The Haunting of Crawley House (The Hauntings Of Kingston Book 1)

by Dorey, Michelle

  “Aye, Bridey. Keep stirring this soup for me while I get some more spuds from the pantry.”

  She watched the woman go to the closet. When Mrs. Dowd’s back was turned, Bridget spat into the bubbling pot.

  Chapter 4

  Bridget settled into her position after that. Spitting into Melanie’s soup and sauce became a daily ritual. She would start each morning by spitting into ‘Her Majesty’s’ tea while filling the pot with water. ‘Twas good practice. She was able to keep her resentment to herself while being sweet whenever she was in the presence of the English crumpet.

  But Lord, the workday was long! She had to be up in the morning to have Major Kevin’s breakfast ready for him by six. As soon as he was out the door, she had to tidy up the home and every other day wash some clothing. The Crawleys felt she had the spare time to continue to look after the wash if she did a load or two every day or so before Melanie and the twins woke.

  Mrs. Dowd’s housekeeping hours were cut back as well. “You’re here night and day, Bridey,” she told her. “Ye’ll be busy enough!”

  She had to prepare luncheon for Melanie and the twins, and then start supper to have it on the table when the major arrived back home at five.

  Melanie had asked her if she wouldn’t mind too much, taking her own supper in the kitchen.

  “It’s the only opportunity for us all to be together as a family, Bridget. I hope you don’t mind?” And what if she had? As if that would matter.

  Busy enough? She was exhausted! Awake at five and not a minute’s peace until the twins were down for the night at seven! Her belief that becoming the housekeeper for the family would be a step-up, faded in the first week. While ‘housekeeper’ did sound more polished than ‘washerwoman,’ her days never ended! Thank God she had Friday nights and Saturday mornings off!

  When the major’s motorcar left the drive, she went to the mudroom and picked up a basket of clothes to get started on before making the morning tea for Melanie. Turning on the light for the cellar, she headed down.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she jumped. She was so startled she dropped the basket of clothes.

  On the opposite side of the landing was a rat!

  She let out a squeal and flew back up the stairs. From the top, she saw the creature sit back on its hind legs, pawing and sniffing the air. Its long, pink tail curled around its body, the tip twitching while it watched her with black, beady eyes.

  “Shoo! Shoo, ya disgustin’ beast!”

  The brazen vermin tilted its head watching her until she grabbed a shoe and flung it down the stairs. It dodged the shoe easily and scampered away into the shadows.

  Bridey leaned against the doorframe. Would she be held responsible for this infestation? Was there an infestation? Oh God! Were there more down there? Oh dear God in heaven, what was she to do?

  She had no doubt somehow she’d be held to account for this happening. She’d have to take care of this and quick!

  That afternoon, she told Mrs. Crawley she needed to go to the market for some items while the twins napped.

  “Very well, Bridey, although this is my own quiet time as well.” Melanie inhaled slowly. “Leave my bedroom door open so I can hear the girls if they wake up.” She passed Bridey a small stack of papers she had on the bed which were covered with sketches of the girls.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Bridget glanced down at the sketches. “These are quite good, ma’am!”

  “Thank you, Bridget. I had a flair for art as a girl, and Mr. Crawley felt this time of bed rest could be an opportunity for me to renew my endeavors. It’s simply a hobby for me now.”

  Bridget leafed through the pages. With the faintest of lines and economy of strokes of the pencil, Melanie had captured the girls completely. She held up one sheet. “Agnes?” she asked.

  Melanie clapped her hands. “Yes! How could you tell?”

  “Of the two, she’s the one with the habit of smiling with only half her mouth.” Bridget thought it was an insolent smirk but kept that opinion to herself. She took the papers and placed them on the dresser. “I’ll be back in a jiffy, ma’am.”

  ***

  She didn’t know the first thing about getting rid of rats and wasn’t about to broadcast her problem to the local merchants. Luckily enough, there was someone in the town she could approach. Wicker basket in hand, she opened a gate which led into an overgrown front yard at the far end of Lowerton.

  She wasn’t halfway up the walk when the weathered front door opened, and a rail-thin woman in a black dress stood in the doorframe.

  “Bridey Walsh, as I live and breathe!” Deirdre O’Toole said with a smile, her gray eyes glittering like diamonds.

  Bridey stopped in her tracks and stared at the woman. The last time they clapped eyes on each other, she was but a child of six. In fifteen years, she had never seen the woman once, and yet she knew her by sight? She tilted her head in wonder. And in fifteen years, not as much as a line on her face nor a gray hair on her head.

  Despite the warmth of the April sunshine, Bridey felt a chill. When she stepped toward the house, a pressure without weight closed in on her. She stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the front door.

  “I’m… having troubles with rats,” she said.

  “Four or two-footed rats, Bridey?” The woman’s chin lifted and her eyes narrowed.

  She inhaled sharply. “Vermin. With tails and whiskers.” The words came out in a rush. She inhaled deeply. It was hard to take a breath, but there was no humidity.

  “Very well. When you were last here your hands were covered by warts and I charmed them from you for a penny. Do you recall?”

  She nodded silently. She had been too terrified to enter the house, and it was done right there on the steps.

  “Now you’re a young woman, and my help won’t be charity to a child. My help and my silence will cost you a dollar.”

  “That’s quite dear!” It came out like a gasp and she inhaled again, deeply. A low buzz began to hum in her ears.

  Deirdre waved a hand at her. “Then off with you.” She turned back to the doorway.

  “No! Stop! I’ll pay!” Bridey gasped, and the woman turned, a sly smile on her lips.

  “Very well.” Deirdre reached into her dress pocket and withdrew a small packet and held it out. “These are castor beans. The slightest peeling, like you would take from a carrot, mixed with a smidge of cheese or peanut butter will end your problems in a trice.” She held out the packet. “Make sure you wash your hands three times with lye soap after handling these, Bridget. ‘Tis a deadly poison. Half a bean will end the life of a two-footed rat, no matter his size or build!” Her eyes glittered above a wide, toothy grin.

  Bridey took the packet and dropped it in her basket. She kept her eyes on the woman as she pawed at her purse. Deirdre’s teeth seemed to grow in her mouth when she smiled. She held out the dollar bill, and when Deirdre snatched it away, their hands brushed.

  Deirdre’s hand was like ice. It was so cold Bridey let out a yelp of surprise.

  “I think you should leave, Bridey,” the woman said. “Take care—that’s a deadly poison!” Her grin expanded, filling up her entire face but for her eyes. Bridget could see no nose, nor hair; just a floating smile below two glittering eyes, shining like diamonds.

  “Oh!” She turned and fled down the walk, hearing the door slam behind her.

  ***

  Back down in the cellar, Bridget squatted down in front of the area she had seen the rat run off to. For some reason, having her poison ready gave her the courage. She had taken just a dusting of shavings and mixed them with a dollop of peanut butter which she spread onto the end of a fireplace match.

  “Here ratty, ratty…” she said in a singsong voice. “Come for your luncheon now.”

  When the rat peeked around from behind the furnace she was surprised at how calm she was. It looked up at her, whiskers twitching as it approached the peanut butter on the end of the stick. Slowly, she laid it on the floo
r and watched.

  The rat kept an eye on her as it sniffed at the offering. Its ears perked, and it opened its mouth wide, showing two front rat teeth and took a nibble from the dollop. It chewed and swallowed and returned to its meal.

  Before it could take another taste, its entire body trembled. Its head lifted and it looked into Bridey’s eyes.

  “I poisoned, ye, ya vermin,” she said quietly. “Now show me how long till ye die.”

  Its head shook from side to side, whipping back and forth. A quivering paw rose and then dropped, the rat rolling onto its side. Still staring at Bridey, it began to foam at the mouth while its dark eyes twitched and then closed shut. It kicked but once and deflated onto the floor as life left its body.

  It was the first time Bridget had ever seen a creature die. She picked up the wooden stick and nudged the rat’s paw. It flopped right down, no movement at all.

  “Dear God in heaven,” she breathed. Deirdre wasn’t lying at all. A deadly poison indeed! She went to the dustbin and retrieved some old newspapers. Careful now, she wrapped the dead creature and the matchstick within a thick wad of paper and put the mass into the trash can.

  At the laundry sink she scrubbed her hands with lye soap after retrieving the knife she had made the bean shavings with. She carefully rewrapped the other beans and tucked them in the back of one of the shelves in the cellar.

  She didn’t know how quickly she would be back for more.

  Chapter 5

  Melanie Crawley sat at the dinette maintaining an expression of perfect composure while the general’s wife mocked and scolded her. Since it was only the two of them seated there, at least it wasn’t an out-and-out public thrashing, but it was a thrashing nevertheless. The rest of the officers’ wives had left the garden tent to watch the magician perform some illusion, on the meadow leading down to the lakeshore.

  Up until that moment, the May twenty-fourth, Victoria Day celebration had been wonderful. All along the meadow, small tents had been set up. Long tables with linen tablecloths were manned by a cadre of cooks who passed out a scrumptious luncheon. The guests ate buffet style at the tables scattered both inside the tents and on the grass, while a string quartet provided background music.

  After luncheon, they were preparing the two largest tents for a sit-down supper to take place just before the evening fireworks which Kevin had said would be a dandy this year. The interim hours had been filled with games for the children and various entertainments. Several performers from the local theater sung the latest ragtime melodies, accompanied by a jazz band!

  It had been such a jolly time until Mrs. Abbot, the wife of General Abbot—the commandant of Kingston—tapped her on the shoulder and asked for a word. Melanie accompanied the woman to the back of the tent. Once seated, Mrs. Abbot placed her liver-spotted hand on her wrinkled cheek, piercing the younger woman with her eyes.

  The jazz music finished. Melodies from the string quartet once again drifted over them providing a stark contrast to the damage the old harridan was doing to Melanie’s pride. The bitch was enjoying herself tremendously! Her diatribe had started with criticisms of the twins’ postures, their clothing, and then she closed in for the kill.

  “Honestly, Melanie, I cannot believe the language your daughters have used today! Is this how they speak at home?”

  She managed a small smile, when she replied, “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  “Your daughters called another child a bloody blaggard’!” Mrs. Abbot sucked in her breath, expanding even further her considerable bosom. “Where, Mrs. Crawley, if not at home, did they learn such language?”

  Melanie’s jaw dropped in shock. “You’re joking!”

  “I certainly am not!” She leaned across the table. “In front of many of my guests, including members of the royal family!”

  Melanie couldn’t say anything. Her jaw muscle clenched and unclenched. Meeting Princess Mary, the king’s daughter, and her two children had been such a treat. Princess Mary had greeted Melanie with a surprised squeal on the receiving line. They recalled their time spent together as children. Melanie’s father had been a regular guest at Buckingham Palace and although Princess Mary was several years older, their friendship had been a bright part of her childhood.

  No wonder the old woman sitting across from her wanted to take Melanie down a peg or two. Seeing Melanie’s face flush brought such a triumphant smirk to the woman’s face. She leaned across the table, her large eyes glinting. “My husband was passed over in favor of yours to take that post in London, young lady!” She waved her hand back at the garden party on the field. “Why, I haven’t the slightest idea!” She paused, catching her breath.

  ‘Probably because they didn’t think either of you old windbags would survive the voyage!’ she thought to herself. She kept silent. Kevin had been unofficially notified of his upcoming transfer to London, but it wasn’t set in stone. They were to leave the following year; after she had given birth. The woman before her was a dangerous enemy. And, as the wife of the general—a formidable one.

  Kevin would characterize her next action as a strategic retreat. She needed to regroup and plan her next moves, carefully. She stood, and a weak smile formed on her lips.

  “Thank you so much for your guidance, Mrs. Abbot. I appreciate your concern for my daughters’ well-being and behavior.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh dear! The warmth of the day is having a terrible effect on me! I’m dreadfully sorry, but I believe I need to leave. My physician has warned me I should take care, in my current condition!” She gave the old bat another smile and nod. “Good day to you and thank you for the wonderful time, Mrs. Abbot. I’ll be sure to inform my dear friend, Princess Mary of your generous hospitality.”

  That last comment took the smugness right out of the bitch’s face. Good.

  She turned to collect Kevin and the girls.

  ***

  Bridget was enjoying her free day. With the major and ‘the crumpet’ and the girls away at the Victoria Day celebration, she indulged herself.

  Because of the holiday, the Landmark Cinema had put on a matinee double feature. The latest Douglas Fairbanks film and the latest Charlie Chaplin comedy! Watching Mr. Fairbanks woo Mary Astor was thrilling, and she laughed herself to a coughing fit as Charlie Chaplin navigated a gold rush.

  When she came out of the theater, she decided to visit the Ladies’ Room at the Royal Tavern. She’d have a cocktail and head back home, and return to the lakefront park for the fireworks display. It should be a magnificent one that year—the local paper had said they were going all out!

  As she took her first sip of the vodka gimlet, feeling quite wicked for having a drink before six p.m., a man’s voice behind her spoke, “May I buy you another?”

  She carefully placed her glass on the bar and turned around slowly, forming a small smile on her lips which she hoped was worldly.

  His pale, light gray eyes peered at her underneath a shining head of bright, red hair. He had a small smile as well.

  “I’ll need to think about it, sir, as we’ve never met before.” She blinked slowly at him.

  “Well, let’s take care of that, shall we? My name is Devlin Griffin.” His head dipped in a slight bow.

  Returning his nod, she said, “I’m Bridget Walsh. How do you do?”

  The Ladies’ Room was doing a bustling business, but when Devlin raised his hand, Danny Boyle appeared as if by magic.

  “What may I get you, Mister Griffin?” he asked. Bridget had never heard Danny Boyle address any man using the term ‘mister’. She looked frankly from the bartender to her new companion.