The Everdon Series- the Complete Set

by L C Kincaide

  The Everdon Series

  L.C. KINCAIDE

  Copyright © 2019 L.C. Kincaide. All rights reserved.

  Cover Illustration Copyright © 2019 Steffany Sinclaire

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  THE SERIES

  THE SECRET OF EVERDON MANOR

  RETURN TO EVERDON MANOR

  THE EVERDON LEGACY

  THE EVERDON DESTINY

  THE SECRET

  OF

  EVERDON MANOR

  Book 1

  ~*~

  A dreamy weekend party or a nightmare?

  The party invitation arrived just in time; Ivy needs a break from recent events, and the Edwardian theme resonates with her obsession about the past.

  Immediately, she is drawn into the family’s dark and violent history and realizes that all is not as it first appeared. Wary guests, family secrets, and unexplained events leave her questioning what is real and what is an illusion.

  What promised to be a fabulous weekend getaway at the family’s ancestral Georgian manor quickly devolves into a nightmare.

  Someone has an ulterior motive for keeping her trapped there, and by the time she discovers why, it may be too late.

  ~*~

  FRIDAY

  SATURDAY

  SUNDAY

  MONDAY

  FRIDAY

  ~*~

  Ivy disembarked at a place best described as The Middle of Nowhere and gazed around her on the station platform if someone could call it that. A weathered sign read, Fairmont, but there was no evidence of a settlement that could lay claim to the name. To her left, a wooden bench sagged in an improvised shelter, and a stand of elms shed withered leaves onto a gravelled parking area. Distant hills, forests, and farmland surrounded the rectangle of worn boards that seemed to have been dropped haphazardly beside the train tracks.

  Her weekender tote at her feet, she hoped Emma would arrive soon and retrieved the phone from her pocket, not surprised to find there was no signal. The last time she checked, it was well past five o’clock, and that was at least thirty minutes ago. A gust of wind swirled leaves around her boots, and a chill tried to take hold of her as she contemplated the bleak landscape in the company of shivering trees. By mid-October, the days tended to end abruptly and with them what warmth remained of the day also disappeared. Squinting into the distance, she remembered the conversation they had recently.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Emma asked her on the heels of the invitation, the nature of the question taking her by surprise. Reluctant to say, no, she didn’t want to offend Emma not knowing what her beliefs were. She only knew that she favored facts over imaginings.

  “I’m only asking because you might see or hear things, and I don’t want you to be, you know, freaked out.” She continued.

  Emma was referring to their upcoming weekend at Everdon Manor, the family manor house where each year she, her immediate relatives, a group of cousins, and family friends assembled to recreate a weekend from 1903.

  “What kinds of noises?” Ivy was curious.

  Emma had told her only a little about the history of the Georgian manor house, that it was the scene of a tragic death, and that sometimes you could hear someone crying, and things fell over. As far as Ivy was concerned, such incidents could be explained by many non-paranormal occurrences, a shadow cast through a window by a branch, the creaking of aged timbers, groaning of equally ancient plumbing. The house was, after all, over a hundred years old.

  She gave Emma a wary look. “Have you seen any ghosts?”

  “No, I can’t say that I have. But my mum has. From what she said, they don’t really do anything. They just watch.”

  The idea of being watched and not knowing sounded creepy enough.

  “Well, as long that’s all it is.” She humored her. “I’ll be sure to change in the dark.”

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s only a costume party and not much else. It’ll be fun, kind of like unscripted theatre for three days. We’ll have tea, and go for strolls, play croquet, then there’s the main event.” Emma continued, her voice now full of enthusiasm as opposed to foreboding.

  “I’m sure I’ll have a great time.” Ivy reassured her.

  A loud caw jolted her from her musings. A crow alighted on the sign and regarded her with keen black eyes, and just as suddenly it flapped off at the sound of a car growling its approach down the one-lane dirt road. An impeccably preserved vintage automobile chugged to a stop, its tires skidding on the loose gravel. Emma waved enthusiastically from its only bench seat.

  “Sorry I’m late! I hope you weren’t waiting long!” She shouted over the engine. “Is that everything? You travel light!” She laughed. “Never mind, there are tons of clothes picked out for you. How was your trip? You must be exhausted! Come along and hold on. I always have to relearn how to drive this — it’s a 1902 Stanhope Runabout. Can you believe it? It doesn’t even have a steering wheel! Amazing or what? A bit tricky to get used to, but it’s great fun once you get the hang of it!”

  Ivy climbed in and settled herself on the tufted leather seat, clutching the bag in her lap. Already, she felt like she was going back in time. Emma maneuvered the levers, and the car groaned in protest.

  “I still need to work out the finer points.” She shrugged, grinning sheepishly in Ivy’s direction, and with a lurch, they were off.

  Ivy gripped the armrest.

  After fifteen minutes, they turned off the blacktop and bounced on a dirt-packed road that wound its way through the countryside. They passed a sign — Fairmont, and moments later, the runabout growled along a narrow roadway flanked by rows of quaint shops and cafés of the village. Now that the car was moving smoothly, Emma negotiated the turns expertly and with ease, pulling on the levers and grinning happily.

  She had mentioned earlier the festivities didn’t officially begin until Saturday, which included “dressing up”, as Emma put it, but they were expected to properly dress for supper. Her mother insisted on such things. She was, according to Emma, hopelessly old-fashioned. But Ivy anticipated her transformation; it was in fact, what she looked forward to most.

  Past the village, they once again jostled along a narrow road bordered by low walls of local field stones being put to good use. Breaking abruptly, Emma skidded to the right, and they found themselves on an open stretch of track cutting through farmland dotted with stands of poplars and clusters of outbuildings.

  “We’re almost there! Wait till you see it — it’s amazing!” Emma shouted over the chugging motor, and Ivy looked around for a sign of the manor house.

  Past another stone wall and a large stand of trembling elms, Ivy had her first glimpse of Everdon Manor nestled amidst a backdrop of ochre and crimson-tinted trees. They crossed an ancient and charming corbel arch bridge and followed a long curved approach where Ivy could at last appreciate the pinkish-gray granite mansion in all its glory set against a deepening sky.

  True to its Georgian heritage, the building was impressive in its simple symmetry. It rose th
ree stories high with gabled roofs and equally spaced casement windows, the main floor windows being taller, then progressively shorter on the subsequent floors. Suggestive of its Roman influence, two Doric columns flanked the panelled front door with a semicircular fanlight above.

  The tires crunched along the winding gravel drive, the car slowed, and with more grating of gears, rolled to a stop.

  “Here we are!” Emma announced triumphantly pulling up into the welcoming light cast from the windows. An older gentleman with slicked back hair and outfitted in a butler’s uniform emerged from the doorway and strode purposefully toward her.

  “Miss Ivy, I presume.” He addressed her with the stiff formality of a true, self-respecting English butler.

  Ivy nodded.

  “I’m Saynsbery. Allow me to assist you with your baggage.” He articulated each word with equal importance in a dignified English accent.

  Ivy glanced at the simple weekender bag she occasionally used to pack her gym gear, and suddenly self-conscious, she handed it over and allowed him to help her down. It seemed odd, the man carrying a satchel she could just as easily have carried herself, but she may as well get accustomed to the way things worked here.

  “If you’ll follow me, Miss.” He indicated the front door.

  “Go on ahead and settle in.” Emma shouted from the runabout. “I’m just going to put this away, and I’ll see you in the drawing room when you’re ready.”

  Ivy followed the butler inside and found herself in a vast central hall — or was it a court? Four granite pillars on both sides of the space soared from a variegated marble floor to an impossibly high ceiling that featured an enormous skylight, giving the illusion that there was no separation between the house and the heavenly bodies. Already, the first stars of the night twinkled beyond the glass panes.

  Contrasting with the cool marble of the floor and the pillars, natural wood of the wainscoted walls lent the space warmth. A series of panelled double doors indicated rooms on both sides, one of these presumably belonging to the drawing room. She caught glimpses of family heirlooms on pedestals displayed in recessed niches between the doorways, and a stately grandfather clock kept a silent vigil from an alcove.

  Her footfalls echoed as she approached the sweeping central staircase that rose before her to the gallery on the second floor. About fifteen feet wide at its base and covered with a faded red carpet, it tapered gradually at the upstairs landing in graceful curves in the otherwise angular room. Its banister was dark and polished, the newel posts decorated with iron finials. Similarly carved balusters fronted the open gallery that spanned the width of the central hall.

  She reached a wide Aubusson rug at the foot of the staircase and came to an abrupt stop. Saynsbery and her tote were already halfway up, and if she didn’t hurry along she would lose him, but for some reason she could not move as she stood watching the landing at the top of the stairs. It must be nerves, she reasoned. She was not prepared for anything this grandiose, despite what she thought earlier. The central hall alone had more the feel of a church or the foyer of an opera house than a home. She felt small in the vast hushed silence, and she hoped this feeling of overwhelm will soon pass.

  A discreet cough roused her from her musings, and she followed the gentleman up the stairs where he turned right along the open gallery, then right again down a wide corridor. Flickering wall sconces lit the way. Halfway down the hallway, he opened the door to a room as cozy as the main hall was imposing.

  Fresh and inviting, the decor was in pale yellow and spring green with small sprigs of flowers and accents of rose in the upholstery. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and wall sconces glowed above the marble mantel. Four carved posts held back soft swags of the bed curtains with braided satin cords, and a lace-trimmed canopy covered the bed. It was heaped with enough blankets and pillows to keep two people cozy and warm. She smiled, looking forward to how well she would sleep tonight.

  The butler moved past her and placed her tote on a bench at the foot of the bed with more ceremony than it warranted.

  “Clyfford will be up shortly to help you with anything you may require.” He intoned, already turning to leave.

  Ivy thanked him, and he bowed slightly and left, leaving the door open a crack.

  Ivy gazed around. Holy cow! She breathed into her hands. What a room, most of her apartment could fit in here under the fifteen foot ceiling! A mirrored dressing table with a bench, and a lounging area with a chaise longue and round table completed the furnishings. Four ceiling-high, multi-paned windows overlooked the grounds, she presumed, but in the deepening sky, she could only discern mostly denuded treetops.

  Ivy sat beside her bag, pulled off her boots and wandered to the bathroom where she was thrilled with a deep, claw-footed tub. She turned the antique cross handles and smiled when water flowed into the porcelain sink from the graceful curved spouts, one for hot water, the other for cold. She had not seen that before and delighted in the novelty. What a lovely change from the standard chrome fittings! She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to find here, but so far, everything surpassed her expectations in one form or another. Her room was charming and warm, and with its own bathroom. And no less important, there was plumbing and electricity. The old manor house was in an excellent condition from what she had observed, and there was a good chance she may not want to leave.

  A discreet cough turned her attention to the door where a tall, dark-haired woman in uniform introduced herself as Clyfford.

  “Perhaps you would enjoy a bath before dressing for supper after your long journey.” She suggested rather brusquely.

  She crossed the carpet to the bathroom, interpreting Ivy’s silence as affirmation. The taps squeaked and water gushed. The bathtub filling, she turned to Ivy.

  “I will bring extra towels. Do you require assistance to unpack, Miss?”

  Ivy’s eyes flitted to her tote and its meager contents and politely declined the offer of help before the woman took charge of that too. Feeling awkward yet again, she wished she had packed at least a proper suitcase if only for the sake of appearances. She must surely appear like a carpetbagger.

  “As you wish.” Clyfford replied in a curt, professional tone, not unlike that of her male counterpart. “I will return to help you in getting ready. Enjoy your bath, Miss.” She all but curtsied before letting herself out.

  Ivy recalled Emma telling her about the authentically English service staff, who cooked and cleaned and tended to everyone’s needs, but until she found herself “tended to”, she could not have imagined it.

  This will definitely take getting used to, she decided and unpacked. Her few clothes and toiletry bag on the bed, she delved in the corners of the tote. Damn! She was in such a state of excitement to get underway that she forgot to pack her hair brush. Maybe Emma had one she could borrow. She was not about to ask Clyfford and broadcast her absent-mindedness. Traveling like a pauper was enough. It could be worse though, she could have forgotten her underwear!

  Ivy opened the armoire to stow her bag and gasped in surprise at some of the most gorgeous outfits she had ever seen. Her hand brushed over soft cottons frothing with lace beside white and pastel blouses and skirts trimmed in satin ribbons and rosettes. A deep green damask and a blue velvet gown with a matching shawl hung from the hangers. Are these for me? She couldn’t believe her luck. Along with the dresses and gowns, she found coordinating shoes and beautiful wide-brimmed sun-hats. She had seen similar clothing in vintage shops, but not any of this fine quality with so much detail. She peered closer at her sumptuous weekend wardrobe. Each garment appeared to be new as if it had never been worn before.

  “I hope they are to your liking.” A cheerful voice in a lilting English accent addressed her from the doorway. A slim brunette about her own age stepped into the room.

  “I watched you come in, but I didn’t want t
o push in on you straight away.”

  She extended a hand. “Lucy Everdon. I’m a cousin.”

  “Ivy Wylmot. Emma’s friend.”

  “I am so glad you are here! I hope you will enjoy your stay with us.” She said, her chocolate brown eyes warm and friendly.

  Cousin Lucy was already dressed in the garb of the day, pretty and feminine in deep violet, a satin bow at the neckline, the gored skirt flared out at her ankles. A soft pompadour swept up from her forehead and glossy coils cascaded down her back. She reminded Ivy of an antique doll.

  “Thank you, I’m sure I will.” Already, she wished she was dressed in one of the vintage dresses instead of her simple traveling clothes.

  “That is a beautiful dress.” She said.

  “Thank you.” Lucy smiled and swirled her skirt. “I do enjoy wearing the vibrant colors even if we are in autumn. It has been rather warm the past few days, so perhaps summer will stay with us a little while longer.”

  “Yes, it has. I’m happy the rain’s held off.”

  “How was you journey? Not too wretched I hope.” Lucy continued. “Trains are such a bother at times, but enough of that. You are finally here and we shall have a wizard time getting to know one another.”

  “Are many people coming?”