The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1)

by Tamara Thorne

  Grant gave her a look that suggested he thought otherwise.

  Belinda swallowed. “I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

  Grant nodded. “Indeed, you do.”

  Sir Thomas

  The Gallery of Ancestors was what the Mannings called the long hall that led from beneath the landing toward the rear of the house. It was a dozen feet wide and in addition to paintings, it held a number of closed doorways to rooms better accessed from other halls. The museum-like gallery was home to the majority of portraits of the Manning ancestors. Temperature and humidity were controlled in this area; some of the portraits dated back to the sixteenth century and were worth a fortune. Indeed, all of them were valuable. More valuable than even Eric Manning realized.

  Cordelia Heller let herself into the gallery, her black stilettos tapping brusquely on the marble floor until she came to a stop two-thirds of the way down the hall. She turned to gaze at the portrait of Sir Thomas Manning. He was dressed in typical 18th-century garb - hose and breeches, with a pale blue coat over an embroidered waistcoat. He wore a small hat, but eschewed the usual powdered wig in favor of his own blond hair, tied in a short ponytail. He had the strong jaw and cleft chin of the male Mannings, the full lips, and the same twinkle in his dark blue eyes as the modern day Manning men possessed. In fact, except for his blond hair, Sir Thomas bore an especially strong resemblance to Eric Manning. Or, Cordelia supposed, the other way around. Either way, male beauty of this caliber was rare.

  “I know what you were up to last night, Thomas.” She wagged one manicured finger at him. “Naughty, naughty boy. I think you’d better try harder next time.”

  She imagined Sir Thomas admiring her backside as she strutted from the gallery, the sharp sound of her clicking heels echoing off the walls.

  The Physical

  When they arrived at the Devilswood Medical Offices, Belinda was surprised that Walter Hardwicke locked up the limo and accompanied her inside. She was a little embarrassed, and wished he’d stayed in the car. Instead, he towered behind her as she checked in with a pretty receptionist, then sat next to her in the waiting room and began reading a dog-eared Entertainment Weekly.

  Belinda was too nervous to read. Doctors made her anxious even though she’d had very little experience with them. It was silly, she knew, but her mother had fed her so many horror stories about the medical profession that she didn’t trust them. You know full well it’s Momma you shouldn’t trust. She was probably trying to save money by making sure you didn’t want to see a doctor, even when you had the flu. Why would doctors want to “experiment” on you? That’s ridiculous!

  The waiting room was clean, sunny, and pleasant, with tweedy tan upholstered chairs, a thick carpet of rich brown, plants in beautiful blue pots and baskets hanging from the ceiling. Two sides of the room were lined with windows that showed off a bevy of colorful flowers in the beds just outside. Three other patients waited in chairs around the lobby.

  There’s nothing to be nervous about.

  Beside her, Walter rattled his magazine and snickered. “I can’t believe the lips on that actress. Lookit this.” He pushed the magazine toward her and she saw a fading actress with the worst set of fish lips imaginable. “I bet she could suck a tennis ball through an exhaust pipe.”

  Belinda didn’t respond.

  “I wonder why women do that to themselves. You think they’re real?”

  “I don’t know.” Just stop trying to make conversation! Belinda shuddered as the hairy man’s smoky aftershave wafted toward her.

  The door to the interior corridor opened and a sturdy-looking nurse with beauty parlor helmet hair under a stiff white cap appeared. She looked at a chart. “Belinda Moorland.”

  Belinda stood up. “That’s me.” The nurse motioned her forward.

  “Go get em, tiger.” Walter Hardwicke gave her a greasy grin and let his eyes travel down to settle on her rear end.

  Belinda could feel his gaze, like a slimy eel, as she joined the nurse in the doorway.

  They walked down a hall, past several rooms, stopping at a scale. “Empty your pockets,” said the nurse. “And remove your shoes.”

  She kicked off her wedgies. “I don’t have anything in my pockets.”

  “Fine. Step on.”

  Belinda got on the scale. The nurse began sliding the small weights till they balanced out. “One hundred eighteen.” She wrote the information down on the chart.

  I’ve gained a couple of pounds since graduation. She stepped into her shoes and the nurse led her to an exam room.

  “Strip and set your clothes on the chair,” said the nurse as she pulled the door closed.

  “Um, right now? In front of you?”

  The nurse nodded.

  “Is there a screen or something?”

  The other woman looked amused. “Look honey, I’ve got the same parts as you and a schedule to keep. Now strip.”

  Belinda, her cheeks warming, started to unbutton her white shirt. The nurse leaned into the corner, watching her.

  Beneath the blouse, Belinda’s bra felt tight, constricting. She fumbled with the hook at the back.

  The nurse looked at her watch.

  The bra came off and Belinda made a vain attempt to cover her breasts.

  “The pants, too.”

  Belinda swallowed hard. She kicked off her shoes, unzipped and peeled her black pants off. She stood in her panties feeling cold, though the temperature had nothing to do with it.

  “All of it.” The nurse looked cruel and Belinda fought the urge to flee.

  “Is there a gown or something I could wear?”

  “Of course not, dear. Just take your underwear off.”

  With a heavy sense of dread, she dropped her panties and stepped out of them.

  “Stand against the wall and let’s get your height.”

  She moved to the wall the woman had indicated and stood against it, covering herself as best she could.

  “Move your hands,” said the nurse. “I need to get you straight for an accurate measure.” From a pocket in her white tunic, the woman produced a measuring tape. As she held it up, Belinda got a glimpse at the nurse’s nametag. It read: V. Massengil, RN.

  Belinda let go of her breasts, felt her face burn scarlet, and pressed herself against the wall.

  “Just over five foot two,” said Massengil as she wound the tape back up. “Five foot two and one hundred and eighteen pounds,” she said as she wrote on Belinda’s chart. “Healthy.”

  “Thanks,” said Belinda, sounding like an idiot even to herself.

  “Hold your arms out.”

  Belinda blinked at her.

  The nurse grabbed her arm, and yanked it up. “Like an airplane,” she said. “Both of them.” When the pose had been struck, the nurse wrapped the measuring tape around her torso. It felt cold against her nipples. “Thirty-five inches. Not too hefty up top,” she said. “But perky. That’s good. Healthy.”

  Belinda’s cheeks were on fire now.

  After writing on the chart, Nurse Massengil measured her waist, said twenty-four inches was great, then hunkered down, winding the tape around Belinda’s hips, nose practically in her business. She grunted as she stood. “Good. Good child bearing hips. Healthy.” She wrote down more numbers. “Now, sit on the exam table and let’s get your pulse and blood pressure.”

  “Can I put my clothes back on?”

  “Nope.”

  Belinda positioned herself at the edge of the table, hating the crinkling feel of paper under her bare buttocks.

  The nurse took her pulse and blood pressure, her only comments being, ‘good, good,’ and ‘Nice. Healthy.’ When that was finished, the R.N. took her temperature with an ear thermometer then said, “The doctor will be in soon.” Then, as bland-faced and unenthused as ever, V. Massengil was gone.

  Waiting naked on the exam table, Belinda took a deep breath and glanced with longing toward her clothes. Grant had told her it was a quick, minor exam, so why was
she sitting here naked? On TV shows, doctors always gave their patients gowns or towels or even robes. But I’m naked. Panic rose and she took a deep breath to calm herself. She shut her eyes and exhaled, then repeated the process. It wasn’t helping. She tried looking around the little exam room at the sink and counter and the organized line of bottles filled with cotton balls, tongue depressors, and Q-Tips. A wall shelf above held other sorts of jars and bottles and she tried to read the labels, but they were too tiny.

  Two quick knocks on the door made her jump and wrap her arms tighter around herself. The door opened and in walked the doctor, his face buried in a chart. He looked up and smiled at her. “Miss Moorland?” His green eyes danced over every inch of her and his dark auburn hair, just a little longer than average, waved around his powerful features; high cheekbones, long lively eyebrows that lifted when he smiled, and full lips. He looked more like a movie star than a doctor. Belinda flushed, her whole body turning pink.

  “Miss Moorland?” he asked again.

  Her cheeks were on fire. “Yes, uh, that’s me.”

  “May I call you Belinda?”

  “Um, okay.”

  He smiled, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling up in the best possible way. “You’re sure?”

  She nodded, afraid to speak.

  “I’m Dr. Akin. Richard Akin.” He extended his hand.

  Without thinking, she shook it. Realizing her breast was exposed, she pulled her hand back.

  The doctor grinned. “You can call me Dr. Dickey. Most of my patients do.”

  She nodded and stared at the human body poster behind him. The organs, bones, and winding blood vessels of the illustration were meant to be educational. Instead, they looked morbid, horrific.

  “You don’t seem very comfortable around doctors, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  She looked at him. His eyes were warm and compassionate. He looked sincere, though the hint of smile never faltered.

  “I’ve never been this … naked in front of a doctor before.” Her face felt like a ball of fire.

  “Well, don’t you worry. We’re going to take good care of you here. Very good care.” He smiled, his green eyes twinkling in the light. “So, you just started at Ravencrest, I hear. How are you liking it?”

  “It’s fine. Good. Great actually. I think I’m going to love it.”

  “Good. That’s excellent. Mr. Manning has a great staff. I’m certain you’ll fit right in.”

  She thought of Mrs. Heller and suppressed a shiver. “I’ve only met a few of the staff members. And the children, of course.”

  “And how are they? The children?”

  “Oh, they’re adorable,” she said. “I love children.”

  “As I’m sure they love you.” More eye crinkling.

  Usually, she wanted to say, knowing little Cynthia was going to be a huge challenge.

  “Well, then,” said Dr. Akin, “let’s proceed. Before we get started on the actual examination, I’d like your permission to allow a medical student to observe. Nice fellow by the name of Dr. Jeffrey Johnson. He’s an intern and he could benefit from-”

  “Oh, I’m, um, not really comfort-”

  “Now, now, Belinda. Don’t worry. It’s a professional situation and it’s for the greater good-”

  “But I-”

  “We can’t produce great doctors if we don’t give them a little hands-on experience. And I have a great feeling about Dr. Jeffrey. I think he’s got what it takes.” He smiled at her.

  “It’s just that I’m very …”

  “Uncomfortable?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed, but it was a kind laugh. “You know what they say about overcoming fears, right? You need to face them. I think Dr. Jeffrey may not be the only person being given a great opportunity here today.”

  Belinda swallowed. Hard. She felt light-headed as she realized she was nodding her head.

  “Excellent. The world needs more like you, Belinda. I’ll go get Dr. Jeffrey and Nurse Massengil.”

  Belinda sat at the edge of the exam table, mortified.

  Within a few moments, the entire crew entered. Dr. Akin, Nurse Massengil, and a young man in a white coat with dark hair and chocolate eyes: Dr. Johnson. He looked about twelve and wore a serious expression, probably trying to appear older.

  Dr. Akin - she couldn’t even think of him as Dr. Dickey, let alone say it aloud, approached and stood in front of her, very close. “Shall we get started?”

  “Uh, okay.”

  He went to the counter where Nurse Massengil sat on a stool reading Bon Appétit, and returned with a tongue depressor. “I’ll bet you’ve seen one of these before, haven’t you?”

  She managed a smile. “That, I’ve seen.”

  “Good. Open wide.”

  She parted her lips and let him put the flat stick on her tongue. “A little wider,” he said. She complied, and waited while he looked around in her mouth. “Very good. You’ve a nice healthy pink tongue and a charming uvula.” He removed the depressor. “All done. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “No.” This time her smile was tiny but genuine. “No. It wasn’t bad.”

  Next, he shined a light in one eye, then the other, and had her read a couple lines from an eye chart on the wall across the room. She passed with flying colors and was beginning to feel a little better about things.

  He looked in her ears then felt the glands in her neck. “All good,” he said, glancing at the intern, who was taking notes for him. “Now, raise your arms, Belinda. Just lace your fingers behind your head.”

  Stricken, she stared at him.

  “You’ve never had a breast exam?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, every woman needs one and it’s past time you had your first. I do this every day, there’s no need to be concerned. It doesn’t hurt. Up you go.”

  Feeling a little sick to her stomach, she did as she was told. The intern didn’t look up from his notes, but the nurse stared. Hard. Is there something wrong with me?

  “Dr. Johnson, join me and copy my movements.”

  Oh, no!

  The young man moved to Belinda’s left side and then both her breasts were encompassed by masculine hands. She went crimson. Oh please, let this be over with! Please! She closed her eyes. Dr. Akin’s hand was large, his fingers very long. He was cupping her entire breast. The intern’s wasn’t quite as big. Both men’s hands were dry and uncallused, smooth, gentle. Warm.

  This new feeling upset her almost as much as being nude. Stop it! This is a doctor’s exam, it’s not supposed to feel good!

  “First, Dr. Johnson, let me see the technique they taught you in medical school.”

  Belinda sucked in her breath as the young man began to palpate and squeeze her left breast.

  “Okay, that’s enough. Now watch how I do it. A little finesse makes all the difference to your patients.”

  Belinda caught her breath as Dr. Akin’s hand moved over and around her entire breast. He increased the pressure after each movement, but in increments that didn’t upset her.

  “You see, Miss Moorland is much more relaxed with this method. Aren’t you, Belinda?”

  “Uh. Um. Yes, I think.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Try it again, Doctor.”

  Dr. Johnson was an excellent student. Belinda found herself relaxing as each doctor examined a breast. It was pleasant, almost like a massage; even when they pushed hard, it felt nice.

  “Next, we examine the nipples,” said Dr. Akin. “They need just as much attention as the rest of the breast. Do as I do.” He stroked her right nipple. “Because Miss Moorland’s nipples are already quite erect, this isn’t necessary, but if your patient has unerect nipples, you need to stroke them as we are now, or even give them a gentle pinch, like this.”

  Oh dear God.

  “Like this, Dr. Akin?”

  Oh dear God.

  “Preci
sely, Dr. Johnson.” Now he began to knead her nipple between his thumb and fingers, rolling and pinching it, then pulling and stretching. Dr. Johnson mimicked his movements. Belinda didn’t dare open her eyes.

  “Everything feels very healthy and normal,” Dr. Akin said at last. “And how does the left breast strike you, Doctor?”

  “Very nice. I mean, healthy.”

  “Good. Excuse me just a moment.”

  She felt Dr. Akin’s body brush against her as he went to the left breast. “As attending, I should double check.” He proceeded to palpate the breast and rub the nipple. “You are correct, Dr. Johnson. This is a very nice healthy breast. Belinda, how are we doing?”

  “Um, I’m good.”

  “Good. I told you we’d take good care of you, didn’t I?”

  “You did.” She opened her eyes. Dr. Akin’s face was no more than a foot from hers. Oh, that beautiful smile! What a bedside manner.

  “Are you ready for your pelvic?”

  “Pelvic?”

  “Dr. Johnson, please take notes. Belinda, are you sexually active?”

  “No.”

  “How long since you’ve had intercourse?”

  “I, uh, I never have done that.”

  “Really? You’re a virgin?”

  She nodded. “I am.”

  “What about oral sex?”

  “I’ve never done that either.”

  “Okay. Anal?”

  “What?”

  “Anal sex,” he said. “Some women indulge in anal sex in order to retain their virginity.”

  “Anal sex?” Good God, is this man serious? “No. Of course not.”

  “No anal sex,” he told Dr. Johnson. “Okay, Belinda, I want you to lie back on the table for me.”

  She did as she was told. Cool air played across her exposed body.

  “Virginia - Nurse Massengil, have you prepared the pelvic tray?”

  Oh God, what’s a pelvic tray?

  “Yes, Doctor.” She heard the woman walking over and then saw her place a tray of shiny instruments on a little rolling cart at the side of the exam table. There were big Q-tips and a kit that said “pap” on it, along with several pairs of latex gloves, a big tube of KY-Jelly, and three duck-billed metal devices, and something that looked like a miniature rocket, white domed with a smooth clear plastic exterior.