The House on the Hill: A Ghost Story

by Irina Shapiro

  Amelia poured the rest of the tea and reached for another slice of cake. “We shall have such fun while you’re here. I’ll host a musical evening. What do you think? I shall invite the Eislers to perform.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They are a brother and sister, from Vienna, I think. Hans plays the mandolin, and Stanzi sings. Oh, she has the voice of an angel,” Amelia gushed. “They’re minor aristocracy, but they’re quite impoverished, so they perform like trained bears to earn their bread. All very tragic.” Amelia waved a hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Now, you must go up and have a rest. George gave me express instructions not to tire you out.”

  Normally, Sophie would have protested at being dismissed, but she was more than ready to enjoy an hour of solitude. Amelia’s chatter did nothing to dispel her sense of isolation. She could hardly share her fears with her husband’s sister, and she wasn’t at all sure Amelia wouldn’t report back to George, making Sophie’s situation even more difficult to bear.

  “Yes, a rest is just what I need.”

  “I’ve had Mary prepare a room for you. It’s rather pretty, if I do say so myself. I think you’ll be comfortable. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, there’s a bell-pull on the right side of the bed. You can summon Mary anytime, even in the middle of the night. And don’t worry about waking us. We won’t hear the bell upstairs,” she added.

  “Thank you. I doubt I’ll need anything in the middle of the night, and I wouldn’t want to disturb Mary.”

  Amelia smiled indulgently at her. “Sophie, that’s what servants are for.”

  “Yes, of course,” Sophie agreed, not bothering to argue. She’d have to be on her best behavior in front of Amelia for fear of betraying her dissatisfaction with her marriage, but she didn’t think it’d be too hard. Amelia had prattled on about herself almost the entire time, hardly asking Sophie anything about her own life. She’d never realized how self-absorbed Amelia was, but then, she felt as if she’d aged a decade in the past year, going from a naïve, trusting girl to a wary woman who carried the weight of decades on her teenage shoulders.

  Chapter 31

  The freshly fallen snow crunched beneath Sophie’s boots as she hurried toward the wharf. It was bitterly cold, her nose and cheeks stinging from the biting wind, but the heady taste of freedom more than made up for the discomfort. She hadn’t taken a walk alone since George confronted her about Agnes’s letter. Mrs. Quarry walked at her side wherever she went, even if it was only to the book shop to bring George his dinner. The older woman reminded her of a guard dog that bared its teeth whenever anyone got too close. Her fealty was to George, and she took her guarding duties seriously.

  The thought of returning to Cambridge filled Sophie with dread, but she had a week left and she meant to savor it. Amelia made for undemanding company, for which Sophie was grateful. She left Sophie to her own devices for most of the day, not out of consideration, but because she slept till noon and then often went out to pay calls later in the day. She invited Sophie to come along, but Sophie didn’t know Amelia’s friends and had no desire to spend countless hours on mindless chatter. However, the musical evening Amelia had hosted yesterday proved to be a delight. Sophie had enjoyed it immensely and had felt more like herself than she had in months.

  A gust of wind nearly took her breath away and made her cloak billow behind her like the wings of a raven in flight. Sophie grasped at the folds and wrapped them tighter about her to keep out the arctic breath of the Atlantic. Hunching her shoulders, she hastened her steps, eager to reach her father’s shop and get out of the cold, but as she drew closer, she experienced a pang of foreboding. No smoke curled from the brick chimney, and the windows glared back with the blank stare of an abandoned building. Sophie tried the door, but it was locked. She stood on her tippy toes and peered inside, but all she saw was emptiness and signs of neglect. It seemed her father hadn’t been in the shop for some time.

  Sophie stepped back and craned her neck, hoping to see something through the upper-story windows, but even though the curtains still hung at the windows and the glass was relatively clean, she could tell that the apartment above the shop was no longer occupied. Frightened and confused, she walked away, heading toward South Street, where Agnes’s family lived at the edge of Coffins Field. This part of town was poorer, the houses closer together and shabbier. Most of the windows were shuttered against the wind to keep the cost of heating down. Sophie found the address she was looking for and knocked on the green-painted door. It was opened by Agnes herself, who immediately covered up her surprise with practicality.

  “Come in, miss. You must be half-frozen. Come into the parlor and I’ll fetch you a hot drink. We have no tea, I’m afraid, but a cup of broth will warm you through just as well.”

  She led Sophie to a tiny parlor, took her cloak, hat, and gloves, and invited her to sit on the threadbare settee, which had been moved so close to the hearth, Sophie feared singeing her skirts.

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” Agnes said, and scurried off to the kitchen. She returned with two tin mugs of broth and handed one to Sophie, who accepted it gratefully and wrapped her hands around its comforting warmth.

  “Agnes, where’s my father? I went to the shop and it’s shut up,” Sophie said when the other woman settled in a chair across from her.

  “Didn’t you get my letter?” Agnes asked, her eyes widening in confusion.

  “My husband has been intercepting my mail,” Sophie replied, squaring her shoulders to counteract the shame she felt at admitting such a thing to Agnes.

  “He’s gone, miss. He took ill. In late November, it was. First, he developed a chesty cough and then a raging fever.”

  “Did you not summon Dr. Simonds?”

  “’Course I did, but there wasn’t much he could do. Said it was lung fever and the master’s lungs had filled with fluid. He gave him willow-bark tea to bring down the fever, but the illness had taken hold and wouldn’t let go. Gone in a few days, he was. Never even came ‘round that last day. I’m sorry, miss.”

  “Thank you, Agnes, for looking after him. I know you did your best.”

  “I did, miss. It grieved me something awful to see him suffer that way.”

  “Agnes, did he ask for me?” Sophie pleaded, desperation gnawing at her insides.

  “He did. He asked for you toward the end.”

  “Where is he buried?”

  Agnes told her, and Sophie decided then and there to ask George to pay for a headstone. Surely he wouldn’t deny her such a modest request. She never asked for anything, not even a new gown or a silly trinket.

  “Where are his things?” Sophie asked, suddenly realizing that someone must have cleared out the shop and the private rooms above. “Did you take his valuables for safekeeping?”

  Agnes shook her head. “I couldn’t take his things. I’d have been accused of theft. Since you didn’t come for the funeral, Mr. Holland told the vicar he’d see to Mr. Brewster’s effects, being your father-in-law and all,” Agnes said. “He disposed of the lot.”

  Sophie’s head dipped in misery as she stared into the congealing broth. Lionel Holland had known her father had died. He must have written to George, but no one had thought to tell her. Even Amelia had known, which was why she’d bitten her tongue when speaking of Jeremy’s father’s demise. They’d taken it upon themselves to get rid of her father’s possessions, most likely keeping anything of value for themselves, such as the proceeds from the printing press and whatever money her father had saved. There were also several items of value, such as his pocket watch, her mother’s wedding band, and the china tea set her mother had loved.

  “Did he say anything about…you know—” Sophie asked softly.

  “No, not a word. I’m sorry, miss. I know how desperate you are to find your son, but perhaps you’re better off not knowing,” Agnes said, her eyes brimming with sympathy. “What can you do if you discover where he is? You can’t very well inform your husband a
nd demand to bring the boy to live with you. And if he’s gone, you’re better off not knowing if he suffered.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but my heart won’t listen to reason. I need to know what became of him, Agnes. Even if he’s with the Lord, I still need to know. I can at least pray for his soul and visit his grave.”

  “I’ll write if I discover anything,” Agnes promised. “Oh, but if my letters aren’t getting through to you, how shall I pass on the news?”

  “I don’t know,” Sophie replied, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

  “You come and see me next time you’re in Boston. Even if I’m not here, I’ll leave word with Ma.”

  “Is she here?” Sophie asked, realizing that Agnes seemed to be on her own. She was sure Agnes had a brother named Jack, but he was probably out working.

  “She’s poorly again. Taken to her bed. But she’ll get better come spring. She always does. And Jack’s at the tavern. Got employment there this past summer. They don’t pay him much, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “And what about you, Agnes? How are you?”

  “I’m keeping well,” Agnes replied. “Rob and I will be getting married in the spring. We thought to wed when I lost my employment, but Ma needs me, and there’s no rush, is there? If the good Lord sees fit to bless us with children, He will, and if He doesn’t, we’ll be all right on our own.”

  Agnes’s attitude surprised Sophie. She assumed every woman wanted to have children, especially one who was past the first flush of youth and didn’t have many years of fertility left, but then she’d assumed a lot of things before she realized that life was not always what one expected it to be.

  “Thank you, Agnes,” Sophie said as she set down the cup and rose to take her leave. “Thank you for everything.”

  “God be with you, Sophie,” Agnes said, reverting to her Christian name in a moment of intimacy. “He knows you’ve suffered, and He’ll grant you peace.”

  Sophie nodded. What was there to say? She didn’t think God much cared about her pain. Plenty of women suffered at the hands of their husbands, and nearly every woman she knew had lost at least one child at some point in her life. It was the way of things. Sophie gave Agnes a hug and left, knowing in her heart she’d probably never see the woman again.

  Chapter 32

  Had the wind not been howling like a keening woman, Sophie might have heard the footsteps behind her, but she hadn’t. She cried out in shock when strong fingers grasped her upper arm and dragged her into an alleyway between two buildings, the man using his body to block them from view. Sophie struggled, terrified of being robbed or molested, but went limp when a familiar voice came from behind a woolen muffler that covered the lower half of the man’s face, nearly bringing her to her knees.

  “It’s me, Poppet. It’s me,” Teddy whispered into her temple as he held her close. “It’s me.”

  A desperate sob tore from Sophie’s chest as she slumped against him, overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings. Teddy held her close and she inhaled his familiar scent and felt safe for the first time in months. She pulled down the muffler, touching his face to make sure he was real and not a product of her tortured mind. She wanted to ask him where he’d been, to tell him how happy she was to see him, to thank God he wasn’t dead, but all she could do was blubber, tears streaming from her eyes and growing ice-cold on her cheeks. Teddy was crying too, silent tears sliding down his stubbled cheeks as he held on to her as if she might vanish at any moment.

  “Oh, Sophie, I’ve been looking for you for so long,” Teddy murmured, his breath warm on her face. “When I came back, the shop was shut up, everyone gone. My mother told me your father had passed in November, but I had no way of finding you. I walked the streets, looking for you, hoping to catch a glimpse of your face, but it was as if you’d vanished. I searched for Agnes too, but she’d left after your father’s death, presumably to take up a new position.”

  He held her away from him and studied her face. “When I saw you from the window, I thought I’d imagined you. I followed you, but you’d gone into that house just before I had a chance to call out. I stood outside, waiting, thinking I must be mad, that I’d followed a woman I’d conjured up in my desperation. But it was really you. It’s you,” he said caressing her face, his lips brushing against hers. “Now that I’ve found you, we can be together like we always planned.”

  Sophie could barely manage to form words, so she shook her head, mumbling, “It’s too late, Teddy. It’s too late.”

  “It’s never too late,” he protested. “I’ve found you at last.”

  The tears came harder, her body sagging against him in her misery. She had so much to tell him, so much to ask, but she simply couldn’t find the strength, so she clung to him until the storm of weeping passed and she was finally able to gather her thoughts.

  Sophie took his face in her hands, studying him intently. He looked the same, yet different. The eyes were still as blue, the skin tanned to a golden brown, but there was a crease between his eyebrows that hadn’t been there before, and newly etched lines bracketed his mouth. He looked older and tougher, as if the past year and a half had been a test of endurance.

  “Sophie, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse with feeling. “I can’t imagine what you must have thought.”

  “We had a child, Teddy,” Sophie cried, desperate for him to understand what she’d been through, what she’d lost. “A son. He was taken from me.”

  Teddy’s tanned face went a sick shade of gray. He stared at her, his mouth opening in shock. “A son?” he echoed. “We have a son?”

  Sophie nodded. “I’ve tried searching for him, but I found no trace of him. Oh, Teddy, life has been so awful since you left. Too awful for words.”

  “Everything will be well now. I’m going to look after you. We’ll get married.”

  “Teddy, I’m married already. Hasn’t your mother told you?”

  Teddy’s shock was evident in his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “No.”

  “My father pressured me into marrying. He threatened to disown me. I should have resisted, but I felt so lost, so broken. I didn’t have the strength to fight back.”

  “The marriage can be annulled,” Teddy said, his eyes glinting with purpose. “You married against your will.”

  Sophie shook her head again. “I stood up in church and made my vows. There’s no annulling it, and my husband won’t let me go so easily. His family is powerful. They have money and connections.”

  “Does he love you?” Teddy asked. “Is he good to you?”

  Sophie’s bark of laughter shocked him into silence. “He hurts me for his own pleasure. He torments me and controls everything I do and everyone I see. I didn’t even know my father had died. He kept the news from me.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Teddy said, his voice dangerously low. “I’ll kill him and then you’ll be free.”

  “No!” Sophie cried. “I won’t have his blood on your hands. You will stay away from him, Teddy. You will not harm him. If I have to watch you swing, I’ll die,” Sophie threatened.

  “My God, Sophie, what has he done to you?” Teddy looked pale and frightened. “You can’t go back to him. Come away with me. Now. Today.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can,” Teddy argued.

  “There’s something I need to do first. Then I’ll go with you.”

  “Tomorrow, then. Where are you staying?” Teddy asked. The expression on his face told her that he’d come for her if she didn’t show. He’d storm the house and take her away. The thought made Sophie warm all over.

  She explained that she was staying with Amelia while George remained in Cambridge. “Wait for me by the tree behind the house tomorrow at nine. I will come. I promise,” Sophie said, a tiny spark of hope flaring in her breast. “I will come.”

  “Sophie, please, let’s go today. What can be important enough to make you go back to these people?”

  “Please, give me on
e more day, Teddy.”

  “I will give you every day, my whole life,” Teddy replied. He kissed her urgently and she felt the familiar spark of desire leap in her belly. She’d forgotten what it was like to enjoy a man’s touch, the pressure of his lips on her mouth, his arms wrapped around her, not like bands of steel keeping her prisoner, but a circle of love and support, a home she could come back to.

  “If you’re not there tomorrow night, I will go to Cambridge and confront your husband,” Teddy threatened after they broke apart. “I won’t lose you again. Not ever.”

  “You won’t have to,” Sophie promised. “Just one more day.”

  Chapter 33

  When Sophie returned to Amelia’s house, she went straight up to her room, locked the door, buried her head in her pillow, and sobbed until the tempest of her emotions subsided. She’d felt like a pot that was boiling over, desperate to let off some steam before settling into a measured simmer. Discovering that her father was dead and buried had been traumatic enough, but seeing Teddy again and suddenly being handed the keys to her prison had been more than she could take in all at once.

  Teddy had walked her as far as he could, then stood back and allowed her to leave, swearing he’d be there tomorrow night to take her away from the nightmare that had become her life. There was so much they needed to say to each other, but this afternoon hadn’t been the time. They had plans to make and arrangements to put in place.

  Sophie didn’t come down for dinner, claiming she was unwell, and spent a restless night, her fevered mind refusing to let her rest. Every time she nodded off, the nightmares came back: George getting wind of her plan and stopping her just in time, Teddy disappearing again, this time for good, Jeremy returning home early and preventing her from leaving with Teddy. So much could go wrong. So much already had. In the morning, an exhausted Sophie dressed for church and joined Amelia for breakfast.