LeRoux Manor

by Liz Butcher

  Her mother nodded. “Miss McAllister brought us in the lovely tea.”

  “And I’m pretty sure I saw Mr McAllister head out to tend the front gardens,” Phillipe added. “Though I have a feeling that was just his excuse to watch all the comings and goings.”

  “How so?” Camille asked, trying to hide the surprise in her voice. Maybe her parents knew more about the McAllister’s than she thought.

  “Oh, just that he seems to be very protective of the grounds and doesn’t seem in the least bit happy to have people walking all over them. Not that they’re in great condition, mind you. But I suppose it’s still his pride and joy.”

  “Right.” Camille nodded. “Okay. Well, I might go grab myself an apple from the kitchen.” She turned and headed toward the door.

  “Don’t ruin your appetite,” her mother called behind her. “I think we’ll have an early dinner tonight.”

  Camille was already passing the staircase. When she stormed into the kitchen, she found Miss McAllister wiping down the kitchen bench. She looked up as Camille entered, and they stared at each other, each waiting for the other to talk.

  “Can I get you something, miss?” Miss McAllister asked, the tone of her voice clearly indicating it was the last thing she was interested in doing.

  “You can tell me what you and your brother were doing walking into the woods last night.”

  Miss McAllister didn’t even pause. “I beg your pardon, miss, but you must be mistaken. It stormed last night. Hardly the weather to be walking anywhere, let alone the woods.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “Are you sure about that?” This time, Miss McAllister paused her wiping and looked straight at Camille. “One can never be certain of what they see in this place.”

  Camille said nothing but narrowed her eyes. It didn’t surprise her that the McAllister’s knew more than they let on. She just had to work out how to get them to talk. “I know about the tunnel.”

  Miss McAllister turned her back as she rinsed the cloth in the sink. Camille waited, but it was as though the woman hoped her turned back would make Camille give up and leave.

  “The old woman I keep seeing,” Camille said, changing her tactic. “I hear her. At least, I think it’s her. In the walls and in the attic. Sometimes, I see her right before I fall asleep, when I’m still partly awake—”

  “It would seem, then, that you are simply dreaming. The imagination can run away with you in a place this size.”

  “No. I know the difference between being awake and being asleep. She’s here. But what I want to know is how here is she?”

  Miss McAllister hung the cloth over the edge of the sink and finally turned around. “There are no answers to the questions you have.”

  “Of course there are. There are always answers. You just don’t want to tell me what they are.”

  The woman folded her arms. “Now you want to listen to me?” she hissed. “I’ve been trying to make you listen since you and your family moved in.”

  Camille blinked at the sudden venom in the woman’s tone. “What are you talking about?”

  “I told you to stop digging. To leave things alone. Not only did you ignore me, but you also involved your little friends.”

  “What do you care so much about what we find here?”

  “I don’t. But you should.” Miss McAllister’s eyes widened before she turned her back once more and proceeded to wipe down the already clean sink.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Camille asked, her voice almost a whisper beneath a new wave of dread.

  “You should have left well enough alone. It doesn’t matter now. It’s too late.”

  “For what?”

  Miss McAllister ignored her, and Camille tapped her fingers on the counter in frustration. She eyed the woman’s back and ran through the interactions they’d had since the day her family arrived at the manor. Could it really be that in some strange way, Miss McAllister had been looking out for her? From what, though? And why would she do that if it ‘didn’t matter’? “The woman I’ve seen. Is she real? Or is she a ghost?” The question hung in the air before it dwindled away, unanswered. Admitting defeat, Camille turned away to head out of the kitchen.

  “She is neither,” Ms McAllister said. “And both. As is the manor.”

  Camille frowned, mulling over the words as she turned back toward the woman. “That doesn’t make sense. How can she be both? How can a house be both?”

  “It’s of no consequence whether it makes sense to you. The end result will be the same. It always is.”

  “Your riddles aren’t helping me at all.” Camille slapped a hand down on the counter. “I know there’s something going on here. I went into the tunnel. The one that leads from my room. I found the trunk and the clothes inside it. My clothes. So, you need to tell me how that’s even possible.”

  Miss McAllister refused to look Camille in the eye as she walked around the counter and left the kitchen. Camille just stared after her in disbelief, standing there with even more questions now and still no answers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  C

  AMILLE GROANED IN her sleep. It felt like someone was trying to pull her out of her dream, but she fought to hold onto it despite not knowing exactly what the dream was. Opening her eyes, she groaned again. The air felt heavy and stuffy, like it hung over her in a thick cloud. Reaching out, she tapped the bedside table until she found the lamp and turned on the switch.

  The old woman’s face illuminated right in front of her, just inches away. Camille screamed, but no sound come out. She scrambled backward over the bed until she bumped against the headboard and had nowhere else to go. The woman held her gaze with the eyes Camille had seen a dozen times—though instead of the mischievous glint, there was something darker, almost malicious.

  Camille’s heart pounded painfully against her chest as she struggled to breathe. The old woman’s presence seemed to suck the very air from the room. She wanted to speak, but no sound whatsoever came from her mouth, even when she felt like a gaping goldfish. Forcing herself to calm the hysteria threatening to overcome her, she instead broke the stare and gazed at the rest of the woman’s body.

  The old woman bent at the waist to lower herself toward where Camille had been sleeping. She looked real enough—there was certainly nothing ethereal about her. When she reached out to touch the woman, she quickly yanked her hand back at from the firm arm beneath the white cotton sleeve. The old woman leaned in closer, and Camille tried to push herself farther against the headboard. She had the distinct impression that the woman was going to kiss her, and she turned her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Instead, the old woman’s ice-cold hand brushed against her cheek in a dry caress. Then that hand wrapped around Camille’s throat, though her grasp wasn’t tight enough to hurt. The woman leaned closer still. “You will help me.”

  Camille tried to free herself from the grasp, but her eyelids grew heavy, and she felt herself slipping back into slumber.

  A WOMAN’S VOICE MADE Camille stir from her sleep again. There was a familiarity to it that she couldn’t place. The voice grew louder and closer the more awake Camille felt, and when she finally opened her eyes, she found herself standing and surrounded by trees.

  There was a young girl in front of her. She held the hand of an older woman who was a couple steps ahead of her. The woman talked excitedly as she navigated their path through the trees. The young girl turned and looked over her shoulder, as if she sensed Camille there.

  Camille knew immediately that that little girl was Mena. When the woman turned her head to be sure of the girl beside her, Camille also recognised Caroline.

  A wave of dizziness made her close her eyes. She willed herself to wake from what she knew had to be a dream. Instead, when she opened her eyes again, she was looking through Mena’s eyes now instead of her own. It was disorientating; she felt like a passenger—an intruder in someone else’s body. Camille wanted nothing more than to wake up, but wi
th each step Mena took, Camille’s vivid connection with the girl intensified. She knew, somehow, that this was a memory, that it was being revealed to her for a reason. She also knew she wouldn’t be released until she knew why.

  Camille tried to focus on Caroline’s voice. There was no mistaking the woman’s excitement. She rarely waited for Mena—or Alice, as she now called the girl—to respond as she moved on to the next question or random fact about the manor. It sounded like Caroline had already convinced herself of the child’s being an orphan and was already planning their future at the manor together. Camille could feel Mena’s curiosity, her eagerness to return to the manor, and she was somewhat surprised to find Mena’s thoughts came as clearly to her as if they were her own.

  It wasn’t that she expected to see her family; Mena knew that many years had passed since she’d stepped into that cave, even though it had felt like only a few seconds. They stopped when they broke free of the woods and entered the manicured grounds. Camille gasped at the beauty of the gardens before her, only slightly aware of Mena taking it all in too. The manor up ahead was still as grand as the day of her father’s party, and yet, Mena noticed that the shiny newness of her home was gone. She wondered just how many years had passed.

  Caroline got down on her knees and took both of Mena’s hands in hers. “Alice, this might sound crazy, but I feel like you have been brought to me. That you’re the answer to my prayers. Naturally, we will have to seek out your parents, but if they truly are gone like you said, then I want you to know that I’d like to adopt you as my own. It doesn’t have to be right away. We can take all the time you need to get to know me, my husband, and our daughter Sybil, though she is a grown woman herself. Is that something you think you might like?” Caroline looked intently at the little girl, who stared back with a wide-eyed innocence only Camille knew wasn’t real. A sunny smile spread across Caroline’s face when Mena nodded.

  The woman embraced her, and Mena fought her instinct to pull away. It surprised Camille how repulsed the young girl was by the touch of another. Even more surprising was how well Mena hid it. Camille had to keep reminding herself that this was only a child, though something about her made her seem older, wiser, and certainly intelligent beyond her years.

  Caroline guided them up the back stairs and ushered them through the kitchen, through the servant’s corridor, and into a generously sized servants’ quarter. She chattered away as she led Mena into the bathroom and turned on the taps. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, she faced the girl, and Camille got her first good look at the woman. Caroline’s pale blue eyes radiated both kindness and sadness, yet the lines spreading from the corners of her eyes showed how much she loved to laugh. She was probably in her mid-forties and quite slim—at least from what could be seen with the full skirt and long sleeves of her uniform. Her hair was a mousey brown and pulled back in a neat bun. It reminded Camille of the old woman she’d been seeing around the manor.

  “Would you like me to help you undress? We will need to get you cleaned up before I take you to see the mistress.”

  “I can do it,” Mena replied as her little fingers fumbled with the buttons running down the front of her dress. Caroline discretely gave the child some privacy and reached back to run her hand through the bathwater. When she was satisfied with the temperature, she helped Mena into the tub. Camille felt the delicious warmth of the water enveloping her, felt the relief of the caked-on dirt and filth starting to slip away from Mena’s skin. She almost groaned when Caroline poured a jug of water over her head, gently massaging the dirt from Mena’s hair. The woman’s voice was almost hypnotic as she talked of Mistress LeRoux and her kindness, of how she would take Mena to meet her as soon as she was ready. Caroline alternated between talking to the child and talking to herself, and Camille found it increasingly harder to pay attention the more Mena relaxed. Finally, their eyes slipped shut.

  ‘I know you are here with me.’

  Camille opened her eyes, startled. She wasn’t sure if she’d spoken the words or if they were Mena’s, but she realised she’d somehow dozed off. Now, they were out of the bath, being wrapped in a towel. Caroline led Mena back to her room, still talking, and sat the girl on the bed. Then she went to the trunk at the foot of the bed and opened it. Camille recognised the carvings on the lid as the same trunk inside the tunnel. She watched Caroline rummage around for a few moments before withdrawing a clothbound parcel. The woman laid it on the bed and gently opened it. Within was a number of little girl’s dresses.

  “These were my daughter’s. Sybil. Though she hasn’t been little for a good many years now. I was saving them for... well, that doesn’t matter now. I think they should be a perfect fit for you.” She held one up to inspect it—a navy pinafore with a white, long-sleeved shirt underneath it. Mena let the woman dress her, sitting quietly as Caroline ran the hairbrush through the child’s wet hair. Camille felt the conflict rising inside the girl—the irritation of another’s touch but also the enjoyment rising from Caroline’s fingers expertly weaving Mena’s hair into a flawless braid.

  Mena was exactly where—and when—she wanted to be.

  CHAPTER TWENY-ONE

  C

  AMILLE OPENED HER eyes and was instantly hit with a wave of dizziness. She waited for it to pass, but it only lessened slightly. Relenting, she blinked rapidly to clear her blurry vision and looked around in the darkness, hoping to see her bedroom furniture. Yet, once again, she wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t in the attic, either.

  Reaching out with both hands, she took a tentative step forward and felt cold, hard surface of the stone wall at her fingertips. Camille turned around and found the same behind her. As the remnants of the dream cleared, she realised she was in the tunnel—only she had no way of knowing how far down it she’d travelled. Sliding her foot along the ground, she felt for the angling floor and realized it sloped down in front of her. So, she turned around to head back toward her room, but the dream lingering in her mind convinced her that she’d woken in the tunnel for a reason. She stood there, unsure what to do and wishing she had her phone on her. But she knew that if she returned for her phone, there was a good chance she wouldn’t re-enter the tunnel. At least, not alone. Between the unease and the waves of nausea, Camille recognised the urgency of her decision. If she didn’t go now, she would never find the answers she wanted. Squinting through the darkness in the tunnel, she thought she saw the faintest glowing light. It was enough to stoke her curiosity, and she tentatively stepped through the wardrobe. After only a few steps, that same sudden nausea washed over her, this time so strong, she doubled over. She tried to wait it out, but again, it only subsided a little. Lifting her head, she tried to focus on the glowing light as she forced herself forward. Each step was a struggle; she couldn’t think clearly, and the tunnel somehow seemed to lengthen the farther she tried to go. The slight decline finally levelled out, encouraging Camille to keep going despite the fact that it seemed she’d made no progress at all. Yet that possibility only made Camille all the more determined to find out why.

  With her next step, the nausea flared up again and brought her to her knees. She vomited, the acrid smell stinging her nose and bringing tears to her eyes. Unable to get to her feet, Camille forced herself to push forward on her hands and knees as she heaved and wretched.

  The farther she went, the sicker and weaker she felt. Still, she didn’t want to give up, knowing it would take just as long to head back up the tunnel toward her room, with or without her answers. Knowing the tunnel couldn’t possibly go on forever, she crawled along with her eyes closed. When the smooth surface of the tunnel floor gave way to something more rough and jagged, Camille opened her eyes, pushed herself back onto her knees, and stared around in awe.

  The dark tunnel had given way to what looked like a salt cave. She touched the hard, peach-coloured rock and felt its energy vibrating through her hands. Feeling more alert now as her nausea fell away, she scanned the walls and ceiling, trying to find the so
urce of the light. It seemed the cave itself was generating its own light.

  Camille leaned her head against the wall, allowing herself a moment to regain her strength and clarity. There was no way she was going back now; she had to see what was beyond the cave, to see what else the tunnel had to show her. Watching her footing over the uneven floor, she carefully made her way through the narrowing cavern. She had to duck under the larger stalactites and squinted. The farther she walked through the narrowing tunnel, the more the light dimmed.

  When the cave walls seemed to close in around her, she forced herself to take slow, deep breaths against the impending claustrophobia. She had come too far to panic now. As she found herself once again in darkness, Camille held her hands out in front of her, using them for guidance. Within a few more steps, her hands came upon a smooth surface in front of her. Running her fingers over it, she prayed it wasn’t a dead end and that her journey had been for nothing. Still, there seemed to be no way forward.

  Tired and overwhelmed, Camille slid down the wall with a strangled sob. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to go all the way back; all she wanted was to close her eyes and sleep, but the images of Lachlan’s uncle propped up against the tree forced her to open her eyes again. Willing herself to calm down, to try thinking rationally, she felt something digging into her back leaned away from the wall. After running her fingers along the surface behind her, at the notch jutting from the wall before giving way to a small groove. Not caring that it might not have been for her, or that she might regret revealing its purpose, she slipped her fingers into the groove and pushed.

  Nothing happened. She tried pushing to the right, and her hand shook as she changed her grasp and pushed to the left. Finally, the notch shifted, and the wall in front of her slid aside. There was nothing beyond it but more darkness, yet Camille climbed to her feet and stepped forward anyway.