LeRoux Manor

by Liz Butcher

He shook his head. “Not really. I mean, it’s interesting, but none of its really that helpful.”

  “I don’t feel like we’re really getting anywhere.” Grace sighed.

  “So, what do we actually have so far?” Jayne asked as she attempted a semi-discreet shift of her cushion toward Lachlan’s.

  “Well, we know Caroline is an ancestor of the McAllister’s and that she adopted a girl who looks exactly like Mena,” Camille said. “But we don’t know how that’s possible or why Miss McAllister looked so horrified when I mentioned Caroline’s name... after I saw it in the mirror.”

  “And we now know that my uncle was researching the manor before he vanished,” Lachlan added.

  “Does your family actually know what happened to him?” Jonathan asked.

  Lachlan sighed. “All I know is what Mum and Dad told me. That he just vanished one day, and they never heard from him again. He stopped calling, stopped coming over. When they reported it to the police, nobody really took it seriously. They asked some questions and a had a little look around, but if they found anything, they seemed to write it off as my uncle just wanting to escape a small town.”

  “They didn’t even pick up that he was interested in this place?” Camille asked.

  “Why would they? Your great-uncle was a recluse, and everyone thought he was... unwell. I don’t think the police ever had a reason to come looking much closer. They wouldn’t have gone to the library like we did. We know that was the last time anyone saw or heard from him. When he delivered his research to Ms Liddell

  “What else do we know?” Grace asked.

  “Maybe not that we know for certain,” Jayne said. “Anybody still think there might be a connection between the manor grounds and some kind of ancient paganism?”

  “I still definitely want to look into that some more,” Camille said, and the others nodded. “And then... we also know I’ve seen the old woman. More than once. I’ve had those weird dreams, and then I found the letter. And the shawl.”

  “I do have an idea,” Lachlan said, looking up at Camille. “But you can totally say no.”

  “What is it?”

  “Maybe we can check out your great-uncle’s rooms? You said he only lived in a small section of the manor, right? We might find something there.”

  Camille chewed on her bottom lip as her friends cast her expectant glances. “I’m actually all for it,” she said. “I just need to work out what to say if we run into my parents.”

  “We could just say we wanted a tour of the manor,” Jayne suggested. “It’s not like we’d be lying.”

  Camille nodded. “Well, I think I know where he was staying...”

  “You mean you haven’t been in there yet?” Lachlan asked. “How’s that even possible?”

  She shrugged. “I guess it just felt wrong to go have a look. Not just because he’s dead. I mean, he didn’t want me in the family in the first place, you know?”

  “That’s totally fair,” Grace added. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  “No, we should. It makes sense to at least have a look, especially if we find more about the manor or the old woman.”

  “Does this mean I have to get up?” Jonathan asked from his nest of cushions on the floor. Grace rolled her eyes, and he groaned like an old man as he pushed himself to his feet.

  “Lead the way,” Lachlan said softly, and Camille gave him a small smile before taking them out of her bedroom and into the hallway.

  Camille led them past the staircase and across to the opposite side of the manor. She cast a quick glance at the door to the attic, picking up the pace as she led her friends past that, too. Jayne sneezed as they weaved through the west wing, still untouched—at least to Camille’s knowledge. She ignored her friends’ tourist-like fascination, instead focusing her thoughts on how her great-uncle had lived in such conditions. Everything looked coated in dust, and the strong, musty smell made her certain a window hadn’t been cracked in well over a decade. She really hoped she wouldn’t have to help her parents clean it out. A nervous anxiety spread through her the closer they got to her great-uncle’s quarters. She had no idea why she felt that way, but if it wasn’t for her friends, she would have turned around and gone right back to her room.

  “I think this is it through here,” she announced, her voice hushed. Then she turned the bronze door handle and slowly opened the door, cringing as it creaked on its hinges. Camille hesitated, really not wanting to step inside, but then she felt Grace’s hand on her back. The girl peered eagerly over Camille’s shoulder, and with a deep breath, Camille walked into the room. The flurry of nerves in her stomach intensified with every step.

  They found themselves in a sitting room with a large lounge turned away from the window and hidden away beneath thick drapes. Beside the lounge was a matching armchair, a plaid rug draped across the arm. A book lay face-down beside a pair of tortoiseshell glasses on a small, rectangular coffee table, as though her great-uncle might return at any minute and continue where he left off. Slightly to the side and behind the armchair was a trolley packed with books, which Camille assumed had been brought up from the library. She walked across the thick burgundy carpet, the dust from her movements tickling her nose.

  “Look.” Lachlan pointed to the small fireplace behind the chairs. Above it hung a white sheet clearly covering something hanging there on the wall. With feigned bravery, Camille walked toward it and pulled down the sheet, sneezing at the thick puff of dust. When she lifted her head again with watery eyes, she found a large mirror there over the mantle, with a decorative, gold-filigree frame. The glass had been shattered at some point but remained in place.

  “So... he accidently broke a mirror and decided to cover it up?” Jayne asked as she moved around the room.

  “Maybe...” Camille studied the bare mantlepiece, which prompted her to take another look around the room. “It’s all so... impersonal. No photos, no keepsakes, nothing. If it wasn’t for the rug and his book and glasses, you’d never know anyone lived here.”

  “My guess is that’s exactly how he liked it,” Lachlan said as he picked up the book on the table. “Through the Looking Glass. Seems like an odd choice for an old man.”

  “Don’t knock the classics,” Grace added. When walked toward him and took the book from his hands, gently opening the cover. “Oh, wow! This is a first edition.” Then she placed the book back on the table and turned her attention to the book cart.

  Camille walked to the far wall, where a small, modest door stood ajar in the centre. She tried to peer through but couldn’t see a thing. She swallowed thickly; her previous bravado evaporated.

  “Here, let me,” Lachlan whispered in her ear. A pleasant shiver ran down her neck. He reached around her and gently pushed open the door to reveal her great-uncle’s bedroom—large but as dark as the sitting room, with the drapes firmly shut over the windows. The enormous, wooden four-poster bed was raised on a small platform with three steps all the way around it. On the far side, the thick, decorative curtains hung from the bed’s posters, sealing it off from the world. Only the side facing the door had been drawn back and secured with a tasselled cord. Lachlan strode to the far side of the room, where more sheets hung over something facing the bed. He yanked the sheets down, having the foresight to cover his nose and mouth beforehand. Beneath the sheet was a wardrobe as large as the one in Camille’s room, though the wood was more of a mahogany than the near-black of her own. This one, though, had a mirror on the front of each door—both of them shattered.

  “Okay, so clearly your great-uncle broke these, right?” Lachlan asked.

  “Looks like it. It was only him and the McAllister’s living here.”

  “Woah, more smashed mirrors?” Jonathan exclaimed as he walked into the room, closely followed by Jayne and Grace.

  “It smells funny in here.” Jayne scrunched her nose in distaste as they all hovered around the wardrobe.

  Camille stared at her fractured reflections in the
glass, and a wave of panic swept over her. Turning on her heel, she stormed out of the bedroom, through the sitting room, and out into the hall.

  “Camille!” Grace called right before she grabbed Camille by the arm. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Camille tried to catch her breath and shove the rising waters of panic back down. “I just started to feel a bit claustrophobic and needed some air.”

  Grace nodded with a frown of concern as the others joined them.

  “I don’t think there was anything in there at all that could help us,” Jayne stated.

  “Yeah,” Lachlan said. “If anything, it’s just led to more questions.”

  “You mean like why are all his mirrors broken?” Jonathan asked, half-joking.

  “That would be it.” Lachlan turned to Camille, placed his hand on her shoulder, and looked at her intently. “Are you okay?” She could only nod, not trusting herself to speak, feeling paranoid that they could all see the effect he had on her. He gave her a small smile and released her. “Do you think it’s worth asking Miss McAllister about the mirrors?”

  Camille shook her head. “I’m sure she’ll just tell me to mind my own business or keep my nose out of where it’s not wanted or some other platitude.”

  “She really doesn’t like you very much, does she?” Jonathan asked with delayed observation.

  Camille found herself laughing in spite of it. “No, I don’t think she does. She’s watched me like a hawk ever since we moved here. It’s like I’m a naughty child she’s got to watch in case I touch something I’m not supposed to and break it.”

  “Have you considered the possibility that maybe the opposite it true?” Grace frowned, though her eyes glinted with enthusiasm for her developing theory.

  “What opposite?” Lachlan asked as Camille just waited for the answer.

  “Well, what if the reason Miss McAllister has watched you closely is more to do with her trying to protect you?”

  “Huh?” Camille squinted in disbelief.

  “Think about it. You said she watches you like a hawk. But what if it’s in a protective way and not in animosity? We know she’s lived here her whole life. If anything’s going on in the manor, I’m sure she’s well aware of it. You said the McAllister’s only maintained your great-uncle’s living quarters while he was alive, right? So, she would know about the mirrors. She was probably the one who covered them up for him in the first place.”

  “So, what are you saying?” Lachlan asked slowly, processing the theory himself.

  “Maybe Miss McAllister is trying to protect Camille from whatever’s going on in this place. From the old woman. From whatever made Camille’s great-uncle smash the mirrors. From... everything.”

  Camille looked back towards her great-uncle’s rooms. “But why? It doesn’t make any sense. My great-uncle didn’t want me in the family, so why should she care if I’m in some kind of danger or not?”

  Grace shrugged. “I honestly haven’t thought that far into it. I just think it’s an angle we should consider.”

  “If she wants to protect me, why doesn’t she say something to me beyond cryptic warnings?” Camille asked.

  “Maybe it’s not that black-and-white?” Jayne offered with wide, eager eyes. Jonathan absently wrapped his arms around Grace’s waist.

  “You could be right,” Lachlan said, and Jayne beamed. “Maybe she thinks if she was more direct, you’d think she was crazy. Or at best eccentric take her seriously and would just do the exact opposite of what she’s warned you against.”

  Camille chewed on her lower lip as she mulled it over. He had a way of making it sound plausible, and yet she couldn’t seem to give the theory any weight. “Maybe,” she finally said, not wanting to discuss it any further. “But that still doesn’t lead us any closer to the answers we really need. We already know she won’t tell us anything.”

  Lachlan sighed. “Back to the books, then?”

  She nodded and led them back through the house toward her room, unable to clear Grace’s theory from her mind.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  S

  O, WHAT DO you want me to start with?” Jonathan asked.

  Camille opened the folder and separated the notes that had already been sorted by day from what hadn’t. She handed the unsorted pile to Jonathan. “If you could start by putting these in chronological order, that would be great.”

  “I think I can manage that.” He took the pile from her.

  “Lachlan, if you want to keep reading through the journal, see if anything jumps out?” He nodded and reclaimed the journal from the pile.

  “I’d love to go through the old albums from the attic,” Jayne offered, and with a smile, Camille shoved the box toward her.

  “The sorted notes or the huge book?” Camille asked Grace.

  “The book for me, please.”

  Camille grabbed the pile of notes and eyed her window seat as she made herself comfortable on the cushions. She figured it probably wasn’t fair to sit up there while her friends were all on the floor.

  It didn’t take long before she was submerged in the mystery of the manor, poring over one page after another. She rubbed her eyes, already sore from reading, and she looked up. The room had darkened a surprising amount without their notice, thanks to the storm clouds approaching the manor grounds. Camille got to her feet and had a quick stretch, barely garnering a reaction from her friends, and went to turn on the lights.

  “Check this out,” Lachlan said, and Camille hurried back to their circle. He held the journal open to show them the same symbol as the basketball uniforms drawn across the full length of the page.

  “What does our school logo have to do with the manor?” Jonathan asked.

  “It must mean something.” Grace held up the book she was reading and showed them a close-up photo of the weathervane from atop the manor. There was no mistaking it was the same symbol.

  “So, it’s not just some cool design someone came up with for our school,” Jonathan half-joked.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Lachlan replied dryly. “The journal says it’s the combination of two symbols. The first is the lemniscate. The mathematical symbol for infinity. The second one, where the snake head comes from, is uroboros. Wholeness and infinity.”

  They sat in silence, looking at each other.

  “Okay, am I missing something?” Jonathan asked. “It seems totally weird, but I have no idea what this actually means.” He sighed in frustration. Camille shrugged. “Neither do I, but it’s not a coincidence. I’d bet on that much. Does the journal say anything else about it?”

  Lachlan scanned the next few pages. “Not a great deal, but it says that the combination of the two symbols was extremely powerful and rare. He’d found two other references to it. One where it was carved into a large standing stone at Dover, facing out to sea. The other was in France, engraved on a stone plaque at Calais, which he believed was facing the direction of the other.”

  “Okay, this is just getting weirder,” Grace stated.

  “Well, we know the LeRoux’s came from France,” Camille said, “so we have the connection between the two countries. As for the symbol found on a standing stone, I think it’s safe to assume it was there a long time before Caleb LeRoux and his family came over.”

  “I think they’re connected, though,” Grace added.

  “This is interesting.” Lachlan pointed at the journal. “It looks like when the manor was built, the LeRoux’s owned the whole of Woodville. Not just the manor land.”

  “That’s probably not that unusual for back then,” Grace said, “but it explains why the LeRoux’s have always been a big deal.”

  “True.” Lachlan nodded. “But it proves the link between the family and Woodville existed way before the manor.”

  “And it says here,” Grace announced, pushing the heavy book into the centre of the group, “Caleb LeRoux and his family were living in this house before and during the manor’s construction. T
hat house now makes up part of the high school.”

  “Does it say how long they lived there before the manor was built?” Camille asked. Grace shook her head. A huge clap of thunder sounded, and they all jumped. “Bloody hell.” Camille turned and looked out the window with wide eyes at the dark afternoon.

  “So, I think it’s probably bad timing, but I found something creepy,” Jayne stated.

  “Cool! What is it?” Jonathan asked.

  “There was a thin notebook at the bottom of the album box, and it’s filled with old newspaper clippings about mysterious animal mutilations and local pets going missing from around Woodville.”

  “Ew,” Grace replied. “When was that from?”

  Jayne flicked back to the start of the notebook. “Looks like the first article is from 1874. But what’s really weird is there’s a child’s drawings all over it.” She held it up for them to see, slowly turning the pages. The faded drawings covered the pages in an array of colours—rainbows, flowers, and animals.

  “The drawings are around the articles,” Lachlan added. “Pretty safe to assume they were done after they’d been stuck into the book, right?”

  “Oh, gross.” Jayne clapped a hand over her mouth. “Do you think it was a child killing the animals?”

  “No way,” Jonathan said, his voice heavy with disgust. “I bet the kid just came across the book and used it to colour in after the fact.”

  “Wait a second.” Camille scrambled for the McAllister Family Tree. “1874. That was the year Mena—Alice—arrived at the manor and was taken in by Caroline.” The group stared at each other in silence, the recent findings hanging over them as heavily as the rapidly approaching storm. “What else do the articles say?” Camille asked Jayne, realising she’d asked it barely over a whisper; she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know the answer.

  They waited as Jayne flipped through the articles. “Well, in 1877, a whole lot of animal bones were found in the woods that border the manor. They launched an investigation and apparently found old human bones arranged in what they believed to be a ‘ritualistic nature’.”