The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) by Tamara Thorne, Alistair Cross Read Free Book Online

laughter and the red-haired girl on the other side of the table set her newspaper down, revealing a black maid’s uniform trimmed in white. “Knock it off, you two,” she said. “They’re just messing with you, Belinda.” She stood and held her hand out. “Hi, I’m Phoebe. Glad to meet you. Grant and Riley are married.”  
    “Oh! I get it.” Belinda took the pretty redhead’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Phoebe.” She looked back at Grant and Riley. “Forgive me. My upbringing was very sheltered.”
    Grant nodded. “How bad was it?”
    “All-girls school, Catholic. My mother made sure I was under the thumbs of nuns from the time I entered first grade.”
    “Jesus,” Phoebe said. “I thought I had it bad. At least I got to go to a regular high school. How did you survive?” She paused. “I’m sorry for swearing. You’re Catholic, I guess?”
    Belinda laughed, at ease. “No. Those nuns put me off religion for good.”
    “You might be interested to know, Belinda, that the east wing, on the third floor, just above Manning Memoriam, was once home to an orphanage.” Grant smiled. “It was run by nuns.”
    “And it’s supposed to be haunted by them!” Phoebe sounded excited.
    “Nonsense,” Riley said. “No worries, Belinda. The nuns are long gone.”
    “Good.” She smiled. “I’ve had enough nuns for this lifetime.” She paused, noticing the fragrant aromas of coffee and hash browns. Her stomach growled.
    “Coffee?” Grant asked. The man really was a mind reader.
    “Please.”
    “Sweet and white, like Riley?”
    “Yes, please.”
    “What is Manning Memoriam?” Belinda asked while Grant prepared coffee.
    He brought her a cup and one for himself. “The Manning family business has always been death,” he said. “And perfume. They were all stone carvers until the 1700s, when Thomas Manning - our Eric Manning’s direct ancestor - became a perfumier. Thomas was a bit of a black sheep, you see, but he made a grand name for himself and his sons, who followed in his footsteps. Why, two of our Mr. Manning’s brothers run the business from London to this day. Thomas’ brother Edward and his son headed to America and continued catering to the dead. They became famous for their unique statuary and other memento mori.”  
    Grant sipped his coffee. “They added new services to the business, becoming one of the first embalmers after the Civil War, and by the Victorian era, the basement of the east wing was a full-service mortuary, one of the first and most elegant in the United States. They had a studio upstairs in the east wing that caught morning light perfectly for painting portraits of the dead. For many years the chambers now occupied by Mrs. Heller served as viewing rooms, and her drawing room was the chapel.” He cocked an eyebrow and gave her a half-smile.
    “Seriously?”  
    “Quite. This mansion has served many purposes over the years. At various times it housed a modest orphanage, a small hospice for Civil War veterans, and even an asylum after the witchcraft scare.”
    Belinda remembered the cab driver’s words. “Witchcraft?”
    “I’ll tell you the story some time.” Grant smiled.
    “Okay,” Belinda said. “I’ll wait for that story, but tell me, what is a memento mori?”
    “It’s Latin for ‘Remember that you will die.’ They’re literal mementos of the dead. The Mannings created and sold art with this theme, both to the public and to mausoleum and cemetery owners. In the Victorian era, post-mortem photographs became the most desired memento mori. The Manning photographers had their own office and studio here where people brought their deceased children, pets, relatives, whatever they wanted.” He shrugged. “Other times the photographers went to the customers’ homes to do their work. Sometime I’ll show you the little ‘museum’ we have, if you like.”
    “She doesn’t want to see that stuff, Grant!” Phoebe said. “Do you, Belinda?”
    “Um, I