The Ghost of Crutchfield Hall

by Mary Downing Hahn

  But James resisted. "I won't. You can't make me."

  "You must do what you promised." She tugged at his hands as if to break his grip on the chimney.

  "Please, stop," I begged. "Do you want to kill him?"

  Sophia turned to me. Never had I seen a more malevolent expression on anyone's face. "Haven't I told you that already? Did you not believe me? Of course I want him to die," she said, "as he should have last year. I was stronger than he was—I was more agile. I had the grace and daring he lacked. What happened was a twist of fate, and I plan to correct it."

  "You cannot correct anything," I said.

  "You're wrong, cousin." Sophia gave me a scornful smile. "If James falls from the roof and dies today, I shall live. I know I shall. I must!"

  I looked up at her wavering on the roof line, a small figure against a turbulent winter sky.

  "If James falls, he will be dead," I cried, "and so will you. You can go on fighting for all eternity, but neither of you will ever return to life."

  "You'll see." Sophia managed to pull James to his feet.

  I watched my cousins struggle. The wind tugged at them almost as if it wanted them both to fall. James teetered, Sophia swayed. He leaned one way, she the other.

  "Stop," I cried. "Stop!"

  But they paid me no heed. Indeed, I don't think they heard me. Or remembered I was there.

  Suddenly James pulled free of Sophia's grasp and tried to retreat. Hands outstretched, she came after him. Terrified, he pushed her away.

  Sophia stumbled, her feet slipped on the slates, and she slid down the roof. With a scream, she shot off the edge and disappeared.

  "It's just like before," James cried. "I pushed her and she fell. I killed her—I killed my sister!" Sobbing, he pressed his face against the chimney.

  Cautiously, I peered over the edge of the roof. Sophia did not lie on the terrace below. She was gone.

  With my heart pounding, I inched my way up the slates, struggling to find finger and toe holds. My fingers were so numb with cold, I expected to fall as Sophia had, but somehow I managed to join James by the chimney.

  Putting my arms around him, I said, "You didn't mean for Sophia to fall. You were protecting yourself. It was an accident."

  With a sob, James pulled away from me. "I must do as I promised. Perhaps I should have died and Sophia should have lived. I have to find out."

  Ignoring my cries of protest, he began walking toward the other chimney. Step by step, slowly putting one foot just in front of the other, arms spread for balance, he teetered and tottered along the roof's ridge. The wind tugged at his nightgown, and his hair streamed behind him.

  "No, James," I shouted. "Come back! You'll fall!"

  He didn't answer; nor did he obey. He kept going with agonizing slowness, swaying as if he might lose his balance at any moment. Somehow he stayed upright. Unable to watch any longer, I covered my eyes and braced myself for his scream.

  "Open your eyes and look," James cried. "Look at me!"

  With great relief, I saw him touch the other chimney. Now all he had to do was return to me safely. Holding my breath, I watched him begin to make his slow and careful way back. Despite the wind, he kept his footing. Above him, clouds heavy with snow rolled across the sky. Below, crows as black as coal cawed in the trees.

  At last, James's fingers touched the chimney. "I did it," he whispered. "I kept my promise, and I didn't fall." Exhausted, he sank down beside me.

  "You were very brave." I hugged him, loving the warmth and solid feel of him, the life in his small body. My brother, I thought. He's my brother now. I'll take better care of him than his real sister did.

  "But you were very foolish, too," I added in a whisper.

  "Don't you see?" he asked. "I had to prove I wasn't meant to die. It was the only way to free myself from her."

  I shivered in a blast of cold wind. "Do you think she's gone now?"

  James looked at me, a long look that required no words. We both knew we weren't done with Sophia and she wasn't done with us. Her fall hadn't killed her. No one can die twice. She would return.

  Thirteen

  AT THAT MOMENT, SPRATT looked up and saw us. "Stay where ye be," he yelled. "Don't take one step. I be sending the boy with a ladder."

  While James and I huddled together, Spratt and his helper ran up to the attic. They managed to lay a ladder across the slates from the window to the roof's ridge. The boy climbed out on the slates and crawled up the ladder until he reached our perch. First he helped James climb down the ladder to the attic window. Once my cousin was safely inside, the boy returned for me. Spratt held my hands and guided me inside.

  Uncle and Aunt were waiting in the attic. At the sight of us, Uncle ran to embrace both James and me, but Aunt stood aside, her face tight with anger.

  Pulling me away from Uncle, she shook me. "How could you do such a thing? And on this day, the very day Sophia died!"

  "It's not Florence's fault," James cried. "It was Sophia. She made us do it."

  Hearing this, both Aunt and Uncle forgot me and turned to James in consternation. "James, James," Uncle cried. "Your sister cannot make you do anything now. She's dead and gone. Please don't say such things."

  "The boy is in a state of shock, and no one to blame but her." Aunt pointed at me. "I don't know what she's up to, but I tell you she's the devil's own."

  Uncle ignored his sister. "You," he said to Spratt, "hurry to the village and fetch Dr. Fielding. I fear my nephew will have a seizure."

  Spratt scowled at Aunt. "The boy be telling the truth. It were her, all right."

  "You daft old man," Aunt cried. "Be quiet and fetch the doctor."

  Spratt stood his ground, his brows lowered, his face flushed. "I tell ye, that girl be here yet, a-lurkin' and a-sneakin' and tryin' to do mischief to the little lad. Jealousy be stronger than death, as any fool knows."

  "I'll not listen to this." Aunt turned away, her hands clasped. "It's a torment to be reminded of my darling's death."

  Uncle took Spratt's arm. "Samuel," he said. "Get the doctor!"

  "Yes, sir." Spratt hurried past Aunt and ran down the attic steps. Carrying James, Uncle followed close at his heels.

  "Florence," he called, "find Nellie and tell her to build up a good fire for Master James. He'll need hot tea, too."

  Eager to escape Aunt's baleful eye, I ran to fetch Nellie and Mrs. Dawson.

  Halfway down the steps, Sophia stopped me with a cold hand on my shoulder.

  "Now do you see how I suffered?" she whispered. "Nobody showed concern for me, just as nobody shows concern for you. Did anyone ask if you were cold or hurt? Oh, no. It was go fetch tea for James, Florence. Make sure the fire is warm enough for James, Florence. James, James, James. Always and forever, James, James, James."

  I wheeled and faced Sophia. "Of course Uncle is worried about James. He's been in bed so long, it's a wonder he has any strength. He needs a doctor. I don't. Why shouldn't he come first?"

  Sophia stared at me, her features twisted with anger. "You're on my brother's side, too. When will anyone ever be on my side?"

  "Aunt is on your side."

  "But I do not care for Aunt. She's such a tiresome old thing. Manners, deportment, etiquette, never a smile or a laugh or even a hug. How dreary it was to sit and play the piano for her. So much effort on my part simply to win a doll or a dress or a pair of fancy slippers. It wasn't what I wanted!"

  Sophia withdrew further into the shadows, weeping now. It seemed to me she was dissolving like a paper doll in the rain, blurring, wavering. I could barely see her. But I could hear her.

  "I wanted someone to love me the way they loved James," she sobbed. "That's all! If he hadn't been here, maybe someone would have loved me. But no, he took everyone's love and left me nothing. Nothing, nothing at all!"

  With a wail of sorrow, Sophia vanished and I was alone on the stairs. All that was left of her was an aching emptiness, a loneliness that hung in the air where she had disappe
ared.

  "The tea," Aunt called to me from the top of the stairs. "You were to tell Nellie to bring tea and stoke the fire! Why are you still lingering on the stairs? Have you no sense? Do you not care what happens to James?"

  Without answering, I ran to the kitchen and found Nellie scrubbing the kitchen floor. "Quick," I said. "Fix a good, hot fire in James's room, and bring hot tea for him."

  Nellie wiped her small red hands on her apron. "What's happened, miss?"

  "Never you mind," Mrs. Dawson said. "Fetch the coal."

  "Yes'm." Nellie ran to the scullery.

  Mrs. Dawson looked at me. "I knew there'd be trouble today. It was her, wasn't it? Causing mischief like she used to."

  Before I could answer, she said, "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know." Grabbing a tray, she added, "Run along. I'll bring the tea."

  I left Mrs. Dawson in the kitchen and slowly climbed the stairs. Poor Sophia. Poor pitiful, sad Sophia. Had she gone uncomforted to her grave? I thought of her tombstone, already tilting over her grave, her name, her birth and death dates. What a short life. What an unhappy life.

  Anxious to escape my thoughts, I went to James's room. Uncle had gotten him into bed and heaped blankets over him. "More coal on the fire," he barked at Nellie. "Build it up and drive away the chill."

  As I approached the bed, Aunt took my arm. "What are you doing here? Your presence is not required."

  As she began to usher me to the door, James stopped her with a cry. "Please let Florence stay," he begged. "Please."

  "Hasn't she caused enough mischief already?" Aunt asked.

  Pushing Uncle's hands away, James sat up in bed. "I tell you, this is Sophia's fault. She made Florence and me go to the roof. She wanted—"

  "Nonsense!" Aunt exclaimed. "Sophia rests in peace as do all the dead. No one returns from the grave. It is heresy to think so."

  Uncle gazed at his sister, his face solemn. "You heard what Samuel Spratt said, Eugenie. Perhaps there is some truth in this talk."

  "Are you mad, brother?" Aunt tightened her grip on my arm. "The boy is ill, the girl is a liar, and Samuel Spratt is a superstitious, ignorant old man."

  "Please, Aunt," I said. "You're hurting me."

  "Release Florence," Uncle said. "James wishes her to stay."

  "Then I shall depart!" With that, Aunt left the room in such haste that she almost bumped into Mrs. Dawson, who had chosen that moment to appear with the tea tray.

  Mrs. Dawson set the tray down and beckoned to Nellie. "Come—you left the kitchen floor half scrubbed."

  Touching Uncle's hand as she passed, Nellie whispered, "I ain't seen her, master, but she be here a-watching us all."

  Uncle nodded. "Yes, my dear," he said softly. "I'm beginning to believe my niece haunts this house. There have been times when I..." His voice trailed off and he gazed into the fire. "Even Mr. Dickens believed in ghosts, I daresay. And Shakespeare, too. Who is to say what is real and what is not?"

  Nellie glanced about fearfully. "Don't be saying too much about spirits, sir. Some folks say talking of the dead brings them out of their graves and into a house. They wants a warm place, too, I expect. The burial ground be powerful cold."

  "That's quite enough, Nellie." Mrs. Dawson took the girl's arm and led her toward the door. "Beg your pardon, sir. We're all a bit unsettled."

  "It's perfectly all right, Dawson." His face thoughtful, Uncle leaned back in his chair and watched Nellie follow Mrs. Dawson out of the room.

  For a while we all sat in silence, drinking our tea and staring into the fire.

  At last Uncle spoke. "Did not Mr. Shakespeare say 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio'—or something to that effect?"

  "In Hamlet," I said. "After the ghost of Hamlet's father came to say he was murdered."

  Uncle looked at me, pleased. "You've read Shakespeare, have you?"

  "A few plays," I said. "I didn't completely understand them, so I plan to read them again when I'm older and know more about life."

  Uncle chuckled. "What fun a governess will have with you and James."

  James frowned as if he did not like the change of subject. "What we told you is true, Uncle. Sophia forced me to go to the roof."

  "She thought she could change the past," I said. "She wanted James to fall and die so she could live."

  "But it happened exactly the same way it did before," James said. "Sophia fell and I didn't."

  "She's jealous of James," I said, "and she always has been. She thinks no one loved her." I paused and stared into the darkness beyond the firelight, wondering if Sophia was there now, listening. Overcome with pity, I dropped my voice to a whisper. "Sophia's very lonely. And very sad."

  Uncle sighed. "I hope our loneliness and sorrow does not follow us to the grave and torment us there as it did in life. I've always thought of death as a re-lease from mortal cares, but if what you say is true, my dear Florence, my philosophy, like Horatio's, must be reexamined."

  Our conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by the entrance of Dr. Fielding. His face was ruddy from the cold, and the fresh smell of a winter evening clung to him.

  "Well, well, young man," he said to James. "I understand you've been so foolish as to venture onto the roof again."

  "It wasn't my idea," James began, but stopped when Uncle shook his head and frowned at him.

  "Not your idea?" Dr. Fielding looked at him inquisitively.

  James interested himself in the loose thread in his blanket, plucking at it to avoid looking at the doctor.

  "It was my idea," I said quickly. "I wanted to see the place where Sophia fell, but I didn't expect James to climb up on the roof. I thought he would point from the window."

  Dr. Fielding looked at me as if he'd noticed me for the first time. "So you followed him in case he needed rescuing?"

  "Yes, sir." My cheeks burned with shame at telling a lie.

  Turning to Uncle, Dr. Fielding said, "The girl bears an amazing resemblance to Sophia."

  "Physically, yes," Uncle said. "But she is of an entirely different temperament."

  A look passed between the two men, and Dr. Fielding took a seat on the edge of the bed. Taking James's wrist, he felt his pulse. "Quite normal," he said. "How do you feel?"

  "I feel surprisingly well, sir, though a bit tired from so much exertion."

  Dr. Fielding listened to James's chest with his stethoscope, examined his throat, and finally leaned back with a smile and pronounced him much improved.

  "Although I do not recommend doing it again, I must say, climbing the roof seems to have been good for you."

  "I have no intention of doing it again, sir," said James.

  "I am very glad to hear it," Uncle said.

  Dr. Fielding nodded in agreement. "I suggest a day of rest tomorrow. Your aunt and uncle should watch for signs of a chill or some other adverse reaction to today's activities."

  "Would it be possible for me to rest downstairs in the sitting room?" James asked. "I've grown weary of my bedroom."

  "That's a splendid suggestion," said Uncle. "Do you give your permission, Fielding?"

  "Wholeheartedly. James has spent entirely too much time in bed. Hopefully he'll soon be outside playing in the garden with Florence." Dr. Fielding patted James on the head. "But stay warm."

  Uncle kissed James and left the room with Dr. Fielding. Alone, James and I sat on the bed and gazed at the fire. Outside, the wind blew harder. The snow seemed to have turned to ice from the noise it made striking the windows.

  James yawned and snuggled under his covers. "I'm so tired," he whispered.

  Curling up beside him, I peered into the corners where the shadows were darkest. Nothing stirred there. Nothing spoke. The fire murmured, and the sleet rattled the windowpanes. For a moment, I imagined I saw Sophia making her way through the night, her thin form battered by the wind. Slowly she walked, her head down. She paused at the churchyard gate, rimmed in ice now, a
nd looked back as if she could see me from where she stood. Never had I witnessed such unhappiness, such loneliness, such despair.

  Gradually Sophia faded out of sight among the crooked rows of tombstones. Moving close to James, I put one arm around him and fell into a deep sleep.

  Fourteen

  A WAKENED BY A RAPPING ON the door, I sat up and stared about me, surprised to find myself in James's room. He lay beside me with eyes closed, breathing peacefully, his face pink with health.

  "Miss, are you in there?" Nellie called. "Mrs. Dawson has sent me to fetch you for supper."

  James opened his eyes. "Where is Sophia?" he asked, still groggy from sleep.

  "Gone," I whispered, remembering my vision of her vanishing among the tombstones in the churchyard, defeated forever, I hoped.

  "Truly gone?" James looked doubtful.

  "She's not here now, I'm certain of it."

  Nellie knocked and called again.

  "Who's knocking?" he asked, suddenly fearful.

  "It's just Nellie," I told him.

  James rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "You're certain it's not—"

  I put my hand gently over his mouth. "Don't say her name."

  "Tell Nellie to come in," he mumbled.

  The girl entered, carrying a coal scuttle as usual. "Beg your pardon, but the fire needs tending," she said to James. To me, she said, "Be ye coming to supper, miss?"

  "I am." I turned to James. "How about you? Do you feel well enough to join us?"

  "If Uncle would be kind enough to carry me down. My legs are a bit shaky still."

  Nellie gave him a shy smile. "It'll be a rare sight to see you at table," she told James. "Never have ye been out of yer bed since I come here."

  James sat up straighter, a grin on his face. "I hope to be out and about every day, Nellie. I've stayed in this room much too long. There's more to do than lie in bed and read and sleep."

  Nellie turned her attention to the fire. When she'd added coal and stirred it with a poker, she asked James if she should ask Mr. Crutchfield to bring him down to the dining room.

  James nodded. "Yes, please, Nellie."

  Cheeks flushed with pleasure, Nellie darted away.