’s the father?” he demanded. “Who’s done this to you?” He took one look at her face and the angst in his eyes turned to fury. “Ted Mercer, is it? I told you to stay away from that blackguard. What now? He refuses to marry you, I suppose. Can’t say I’m surprised. He probably has a brainless harlot like you in every port.”

  Sophie cringed at his words, but he was angry and disappointed, so she chose to ignore the vicious barb. “Teddy left his ship in Jamaica and never returned. He’s gone.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Horace cried. “I never trusted that whoreson.”

  Sophie gasped. She’d never heard her father use such language before, but then, she’d never put him in such a position before either. He was livid, all traces of sympathy erased from his usually kind face. His eyes were narrowed, and his mouth pressed into a thin line as his gaze bore into her middle.

  “How long?”

  “Clos
e to five months. What will happen to me, Father?” Sophie asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “To us?” Her hand went to her belly, cradling it gently.

  “You will remain in this house until the child is born. You will not go out or speak to anyone. I will swear Agnes to silence, and she’ll keep her mouth shut if she wants to retain her position or get a good character reference in the future. I will engage a midwife that’s not local to these parts. Afterward, we’ll tell people you have been ill.”

  “What of my child?” Sophie cried.

  “I need time to think. Leave me. I can’t bear to look at you, Sophie. Thank the good Lord your mother is already in her grave, or this would have killed her all over again. To think that a daughter of mine would lie with a lowlife like Ted Mercer, like some street doxy, and bring shame on my house. My imagination never stretched far enough to envision such a future for you. Get out!” he cried, his eyes blazing with anger. “I don’t want to see you.”

  Sophie stumbled from the shop and retired to her room, where she wept until daylight faded and night descended, cloaking her in darkness. She wiped her streaming eyes and sat up, unable to bear her grief any longer. She always tried to find the good in any situation, and this was no different. Her father was understandably angry, but he’d look after her. He wouldn’t disown her, not if he was already making plans for the child’s birth. Perhaps they’d move after the baby was born. She could pass herself off as a widow and bring up her baby with some claim to dignity. A bitter bark of laughter escaped her. Dignity. She had no dignity left. She’d thrown it away the moment she allowed Teddy to slide his hands beneath her skirts. She’d thought what they’d shared was love, but to her father and Anne Mercer, it had been nothing more than the dirty, sinful coupling of two people who had no morals and no respect for God or the rules of society.

  Sophie sighed miserably. As a man, Teddy was always free to move on, to live his life on his own terms, but as a woman, she was left to nurture his seed, growing large with child until she couldn’t hide her shame, then bring their child into the world, knowing it would be forever tainted by illegitimacy. Fresh tears began to fall, and Sophie buried her face in her damp pillow, wishing she could turn back the clock and prevent the catastrophe that had befallen her. Her father needn’t bother to lock her in her room—she never wanted to leave.