The Haunting of Ripewood Manor

by Clara Cody

  Stephanie tilted her head to the side, studying Mrs. Callowell's unreadable face. She couldn't help but wonder if her suggestion was made to protect Stephanie or this Mr. McGregor.

  Nodding, she moved for the door again and begrudgingly took Charles' assistance down from the carriage. Maggie and Mrs. Callowell followed.

  "Thank you, Charles," Mrs. Callowell said. "Would you mind, please, taking Maggie and Stephanie's bags to their respective rooms?"

  Stephanie stepped forward before he could respond. "I can take my own things."

  "Not at all, Stephanie," Charles said. "It's no—"

  "I'm quite capable. If you'll just get my bag down to me, it'll be help enough."

  Charles pursed his lips but nodded. He climbed up the back of the carriage and took down her and Maggie's bags from the top. He handed Stephanie's bag to her, letting his eyes and hand linger. She pulled her hand away, along with the bag, and turned from him.

  His shoulders slumped as he turned to Maggie, handing her bag over.

  "I don't mind you takin' my bag," she said before starting up the stairs, without waiting for a reply.

  Stephanie had to suppress a smile as Charles stomped up the stairs behind her. Mrs. Callowell didn't bother trying to hide hers, which shocked Stephanie more than anything. She collected herself and followed Mrs. Callowell to the door, which was already thrown open, with Ann standing to the side. She looked nervously from Maggie to Mrs. Callowell. Stephanie tried to ease her worry with a smile.

  Stephanie stepped back into the dark, ominous foyer. When she'd left the last time, she thought, hoped, she'd never set foot in this house again.

  A dark form lurking in the center hallway caught Stephanie's attention. From the shadows emerged a man, tall and lanky with his hands clasped behind his back. Stephanie recognized his shape first and his features only when he stepped into the brighter lit portion of the foyer. Thin black hair lay flat against his skull. His face was clean-shaven, and he gave a general impression of neatness, if not style. A man used to making the most out of the little he had. He watched Stephanie closely as he moved towards her.

  "Mr. McGregor," Charles said, dropping Maggie's bags and stepping between Stephanie and the approaching man. "Allow me to introduce Stephanie Kitling and Maggie, our cook."

  With that, Ann's eyes bulged and looked pleadingly to Mrs. Callowell.

  "Actually," Mrs. Callowell started, "Maggie will be taking over the maid's duties since we have already employed another cook."

  Maggie's mouth dropped in the same instant Ann's shoulders relaxed. Maggie shot her usurper a mean glare.

  Mrs. Callowell seemed to not notice the palpable tension between the two women. "Speaking of which, Ann?"

  She stepped forward. "Yes, ma'am?"

  "Would you prepare us tea to be served in the sitting room?" She looked directly at Stephanie. "We have many things to discuss."

  Mr. McGregor watched her with an unreadable expression as Ann closed the sliding doors to the sitting room. Stephanie forced herself to not shift under his gaze or return his stare. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her look away again and she knew she couldn't match his dark gaze. But she felt his eyes on her. For a woman who should have spent her life as invisible, she felt like she'd always had one pair of eyes or another on her since the day she'd been born.

  Charles stood behind her, pouring himself a more potent drink than tea. He seemed to be ignoring her for the time being, which she was simultaneously grateful for and resentful of.

  In her peripheral vision, she saw Mr. McGregor shift his position and legs towards Mrs. Callowell, who sat opposite Stephanie.

  "Are you going to tell me why it was so important to have the maid present?" He spoke slowly, the words rolling off his tongue like calculated drops of oil.

  "She is essential, Father McGregor. Fredrick won't be able to stay away with her near."

  He turned his face towards Stephanie again, catching her eye. "And you," he said, looking her up and down with a grimace. "You have no protests to being the lost little lamb led to slaughter?"

  Stephanie's breath caught in her throat. Was that how they saw her?

  "That's hardly the case, McGregor," Charles said loudly, lowering himself onto the couch, next to Mrs. Callowell. "She doesn't even have to go near him." His eyes met Stephanie's. "She'll be perfectly safe, I promise."

  "How chivalrous," McGregor said with a sneer. "So long as she stays out of my way, I have no interest in what she does."

  Mrs. Callowell raised her teacup to her lips and set it down again on her plate. "I'm sure she will be as eager to avoid you as you are to her."

  He sniffed his retort.

  Stephanie cleared her throat. "What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

  "You needn't worry, Stephanie," she responded. "As I said before, simply being in the house is enough, I should think. You may do as you wish. Charles tells me you enjoying reading. You may have full access to the library if you wish it."

  "The library?" Stephanie's heart leaped. She'd always dreamed about what it would be like to have nothing but time to read and write to her heart's content.

  Charles smiled up at her. "There are more books than you could read in a lifetime. We'll be upstairs most of the time with..." he looked awkwardly to Mrs. Callowell and rubbed the back of his neck. "But you can do as you wish."

  McGregor sniffed again. "Won't that be fun for you?"

  Stephanie's cheeks burned. "And what will you be doing, Mr. McGregor?"

  "That's Father McGregor, little girl."

  Before Stephanie had a chance to respond, Charles was already on his feet. "Not anymore, McGregor. The only reason Ellie allows you that title is to stroke your sad little ego, it isn't anything you are owed. You'd do well to remember that."

  McGregor sneered back at him but said nothing more.

  Mrs. Callowell set her teacup on the table and sat forward. "Father McGregor is trained and knowledgeable in the area of...exorcisms."

  "The church actually allows—"

  "Ha! The church!" McGregor tossed up a mocking hand. "The pope prefers to turn a blind eye to a great many things. A greater cause for concern would be in the Vatican had in fact sanctioned it. No good can come from their blessings."

  Stephanie covered her mouth, looking about the room. None denied what McGregor said or argued. "But God wouldn't—"

  "God?" McGregor asked, his face snapping towards hers. "Don't presume to talk to me about God, child." He turned away from her again, crossing his legs and seething. Then, not yet finished, he spun around on her again, sitting forward and pointing a finger towards the ceiling, where Victor's bedroom lay. "Did that look like a thing of God to you?"

  Stephanie tore her gaze away from his greasy, accusing stare. What he could be accusing her of, she had no idea, but it was there all the same.

  "Exorcisms are dangerous, are they not?"

  "Incredibly," Charles said and downed the rest of his drink.

  Mrs. Callowell closed her eyes, furrowing her brow and let out a long breath, smoothing the folds on her forehead. "Of course, there are assumed risks. But, I'm afraid the risk is much greater if we do nothing. And this is the only way."

  Stephanie looked between the people surrounding her: Mrs. Callowell sitting in front of her, Charles pacing the floor behind Mrs. Callowell, and McGregor who sat straight as a line, tapping his fingers against the taut fabric of the seat.

  "How long will it take?" Stephanie asked.

  "There's no saying," Mrs. Callowell responded. "It depends on Fredrick, whether he is present or not, and how determined he is to remain. We just don't know."

  "And when will you begin?"

  McGregor turned to her. "We already have."

  Silence hung about the room like a dense fog, pressing down on them. Even Mrs. Callowell shifted her leg position.

  "If there are no further questions, we can retire for the time being. Dinner will be served in a few hours. I
suggest we meet in the dining hall then." She stood and moved towards the door.

  Stephanie cleared her throat. "I would prefer to dine with Ann and Maggie in the kitchen." She got to her feet.

  Mrs. Callowell raised an eyebrow. "As you wish." She gave a slight nod and drew open the sliding doors. Her footsteps echoed down the hall.

  Charles was suddenly next to Stephanie, another glass of amber liquid in his hand. Her stomach sank, she couldn't bear turning away from him but she couldn't face him either. Just looking at him sent her stomach fluttering and only reminded her of what they'd once briefly shared.

  "I didn't get the opportunity to thank you for coming back."

  "I didn't come back for you."

  "I know. And, to be honest, I'd hoped that you wouldn't. But now that you're here, I'm glad. I've missed you terribly."

  "Charles—"

  He held a hand up. "Please, don't." He smiled sadly and left the room, following after Mrs. Callowell.

  Stephanie held her breath in, knowing that if she tried to release it, a sob would burst forth. She stepped towards the door, her hand holding her churning stomach.

  Before taking her second step, she was whirled around to face McGregor, who held her only long enough to corner her against the wall and released her arm. He wiped his hand against his pant leg like he'd touched something dirty.

  He leaned in, his face towering over hers. "I don't know how you weaseled yourself into this house, but let me assure you that, should you do anything to prolong this...intervention, and thereby your stay, I will not hesitate to make your life very difficult, do you understand?"

  While she took his meaning very seriously, the threat almost made her laugh. Difficult? What else had her life been up to this point?

  "I don't have any intention of prolonging anything, Mister McGregor."

  His lips pulled back in a snarl. "Oh yes, a woman like you must be absolutely abhorred to be treated as a guest in a fine home such as this, given the liberty to flit about the house as she likes."

  Stephanie felt the heat rising in her chest. Her motives in returning had been anything but selfish. His accusations made her want to scream. But she'd tried with people like him before: she tried being polite and they were only more contemptuous, she'd tried defending herself and they only came at her harder.

  "You know nothing about me," she said. "But I know you. I've known men like you all my life and no amount of money or power could tempt me to spend an extra second in your company."

  For a brief moment, she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

  "What is going on?" Charles said, coming up behind Mr. McGregor.

  Without another word, the man lifted his face, holding his head high and turned.

  Charles and Stephanie watched as he walked away.

  "What did he say to you?"

  Stephanie shook her head. "Nothing of consequence." She turned to leave but Charles took her by the arm, pulling her back.

  His eyes moved down her arm to where his hand held her. He let go, pulling away. "If you ever need anything," he started, looking down at the floor. "Don't hesitate to ask me."

  He shuffled backward, his eyes sad and hurt as he stepped back and turned away. He disappeared behind the door before she could say anything else.

  Chapter 39

  Stephanie

  STEPHANIE'S ROOM WAS exactly as she'd left it. She wasted no time before putting her things away. Her list of possessions hadn't grown so it didn't take long. Finally, she set her stacked pieces of paper on her nightstand, held down by the pen Charles had given her. She sighed looking about the room again. Indeed, it hadn't taken long at all.

  She sat down on the bed, unfastened the locket from her neck and laid it across her bedspread. She fingered the thin gold chain, trying to leave it perfect and round, but each time she prodded the chain, another fold or dent would appear in the stubborn chain.

  She was so focused on the inconsequential chain, she didn't notice the pen rolling about the paper until it fell to the floor. The impact made her jump, her heart pounding as she looked about the room. Nothing moved and there was no sound.

  She leaned over, peering between the bed and the nightstand. The pen lay perfectly straight in between the two pieces of furniture. She picked it up and propped it between her papers and her candle. Her hand traveled along the table, over her papers and took the edge of the top sheet between her thumb and finger, rubbing the course material. She thought of when she'd first arrived at Ripewood Manor and set these same papers here. She collected them in her hand and held them in her lap. They were still blank.

  A heaviness overcame her; she felt like her chest was about to implode. She shook her head adamantly as tears began to cloud her vision. Before she could override the oppressive weight on her chest, she buckled over, pressing her face into the paper in her lap. She heaved and sputtered, as she gently rocked back and forth.

  Later that day, about halfway through the meal time by Stephanie's estimation, she joined Ann in the kitchen. Preferring to avoid the dining room, she used the front door to the kitchen.

  Ann spun around, a worried expression painted across her face, but relaxed and even smiled when she realized it was Stephanie. "I wasn't expecting you."

  "Who were you expecting?" Stephanie asked.

  "Oh, you know how these old houses are," she said by way of explanation. "Why aren't you in the dining room eatin' with the rest of 'em?"

  "I thought I'd eat with you and Maggie, instead."

  A grim look replaced Ann's smile at the mention of Maggie's name.

  "Speaking of Maggie," Stephanie started just as the side door flew open, Maggie's form lumbering through.

  "Speak of the devil," Ann muttered, turning back to the stove.

  "Shameful, I tell you!" She noticed Stephanie standing in front of the door and her eyebrows furrowed together as she thrust the empty dish, the insides coated with a dark red broth, towards her. "You see that?" she asked, thrusting the dish towards her. "Not enough starch in that! I might as well 'ave served 'em water instead of a soup."

  "Well...it smells wonderful!"

  Maggie rolled her eyes and sent a piercing glare at Ann's back. "Sit down, Stephanie, they're almost finished with their dinner and then we can eat."

  "So soon?" Stephanie pulled out a chair from the end of the table and sat down.

  Maggie nodded. "Not a lot to talk about besides... well, and I think they want to get back to it as soon as possible."

  "Get back to what?" Ann asked, placing a large pot of dark red soup on the table.

  Maggie pursed her lips together. "Nothing."

  Stephanie rolled her eyes. "The priest is exorcising a spirit from Mr. Callowell."

  Both Ann and Maggie's eyes bulged at Stephanie's admission.

  "I'm sick and tired of all the lies and secrets. Besides, if she has to stay here, too, she should know what's going on."

  Maggie threw her hands in the air. "Why don't we just go tell everyone?"

  Ann crossed herself. "Rich people get crazier by the day."

  Maggie grumbled as she spooned out bowls of soup. Once three steaming bowls were set around the table, she left again to check the dining hall.

  It was Ann's turn to grumble. She seethed as she watched the swinging door that Maggie had walked through.

  "She's not so bad," Stephanie said. "Once you get to know her."

  Ann sniffed. "Can't say that I want to know a woman like that!"

  "The soup really does look delicious."

  Ann smiled, letting her face relax.

  Stephanie picked up her spoon and stirred the steaming broth. The rich fragrance of tomato and herbs wafted upwards, making her mouth water. She was hungrier than she'd realized.

  The door swung open again with Maggie barreling through, arms stacked with plates and silverware. She dumped them into the washing basin, wiped her forehead and exited back through the door again.

  Stephanie gave Ann an une
asy look. "I would steer clear of her tonight."

  Ann giggled and nodded.

  When Maggie had finished clearing and cleaning the dining hall, she joined the table. Conveniently, Ann was finishing her own soup which she'd eaten hastily, complaining of burning her mouth several times.

  "Bah!" Maggie said, sitting down. "Now it's gone cold!"

  Ann ground her teeth.

  "There's more soup in the pot that's still warm."

  Maggie huffed. "Wouldn't make much of a difference; it's just water, anyway."

  "That's it!" Ann threw her spoon onto the table and shot up from her chair. "I'm finished and going to bed. Stephanie, I will see you in the morning." With that, she stormed through the door, leaving them in a heavy silence.

  Maggie shook her head. "She'll never get any better if she can't take any criticism."

  Stephanie sat back in her chair. "I'm surprised at you, Maggie."

  "What for?"

  "Do you remember when we were going into town and you told me about how grateful you were to the missus for giving you work so that you weren't in the streets?"

  Maggie's face scrunched into a scowl and she looked down at her soup. "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "Yesterday you were soused and alone: without a job or any prospects. I would think you would be more grateful to have work and a friendly person to keep you company."

  Maggie's scowl only deepened as she gazed down at her soup. "I wasn't soused," she mumbled.

  Stephanie chuckled while Maggie shot darts from her eyes, which only made Stephanie laugh harder. Maggie's face relaxed as she worked to hide a smile of her own.

  Then, furious screams filled the air. Both Stephanie and Maggie jumped away from the table, looking towards the ceiling.

  "Fredrick," Maggie whispered

  Any words he might have been screaming were completely lost. The only decipherable thing was pure rage. McGregor's voice intensified as Fredrick's screams continued. The two men's voices battled to be heard over the other. Any meaning to their words was lost as the sound became one, traveling down the dumb-waiter's channel.

  Maggie's eye caught Stephanie's. "Welcome home."