“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Ryan said, his expression somber. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Lauren made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Look, I’m sorry, but I should get going. Thank you for the drink.” She stood, and Ryan instantly sprang to his feet.
“Are you sure you won’t stay for another drink?”
“Thanks, but no. Have a good night.”
Lauren grabbed her purse and headed for the door, hurrying to her car as if someone were giving chase. Once safely inside, she drove back to the house and let herself in, tears spilling down her cheeks as she scooped a sleepy Billy out of his crate and carried him upstairs to her bedroom. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. She’d been having a nice time. Perhaps she simply wasn’t ready. After Billy used the wee wee pad in the upstairs bathroom, she deposited him on the bed, changed into her favorite pajamas, turned off the light, and climbed into bed.
As Billy settled himself against her hip, her gaze slid to the moonlight-painted desk beneath the window. Her laptop and notepad covered most of the surface, her modern pens and highlighters occupying the very place where the inkwell had stood. As Lauren lay sleepless, she couldn’t help but wonder if the mysterious woman would come to her again. Who was she, and what kept her tethered to this world?
Chapter 5
Sophie
Boston, Massachusetts
April 1726
Sophie pressed her nose to the window, her heart hammering with anticipation. The night before, she’d seen the proud shape of the Sea Falcon on the horizon, the three-masted frigate as familiar to her as the storefront of her father’s printshop. The ship would dock in the morning and then the offloading would begin, the crates and casks newly arrived from England and the Caribbean deposited onto the dock and sent to the warehouses that fronted the wharf. Sophie had no interest in the cargo, but in the crew, which would come ashore once the ship had been fully unloaded and inspected. With luck, she would see Teddy tomorrow, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get a glimpse of him as he made his way from the docks toward his mother’s house, just a few doors down from the printshop.
Teddy’s homecoming always followed the same pattern. He ate his fill of whatever Mrs. Mercer served up, asking for seconds and even thirds, and wiping his plate with a piece of bread until the dish was so clean it looked as if it needed no washing. After weeks aboard the ship, subsisting on a meager diet of salt pork, hardtack, and ale, he was starved for homecooked food and bread that didn’t threaten to break his teeth when he bit into it. Finally sated, Teddy would take a bath to wash off the sweat and grime of the voyage, and then, after a good night’s sleep, he’d come to see Sophie, or more accurately, send her a signal to meet him at their secret place since her father would never allow Teddy to call on her openly.
Sophie had known Teddy her whole life, but it was only recently that their friendship had evolved into something that was best kept hidden from her father’s watchful gaze. Teddy had been a steady presence in her life, treating her like one of his sisters after her mother died in childbirth when she was eight. Teddy had been ten, a lanky lad who’d always had a smile for her and a little treat when she was feeling sad or neglected. He’d taken her for walks along the docks and showed her the different types of ships and told her of his dreams for the future. Sophie would have listened to him even if he’d chosen to recite the alphabet or quote passages from the scripture. She liked being with him and enjoyed the sense of belonging she felt when she was with Teddy and his siblings. It was as if she were a part of the Mercer family, that loud gaggle of kids who appeared so happy to her young eyes and had a loving, gregarious mother to come home to—unlike Sophie, who returned to the silent rooms above the shop where she lived with her father. As soon as she walked through the door, the melancholy settled like a heavy mantle on her shoulders, crushing her spirit and reminding her just how alone she’d felt since the death of her own mother.
Her father loved her; she was in no doubt of that, but he’d always been a quiet, undemonstrative man, who spent most of his waking hours in the shop, talking softly to his printing press as if she were his one true love. Agnes, their servant, had been meant to keep an eye on Sophie during the day, but the girl, who’d been only fifteen to Sophie’s eight, was run off her feet and neglected her duty where her young mistress was concerned, leaving Sophie to her own devices much of the time. In the evenings, Sophie had supper with her father and then they sat by the fire, most often in companionable silence. Mr. Brewster, still grieving for his wife and stillborn son, had no notion of how a little girl might be feeling, so made no effort to comfort her in ways that would have made Sophie’s isolation easier to bear.
That was Teddy’s job. He’d made a dolly for her ninth birthday, complete with black yarn for hair and two tiny buttons for eyes, and said it reminded him of her. That was when he’d started calling her his ‘Poppet.’ She loved the pet name he’d given her and secretly tingled with pleasure every time he used it, feeling a sense of kinship with Teddy that she felt with no one else. As the years passed, Teddy’s sisters had become wary of Sophie, leaving her out of their games and treating her as an outsider, but never Teddy. He was her best friend, her honorary brother, and her champion.
They’d spent many happy hours together until tragedy struck the Mercer household. Teddy’s father, Robin, had been knifed while trying to break up a fight in his tavern, the stomach wound he received too grievous to allow the Mercers to hope for a recovery. Half the street heard the pitiful moans that came from the upstairs window where Mrs. Mercer spent her nights nursing her delirious husband. As soon as the church clock chimed eight in the morning, Mrs. Mercer left Teddy in charge of his father and younger siblings and went to the tavern, where she remained until nearly midnight, cooking, baking, and serving customers with the help of her two eldest daughters. Robin died of his injuries a week after the stabbing, his death drawn out and painful. A few days after Mr. Mercer died, Teddy’s youngest sister, Gladys, took ill, leaving Mrs. Mercer unable to tend the tavern. She sat by Gladys’s side day and night, but Gladys died all the same and was buried next to her father a week to the day after his funeral.
Mrs. Mercer returned home from the cemetery a broken and desperate woman. She couldn’t manage the tavern on her own, not long term. It was a rough crowd that patronized the Rusty Anchor, and she wasn’t safe among men who’d respected her husband but had not a whit of restraint when it came to his wife and daughters. Teddy, being only twelve at the time, was too young to take up the reins of the business or keep his mother and sisters safe from the drunken sailors who’d caused the death of his father, so Mrs. Mercer sold the tavern, asking for a fraction of its worth for lack of having a man of business to guide her. She did, however, negotiate that she and her children would remain in the rooms above the tavern for the duration of her lifetime and work the evening shift at the tavern to make ends meet. The new owner, very pleased with himself for swooping in quickly and securing such a bargain, readily agreed to her terms, glad to have someone who already knew the business and was willing to work for less than he’d have to pay a man.
It was then that Teddy had gone to sea to help his mother support the family. He started out as a cabin boy, then became a sailor, and by the age of nineteen gained the rank of petty officer. He dreamed of being elevated to the rank of midshipman, but given his lowly background, that wasn’t likely to happen; rank was reserved for the sons of the wealthy and influential. Teddy was happy, though. He liked being out on the open sea a lot better than being stuck behind the bar in a dingy tavern, surrounded by the dregs of society, who were more likely to piss themselves where they sat than settle their bill. He spent months away from home, but when he returned, it was as if no time had passed and Sophie’s life was suddenly transformed overnight, her spirits buoyed by Teddy’s good humor and endless affection.
Mr. Brewster hadn’t strenuously objec
ted to Sophie’s friendship with Teddy when she was younger, but once she turned sixteen, his tolerance had seemed to vanish practically overnight.
“I don’t want you spending time with Ted Mercer,” her father had said, his gaze leveled on her over the gently smoking bowl of his pipe.
“Whyever not, Father?” Sophie had asked, taken utterly by surprise by her father’s stern pronouncement.
“Because your association with that boy strains the bounds of propriety, Sophie,” Mr. Brewster replied.
“In what way? You’ve never said aught before,” Sophie argued.
“Sophie, after your mother died, you were in need of companionship, so I didn’t object when Mrs. Mercer took you under her wing and encouraged your friendship with her children, but you’re no longer a child, and neither is he. Ted Mercer is a grown man, and you spending time with him can be misconstrued.”
“Are you saying he’ll ruin my marriage prospects?” Sophie asked, gaping at her father, her embroidery forgotten in her lap.
Mr. Brewster nodded, clearly relieved he didn’t need to explain his decree. “I’m glad you understand, Sophie. Let’s not speak of it again. You may, of course, still call on the Mercer girls when Ted is away at sea.”
Sophie had chosen not to argue with her father, returning to her needlework as if they’d been speaking of the weather or the running of the household, but she had no intention of obeying. It didn’t matter if Teddy scared off potential suitors; he was the only suitor she was interested in. She knew her father wanted what was best for her and had his own notion of the type of man who’d make her a good husband, preferably someone from an old Boston family who was already a partner in a thriving concern. The son of a dockside tavern-keeper who spent his days surrounded by rough seafaring men was not what her father had in mind, especially when the man in question had a mother and several siblings to support for years to come. Had Teddy been an officer in the Royal Navy, an institution her father had great admiration for, he might have been more flexible on the subject, but as Teddy served on a merchant ship, he saw him as nothing more than a glorified sailor.
It was then that their clandestine meetings had begun. Sophie had no hope of meeting Teddy in the evenings, since her father came upstairs as soon as he closed the shop for the night and adjourned to the parlor directly after supper, where he remained until bedtime, so they snatched a few hours together while Sophie went out during the day under the pretense of going to the shops or taking a walk. She was meant to take Agnes with her, but Agnes, who was bone-tired most days, was only too happy to have an hour or two to rest and made no mention to her master that Sophie had ventured out on her own. Sophie never told Agnes she was meeting Teddy, so that Agnes would never have to tell an outward lie if her employer asked where Sophie had gone, and Agnes never asked. She didn’t need to. She knew how Sophie felt and saw no reason to be yet another obstacle in her path. Besides, Sophie was beginning to suspect Agnes had a suitor of her own and had hopes of leaving Mr. Brewster’s employ at some point.
Sophie’s heart leapt with joy when she finally saw Teddy coming down the street. He had his leather kitbag slung over one shoulder and his long strides were those of a man eager to get home, but he slowed his step as he approached the printshop, glancing up at the window where he knew Sophie would be waiting, concealed behind a lace curtain, and tipped his hat. Sophie couldn’t see his expression beneath the brim of his tricorn, but she saw his smile, meant only for her, and lifted her hand in greeting. She knew Teddy couldn’t see her clearly, but as long as he could see her outline, he’d know she’d been waiting for him and they’d see each other soon. Teddy turned away and continued walking, mindful of the fact that Mr. Brewster might be in the front helping a customer and would see him loitering outside. Once Teddy disappeared into his own house, Sophie left her post by the window and went to the kitchen to check on supper.
“Will you be going to the shops tomorrow, Miss Brewster?” Agnes asked, smiling coyly.
“I think I might. It promises to be a fine day,” Sophie replied, grinning at Agnes conspiratorially.
“Yes, I think you might be right. Abundant sunshine,” Agnes confirmed as she removed a pot of boiled potatoes from the fire and went about mashing them with unbridled enthusiasm.
Sophie took down several plates from the dresser and went about setting the table for supper. Her father would be up shortly, hungry and tired after a long day in the shop. Sophie was glad Agnes supped with them, providing a much-needed buffer between father and daughter, especially on a day when Sophie could barely hide her glee. She rearranged her features into a mask of dignified composure as soon as she heard her father’s heavy tread on the stairs. He nodded to her when he came in and went to wash his hands before taking his place at the table.
“Did you have a good day, Father?” Sophie asked as Agnes brought out the soup tureen and set it on the table.
Mr. Brewster gave Sophie a tired smile. “I did indeed.”
“Oh?” Sophie set down her soup spoon, eager to hear the good news.
“I received a large order today,” he replied, his gaze meeting Sophie’s across the table. “A young gentleman who fancies himself a poet ordered three hundred volumes of his collected works,” Mr. Brewster said, grinning. “He is prepared to pay nearly double the going rate if I finish the order within a fortnight.”
“How will you manage?” Sophie asked. Her father needed an assistant, but he refused to engage one and declined her offer of help, seeing to both the printing and the running of the shop on his own.
“I will work around the clock if I have to,” Mr. Brewster replied. “He happened to mention that he has several friends with literary aspirations. They are not averse to paying to get their efforts printed so they can distribute them to bookshops and give them out as gifts to friends and family. Securing their custom would be quite a coup.”
“It certainly would,” Sophie replied, genuinely pleased. “I’d be happy to help.”
“No need, my dear. No need. I think we’re ready for the second course, Agnes,” Mr. Brewster said as he pushed his soup bowl away. “Is that boiled beef I smell?”
“It is, sir,” Agnes replied, and bolted from the table.
Sophie smiled at her father, free to show her joy without arousing suspicion. Her father thought she was pleased about the order, but her mind wasn’t on some young buck’s atrocious poetry; it was on Teddy and their long-awaited reunion tomorrow.
Chapter 6
Sophie’s heart fluttered with excitement as she dressed for her meeting with Teddy. She couldn’t be too obvious in her efforts for fear that her father would notice and grow suspicious, but she did curl the hair around her face with hot tongs and dabbed a tiny bit of rouge on her cheeks. She was as pale as curdled milk after the winter months and didn’t want Teddy to find her looking sallow. She kept the rouge well hidden beneath her shifts and stockings since her father would be angry if he ever discovered its existence and would throw it away. He was hopelessly old-fashioned and didn’t believe a young girl should resort to artificial enhancement, like the type of women he didn’t care to mention in her presence. Sophie examined the effect in her hand mirror, then put on her favorite gown. Its dusty rose hue and cream lace trim set off her dark hair and gray eyes and brightened her complexion.
“How do I look?” Sophie asked Agnes once she was ready to leave.
“Like a peach,” Agnes replied, smiling at her. “Don’t forget to purchase new needles,” she reminded her. Agnes had broken one needle and lost another, so they were down to only two, which were safely stowed in Sophie’s workbox.
“I won’t,” Sophie promised. She donned her cloak and carefully fitted her straw bonnet over her cap, so as not to disturb the curls that artfully framed her face.
“Go on, then,” Agnes said as she walked her to the door. “Be sure to be back by dinnertime. I won’t lie to the master if he asks where you are.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be b
ack in time.”
Sophie left by the back stairs and walked along Belcher’s Lane, then turned left and continued toward Oliver Street, where she and Teddy usually met. There were several shops that she frequented along the street, so if she came across an acquaintance, her presence could be easily explained. It was a fine day and she enjoyed the fresh breeze that caressed her face as she strolled along. She wished she could take off her bonnet and turn her face up to the sun but resisted the urge and hurried along. She couldn’t afford to dawdle if she were to be back by noon.
Slowing her steps, Sophie paused in front of Holland’s Book Shoppe and looked around. Several people walked down the street, and a blue-bodied carriage rolled past, the matching chestnuts pulling it beautiful beasts, but there was no sign of Teddy. Sophie made a great show of examining the books in the shop window, then moved on to the shop that sold sewing notions. She bought three steel needles and several skeins of thread, then came back out into the street, her eyes scanning the passersby anxiously. Walking along, she bowed her head in dejection. Had Teddy forgotten to come and meet her? Perhaps he was still abed, tired after several months of rising before dawn and long days of hard work.
A strong hand suddenly pulled Sophie into a dim alleyway and pushed her up against the wall. Her assailant blocked the mouth of the alley, shielding her from view should someone take an interest in what was happening. Sophie stifled a scream, her heart beating wildly, first from terror, then from sheer joy. Teddy took her face in his hands and kissed her gently, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he gazed down at her. His greatcoat smelled of the sea, and his face was tanned to a deep brown, a testament to months spent in tropical climes.
The House on the Hill: A Ghost Story Page 4