The Ghost of Crutchfield Hall by Mary Downing Hahn Read Free Book Online Page A

body small as me could fall through.”
    From the corner behind me I heard a soft sound. The rustling of a dress maybe. A sigh, a laugh so low, I wasn’t sure I really heard it. Sophia was there, watching me, assessing me, scorning me, scorning Nellie.
    Despite myself, I was beginning to feel cross. “Do you always do what people tell you to do, Nellie? Don’t you have any curiosity?”
    â€œI knows my place, miss,” Nellie said in an annoyingly humble voice.
    I was horrified to find myself wanting to slap her face or pull her hair. It was what Sophia would have done.
    â€œI know it ain’t right for me to tell ye what to do, but don’t go up there again,” Nellie begged. “And don’t keep them pretty things. They ain’t yers.”
    While Nellie talked, Sophia whispered, “Don’t listen to her. She’s an ignorant servant. Keep the doll, keep the dress. She’s jealous because I gave them to you instead of to her.”
    â€œNo,” I heard myself say to Nellie, “it’s not right for a stupid girl like you to tell
me
what to do. Go back to the kitchen where you belong. I’m tired of your foolish chatter.”
    â€œOh, miss.” Nellie gave me a horrified look and ran from my room.
    As soon as she was gone, I wanted to call her back. What was wrong with me? I’d never spoken to anyone like that, and I was ashamed of myself. I’d been cruel, thoughtlessly and needlessly cruel.
    At the same time, I was aware of Sophia watching me from the shadows. Had she put those words into my mouth? Was it she who made me speak so cruelly to poor little Nellie?
    I knew that Sophia would scorn me if I ran after Nellie. No one apologized to a servant. It simply wasn’t done.
    So I stayed where I was and stroked Clara Annette’s dark ringlets. “Such a pretty doll,” I whispered. “Do you miss your old owner?”
    â€œOf course she misses me,” Sophia said. “Everybody misses me. I was the favorite—until James came along and ruined everything.”
    On noiseless feet, a shadowy shape crept toward me. The closer it came, the colder I was. It was as if winter had taken a form and entered my warm room.
    At first, Sophia was no more distinct than a figure glimpsed through fog or mist, but as she came nearer, her wavering outline slowly solidified. She wore a stained white silk dress, and her dainty slippers were muddy. What was left of her dark hair was dull and sparse. Her face was narrow and pale, her skin stretched tightly over her skull. Dark shadows ringed her eyes. Her teeth were brown. She smelled of earth and mold.
    In abhorrence, I closed my eyes and tried to tell her to leave, but my mouth shook so badly, I couldn’t speak. Never had I seen such a dreadful sight.
    â€œLook at me,” Sophia said.
    Unwillingly, I opened my eyes. “What do you want with me?” I whispered.
    â€œI’m so cold and so lonely.” Sophia nestled into the rocking chair beside me, as weightless as a puff of cold air. “I need a friend, and so do you. We could be like sisters, sharing secrets.”
    I studied her white face, her stained teeth, her unruly hair, her dull eyes. “I don’t want to be your friend. Or your sister. I won’t, I can’t.” To my shame, I began to cry.
    Sophia gave me a narrow-lipped smile, just the sort I’d expect to see on my aunt’s face. “I tell you, you
will
be my friend, whether you wish to be or not. I always get my way. It’s useless to fight me.”
    With that, she slipped out of the chair and disappeared as quickly as she’d come. For a moment the coal fire flared up; then it died down to embers.
    In shock, I gazed at the place where Sophia had first materialized. She’d stood right there beside the bed. She’d squeezed into the chair beside me, close enough for me to smell her. She’d spoken to me.
    Uncle said the dead did