Sophie tried to relax as George slid his fingers inside her, exploring her urgently, willing her to feel desire for him. Sophie moaned, but not from enjoyment. George’s probing was too forceful, causing her pain. He took her reaction for pleasure and assumed she was ready for him. He pushed his way into her body, thrusting again and again until his seed spilled inside her, wet and hot. He exhaled loudly and rested his forehead against hers, his lips curling into a smile of contentment.
“I hope I didn’t hurt you, my dear,” he said softly. “I meant to go slowly, but I simply couldn’t rein myself in. I’ve wanted you for so long,” he confessed.
“You didn’t hurt me,” Sophie lied. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t Teddy and the mere thought of him inside her made her want to howl with misery. He’d done what any husband would do, and she had to respond as a dutiful wife. She laid her hand on George’s chest and he covered it with his own, smiling into her eyes.
“We’re going to be very happy, you and I. Wait till you see the house I’ve found for us. You’re going to like it; I know it.”
Until the week before the wedding, George had lived in rooms he rented from a widow of his father’s acquaintance, but now that he was a married man, he’d need a household of his own.
“I look forward to seeing my new home,” Sophie replied woodenly. Once in Cambridge, she’d be even further away from her baby, unable to make inquiries without the aid of Agnes. Agnes had sworn she’d continue to inquire after the child, but Sophie didn’t expect her to try too hard. Agnes hoped to be married soon, but until her wedding she’d have to remain in Sophie’s father’s employ. She’d confided to Sophie that her future husband didn’t earn enough to support a family, so they might have to wait a year or two to wed, leaving Agnes to rely on her wages until her situation changed.
“Why do you look so sad?” George asked as he studied her face.
“I’m just tired,” Sophie replied, and she was. All she wanted was to be allowed to close her eyes and go to sleep.
“You can sleep in tomorrow,” George said, solicitous once more. “We’re in no hurry to leave. We can even stay for an extra day. Mr. Williams, my clerk, will see to the shop, and I’ve asked Mrs. Quarry—that’s our new housekeeper—to prepare the house for our arrival. So, you just rest, my dear,” George said and kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose. “I’m so happy,” he added, cupping her breast in a way that suggested that rest wasn’t on his agenda. “Are you as happy as I am, Sophie?”
“Yes, George,” she lied again. “But I’m very tired,” she reminded him.
George withdrew his hand and covered her with the counterpane, tucking her in like a child. “Sleep, my love. You look done in.”
He blew out the candle, and as darkness swallowed the room, Sophie was finally able to drop the pretense and let her tears silently flow.
Chapter 22
The ride to their new home didn’t take long. Cambridge was only four miles from Boston and took about an hour and half to reach by carriage. The weather was fine, and Sophie would have enjoyed the journey had George not talked continuously, telling her all about the college and the outlying areas.
“Harvard College is one of the greatest institutions of learning in Massachusetts. It even had an Indian College, but it ceased to operate some years ago. I suppose they couldn’t find enough savages worthy of the honor,” George scoffed. “There were a few that graduated. I can’t imagine that they passed their exams honorably. Those red-skinned devils would cheat their own mothers if they could get away with it. I must admit that opening a sister bookshop near the college was a stroke of genius on my father’s part,” he continued. “Not only do the students have an insatiable hunger for reading, but we also offer the texts they require for their coursework, making Holland’s Book Shoppe an indispensable asset to the school. I suggested to Father that we buy back used texts from the students and sell them at a reduced price to those who are on a stringent budget. Father was skeptical at first, saying that dealing in used books would tarnish the reputation of the shop, but the profit I’ve made off this sideline has convinced him otherwise. If business continues to flourish, I intend to expand the shop, making it bigger and better than my father’s shop in Boston,” George bragged.
“Do you sell any books geared toward women?” Sophie asked, and instantly regretted the question.
George raised an eyebrow, then laughed merrily. “What a curious nature you have, my dear. We don’t have a women’s section to speak of, but there are certain sermons and tracts that address the role of a woman within the home and her responsibilities to her husband. You can borrow them from the shop and read them at your leisure—not that you’ve been neglecting your wifely duties,” he said with an exaggerated wink.
Sophie blushed, deeply embarrassed by any reminder of their conjugal congress. George took his duties very seriously and had made sure to avail himself of her body several more times before leaving for Cambridge. Sophie supposed she was grateful that he’d never questioned her virginity, but if he meant to go on as he’d begun, she’d have no peace from his advances.
“Perhaps I can help you in the shop,” Sophie offered. “It would help me meet some of the townspeople.”
George pretended to consider her request, then squeezed her hand in a reassuring manner. “I do have Mr. Williams to help me, but maybe you can come by for an hour or two a day. I doubt you’ll meet any suitable candidates for friendship. Most of the shop’s customers are students and lecturers, and they’re all male, obviously. But don’t worry, you won’t be at a loose end for long,” he assured her. “Most of my acquaintances are married, and their wives will be more than happy to welcome you into their circle. I admit that none of them are very young, but perhaps they will offer the guidance you lacked while growing up, having lost your own dear mama at such a young age.”
The thought of spending her time with stodgy matrons of George’s acquaintance who would make it a point of schooling her on her duties as a wife made Sophie sigh with impatience. George looked instantly concerned.
“Are you unwell? Should we stop for a rest?”
“Thank you, but I’m quite all right,” Sophie replied, having no wish to prolong the journey. She was eager to see her new home and figure out exactly how many hours a day she’d have to herself while George was tending to his growing business. “Tell me about the house,” she invited, hoping to distract him.
“It’s not as grand as my father’s house, of course, but it’s sure to suit our needs. There’s a kitchen, dining room, and parlor on the ground floor, and three bedrooms upstairs. Enough for a growing family, I should think. Should the shop continue to prosper, I intend to buy some land and build us a permanent residence. What do you think of that, my dear?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Sophie replied, not energized by the prospect of being mistress of her own abode in the least. “I do hope Amelia is well.”.
“You can write to her,” George suggested. “I send a letter to my father weekly. You can add a missive for Amelia, and I will make sure she receives it. It’s no trouble for the boy to stop off at Major Dawson’s house.”
“Thank you, George. That’s very kind.”
“I know you’ll miss my sister. She’s vacuous and vain, but she can be very amusing when she chooses to be. I don’t suppose motherhood will change that. Amelia will hand over that child to a nursemaid as soon as it draws breath,” George said, chuckling. “Amelia is not one for motherly emotions.”
Sophie considered his comment. She supposed George was right. Amelia cared only for new gowns, shoes, and trinkets. Motherhood would not come naturally to her, but maybe she was the lucky one. Had Sophie been as devoid of maternal instinct as Amelia, she wouldn’t feel as bereft at the loss of her baby and would relish the freedom she’d gained by ridding herself of the unwelcome burden. Her head dipped as she thought of her son, the brim of her hat hiding her expression. Would the sharp edges of pain that were forever saw
ing at her heart ever dull? Her son would be four months and ten days old. If he lived, her mind added cruelly, reminding her once again that she had no way of knowing whether her child had survived.
“Nearly there,” George said, patting her hand again. “I think you should have a rest once we arrive. I might even join you,” he added playfully, his intentions as clear as the cloudless sky outside the window of the carriage.
“That would be nice,” Sophie mumbled miserably.
Chapter 23
Lauren
Lauren woke with a start. She first realized she was terribly cold, and then noticed the patio door was ajar. She sat bolt upright, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She’d been listening to an audiobook, and the soothing tones of the narrator must have lulled her to sleep. She grabbed for her phone, but it had run out of juice while she slept, the screen now black and unresponsive. Lauren glanced toward the door. It had been just past 4:00 p.m. when she began listening, but now it was well past seven, the evening beyond the window having gone from overcast to nearly dark, the broody clouds hovering on the distant horizon like steel wool soaked with dirty dishwater. She’d left the door open a crack to let in some fresh air, but the opening was now about a foot wide.
“Oh no!” Lauren cried, realization dawning. “Billy! Billy, where are you?” she called into the ominous silence. He’d been curled up on her legs while she’d been listening to the book, but now he was gone.
She quickly checked the house, but Billy was nowhere to be found, his crate in the corner empty. Lauren yanked open the door and ran out into the night, calling for the puppy as she ran down the steps to the dock. Her heart was beating wildly, her breath coming fast as one horrible scenario after another assaulted her imagination. What if he was hurt again? What if he’d fallen into the water? Dusk had given way to murky, moonless darkness, making Lauren feel as if it were midnight. She shivered in her thin sweater, wishing she’d had the presence of mind to grab a fleece before running out of the house.
Water lapped softly at the dock, but there was no sign of the dog. Lauren peered into the darkness, trying to determine if he’d come this way, but there was nothing to go on save the fact that if he’d come down, he’d not have been able to make it back up the steep steps on his short legs. Billy either hadn’t come this way or had already drowned.
Hysteria welled up in Lauren’s chest, her breath coming in short gasps as she raced up the steps and into the copse surrounding the house. It was shady and peaceful during the day, but now the woods were dark and sinister, the thick trunks blocking out the light from the house. Lauren thought she heard something and ran toward the sound, holding out her hands in front of her for fear of running into a tree trunk in the dark.
The sound had seemed to come from somewhere on her left, but when she ran in that direction, she realized it had just been the wind moving through the trees. She turned back, walked a few paces, then realized she could no longer see the house. She had no idea which way she’d come. The wind was picking up, the branches swaying above her head like black ghostly limbs that melted into the impenetrable darkness of the sky.
“Billy!” Lauren yelled, but heard no answering bark. “Billy, where are you, you silly pup?”
Fingers of panic crept up her spine, making the hair on the back of her neck rise. How far did these woods go? The closest house was about half a mile away, and it was empty, the owners not having opened it for the summer season yet. Lauren ambled along in the dark, stumbling on thick roots and scratching her hand on rough bark. The night seemed to grow darker by the minute, the air dense with moisture. And then the mist rolled in, effectively cutting her off from the world. She was lost in a sea of white, her face damp, her clothes clinging to her body. She shivered violently as the damp penetrated her canvas sneakers and cotton socks.
In her panic, Lauren nearly fell over a fallen log. She sank down onto the wet bark and buried her face in her hands. She had no idea which way she’d come from and the mist was growing thicker. A sob escaped her chest as she realized she might have to spend the night in the forest. She was no more than a quarter mile from the house, but she couldn’t see a thing. She could wander around for hours without emerging into the clearing on which the house was built.
“Calm down,” she told herself in her most sensible tone. “You’re very close to the house. You just need to wait for the fog to lift, then you can follow the light.”
Her voice sounded hollow in the thick air swirling around her, and she thought she saw a faint glow moving between the trees. Lauren lowered her hands and stared straight ahead, her breath catching in her throat as her mind finally caught up to her eyes and the two agreed on what they were seeing. Sophie Holland stood a few feet away, an old-fashioned lantern glowing in her hand. She wore a dark-blue gown and a thick cape, and her hair was tucked into a cap, a few dark strands escaping to frame her face. She raised the lantern, illuminating her face, and Lauren froze, too afraid to draw breath. Sophie was looking right at her, her gaze earnest and direct. She gestured to Lauren, indicating that she should follow.
Lauren stood, and a strangled gasp escaped from her cold lips. In the glow of the lantern, she could just make out the sheer drop that towered above the bay. Had she continued walking, she’d have fallen headlong into the water. There seemed to be no one around for miles, and no approaching boat’s light cut through the choking darkness. She could have died had she hit her head on the way down or collided with rocks that slumbered beneath the surface of the still water.
Sophie beckoned again and Lauren followed, her limbs as stiff as those of a wooden soldier. Her mind seemed to shut down, her body operating on pure instinct. She followed the caped figure, transfixed by the yellow light that seemed to encircle Sophie’s head like a halo. Eventually, a second orb of light appeared, the glow of the living room window through the swirling fog. Sophie turned and waited until Lauren grasped the significance of this, then seemed to melt into the fog, the light of her lantern vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared.
Lauren drew a shaky breath, coming out of her trance as the light of the house spurned her on. She moved faster, running toward the open patio door as if something were chasing her. She crashed into the living room and closed the door, locking it with trembling hands. For a moment, she forgot all about Billy, but when he came trotting toward her from the kitchen, his tail wagging in greeting, she fell to her knees and held the puppy to her breast, hugging him so tightly he let out a whimper of protest.
“Oh, thank God,” she muttered into his warm fur. “Thank God you’re safe.”
Billy wiggled free of her damp embrace and retreated to his crate, leaving Lauren on her knees in the middle of the living room. She forced herself to get up, grabbed her phone and plugged it in to charge, then selected Ryan’s number. Had she thought it through, she might not have made the call, but she was so shaken she had to hear a human voice, and Ryan was the only person she really knew in Orleans.
“Lauren? Are you okay?” Ryan’s voice sounded as if it came from far away, and she realized she was sobbing. “Lauren?” Ryan called through the phone.
“I think so,” she mumbled. “I got lost in the fog.” Her teeth began to chatter, the cold having seeped into her bones. Her clothes were filthy and wet, and her shoes were soaked through.
“I’m coming over,” Ryan exclaimed.
“What about Ty?”
“Merielle is here. She’ll stay with him.”
Lauren sank onto the couch and pulled a chenille throw over her shoulders, too weak to trek upstairs to change into dry clothes. As her body warmed up, coherent thought returned, but she still could make no sense of what had happened tonight. Fragments of thought swirled around her head like the fog that had trapped her but now seemed to have completely dissipated. She tried to conjure up Sophie’s face, but all she could recall were those dark eyes, the gaze so direct and intense.
She sprang to her feet when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel and
pulled the door open to Ryan, who sprinted up the drive.
“Lauren, what happened?” She fell into his arms and he held her tight, his body warm and comforting, his arms strong and safe.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’m not sure.”
“Come, have a seat. You are all wet.” Ryan led her back to the couch and sat her down, adjusting the throw to cover her. “I will get you some dry clothes, and while you change, I’ll make a fire. Do you have any whisky or brandy?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay, never mind.” Ryan went upstairs and returned with a pair of velour trackpants and a matching hoodie. He also brought a dry T-shirt and socks. As Lauren accepted the clothes, the part of her mind that was thinking rationally again was grateful he hadn’t gone through her underwear drawer. She went to the downstairs bathroom and removed all her garments but the panties that were still dry and put on the fresh clothes. She washed her hands and face with hot water and towel-dried her hair before leaving the bathroom.
By the time she returned, Ryan had a little fire going and seemed to have unearthed a half-full bottle of whisky. He poured Lauren a generous amount and held the glass out to her. “Drink.”
She didn’t care for whisky, but she accepted the glass and took a few sips. The whisky burned its way down her esophagus and settled in a pool of warmth in her belly. She drained the rest of the glass and held her hand out for more in the hope that the alcohol would revive her. She did feel more human after the second drink and settled on the sofa, folding her legs beneath her as she stared into the leaping flames of the fire.
The House on the Hill: A Ghost Story Page 13