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

not return. He was wrong.
    Unable to stop shaking, I stared at Clara Annette’s china face. Sophia’s doll, I reminded myself. Not mine.
    Filled with revulsion, I threw the doll across the room. Her head hit the edge of the mantel and she landed on the floor. Like a child fatally injured in a bad fall, she sprawled on her back, arms flung out, head broken.
    Stricken to see such a pretty thing ruined, I picked her up and hid her in the back of a drawer full of extra linens. It wouldn’t do for Aunt to see her gift to Sophia so badly treated.
    Not daring to leave the dress on the bed, I scooped it up and stuffed it into the wardrobe, behind my best dress and my coat.
    Once dress and doll were hidden, I ran downstairs. I did not want to remain alone in my room for fear Sophia might return.

S even

    Â 
    Â 
    U NCLE AND A UNT HAD NOT come back from their trip to town, so I joined Mrs. Dawson in the kitchen. To my relief, Nellie wasn’t there. After speaking to her so rudely, I couldn’t face her.
    â€œYou look poorly,” Mrs. Dawson said. “Are you coming down with something?”
    I shook my head. “I’m just tired.”
    â€œDrink your tea. It should perk you up.”
    I poured milk into my cup, added sugar, and filled it with tea. Steam rose around my face, comforting me. I breathed in the sweet smell of Earl Grey, my favorite blend, rich with bergamot.
    Mrs. Dawson sliced bread and passed it over to me, along with a serving of shepherd’s pie. Its mashed-potato crust was baked golden, and the vegetables and beef inside filled the kitchen with an aroma that made me hungry in spite of myself.
    Mrs. Dawson watched me eat. “You may not be ailing,” she said, “but something’s eating at you.”
    Looking Mrs. Dawson in the eye, I said, “Do you believe in ghosts?”
    Mrs. Dawson must have heard the fear in my voice. Studying me closely, she said, “Has something frightened you, Florence?”
    Surrendering to my need for comfort, I flung my arms around her and pressed my face against her soft body. “Sophia,” I sobbed. “I saw her today. She was hideous, horrible, monstrous.”
    Mrs. Dawson rocked me gently. “No, no, Florence. Sophia is dead and gone.”
    â€œBut I tell you, I saw her,” I insisted. “She
spoke
to me.”
    Mrs. Dawson took me by my shoulders and held me at arm’s length. “And I tell you, you dreamed it.” Her eyes implored me to agree with her. “You’re lonely here, you want a friend, and you’ve made yourself believe in Sophia.”
    I shook my head. “Surely Aunt has seen her—”
    â€œNo more, no more. I’ll hear no more.” Mrs. Dawson’s voice quivered as if I was scaring her. “The poor child’s soul rests in peace now. Father Browne saw to it. He blessed her proper.”
    Making a shooing motion, she said, “Go on now. Find a book to read. Forget the dream. Forget Sophia. Say nothing about her to Nellie or anyone else. You’ll only bring grief on yourself.”
    Defeated, I gave up and left Mrs. Dawson to her work. As I walked away, I heard laughter in the shadows. A cold finger brushed my cheek. Footsteps pattered behind me. I did not look back. I knew who it was.
    At the top of the steps, Sophia appeared beside me, her face tinged blue, her eyes circled with dark smudges like bruises. “Why don’t you visit James?” she whispered. “I know you want to.”
    I drew back, repulsed by the smell of damp earth that clung to her. “Aunt and Uncle forbid it.”
    â€œI never let others stop
me
from doing what I want.” Keeping her hand on my arm, she floated into my room as if no more than air, but I could not break away from her.
    My wardrobe opened, and Sophia pulled out the blue silk dress. “Wear this. You must be presentable if you are to visit James.”
    Even though I knew it was futile