The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) (31 page)

Thad sat forward. “Daddy, can we pick some corn to have with our picnic?”

Eric rolled the cart to a stop. “Judging by the weight of the basket, we have more food than we can eat already, but what do you say we pick some to take back for tonight’s dinner?”

“Yeah!” Thad was out of the cart and running into the corn rows before Eric even turned the vehicle off. Cynthia wasn’t far behind him.

“Don’t pick any until I give the okay,” Eric called. He turned to Belinda. “Shall we?”
 

She smiled and stepped out of the cart, hoping her sandals were up to the trek. Eric joined her. He wore jeans and sneakers and a blue chambray shirt, sleeves rolled up, that brought out the blue in his eyes. He looked good enough to eat - and smelled even better. It was that same scent she’d noticed at their very first meeting.
The same scent the spirit of Thomas Manning wore.
She felt a shiver of fear … or excitement.

They started for the corn, Belinda hurrying to keep up with him. Her foot caught on something and she almost fell, but Eric swooped in and caught her by the waist. She felt him behind her, his body warm against hers. “Are you okay?” he asked, still holding her.

“Yes. Thank you for saving me.”

“Well, saving you from getting your pants dirty, at any rate.” He gently let her go.

“I’m so clumsy. I”m sorry.”

“Next time wear walking shoes. For now, we can make do.” He offered her his arm.

She hesitated, a couple of stray butterflies still fluttering in her stomach, then folded her hand over his elbow. In the distance, Thad yelled, “Come on!”

Eric led her into the rows. Corn stalks whispered and tittered all around them, an eerie sound she’d enjoyed ever since her first walk through a Halloween corn maze when she was ten years old and Momma had allowed her to spend the night with a friend.
 

Up ahead, she saw Thad dart from row to row, Cynthia on his heels. They were laughing and careening through the corn.

“Kids,” Eric called. “Be careful. Don’t break any stalks!” He turned to Belinda. “When I was a boy, I spent most of my summers here with my Uncle Albert. I raced and played in the cornfield, too.”
 

“That must have been wonderful. Was it very different here from England?”

“Much sunnier, on the whole. I loved it here. We didn’t have a pool in London so I practically lived in the ones we have here.”

“What was your home like in London?”

“We lived in the ancestral townhouse, the very one my many-times-great-grandfather, Thomas Manning, lived in when he became a successful perfumier.”

“Thomas is your direct ancestor?” Grant had already told her this, but she wanted to hear more.
 

“Yes, why?”
 

“I noticed his portrait in the gallery. A handsome gentleman.” She smiled. “You look very much like him.”  The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Her face turned hot and she looked away.

Eric chuckled. “Thank you. As I understand it, Thomas was a bit of a rake in his youth, but with a legendary nose. He created the very cologne I’m wearing now.
Genévrier de la Mer
.”

Belinda’s stomach flipped as she recognized the name she’d heard from Thomas himself. “It’s wonderful.” She caught his eye again. “It reminds me of Big Sur.”

Eric smiled. “If Thomas could hear you, he’d be very pleased with that assessment.”

Belinda blushed.
 

“He created a signature fragrance for women, too. Lavender with notes of gardenia and orange blossom and a hint of jasmine. It’s called
Lavande d’Amour
. ” He locked his eyes on hers. “It would suit you. Would you care for a bottle?”

What Alice wears.
“I would, very much, if it’s no trouble. It sounds lovely.”

“None at all.”

The kids raced between the rows.
 

“May I ask …” Belinda began.

“Anything you like.”

“How did you end up here instead of in your family business in London?”

“I have three brothers, all with much better noses than mine, all eager to run the business. I was my Uncle Albert’s favorite, and he was mine. My parents agreed to let me finish school here in America and become his heir since he had none. I run our other family business now, the one Albert continued - Manning Memoriam.”

“Memoriam?”
 

“The Mannings were monument makers before they were perfumiers. We carved stone for kings and other royalty. The memorial business came to America with Thomas’ brother, Edward, in the early nineteenth century.”

“Do you still carve monuments?”

“Sometimes, yes, but not here on the grounds, though you can see some fine examples of our work in the family cemetery - if we have time, we can drive by it this afternoon. Our methods of memorialization began expanding during the Civil War when photography became popular. We were very successful in the memento mori business.” He gave her a grim smile. “Death portraits in particular. We were the biggest photographers in the West. We did lots of kinds of portraiture, of course, but were most famous for our memorial photography. We had a small studio in those days. Now, the business takes up the entire second floor of the west wing. Perhaps you’ve seen a few of our employees coming and going through the entrances.”

“I haven’t, I’m sorry.”

He laughed. “That’s good. You’re not supposed to notice them. They mainly use an outside entrance, but occasionally come through the house, as do clients.”

Belinda smiled. “It’s all so fascinating. Everything you do … ”

“It is. We do some cutting edge-” He stopped walking and pointed left, above the corn. “Looks like Old Peckerhead has lost his hat again.”

“Old … who?” Belinda looked up and saw they were nearing the scarecrow. Even from a dozen feet away, it looked dark and malignant.
 

“Come on,” he said, pulling her along. “Let’s see if we can find his hat or if the ravens have stolen it again. We have to replace it at least once a month when they’re nesting.” They crossed to another corn row.
 

“Excuse me.” Eric let go of her arm and trotted toward a yellowish object on the ground. He picked it up and turned, waving a battered straw hat at her. “Damned ravens took a chunk out of it, but it’s good enough.” He grinned. “Spot me, will you?”

“Spot you?”

“Catch me if I fall.”

“Um, okay.” Belinda followed him to the heavy post that held the scarecrow high above the corn.
 

He placed the hat on his own head then tried the post. “Sturdy as always.”

“How are you going to climb that?” The scarecrow’s feet were at least four feet up.

“Same way as I did when I was a lad.” With that, he went behind the post and easily started climbing - there were footholds attached.
 

Belinda looked at the scarecrow. It was crucified - feet nailed together, arms outstretched and nailed to a crossbeam. It wore old jeans and a faded but garish Hawaiian shirt, blue with yellow pineapples, no doubt to scare off the birds. She couldn’t bring herself to look at its face until Eric asked her if the hat was just right.

She looked up. The straw brim shadowed a stuffed cloth head with big black Xs stitched on it to represent the eyes and mouth. It was a gruesome thing.

“Well?” called Eric.

“Perfect,” Belinda said. It almost looked like the thing’s gloved hands were covered in dried blood, but it was only rust from the nails.
Probably.
 

Eric leapt down. “Damned ravens. The other birds, even the crows, avoid Old Peckerhead, but the ravens aren’t a bit afraid of him.”
 

“Perhaps because the raven is your family crest?”

Eric’s eyes twinkled. “Smart lady. Yes, both here and in England, the ravens have always been the Mannings’ constant companions. It’s said that if they ever leave us, the House of Manning is doomed.” He smiled. “They say the same thing about the Tower of London. If the ravens leave, England will fall.”

“Let’s hope they stay, then,” Belinda said as they began walking. She was happy to get away from Old Peckerhead; she could almost feel his sewn-shut eyes watching her.

“Yes. I think they’ll stay. Some of them are probably the descendants of a pair of ravens that Edward brought with him when he came here.”

She looked out over the green hills in the other direction. “You have orchards, too?”

“Yes. I’ll show you on the way back.” He paused. “You’ve seen our persimmon tree, near the kitchen door?”

“I have.” Belinda felt chilled despite the heat as the memory of the three nuns proffering the over-ripe persimmon came back to her.
 

“It’s far older than it ought to be and it produces fruit out of season. They say it’s cursed. All I know for sure is you shouldn’t eat the fruit. It tastes as if it were grown in the most sulphurous pit of hell.”

“Why don’t you cut it down?”

“I wanted to after my uncle died - he had some sort of unnatural attachment to it - but Grant forbade it.”

Belinda couldn’t help laughing. “Grant
forbade
it? But he works for you.”

“True, he does, but we’ve been friends since our boyhoods and there’s something special about him. I find that things go well when I simply trust his advice, and not so well if I go against it.”

Belinda nodded. “So the tree stays. Did you ever ask him why?”

“Yes. He told me and it’s some sort of nonsense about a curse or something, dates back to the early days here, well before the War Between the States.”

“Dad!” called Cynthia, cutting through the corn. “Come on! I’m starving!’

Thad appeared behind her, trying to hide an ear that he’d picked and stripped.

“Young man, I told you not to pick any corn yet.”

“It was an accident.”
 

“Don’t let it happen again, son. Now, let’s choose some ears suitable for dinner.”
 

“I promise,” Thad said, chewing tender kernels off the purloined ear.

They walked a few yards into the tallest stalks and chose a dozen ears. The kids each took six and ran back toward the cart. Eric offered Belinda his arm again and they carefully made their way out of the field.

“In the early days, our land ran all the way down to Devilswood and most of it was farmed, either by the estate or by tenant farmers. Over the years, we sold land to the tenants and decreased the size of the property considerably. This little farm and our very diminished orchards and vineyards are all that’s left of that era. “

“Your property is still huge,” Belinda said.

“Yes, a few thousand acres - that include the forests edging the back of the property, across to the ocean cliffs. In the early days we also had cattle, sheep, pigs. All we keep now are hens for fresh eggs. Riley asked to bring them in a few years ago. He enjoys caring for them for some reason I can’t fathom.”

“You have ducks and geese and swans, I hear,” Belinda said as they exited the corn and walked to the cart where the kids waited impatiently.
 

“We do, but they don’t share their eggs with us.”

“Let’s go!” Cynthia cried. “I’m starving!”

“Me, too!” echoed Thad.

Belinda seated herself and Eric started the electric cart. Just as he began to pull out there was a raucous scream and a huge peacock flew out of a scrub oak to land in the center of the road ahead of them. Belinda shivered, remembering the cry in the pool the morning before and how Eric had said it was a peacock. She knew now it wasn’t - it was a woman’s scream, not a peacock’s cry.

Cordelia and the Harlequin

Cordelia Heller slipped into Belinda’s bedroom and quickly found the governess’ phone lying on the nightstand. Picking it up, she searched through it, first looking for missed calls. There were at least a dozen from her mother. “Persistent old bitch, aren’t you, Mrs. Moorland?” The woman hadn’t left any messages so Cordelia looked at the texts. There were twice as many, all from dear Mother, who was claiming she’d head right on over to Ravencrest if she didn’t hear anything from Randi Tucker.
And we’d welcome a visit from you.
Cordelia laughed.

Just then, the cell rang. Startled, her first thought was to put the phone back where she’d found it and get out of the room, but then an idea struck her. A much better idea. With a few quick words, she cast a glamour on her voice. It was one of the oldest - and easiest - tricks in her very large book of magick.

“Hello?” Cordelia was tickled by how much she sounded like the spineless governess. She was spot on.

“Well!” The woman on the other end was breathing heavily. “It’s about time you answered your phone! Do you have
any
idea how worried I’ve been? I’m palpitating!”

Cordelia quickly turned over the possibilities in her mind. She could say anything she wanted to; it was like being at an all-you-can-eat buffet, there were so many choices.

Mother Moorland went on. “Did you know that Randi has been looking for you? Do you even care? I haven’t heard a thing - not a
thing!
- from either of you! I suppose you expect me to sit here and worry myself sick about it! Well, if that’s your plan, young lady, then congratulations! You’ve succeeded! I haven’t slept a full night since you left. I can’t even eat!”

Cordelia couldn’t take much more of this - and she settled on her next move. “Mother!” she said in Belinda’s voice. “Come get me! Please!”

For the first time, Mother Moorland went silent.
 

“I hate it here, Mother! I need help!”

“Help?” gasped Mother. “
Help?
Is he hurting you? Oh, I knew it!”

“Yes, Mother. He wouldn’t even let me see Randi. And he…” Cordelia strained her voice. “He
touches
me…”

Mother Moorland gasped. “Touches you?
Touches
you! Do you mean he touches your
messy tulip?
”

Messy tulip?
Cordelia suppressed a laugh. “Yes, Mother. He sticks his fingers right in it when I sleep.”

“I told you -
told
you - he was a sex pervert! Where else does he touch you? And your teats! Has he touched your
teats
?”