by K S Logan
“Well, better get back to packing,” Grace said to Ernie, who wasn’t paying her any more attention, a clean ass his sudden immediate priority. “After a refill, of course.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Grace felt tension take root in her shoulders as she drove up the long driveway to Craigrook House. She wasn’t sure if it was the long drive that caused her sudden fatigue or the fact that she was about to see her childhood home for the first time in eighteen years. The last time she saw her family home, it was through tears, in the back of a cab, as she vowed never to return.
“Well, here we are.” She drew in a deep, shaky breath as she pulled her car around the circular drive and stopped at the front entrance.
Grace sat for a few minutes, looking through the rain-streaked windshield at the mansion where she grew up. The weather was the only thing that looked the same. The last light of day was fading fast, and there was the typical Scottish mist lying low on the ground. However, Grace could see that the once manicured grounds were now overgrown and unkempt.
Dry, brown, skeletal vines were all that remained of the once lush, charming ivy that hugged both sides of the stone-walled entrance. The pretty Scots Rose bushes under the large bow window had become wild, prickly, cruel brambles. Once an inviting, regal façade, it now looked sad, unloved, and melancholy.
Grace covered her head with her bag, locked her car out of habit like she would back home in England, and ran for the cover of the front alcove. She shivered as she pressed a wet finger on the doorbell. The familiar chime rang through the house. She waited a couple of minutes, bouncing from foot to foot to ward off the chill, and then tried the bell again and added a few knocks for good measure. Still no answer. She tried to peer through the window, but the darkness inside revealed nothing.
Grace often asked herself over the last eighteen years why she bothered hanging on to the large brass house key; now she was grateful she had. She tried the key, but it didn’t fit. “Just great,” she muttered, as the damp cold settled into her bones.
Reluctantly, she decided to check the back entrance, which was quite a distance around the formidable mansion, especially with the surrounding trees and bushes being as overgrown as they were.
The ancient wrought iron gate gave a loud creak of protest as she swung it open and entered the side garden. Her heels got stuck in the cold, wet muck with every step and the large wet bushes that invaded the path on both sides licked at her sleeves, completely drenching them as she went.
After finally clearing the side garden, Grace entered the back patio. She stamped her feet a few times on the concrete in a futile attempt to loosen some of the cold mud from her shoes. She sensed someone watching her from behind and quickly spun around but couldn’t see clearly through the misty rain. Was that a person standing over by the hedges?
Grace hurried up the back stairs, slipped and smashed her shin on the top step. She swore under her breath as she righted herself and then quickly tried the doorknob, locked. She raised onto her toes, peeked into the mudroom, and rapped on the door.
“Morvin,” she called.
She could have sworn she saw someone moving about inside, but it was hard to see through the patterned sheers. She banged harder and looked again at the hedge behind her. Someone was standing in the downpour looking at her. In the fading light and pouring rain she couldn’t make out their features, but they seemed to be wearing a hood, and they were standing at an odd angle, stooped over, like a half-shut knife.
“Hello? Who is that? Is that you, Keaton?” She thought it might be her nephew, Morvin’s son. He had to be about eighteen years old now. Aunt Lena told her, the last time they spoke, that Keaton was a bit of a wastrel; no ambition, played video games 24/7 and lived in one of the outbuildings at the back of the estate.
The figure did not reply. Grace continued to pound on the door as the adrenaline kicked in, fueled by her growing fear. If she ran back to her car, she’d have to pass by the person in the shadows, but she couldn’t stand out here all night in the freezing rain.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move in the house.
“Morvin! Open the door!” Grace was yelling as she continued pounding, all the while trying to keep watch on the strange figure in the increasing darkness. What the hell? Why won’t she open the damned door?
Grace once again contemplated running to her car but she was terrified of passing the creep watching her. She took one last look in the window and then, summoning all her courage, tore down the steps, ran past the hooded stranger, and rounded the corner into the muddy side path. In her haste, she slipped again and went down on one knee on the wet, sparse grass and muck. Feeling panic at her back, she chanced a look over her shoulder and saw that the person was still in the same spot. He hadn’t followed, but she could see the hood had turned, he was watching her.
Grace darted back through the gate. Her car still looked miles away. She grabbed at her keys as she ran. Her cold, numb, slippery fingers could barely feel them in her grasp. Finally at her car, she unlocked the door and jumped inside. She quickly pushed down all the door locks in a panic, just as a light flickered on in the entranceway. Grace watched with relief as the large oak front door swung open, and her sister emerged in the doorway.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Thank God you’re home. There’s someone out there; scared me half to death. And my key doesn’t work. Have the locks been changed?” Grace was out of breath. She peeled off her soaked jacket.
“Hello to you too,” Morvin said, as she took Grace’s scarf and jacket and hung them on the nearby coat tree, her face expressionless.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Grace smiled at her sister. “Hello, Morvin. It’s nice to see you. It’s been a long time. You look...good.” Grace was a little shocked at her sister’s appearance. Yes, she had aged, of course, they both had in the last eighteen years, but apparently, the years had not been at all kind to Morvin.
She had deep, hard lines on her face, and her hair up in a stuffy bun; the once brassy red color now mostly taken over by unruly wires of gray. Her clothes were gray too and matronly, just as they always were; her presence still dark and looming. Grace always called her Lurch from the Addams Family, but never to her face.
“Yes, the locks have been changed. Did you expect everything to remain the same even though you’ve been absent forever?” Morvin’s voice still sounded like she spoke through gravel. Lurch voice, thought Grace as she scanned the large foyer and the grand staircase that swept up the left wall and curved at the top to meet the second floor hall.
Everything did look the same as she remembered except for the visible wear and fading of the old furnishings and wallpaper. She noticed inches upon inches of dust that would never have been there when there were servants.
Memories flooded her mind as she stepped into the sitting room to the left of the entranceway. Even the placement of everything was just as she remembered. A familiar standing lamp of brass and rose glass gave a misguided sense of warmth to the room. Grace remembered playing with the lamp’s gold cord, pretending the frayed ends were hair in a girl’s ponytail. Morvin had a small fire burning in the fireplace, but it didn’t seem to be heating the room much. The house was freezing.
Morvin brushed past her, headed toward the kitchen.
“Gee, Grace, nice to see you. How’ve you been all these years?” Grace muttered sarcastically to herself. She followed Morvin, snapshots of memories flashing in her mind, triggered by the familiar surroundings. She envisioned little Grace skipping through the many rooms, behind her older sister, always trying in vain for Morvin’s approval, for her love.
Morvin was thinner than she used to be but was still a large woman, still had the same broad shoulders. “Built like the end of a hoose,” her father used to say, much to Morvin’s chagrin.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting tea,” Morvin said without looking at Grace.
Well, she hasn’t changed a bit, thought Grace. “That’d be love
ly, Morvin,” she said. “It’s freezing outside and honestly not much warmer in here.” Grace rubbed her icy hands together and looked around the kitchen, recalling Irene, the short, chubby cook, who was always flushed and harassed, not overly warm or friendly but made the best biscuits and lots of them. Grace remembered giggling as she watched Irene’s round rear end shake like crazy as she stirred something on the stove. “Remember Irene’s hobnobs?” Grace asked, trying to lighten Morvin’s dour mood and make conversation.
“Why are you here...now?” Morvin asked, straight-faced, looking at Grace for the first time.
“For mother, of course. Geez Morvin, sorry if I’m intruding.”
“Intruding is exactly what you’re doing. We’re just fine here. There’s no need for you to disrupt your life and come back here.” Morvin was trying to open a cookie tin; the strain on her face made her look older than her forty-seven years.
“I’m worried about Mum. I want to be here. Craigrook is my home, too, you know. Here, let me get that.” Grace advanced toward Morvin and held out her hand for the tin.
“I said I don’t need your help.” Morvin gritted her teeth and strained with all her might but to no avail. The lid did not budge.
“Here, let me,” Grace insisted. She grabbed the tin and popped it open, no strain required. Her powerful left arm was no match for any stubborn lid. She handed it back to an annoyed Morvin.
Morvin grumbled slightly and went about plating the biscuits and pouring the tea.
“I noticed you didn’t bring any bags. You’re not planning on staying here then.” Grace wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.
Morvin banged a cup on the table as Grace took a seat. She wasn’t exactly expecting the welcome wagon but hoped that the years might have softened her sister a bit. No such luck, she was still the same, cold, nasty Morvin.
Grace would not be bullied anymore though. She’d suffered plenty as a girl at the hands of her older sister but was not a child any longer.
“I am, yes. My bags are still in the car. I’ll stay in my old room. I won’t get in your way. I’m staying until our mother is back on her feet. You won’t even know I’m here.”
“Mother’s dead,” Morvin said, deadpan, but you could see a faint hint of enjoyment in her eyes as she delivered the horrible news to a shocked Grace.
“What?” Grace said, dumbfounded. “Oh, no. What happened?”
“She had a heart attack through the night. She hadn’t been feeling well for some time. You wouldn’t know, of course,” Morvin said, through thin lips, slightly grinning.
Tears rolled down Grace’s cheeks. She didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, to say anything. She couldn’t believe it.
“Were you there? Did she say anything?” Grace asked, hoping her mother didn’t die alone in the hospital.
“Of course, I was there. I’ve always been there. Mother died painfully, but it was over fast. She told me she loved me in those last seconds.” Morvin looked Grace directly in the eyes and sneered. “She thanked me for being a good daughter. Those were her exact words.”
It was clear Morvin wanted to hurt Grace and, as usual, succeeded with a surplus.
After some uncomfortable silence, Grace asked, “Well, what do we do now? What’s the first step?” She cupped her tea with her hands, trying to warm them.
“You’re not doing a thing, like I said. Maybe you weren’t listening. You are not needed here.” Morvin walked to the hallway. “Stay the night, if you must, but you can just go back to your stupid little life in the morning.”
After Grace had left for England, Morvin always thought Grace would come back, begging at the door for help and forgiveness. When she didn’t, and they heard from Aunt Lena that she was doing quite well, Morvin was unpleasantly surprised. It had to be hard, all on her own, with a disability as well. Then Morvin would shrug the thoughts off and surmise that Grace was probably whoring or doing something sleazy like that.
As Morvin walked down the hall, she added, “You know where your room is.”
Grace called after her, “Wait a minute, Morvin. We should talk about this.” Grace stood, following. “I’m not leaving!” she yelled at Morvin’s back.
She sat back down, put her head in her hands and wept, alone, in the kitchen where she once ate warm bowls of porridge, completed homework assignments, and occasionally sat across from her father’s curtain of newspaper. Although she recognized her surroundings, remembered the old fridge with its rounded edges and yellow color, the rhythm of the ticking grandfather clock in the hall, it wasn’t truly home for Grace, not in the traditional sense. She never felt safe here, another thing that hadn’t changed.
She took their full cups to the sink and went to the kitchen door. She looked out the window to see if the strange figure was still lurking outside in the shadows. It was hard to see through the wet darkness, but it appeared whoever it was, was gone.
She had to go back out there, to her car. What if he was out front, waiting for her? Oh well, she thought, I’m not sleeping in the nude in this frigid house.
On her way to the door, she passed the old telephone desk and grabbed a sharp letter opener, just in case. She noticed a notepad with the lawyer’s name on it, Jackson Humbly. It had tomorrow’s date: four o’clock.
CHAPTER NINE
It felt so strange to be back in her childhood home after all these years, especially with her mother and father both gone. She peeked into the sitting room. Her mother would have been sitting in the floral high back chair, a cup of tea on the side table, and a crossword in her lap, her half-rimmed glasses sitting on the end of her nose.
“Up to bed, Gracey, don’t forget to brush your teeth. Don’t bother your father; he’s working.” She could almost hear her voice coming from the empty chair.
Her father never minded being interrupted by Grace. She would sneak into his study, and he would stop what he was doing and scoop her up for a goodnight kiss. “Off you go, tired little flutterby.”
Grace looked over at the large study door. She felt like a child again, wanting to get a goodnight hug from the only person who ever made her feel like she was loved or wanted.
She made her way up the wide winding staircase to the second floor. In total, there were four floors at Craigrook. The kitchen and main living areas were all on the main floor, three bedrooms and two baths made up the second. At the west end of the house was another staircase that led to some more bedrooms and another parlor. There was also a basement at the back of the large home that used to be the servant’s quarters and storage rooms. The fourth floor had more storage, her mother’s craft room, a gathering space, and access to the rooftop terrace. The house was once grand and majestic, but now it seemed empty, dusty, and sad.
Grace’s old bedroom was left of the second-floor staircase and down the end of a long hallway, along with a guest room across the hall and another next door. She peeked inside them and saw that they were still fully furnished, unchanged, and unused. She paused before entering her room, her hand resting on the glass doorknob—so many memories in the little room behind the door, many of them traumatizing.
She took a breath, turned the knob, and felt her apprehension turn to disappointment at the emptiness of the space. There was just a bed, an end table, an armoire, and a round braided rug.
Grace shivered as she dropped her bag on the floor and sat on the end of the bed. She was exhausted after the long drive, the unnerving experience outside, and her sister’s frigid welcoming. Tears welled up in her eyes as the realization that she’d missed seeing her mother for the last time sank in.
She took in the room, remembering where some of her things used to be. She had a magnificent wooden armoire in the far corner that held all her dresses and jackets. By the window, there was a little table and chairs that held pretend tea parties; that made her smile, remembering how huge her dad looked when he sat down with her once, so long ago.
In the middle of the room, on a large blue rug, t
here once sat her favorite toy, an antique wooden dollhouse. It was a replica of Craigrook House made by one of Grace’s great-great uncles and had been passed down in the family for years. It was made entirely of wood and had windows and doors that opened and closed. The paint colors, wallpapers, and furnishings all closely mirrored the real Craigrook.
The dolls were all handmade as well, porcelain and cloth, and quite fragile. Grace always played with great care. They were all dressed in grand Victorian gowns and suits, right down to their crinolines and lacy pantaloons.
Grace recalled one time specifically when Morvin sat down on the floor beside her while she played with them.
“Hi, Gracey. Guess what? Mother’s gone out for the whole day,” she extended the word whole as she said it. “That means it’s just you and me...all alone.”
Grace had tried to ignore her and continued playing, but she was afraid of what being alone with Morvin might entail. Usually, it wasn’t favorable for Grace.
“Can I play too?” asked Morvin.
“Uh, okay,” answered Grace.
For a little while, it had been okay. Morvin was using the mommy doll and just walking it up and down the floors. Grace was playing with the daddy doll in the little study. Morvin brought the mommy downstairs, and she started making them kiss and hug. At first, Grace giggled, she was only five and seeing Mommy and Daddy kiss was funny. But then Morvin began making them do gross things. She was putting the daddy’s hands under mommy’s dress and making gross noises.
“Stop it, Morvin. I don’t like it,” Grace said.
Morvin continued and started making the daddy be mean to the mommy, hitting her and throwing her around.
Grace got up to leave. “Sit down!” Morvin demanded. “I’m in charge of you today, and I demand that you stay put, or I’ll tell Mother that you wouldn’t listen to me.”
Grace sat down again and watched Morvin grab the little girl doll. Morvin tried to sound like a baby, “Ooh, Mommy! What is Daddy doing to you?” Then in a gruff daddy’s voice, “Shut up, stupid child. How dare you barge in here!” She took the child doll and put it in the little closet at the back of one of the large bedrooms. “You’ll stay in here until you’ve learned your lesson,” she said, still using the daddy’s voice.