The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1)

by Tamara Thorne

  “You mentioned Disney artists?” Belinda asked, envisioning something that belonged in the Haunted Mansion.

  Grant nodded.

  “Animatronic Aunt Gertie,” Riley said. “Picture her, forever sitting in a rocking chair in your parlor, rocking away and telling you what a good girl you are.”

  “Better than stuffed like Norman Bates’s mom,” Phoebe said, closing her newspaper.

  Belinda narrowed her eyes. “Riley, are you pulling my leg?”

  “He is not,” Grant assured her. “Oh, dear … what’s that tap-tap-tapping I hear coming toward our chamber door?”

  “Shit,” said Phoebe.

  “Exactly,” Riley agreed. “Excuse me, won’t you, love? I have to reattach a broken penis to the statue of Bacchus by the pool.” He turned to leave, listened, then said, “Oh hell, too late.”

  The clacking of heels grew closer. Phoebe came out from behind the table and started straightening her uniform. While it wasn’t quite short or low-cut enough to be a French maid Halloween costume, it was similar, with a ruffled white apron and high heels that made the girl’s black lace choker take on a disturbingly sexual appearance. Her lower lip trembled a little, intensifying the look.

  The unpleasant Mrs. Heller entered the huge kitchen. Even her heels sounded angry, determined, and concise. Again she wore an all-black skirted suit, but today she had a white blouse beneath the jacket and the shape of her breasts seemed more severe. Probably one of those old-fashioned torpedo bras.

  As Mrs. Heller entered, voices stopped, spines straightened, and tension mounted. Everyone except Grant seemed affected by her.

  Phoebe began clearing the table.

  Riley seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the shine of the silverware and kept his back to the woman.

  Belinda swallowed hard, involuntarily reliving the horrible job interview before Mr. Manning had swept in and saved her.

  Mrs. Heller looked at Belinda. Her cold dark eyes appraised her with apparent distaste.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Heller,” said Belinda.

  Heller made a sound, something between a harrumph and an ahem. Spying the fruit bowl on the table, she reached for it, her black lacquered nails hovering over the plump fruit, in search of the perfect cherry. She found it, plucked it up, and bit into it.

  The sight made Belinda cringe.

  Heller pulled a face. “You should check these more carefully. This one isn’t ripe yet.” Her black eyes found Belinda for an excruciating moment.

  The room was silent.

  “Miss Waxwing,” said Heller, turning her gaze on Phoebe, “the state of the kitchen this morning is not acceptable. Surely you realize this?”

  Phoebe blinked. “What do you mean, Mrs. Heller?”

  Heller crossed her arms over her pointy breasts. She looked incredulous. “There are breadcrumbs on the counter and fingerprints on the stove.”

  Phoebe lowered her eyes to her hands, which she now wrung together.

  “Mr. Phister,” Heller said, turning to Grant. “I smell peaberry.”

  Peaberry? Belinda almost giggled.

  “Are you serving peaberry to the staff?” She nodded toward Belinda’s coffee cup. “I can smell it. Don’t deny it.”

  Oh. Coffee. Belinda sipped.

  “I would never deny it, Mrs. Heller.” Grant arched an eyebrow and smirked. “I feel we are all equal here. Don’t you?”

  Heller’s face whitened with rage, her lips thinning to a red slit, her powerful jaw flexing. She looked like a cobra ready to strike. As she stepped forward, the twin rubies on the key she wore around her neck glinted in the light. “Equality, Mr. Phister,” she said in measured tone, “must be earned.”

  “In my world, it is a right. One we’ve fought long and hard for, I might add.”

  She appraised him - from perfect haircut to black Italian loafers. “How easily such words slip from the lips of a man in a Valentino suit, Mr. Phister.”

  “I’m wearing what is appropriate. As are you, Mrs. Heller.”

  Belinda looked back and forth between the butler and the administrator.

  “Yes. And have we not earned our privileges, Mr. Phister? Or are you suggesting everyone should simply be given Armani and Valentino?”

  “We are appropriately dressed to represent our employer. These are uniforms, Mrs. Heller, just as Phoebe’s is.” He glanced at his wristwatch and then looked to Belinda. “I believe it’s time you join Mr. Manning and the children upstairs for breakfast.”

  “I- Upstairs?” asked Belinda.

  Mrs. Heller glared at her.

  Grant nodded. “Yes, Mr. Stavros, our chef, will be back momentarily to make the hollandaise and then I will send the food up via the dumbwaiter and will come up to serve you personally today. Phoebe, would you prepare the breakfast table?”

  Relief washed over Phoebe’s face. “Yes, Mr. Phister.”

  “Head upstairs now. They’ll be seating themselves in just a few minutes. And do let Dominique know she needs to come and clean up the kitchen.” He gave Mrs. Heller another arched brow. “It’s her turn today.”

  “Yes, Mr. Phister.” Phoebe moved, nodding at Mrs. Heller with her eyes averted, and favoring Grant with a grateful smile.

  Cordelia Heller turned her gaze on Belinda and she felt herself shrink under it. “You have a doctor’s appointment this morning for your employment insurance physical. Be there on time or I will hear about it.” She turned and left, her heels clocking across the marble.

  “That woman could give Cruella de Vil nightmares,” Grant said.

  Belinda smiled but held her tongue. “I’d better get going. I’ve got butterflies.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”

  “The Mannings are good folks,” Riley said as he opened the back kitchen door that led outside. “I’m off to take care of Bacchus’ member. See you later.”

  Belinda waited until the door shut. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you and Riley. I can be so dense.”

  “Embarrass?”

  “I didn’t realize you were a couple.”

  He chuckled. “You gave us a jolly good laugh is all. You’ll catch on quickly. Now, off you go. When you get back from your doctor’s appointment, come tell me what you think of Dr. Dickey.”

  “Dr. Dickey?”

  “He’s the physician they use for insurance purposes.”

  “Is there anything wrong with him?”

  “Not that I know of, except for him telling me to call him Dr. Dickey.” Grant smiled. “I think that’s peculiar, don’t you?”

  Belinda laughed. “Definitely.”

  In Cordelia’s Chambers

  In her black bedchamber, Cordelia Heller picked up her lipstick-red cell phone and pressed the number for Richard Akin, MD. While she waited for his girl to pick up, she ran her fingers over the brocaded silk bedspread. The pattern could barely be seen because it was black on black, but she could feel every bump of the hand-stitched bouquets. They matched the diamonds of satiny flowers flocked on the black-on-gray wallpaper. She’d had two artists work together to ensure perfection.

  The light from a small crystal bedside lamp on her ebony nightstand illuminated little except the crystal vase holding three white rose buds, but the midnight ceiling held dozens of small recessed lights that always cast the proper glow. She adjusted them now with the remote. Except for the crystal accessories, the roses and a toss of red pillows on her sleigh bed, the room was the color of darkness. Black velvet draperies were closed over large windows. No paintings disturbed the walls and for Cordelia, it was the most peaceful room in the house, except of course, for the dungeon.

  “Devilswood Medical Offices. How may I direct your call?” The voice on the other end was young, vibrant.

  Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Dr. Akin, please.”

  “He’s with a patient I’m afraid. Can I take a -”

  “Tell him it’s Cordelia Heller. He’ll take the call.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”


  After a few moments, Dr. Akin came on the line. “Mrs. H.,” he said, too cheery for her taste.

  “Heller,” she corrected.

  “And you can call me Dr. Dickey. What can I do you for, Mrs. Heller?”

  “I’ll call you no such thing. You have an appointment today with a young woman named Belinda Moorland. She was hired by my employer and is scheduled for a physical with you.”

  “Yes. Special instructions?” His voice smarmed through the phone.

  Mrs. Heller grinned in the darkness. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “yes. A couple of them.”

  There was a silence, then, “I’m intrigued.”

  “You ought to be.” She could almost hear the man salivating.

  “What are my instructions?”

  “My, my, Dr. Akin. Aren’t we an eager beaver this morning?”

  “Always.” His voice was flat, serious.

  “First I want you to check her and find out if she’s … intact.”

  Heller thought she heard him scribbling on a pad.

  “And?”

  “And if she is, I want you to …” She paused. “Take care of it.”

  More silence. “Take care of it?”

  Mrs. Heller clenched her jaw, impatient. “Put an end to it. But in no way that is pleasant for her.”

  Dr. Akin sighed.

  “I want it done professionally. Medically.”

  “Understood.” More scribbling sounds.

  “For your trouble, I’d like you to feel free to entertain yourself with her however you choose - as long as it’s medical, of course. But remember, it must not be pleasant for her.”

  “Entertain myself?”

  “Oh, Dr. Akin. I know how you enjoy your work … and your younger, more attractive patients.” She heard him swallow hard. “What I’m saying is, be thorough. Very thorough. And enjoy yourself. Compliments of the house.”

  “As you wish, Mrs. H.”

  “Mrs. Heller. My name is Mrs. Heller.”

  “My apologies.”

  “I don’t want your apologies, I want your cooperation.”

  “Consider it - and Miss Moorland - done.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. “Perfect.”

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got Mayor Claxton waiting. In stirrups.”

  Mrs. Heller smiled. “I’m sure he loves that.”

  “He hasn’t complained yet.”

  She ended the call and lay back on the bed, pleased.

  Family Breakfast

  The family breakfast room on the second floor was bright and cheerful. Windows clad in open white wooden blinds lined one wall of the room. The oak-planked flooring gleamed beneath the round table, which was clothed in blue linen. A huge oak sideboard sat next to the dumbwaiter.

  It was a good thing the room was so welcoming; it helped Belinda quell an urge to bolt. She forced herself to remain by the window as two children eyed her from the doorway. They’d appeared, as silent as assassins, in the second or two she had turned to peer out the window.

  She tried a smile. “You two must be trained ninjas.”

  The boy stared, the girl glowered.

  “My name is Belinda and I’m your new governess. Maybe your father told you?”

  More staring and glaring.

  “Kids!” Mr. Manning appeared in the doorway behind the children and urged them forward. Even this early, his dark blue eyes were lively. “Let’s be seated, shall we? I see you’ve met Miss Moorland?”

  The kids nodded.

  He turned to Belinda. “I’d like to introduce you to my children. This is Thaddeus, but we call him Thad.” He held a hand out, indicating the blond-haired little boy. He looked like his father. Dimples, blue eyes, smooth skin, and a brilliant smile.

  “Hi!”

  “Hello, Thad. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “I’m six and Cyn is nine! How old are you?”

  “Thaddeus! Mind your manners.” Mr. Manning’s face was stern.

  “It’s okay,” said Belinda. “I’m twenty-three.”

  Thad gave her a surprised look as if he was shocked anyone could count so high. “That’s really old!”

  “Thad! Hush this instant. You know it isn’t polite to say such things.”

  “Sorry,” said the boy, and Belinda could tell he was sincere. She gave him a reassuring smile, which he seemed to appreciate.

  Manning turned to the girl, a strawberry blonde who would soon be nearing the gawky stages of pre-adolescence. “And this is Cynthia.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, Cynthia.”

  The girl averted her eyes.

  Mr. Manning cleared his throat. “What do you say, Cynthia?”

  Cynthia grumbled. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, barely troubling to open her mouth.

  “And now that the introductions are over,” said Mr. Manning, “you have to be in class in fifty minutes, correct?”

  “Uh huh,” the girl mumbled.

  “Let’s get started on breakfast then.”

  The kids approached their chairs. Cynthia groaned and rolled her eyes but little Thad grinned at Belinda. His smile lit the room up even more. “We’re going on a field trip to the dinosaur museum today!”

  Cynthia poked him in the ribs, hard, before she sat down.

  “Hey!”

  “I love the dinosaur museum,” Belinda said. “Which is your favorite dinosaur, Thad?”

  “Stegosaurus! I like the pointy things on his back!”

  “He’d be a hard ride, wouldn’t he?”

  Thad laughed.

  One down, one to go. The little girl wasn’t going to be so easy. Not by a long shot.

  “Please be seated, Miss Moorland.” Mr. Manning took a chair between the kids.

  “Thank you.” Belinda sat across from him.

  He smiled. “Welcome to our little family.”

  The girl rolled her eyes again.

  “Thank you. Please, call me Belinda. All of you.”

  “Belinda,” repeated Thad. “Our other governesses made us call them Miss or Mrs. Are you a Miss or a Mrs.?”

  Belinda felt herself blush. “A Miss.”

  “Your new governess is an accomplished musician,” Mr. Manning told the kids as Grant Phister entered and crossed to the dumbwaiter by the buffet. He slid it open, revealing a bevy of silver platters laden with covered plates and pitchers of orange juice and milk. The scent of coffee drifted from a pot. “She’s going to help you both with your piano lessons.”

  Thad looked a little dubious and Cynthia stuck out her tongue, but did it at the empty plate in front of her.

  “I know some funny songs,” Belinda said.

  Thad looked up. “Do you know ‘How would you like to be put in a box?’”

  Belinda weighed her answers then said, singsong, “‘Covered with dirt and then with rocks.’”

  Thad grinned again and glanced at his father, then was saved by the butler who said, “‘Your eyes decay and turn to green,’ I believe.”

  “‘And pus runs out like shaving cream!’” sang Thad.

  Belinda glanced at Mr. Manning and was relieved to see he didn’t look angry. Even Cynthia had lost her scowl, though she was working hard to get it back.

  Grant served scrambled eggs with hollandaise sauce, browned sausage, fluffy hash browns, and little silver dollar pancakes with real butter and maple syrup. He gave each of them a small bowl of pitted cherries.

  Belinda nodded when he proffered the coffee, and again for the juice, and a third time when he asked if she’d like a glass of milk. She loved milk and figured that drinking it in front of the kids would set a good example.

  Mr. Manning, who somehow managed not to get a crumb on his perfect charcoal suit, asked the kids about their classes, and then managed to make even Cynthia smile by telling them about his workday. “I’m meeting Mr. Aldrin today to talk about sending his grandmother into space.”

  Belinda hoped he was joking.

  Evi
dently, he wasn’t, and after he spoke, he looked her straight in the eye and asked, “How did you sleep, Belinda?”

  She felt her face heat up. “I, uh-”

  “No nightmares, I hope?”

  Visions of Mr. Manning throwing her on the bed came back full force. The feeling of him above her, getting ready to … the woman stopping him. “No, uh, no nightmares.”

  He was smiling, showing dimples.

  “I dreamed about dinosaurs!” Thad announced.

  “You always dream about dinosaurs,” said Cynthia.

  Grant reappeared five minutes later and breakfast was over. “Go along downstairs to the car, kids,” he said. “Walter is waiting to drive you to school.”

  Mr. Manning bent and the children kissed his cheek. Belinda watched, trying not to wonder how his skin would feel against her own lips.

  As they walked away, Thad looked back and then ran to her and threw his arms around her. “Bye, Belinda!”

  Shocked and delighted, she hugged him back. Then he shot out of the room.

  “I believe you’re a hit with Thad,” said Mr. Manning.

  “I hope so. And I hope Cynthia will warm up to me, too.”

  “Give her time and don’t take it personally. She was born grumpy.” Eric Manning smiled and Belinda’s heart did a little dip. “Well,” he continued, “I’m off. Have a pleasant day, both of you. I’ll see you at seven for dinner. Let’s stay informal and eat in here again tonight. Grant, do you know what’s on this evening’s menu?”

  “Something Italian, I believe. I can let you know the details, if you wish.”

  “No, no. That’s fine. Miss Moor- Belinda.” He nodded to her then turned on his heel and strode off.

  “Cynthia seems to resent me,” Belinda told Grant as soon as the door swung closed.

  “Indeed,” said Grant, twinkling. “The girl resents everyone. When she’s very bad, I call her ‘Mini-Heller,’ but you probably shouldn’t try that yet.”

  Belinda chuckled. “I doubt she could be that bad.”