by Janni Nell
“Take a look at this picture.” Lily gestured to a painting of a guy in old-fashioned clothes with a hunting dog at his feet. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
“Nice dog,” I observed.
“No, the man,” sd Lily. “He looks just like a blond Mr. Darcy.”
Leaving her drooling, I wandered after Mrs. Johnson, who had stopped in front of yet another portrait of a person dressed in old-fashioned clothes. This time it was a woman. Tendrils of jet black hair curled on her alabaster forehead. Her straight, elegant nose descended to pink bowed lips, but it was her eyes that held my attention. They were a rare and astonishing shade of violet. The hairs on the back of my neck leaped to attention. She looked just like the misty ghost.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“Her name was Elowyn,” said Mrs. Johnson, pleased that I was at last showing some interest. “The wife of Steven Richard Hampton the twentieth. He painted this portrait from memory after she died.” Mrs. Johnson pointed to the brass plaque set in the frame. Elowyn Penrose Hampton 1670-1705. “They say that in a certain light you can see his teardrops on the canvas.”
“How did she die?”
“Probably during childbirth. That’s how a lot of women died in those days. Her husband must have loved her very much because he never remarried.”
I studied the finer details of the painting, the brush strokes that had lovingly captured Elowyn’s beauty. You’d think a woman who had been so loved would’ve gone straight to Heaven instead of wandering for centuries as a misty ghost. Why hadn’t she? And equally important, what was her association with the crone at The Hollows?
I looked deeper into the painting, ignoring the face to focus on the background which seemed to be a kind of floral wallpaper. At first glance the pattern seemed repetitive, but the more I looked the more differences I saw. Little things like extra leaves on a stem or a purple feather concealed in the petals of a violet. What did they mean? I wasn’t sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a photo for reference. I raised my phone and pointed it at the portrait.
Mrs. Johnson’s voice rose an octave. “You can’t do that.”
“Excuse me?”
She stepped in front of the portrait blocking my view. “Mr. Hampton doesn’t allow photographs.”
“So sorry,” I said meekly. “I wouldn’t dream of photographing anything without his permission.” I was so lying. I’d get a photo before I left the mansion. Count on it.
Mrs. Johnson consulted her watch. “Stevie—I mean, Mr. Hampton should be back by now. Let’s go down and see.”
He strode in ten minutes later. His face was flushed from his ride. In fact he didn’t look a day over seventy which is pretty good when you’re eighty. At a shade under six feet, his back was straight and his shoulders more broad than they had a right to be at his age. Sharp, blue eyes regarded me with his usual distaste.
“Hello, Mr. Hampton.” I reached out to shake his hand but he ignored me and kissed Lily’s cheek.
“How’s my great-grandson?”
“Fine,” she said as her stomach growled.
“We’d better feed this girl,” he said heartilyMrs. Johnson, we’ll have two more mouths for lunch.”
Oh lunch—yum. I was kind of hungry. But Lily knew Mr. Hampton better than I did. When he said two, he meant her and the baby. Evidently I was supposed to go hungry, but Lily spoke up for me. Go figure.
“Allegra and I drove up here together. I can’t stay to lunch unless she does.” She added a belly rub, directing his attention to the unborn baby.
He clapped her on the shoulder. “Ah well, I can’t let my great-grandson go hungry. Mrs. Johnson, that’ll be three extra for lunch.”
Thankfully Mrs. Johnson didn’t eat with us. Not that I had anything against her but that little slip she’d made, calling Mr. Hampton Stevie, had clued me in to their true relationship. I suppose even Mr. Hampton had a right to sex, but I didn’t need to know about it. One lustful glance toward Mrs. Johnson would have put me right off my lunch.
He ignored me during the meal but kept up a conversation with Lily. If you could call his lecture on the best schools and universities and his desire for the unborn baby to become President a conversation.
Lily had promised me she’d find out whether he was sleepwalking but so far all she’d done was nod and murmur “Oh yes” at regular intervals.
Taking matters into my own hands, I asked, “Mr. Hampton have you ever—?”
Lily kicked me under the table. I glared at her. She glared right back. Mr. Hampton was too busy cutting his rare steak to notice.
With a wink at me, Lily said, “I read an interesting article on the link between red meat and sleepwalking. It seemed very silly so I thought I’d ask your expert opinion, Grandfather.”
“Complete rubbish,” he said, waving the piece of steak speared on the end of his fork. “I’ve eaten red meat all my life and never sleepwalked. Not once. Make sure you feed that boy in your belly plenty of meat. Good and bloody.”
Lily shot me a triumphant glance.
Call me suspicious but I thought Mr. Hampton had answered a little too quickly. I couldn’t resist asking, “Did you know that Steven and SJ have been sleepwalking lately?”
“Allegra, stop it,” said Lily. “I’m sorry, Grandfather, she didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Is it rude to try and save this family? Donna Hampton and her parents are dead. Steven and SJ will be next if something isn’t done.”
Mr. Hampton got to his feet and thundered, “People sleepwalk all the time! It means nothing.”
I stood up too. “Donna was sleepwalking right before she fell from her apartment window. Was her death nothing?”
Controlling his anger, he said, “An unfortunate accident, that’s all. You’re reading too much into it.”
“Tell that to Martin Crain.”
Mr. Hampton snorted. “Martin Crain is a limp-dicked nobody. Donna is better off without him.”
“Donna is dead. D-E-A-D. Don’t you get it? The members of your family—your blood relatives—are dying. I’m trying to do something about that. Pro bono!” Maybe the fact that I was working for free would get through to him. Fat chance.
He said, “It’s time for you to leave, Allegra.”
Shit. And I hadn’t gotten a photo of Elowyn’s portrait.
Mr. Hampton took my arm, and not in a nice way.
I shook him off. “At least let me put on my jacket. It’s cold outside.” As I buttoned it I noticed my silver thistle brooch was no longer attached to the lapel. “Where could it be?” I wailed.
“You had it on when we went upstairs,” said Lily.
“Right. I’ll just take a look.”
Mr. Hampton said, “You can’t go up there. I want you out now.”
Lily wobbled on her feet and said, “I feel faint.” Mr. Hampton rushed to help her to a chair.
I sprinted upstairs to the portrait gallery. Yep, my brooch was on the floor. Right where I’d left it near the portrait of Elowyn. After pinning it on my lapel, I took the photo. Told you I’d get one before we left.
On the way back Lily let me drive. She fell asleep soon after we’d left the mansion, and every muscle in my body heaved a sigh of relief. I was driving happily along when a raven swooped in front of the car. Stupid bird. Still, what it lacked in brains it made up for in beauty, what with that bright purple feather among the black. It was the same shade as the one in the portrait of Elowyn. Coincidence? My gut said no, especially as there was a village near Mr. Hampton’s property called Ravenswing. When I reached the turnoff to the village, I took it.
For several hundred years, Ravenswing had thrived, doubling and then tripling in size. The population had dwindled during the twentieth century and now it was little more than a destination for history and archaeology students, who always went away disappointed.
After parking at the side of the deserted road, I left Lily snoring softly in the passenger seat and walked along what had once been the
main street of Ravenswing. The timber houses had rotted away, leaving piles of rubble and lone stone chimneys. I saw broken crockery, a bent spoon, a small metal disc that might have been a coin or a button, a rusty poker beside a charred fireplace, and the raven with the purple feather, which had followed me here and was now perched on the tallest chimney. It looked down and shrieked—a strange, unnatural cry for a bird, almost like a scream of pain. Launching itself off the chimney, it soared over some conifers and flew toward Ravens Wood. I followed more slowly, taking time to observe my surroundings, waiting for that telltale itch in my big toe.
Despite the glorious fall foliage in the wood, my gut clenched with unease. Beneath the scent of mud and mulch was the stink of something much older, rotten and unhealthy. It was easy to imagine Elowyn’s spirit lingering amongst these ancient oaks and hickories and red maples. If she was here, I’d find her.
As I moved deeper into the wood, golden leaves fluttered above me like angel wings. A breeze shook some free and they fell, brusng my cheeks on their way to the ground.
“Casper?” I scanned the shadows, hoping he’d appear. When he didn’t, I figured he was still at the awards. Maybe he’d already won and was on his way to Heaven.
Pushing aside that unpleasant thought, I whipped my eyes around the thick tree trunks. Something furry scurried through the leaf litter. The dark shape of the raven flew overhead. But my toe didn’t itch. I went on hoping for a sight of Elowyn’s ghost. If only I could figure out what she and the crone had in common. I had assumed they were both ghosts, but it was possible the crone was simply an old hermit who just happened to be a medium. Perhaps Elowyn’s ghost had approached her for help in moving on. All very plausible, except it didn’t explain the epidemic of sleepwalking in the Hampton family. Ghosts couldn’t influence the living in that way. In frustration I kicked the fallen leaves. It didn’t make sense, and that pissed me off.
Right about then, my toe started to itch. I stopped, observing the sudden drop in temperature. Shadows deepened. The raven screamed, sounding more human than bird. I was in a small clearing. The trunk of a nearby tree was scarred with three long marks as though it had been slashed by a giant claw. A bubble of excitement grew in my belly. The air shifted and stirred, disrupted by whatever was making my toe itch.
“Elowyn?” I said.
“Allegra.” A female voice. I’m good at my job but I’m not so well known that the ghosts call me by name. My sister hurried toward me.
“Lily, what’re you doing here?”
“I woke up. You’d disappeared. I didn’t know what had happened or where I was. What’re you doing?”
The itching in my toe ramped up a notch. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you. Let’s go home.”
I shook my head. “Go back to the car. I’ll meet you there in ten.”
Lily hesitated, then she said, “Oh alright. But if you’re not back in ten minutes I’m leaving.”
Unfortunately Elowyn chose that moment to arrive.
At first she appeared as a mist, thick and white, oozing between the tree trunks. The mist swirled and shifted, contracted and expanded until it took the shape of the young woman I’d seen in the portrait at Hampton House. Because she was composed entirely of white mist, you couldn’t tell that her hair was black or her eyes violet. But she was the same woman.
Lily gave a strangled gasp.
I waved her away. “Go back to the car.”
The ghost’s full lips moved. Long fingers reached out to me. She began to whisper. As I strained to hear what she said, Lily screamed, drowning out the sound of Elowyn’s voice.
Furious that Lily had made me miss what Elowyn had to say, I snapped at her. “Chicken—you’re scared of everything.” The words came straight from childhood. Lily had always been scared of the paranormal, just as I had always been intrigued by it.
Elowyn began to whisper again. Lily shrid and took off like a rabbit pursued by a hunting dog.
I let her go. There were more important things I had to do, like finding out what Elowyn was trying to tell me. I turned back to the ghost but she was no longer there. Not entirely there, anyway. The mist was fragmenting, splitting apart and drifting off between the trees as though she didn’t have the power to retain her female form for long. I swore and kicked the ground. Away to my right, Lily squealed. Leaves rustled as though something heavy had fallen. I took off toward the sound, surprised by my concern over my stupid sister.
She sprawled on the ground, shaking and clutching her belly. I dropped to my knees. “Are you okay?” I wondered how far it was to the nearest hospital and how long it would take to get there.
“No, I’m not okay. I twisted my ankle and fell.” Her face was as pale as Elowyn’s but thankfully she wasn’t in labor. The last thing I wanted was to deliver her baby.
“Can you walk?” I asked, helping her to her feet.
She limped a few steps. “Yeah, I can make it back to the car.” She stopped and glared at me, looking much more like the Lily I knew. “Get me the heck out of here.”
Feeling guilty about bringing her to Ravenswing, I let her lean on me as she hobbled out of the wood. It was a relief to get her safely into the car and back on the road to Boston.
As I picked up speed, I said, “Sorry for calling you chicken.”
“Very grown-up of you,” she replied, throwing my apology back in my face. “You were always a weird kid and you haven’t changed. Honestly, the way you used to go on about your imaginary guardian angel. It was pathetic.”
“Well at least I’m not frightened of—” I shut up before I slipped further back into our childhood roles. Glaring at the road, I drove even faster.
We’d been silent for a while when Lily surprised me by raising the subject of the ghost. “Is Elowyn responsible for the changes in SJ and Steven? Did she kill Donna Hampton?”
“Are you sure you want to talk about this? You don’t have to if you’re—”
“I AM NOT CHICKEN.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”
“Oh yes it was.”
I resisted the urge to say, No it wasn’t. Instead, ignoring her question about Elowyn—mainly because I didn’t know the answer—I began, “Back at the mansion…?”
“Yes,” she said crisply.
“…when Mr. Hampton tried to stop me from going upstairs to get my brooch…”
“Go on.”
“…and you claimed to feel faint…were you faking?”
“Well duh, how else could I distract him so you’d get a photo of the painting?”
I felt like an idiot. Lily had been one step ahead of me, as usual. It had been like that allthrough our childhood. Our seven-year age difference had always ensured she was smarter, stronger, better. I had caught up in the strength department but apparently she was still smarter as well as prettier and better groomed.
“I hate you,” I said.
“Hate you more.”
Chapter Six
It was seven-thirty the following morning when Mom’s landline rang. I was slumped over my second cup of coffee, trying to make up for a night disturbed by Steven’s constant attempts to sleepwalk out of the house. Mom and I had managed to restrain him, and now she and Steven were catching up on sleep. I’d chosen coffee over sleep, although I started to regret it when the phone assaulted my eardrums. For a moment I considered taking it off the hook but then I decided to pick up. What the heck—it might be important.
“Yes,” I grumbled into the receiver.
“Is that Sondra?” A female voice.
“It’s Allegra,” I said. “Who’re you?”
“Barbara Johnson, Mr. Hampton’s housekeeper. We met yesterday.” She went on rapidly, as though fearing she’d never get the words out if she stopped. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid there’s no easy way to say this. Mr. Hampton died this morning.”
I wasn’t as shocked as you might imagine. Apart from the obvious fact that Mr. Hampton an
d I weren’t close, he was an old man. I was tempted to say, I’m sorry for your loss, but Mrs. Johnson didn’t exactly sound devastated. Not that she sounded delighted either, but at Mr. Hampton’s age, death wasn’t entirely unexpected. Then I had an awful thought—what if he’d died while they were doing the horizontal Mambo?
“I’m sure you didn’t mean for him to die,” I babbled, getting a horrible visual of Mr. Hampton having a heart attack while he was on top of her.
“What are you talking about?” said Mrs. Johnson. “Do you think he died while we were—? No, no it wasn’t like that. He was out riding and fell off his horse—or perhaps it threw him. I didn’t see what happened. When the horse came back alone, I went out to search for Stevie. I found him in Ravens Wood face down in a pile of leaves. His head is covered in blood and one of his sleeves is ripped. I can see bone poking through the skin of his arm. I know he’s dead—the way he’s lying, I suppose. I just called 911. They’ll be here soon.”
“You’re with him now? In the wood?”
“Right beside him. Poor man. I’ll stay until the ambulance arrives.”
“Which part of the wood? Can you describe it?”
“Excuse me?” She was totally mystified by my question. Maybe she thought I was in shock, because she went on, “Do you understand what I’m telling you? Mr. Hampton is dead.”
“I understand,” I assured her. “Please, humor me, describe your surroundings.” When she didn’t answer immediately, I said, “ase, it might be important.”
She sighed. “It looks like any other wood—there are trees and leaves on the ground. Mr. Hampton is lying in the center of a little clearing.”
Hmm. I wondered if it was the same clearing where I’d seen Elowyn. “Look at the trees nearby,” I said. “Do any of them have gouges like the claw marks of a giant animal?”
There was a long pause. I gave her time to survey the area and finally my patience was rewarded.