The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1)

by Tamara Thorne

  She stripped, set the dilators on the bath mat, and before stepping into the tub, caught her nude reflection in the full-length mirror. She studied herself, wondering, quite illogically, if she might look any different today. Until yesterday, after all, she’d never had a man’s hands on her bare skin - let alone the hands of two men. She felt a little tingle.

  Her creamy skin was smooth as porcelain; she took good care of it. Her green eyes hadn’t changed, nor had the lips she’d always felt were a little too full. Her wavy dark hair fell over her shoulders, as always.

  Her shoulders were slender and her breasts were upturned, the nipples pink as rose petals, hardening now in response to the cool air that moved across her exposed flesh. There was no evidence that they’d been touched or handled in any new way.

  Her legs were slender and shapely, appearing much longer than they really were. The swell of her hips was pleasing, neither too broad nor too narrow.

  Her gaze traveled to the compact v-shaped nook between her legs. The dark thatch of hair above it looked no different and the small cleft beneath it, the tender division of delicate flesh, appeared the same as always.

  She didn’t know why, but this lack of change disappointed her. Perhaps she’d expected that after being handled so intimately by two men, her body might have become more womanly somehow, the way fruit ripens under the touch of the sun. She turned away from her reflection, pinned up her hair and lowered herself into the tub until she was submerged to her shoulders in warm water.

  It was like sliding into the summer night - snug, warm, and all-encompassing. She laid her head back on the cool porcelain and stared at the universe above. The constellations were captivating, mesmerizing; a sequence of design and depth of color she could spend days peering into. I’ll have plenty of time for that. Closing her eyes and sinking lower into the water, she let her mind float. It went to yesterday’s medical appointment. Excitement tingled through her and quick on its heels, nipping like an untrained Chihuahua, was Momma’s stern voice: Real ladies don’t entertain immoral thoughts. They use their bodies for reproduction only! She groaned; she’d never understood why her mother thought sexuality was so dirty, but that didn’t help Belinda think it was clean. You’ve done enough damage already, Momma. Be quiet.

  She reached over the lip of the tub and felt around for Dr. Akin’s prescription dilators. She thought of the physician’s big, warm hands as she fingered the instruments in search of the smallest one.

  The man in the white coat behind the counter at Devilswood Pharmacy had told her - with a suggestive sparkle of the eye and a vulgar glint of teeth - that the devices were waterproof. She brought the smallest dilator under the water and stroked it against her abdomen as her thoughts alternated between Dr. Akin’s hands, and Eric Manning’s slate-blue eyes.

  Belinda! Momma’s imaginary voice was shrill. It’s a sin! A sin!

  She touched the hard plastic peak of the dilator to one her nipples and shuddered a little, then brought it down lower, lower, till its tip rested at the cleft of her sex. She pressed down. An electric shiver of pleasure rippled through her.

  Followed by a cold chill.

  Suddenly, the room was icy. Belinda sat up, goosebumps prickling her skin, the dilator forgotten. She placed a hand on the lip of the tub. It was like touching an ice chest. “Oh my God.” Her whisper was a plume of frost. The water lost its heat - not gradually, but as if a bucket of ice had been emptied into it.

  Overhead, the lights flickered once, twice.

  She rose, grabbed her towel and stepped onto the rug. A wave of dizziness overtook her and she swayed, balancing against the icy porcelain. A high-pitched hum, like a swarm of mosquitoes, buzzed in her head.

  Behind that, a strange voice called her name. Belinda …

  She wrapped the robe tighter around herself and knotted the tie. “Who’s there?” This was not either of the voices from last night’s dream.

  Belinda … I see you …

  Panic pressed down on her. Her breath came quick and raspy. A rubber band tightened around her lungs. “Please,” she whispered, “leave me alone.”

  Laughter, soft and male, echoed around her as the lights flickered again.

  She felt as if the room were spinning.

  Belinda watched in horrified shock as the robe’s tie began to come undone. She gasped and swatted at something as cold as death moving near her waist.

  Her cell phone jangled with her mother’s shattering-glass ringtone and Belinda nearly screamed, then reached for it with quaking hands. “Hello!” Her tongue was thick, her lips tingling as she broke from the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She was surprised and relieved by the warmth of her bedroom.

  “Well, there you are!” The voice on the other end was clipped, out of breath and full of judgment, but Belinda had never been so glad to hear it in all her life. “I’ve been having palpitations for a week!” Belinda could almost see her mother now - fanning her bosom with a pudgy hand, curlers in her dark hair, pacing through the dusty cluttered living room in her slippers and size 26 flower print housedress.

  To her own surprise, Belinda smiled. “I’ve been away three days, Momma.”

  “I know,” said Rhonda Moorland. “And do you know how I know? I’ll tell you this much, it certainly isn’t because you, my only daughter, had the courtesy to call and let me know. No, I heard this from-”

  “Randi, I’m sure-” Belinda knew where her mother had been getting her information.

  “Randi Tucker! She says you’ve taken some job outside the city-”

  “Bakerton isn’t the world, Momma-”

  “-in Devilswood, of all places, where some rich madman has hired you to mother his children while he plays with dead bodies-”

  “He runs a memorial company and I’m not-”

  “Do you know why they call it Devilswood, Belinda? Did you ever hear about all the satanic murders there?”

  Belinda sighed and sat at the edge of her bed.

  “They found dead children there! Children! They’d been sacrificed! To the devil! Satan himself!”

  “You’re just saying that because of its name.”

  Rhonda Moorland gasped. “It’s true! Would your own mother lie to you? Those rich people have built a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah on the blood of innocent children! Children!”

  “Calm down, Momma. You’re going to have an attack.”

  “You’re walking on dead children, Belinda! Dead babies!”

  “Are you seriously saying this to me? I’ve taken a job as governess on a beautiful estate. There’s nothing evil about it.”

  “Nothing evil? A rich man who makes his money off the dead? A woman who’s paid to mother someone else’s children? Not evil? I think not!”

  “I remember you dating the undertaker, Mr. Venezia. He made his money off the dead, didn’t he?”

  “Belinda! You leave John out of this! He’s a good Christian and you know it!” She paused, sucking air. “I’m having palpitations! My heart’s not strong enough to take this. You know that, Belinda. Are you trying to kill me?”

  Belinda was silent a moment while her mother feigned some sobs. “Why don’t you start eating right like Dr. Pearce has been telling you for ten years?”

  “Don’t you tell me what to do, young lady! For your information, I haven’t had anything but salad for lunch in months!”

  “Okay, if you say so, but maybe you should stop putting American cheese and chocolate sauce on your salads. That might help.” Belinda paused. “For your information, Momma, I’m not mothering anyone’s children. I’m a governess. That means I’ll be-”

  “I know what a governess is! It’s a fancy word for mistress!”

  “I’ll be educating the children.”

  “Oh, God on Your golden throne, help me! My arm feels funny!”

  Belinda heard the spray sound of aerosol cheese being squirted into her mother’s mouth. It was Momma’s version of vodka. “I’ll be using my teaching degree
. I thought that would make you happy.”

  “But, but… but you live there. With a man.”

  “It’s not like he and I are keeping house together.”

  “My Holy Host, Belinda! Have I raised you to be so blind? You’re living in sin and you don’t even know it!” She broke into more fake sobs. “Is he even Christian?”

  “I don’t know.”

  After a series of incredulous, shocked tongue-clucks and gasps, Mother continued. “You don’t know? You don’t know! Oh, God on Your golden throne, my heart!”

  “Your heart is fine, Momma. Remember, Dr. Pearce said so.”

  “You shut your filthy, lying mouth, young lady. I know a thing or two about this world and I certainly know when I’m having chest pains! Dr. Pearce is a fraud. A fraud!”

  Belinda held the phone away from her ear. Dr. Pearce was no more a fraud than any other physician her mother had visited. ‘Fraud’ was the title she awarded to any professional who didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear.

  “Okay,” said Belinda. “I’m sorry. Please calm down. You’re overreacting.”

  “Overreacting? Is that what you say to the woman who carried you in her womb for nine and a half torturous months? Is that what you say to the woman who- oh, God on Your golden throne, I’m palpitating!” She took another noisy snort of EZ Cheese.

  “It’s a job. And a good one. You don’t need to worry. And I am happy.”

  The silence drew out long and loaded. Belinda wasn’t sure what this meant. Then her mother spoke, sounding calm and self-righteous. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy. That’s just wonderful. I guess I’ll just tell the women at church that my daughter has taken up with some rich godless necrophiliac and is living with him - unmarried - up in his castle where they can look down on the rest of us. Yes, I guess that’s what I’ll have to say. Just as long as you’re happy, dear.”

  “It isn’t like that. And you don’t have to say anything to anyone. It isn’t anyone’s busi-”

  “I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To live however you want without ever having to explain yourself? Well, I’m afraid that’s not how it works in the real world, Belinda. Here on planet Earth we have to take accountability for our actions. That means we have to explain ourselves - and since you don’t have the time to clean up this mess, I’ll do it. As usual!”

  There was a final rasping squirt of canned cheese before her mother ended the call. Belinda replaced the phone on the nightstand. She took a slow breath to calm her nerves, but realized she wasn’t upset. The call had given her a reprieve from her anxiety over what had happened in the bathroom. She glanced at the door and shivered, the fear returning.

  Cordelia’s Inquiry

  Cordelia Heller sat in her office just behind her parlor on the first floor. She had spent the past hour online, trying to find out anything she could concerning Belinda Moorland’s background, but was coming up empty handed. Her fingernails clicked on the black lacquered desk. There was a hesitant knock on the door. “Come,” she said, closing her laptop.

  Cordelia’s lead maid, Justine Chambers, opened the door. “Mrs. Heller?”

  Cordelia looked at the busty blonde. “What do you need?”

  “There’s a man here to see you.” Her voice was soft, her eyes busy. “A very handsome young man by the name of Jeffrey Johnson.” The girl licked her ruby lips, her eyes inquisitive.

  “Then why don’t you bring him to me, Miss Chambers? I’m sure he has more important things to do than wait for you to see him in.”

  Justine looked disappointed. “Yes, Mrs. Heller. I’ll fetch him now.”

  “Please, do. And Miss Chambers,” she added before the girl closed the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Our guests are not dog toys. We do not fetch them. Understood?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Heller.”

  Cordelia smiled. “Now run along before you waste any more of the good doctor’s time.”

  The maid disappeared and within moments returned with Jeffrey Johnson.

  “Please,” said Cordelia, when they were alone. “Sit.”

  He took a seat in the low chair opposite her and she stood, moving out from behind the desk, gazing down at him. She enjoyed the view a moment. The close-cropped dark hair, the mocha-colored skin.

  His eyes, the color of chocolate, followed her as she sat on the desk directly in front of him. He swallowed as she crossed her legs in a move that would make Sharon Stone jealous. “Miss Moorland didn’t see you arrive, did she?”

  He shook his head.

  “Good.” Mrs. Heller had timed his visit to coincide with the family breakfast. Still, you couldn’t be too careful. “So tell me, Doctor.” She cocked a brow and gave him a sardonic smile. “How did our new governess’s physical exam go yesterday?”

  Jeffrey cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’m not sure.”

  She tipped her head. “You aren’t sure? Please,” she said, “elaborate.”

  “Well, he got her to go along with having me in the room. We gave her a breast exam, a pelvic, and then he asked me to leave.”

  There was something the man was holding back. “How did the exam go?”

  “The doctor was, uh, very thorough.” He hooked a finger into his collar and tugged it.

  “How thorough?”

  His brown eyes regarded her as his voice dropped a few notes. “Too thorough.”

  Cordelia’s jaw flexed. “And exactly when did he ask you to leave?”

  “Right after the pelvic. He said he was going to give her a rectal.”

  A calm, contained anger swelled in her solar plexus. “And how did the girl appear when she left?”

  He looked away. “She looked fine.” Then his gaze touched hers. “A little too fine, I think. Pleased is the word that comes to mind.”

  She considered this a long moment. Jeffrey, although a new initiate, had demonstrated his loyalty. She believed him. “I see.” She set her jaw. “I’ll make sure it gets taken care of.”

  “What about-”

  “He’ll never know you aren’t just an intern on rotation. I already told you that. Besides, he can’t hurt you.” She leaned in, tracing a fingertip along the edge of his jaw. “You aren’t afraid of Dr. Dickey, now, are you?” She tossed her head back and laughed.

  “No. I just want to be certain we’re safe.”

  “We’re safe.” She let her eyes fall to the man’s throat, and travel down his chest, over his flat abdomen, to the impressive bulge between his legs. “You just leave the worrying to me. Dr. Akin is oblivious, not that it matters.” And apparently, he wasn’t so trustworthy anymore, either. I knew he was losing his touch. “I can handle anything he might throw our way.”

  Jeffrey nodded and watched as she uncrossed, then recrossed, her legs.

  Her anger seethed, powerful enough that she felt a slight stuttering in her fingertips as she reached up and undid the top button of her black blouse. “I’m not frightened, Jeffrey, I’m angry. And you know how I deal with anger.” She hitched her skirt up and opened her legs, giving the young physician a look at what she wore beneath. Nothing.

  He swallowed.

  “Make me happy, Jeffrey.” She pulled his head forward. “Worship me.”

  Belinda’s Office

  After a pleasant and uneventful breakfast with the family, Mr. Manning escorted Belinda to her new office. It was on the third floor, next door to the schoolroom she’d be outfitting for use in September.

  “What do you think?” Mr. Manning asked after unlocking the door and showing her inside.

  She wanted to hug him. The room was almost as big as Mr. Manning’s, but the thick carpeting was hunter green instead of blue and two of the walls were built-in oak bookshelves, mostly empty. The third, behind her desk, held wooden cabinets and a dreary painting Belinda barely registered. The fourth wall was lined in Ravencrest’s signature mullioned windows, the green drapes drawn back to reveal a view of the vast rear lawns and gardens and the forest be
yond. Morning sun streamed in through the thick glass to cast colorful prisms that danced across a vase of fresh blue and white daisies on the desk.

  “I love it,” Belinda said, turning to Mr. Manning. “It’s almost like being outdoors. And thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful!”

  “Oh, um, yes,” he said. “They add a nice touch. I imagine Grant brought them up from the gardens.”

  Belinda felt herself flush. Of course Mr. Manning didn’t bring me flowers! Why did I even say that?

  “Grant has taken quite a shine to you,” Manning added.

  “He told you that?”

  “Of course. Now, I want you to make a list of things you need in here and in the classroom. Spare no expense. I trust you to choose the textbooks and create the syllabus yourself.” He handed her a set of keys. “We do like to keep these rooms locked.”

  “May I ask why they’re kept locked?”

  “Just a precaution,” he said. “You understand.”

  She wondered what caused the need for precaution, but nodded. “Of course.”

  She turned toward the desk and focused on the big landscape hanging above the cabinets. It was a gallows on a desolate gray heath. In the background, a gray mansion stood partly hidden in fog. It looked like Ravencrest.

  “Belinda?” Mr. Manning asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you like that painting?”

  “Um. It’s interesting. That’s not Ravencrest, is it?”

  Mr. Manning’s eyes lit up. “As a matter of fact, it is. The painting dates back to the eighteenth century. That was England and the place had a very dreary backyard.” He chuckled. “I think of this piece as a bit of gallows humor.” He eyed the painting. “But I’m not sure what it’s doing in here.”

  Belinda shuddered. The painting chilled her. “Did your family build a new Ravencrest here?”

  “Imported it. Today’s Ravencrest was shipped over piece by piece from England. Most of this structure dates back to the late 1500s, and much of the interior stonework - like the fireplaces and pillars - is almost as old. My ancestral uncle Parnell Manning came to America with his father, Edward, in the 1800s, and they established the family home and business here”