LeRoux Manor Read online

  The girl lowered her gaze from the trees and looked at the woman. “Me too.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the woman’s legs in a tight hug. Then Camille finally saw the little girl in full—a child in a party dress that was now torn and dirty. Camille’s heart pounded as the familiarity dawned on her, and she had to remind herself it was just a dream. This wasn’t real.

  “Now that we have that settled, my name is Caroline,” the woman said. “Let’s go back to the manor, get you into a nice hot bath, and put some food in your belly.” She held out her hand, waiting for Alice to reach for it in her own time, and led them back toward the house. Alice turned and looked over her shoulder, as though she knew Camille was watching. A devious smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and those crocodile tears quickly dried up, forgotten.

  CAMILLE AWOKE WITH a start, trying to catch her breath as she fumbled for the bedside lamp. Light flooded the room, and she leaned back against the pillows, panting. The girl in her dream was Mena. She’d looked over the girl’s portrait enough times that she would recognise her anywhere. Only in the portrait, Mena’s hair was auburn, like her own. And according the family tree, Mena should’ve been in her fifties when Caroline was an adult, not a child. She remembered the photo she’d found of Mena with the staff, thinking it was even less likely now that this second girl was just a look-alike.

  What the hell is going on? Camille suddenly felt overwhelmed with fatigue, and even though she wanted to get up and write down every detail of her dream, she felt herself being pulled back into slumber.

  A chill passed over her, and Camille reached for the covers. When her fingers failed to find them, she felt herself rousing into wakefulness with an uncomfortable hardness under her head and shoulders. She opened her eyes and blinked. This wasn’t her bedroom.

  Clambering to her feet, Camille shrugged off the lingering sleepiness like a heavy coat. Faint light barely filtered through the small windows at the far end of the room, and she realised she was in the attic. She frowned down at her feet, as though they could somehow reveal to her a plausible explanation as to how she’d gotten here. Then she saw the envelope beneath her toes and bent to pick it up. It looked old, and perhaps it had once been white but was now brown and felt thin and frail in her hands. Walking toward the window, she hoped for a better look, but the dawn light wasn’t strong enough yet for her to read the faded writing on the front. The large writing in the centre and the smaller script in the upper left corner made her think it was most likely a letter. Keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, Camille hurried toward to the staircase. Ignoring her racing heartbeat, she descended the dark stairs as quickly as she dared.

  ONCE SHE WAS BACK IN her room with the door closed firmly behind her, Camille flicked on her bedside lamp and sat on the edge of the bed. The exposed sheets felt cold under her pyjamas, and she wondered how long she’d been up in the attic. The thought brought with it a wave of panic at the uncertainty, but she shook it off and held the letter under the light. It was addressed to a Mrs Jane Fielding. Camille carefully opened the envelope, which had been unsealed long ago, and withdrew the folded paper. With even greater care, she unfolded the pages, worried they’d fall apart at her touch. The letter was handwritten in perfect, slanting cursive and dated 1st November, 1874.

  My Dearest Mother,

  The most extraordinary occurrence befell me yesterday. My prayers have been answered, though not in the way I had expected, and I had to get word to you as soon as I could.

  As you know, I have been melancholy for quite some time now, as it has pained me greatly that I’ve not been able to conceive another child. You’ve told me time and again over the years to hold true to myself—that we all have a path to walk, whether or not we understand the journey.

  Well, Mother, I think my path was revealed to me yesterday. I was having one of my melancholy spells upon reflecting that our most beloved Sybil would be a mother herself in a few short years, gods permitting (things seem to be quite serious between her and her beau, Aleric). I became overwhelmed at the memories of her infant years, so overcome with longing to be blessed with another but also knowing that I would soon be past my time to conceive. I needed fresh air, and I ventured out for a walk in the woods while the LeRoux family were out, all the while wondering what my purpose was now that Sybil was grown. Surely it wasn’t my sole purpose to serve the LeRoux family—not that they haven’t been good to me, but what would I do if I had no other purpose? Did I have to wait to become a grandmother before I felt happiness again?

  No word of a lie, Mother, I had sat in the woods for not ten minutes when a young girl appeared in front of me. Oh, my! She looked such a fright. I hate to think how long she’d wandered the woods on her own and with no idea how close she was to the manor.

  I call her Alice, for she is still quite confused and unable to recall her own name or what happened to her. The lack of food and water wouldn’t help, I suspect. When I asked her of her parents, she said she knew not of them, only that her father didn’t want her anymore because he thought her naughty. The poor child! I know what you’re thinking, and of course, I notified the authorities after first speaking with Mistress LeRoux. She has been so kindly toward me. She said Alice can stay with me until we determine her kin. I do not know how, but I am certain she has none. Alice can’t be any older than five or six years old, yet there is a wisdom in her far beyond her years. I know in my heart that she was sent to me—or more so, that we were sent to each other.

  Sybil is quite put out and thinks I am being ridiculous, as though I endeavoured to take in some stray animal found in the wild, not some defenceless child. Watson, on the other hand, simply said it warmed his heart to see me smile again.

  Oh, Mother, I really do hope the child may stay with me. I know you are too unwell to travel, but I do hope the two of you can meet.

  Your loving daughter,

  Caroline x

  Camille lowered the letter and stared blankly across the room. It took her a moment to make sense of all the questions flooding her mind. The girl in her dream, the girl in the letter—Alice—was Mena. She had no doubt about it. The look that Mena had shot her in that dream made Camille think the girl knew exactly who she was—and where she was. But she was too smart, even at her young age, to say otherwise.

  You’re being ridiculous! It was just a dream.

  And yet, Camille just couldn’t shake the feeling that it was so much more than that. It felt more like a memory, but how could she explain why Mena’s hair was now white? Or why she was still the same age as the day she’d vanished from LeRoux Manor almost sixty years prior? Camille massaged her aching temples, wondering how on earth she was going to explain the latest experience to her friends. When she looked down again at the letter resting on the bed beside her, she seriously considered keeping it to herself. All she knew for certain was that, for whatever reason, she’ d been given a glimpse into the past—and she honestly didn’t know if she could expect anyone to believe her. It was all happening for a reason, she knew, but for the first time, she questioned how much she really wanted to know what that reason was.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  H

  EY,” GRACE SAID, nudging Camille in the side. “Earth to Camille.”

  Camille looked up from where she’d been doodling in her workbook as the teacher cleared his throat in annoyance. She waited for him to return to his lecture before she turned to Grace beside her. “Sorry. I’m not really with it today.”

  “Is everything okay? Did something else happen?” Grace whispered.

  Camille paused, pretending to watch for the teacher while she pondered what to say. “No. I’m just tired. I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep lately.” Grace nodded, but her frown made it clear she didn’t buy the excuse for a second. Camille returned to her doodling, the steady drone of the teacher’s voice drifting through one ear and out the other. All she could think about was the letter and the look on Mena’s face in the dream as C
aroline led her back to the manor. None of it made any sense. It was impossible. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just a dream. Still, Camille needed more answers before she discussed it with the others.

  As the teacher turned to write on the board, Grace leaned over and whispered, “I’m working tonight at the bookstore. Yes, even Woodville does late-night shopping on Thursdays. Lachlan’s keen to hang out and do some research. Do you want to come? Jayne will be keen too, and Jonathan will come if the rest of us are.”

  Camille nodded. “Sure. I have to go home first, but I’ll get Mum or Dad to drop me over. What time?”

  Grace shrugged. “I start at four and won’t finish ‘til nine, so whenever you want is fine. Just bring your laptop and the professor’s research.”

  “Okay. I’ll get there when I can.”

  CAMILLE RAN HER FINGERS over the edge of Caroline’s letter. If her friends found out she’d kept it from them, she knew they’d be annoyed, especially after how invested they all were. With a final look, she folded up the letter and gently eased it back into the envelope. Feeling guilty about keeping the secret, it seemed that showing them the letter would be a fair compromise, but she would decide whether to tell them about the dream when the time came.

  Camille stifled a yawn, walked toward the wardrobe, and opened the doors. She pulled a pair of jeans off the shelf and threw them over her shoulder, then reached out for a shirt off the rack and stopped. A black item she didn’t recognise caught her eye, hanging slightly over the edge of the bottom shelf. Bending down, she grabbed the item and held it out. It was the shawl.

  This can’t be happening...

  There was no denying the shawl was the same one from her dream; it even had the same holes in the delicate knit. Her hands trembled as she examined it, and she couldn’t stop shaking her head. The instant sound of her phone ringing on the bedside table startled her enough that she dropped the shawl. For a minute, she stared at it on the floor, as though it were a snake intent on biting her, and her phone kept ringing. Sidling away from the shawl, worried it would somehow disappear if she took her eyes off it, she hurried toward her bedside table and picked up the phone. Jayne was calling her. Camille fought the urge to ignore the call and finally answered it.

  “Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “Uh, Camille? Have I got you at a bad time?”

  Camille sighed. “No. Sorry, Jayne. I’m just in a rush trying to get ready.”

  “That’s why I rang. My mum has a shift at the hospital tonight and won’t be able to pick me up later. We’re wondering, if we pick you up and take you to the bookstore, would your parents mind dropping me home?”

  “Definitely. That should be fine.”

  “Awesome. I’d be right miffed if I had to miss out.”

  Camille smiled at the relief in Jayne’s voice. “What time do you think you’ll be here? I’ll wait out the front for you.”

  “Give us about half an hour?”

  “No worries. I’ll see you soon.” Camille hung up and slipped the phone into her bag on the bed. Then she slung the bag over her shoulders and with slow steps walked back to the shawl lying on the floor. She gingerly picked it up, wanting to tell herself it was just a coincidence, but after her dream the night before, she was starting to believe more in the theory that somehow, she was being shown these things for a reason. She didn’t know whether it was the house, or the old woman, or both—or neither. But they’d only lived in the house a week and the ... activity ... was increasing with each day.

  Now, even as she held the shawl, she felt her initial fear fading away. Something comforting about the worn piece of clothing tugged at her, like an early-childhood memory she couldn’t quite reach but still made her feel safe. She folded up the shawl and gently tucked it into her bag.

  Camille closed the bedroom door firmly behind her and walked down the hall toward the staircase. Halfway there, she heard her parents’ laughter wafting through the house, and she followed the sound until she found them in one of the ground-floor rooms.

  “Oh, hello, sweetheart. How was your day?” her father asked, approaching her to place a kiss on her forehead

  “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  Camille walked past him and went to kiss her mother, who sat on a long, antique lounge. “Yeah, nothing interesting to report. But we’re all meeting at the bookstore to work on our assignments together.”

  “Why the bookstore?” her father asked, sitting on the second identical lounge.

  “Grace has to work tonight, so this way, she can still pitch in.”

  “I wonder how much actual paid work she’ll get in with you lot there distracting her,” her mother said with a smile.

  Camille rolled her eyes. “It’ll be fine, Mum. We won’t distract her while she’s busy. At least this way, she can still sort of join in.”

  “I’m just stirring,” her mother reassured her. “Do you need a lift into town?”

  “No thanks. Jayne’s mum is picking me up. But would it be okay if we took her home?”

  “Not a problem.” Her mother covered a yawn.

  “I can pick them up, hon,” Camille’s father said. “You look exhausted.”

  “I am, but it’s an accomplished exhausted. I can’t believe how nicely this room is cleaning up.”

  “It looks great, Mum.” Camille scanned the room. Between the two antique lounges with their teal upholstery sat a long, wooden coffee table gleaming with fresh polish and topped with a runner that matched the lounges. On one side of the room were three of the same beautiful windows Camille had in her own room, only these didn’t have window seats. On the right-hand wall stood an impressive fireplace, with lion heads carved into the stone on either side of the mantle. It too looked freshly scrubbed and cleaned. Spanning the length of the left wall was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf crammed with books.

  “What do you call this room?” she asked.

  “I think they originally would have called this a sitting room or a parlour,” her mother replied.

  “It’s very lavish.”

  “Well, the LeRoux’s were a very well-to-do family, despite their tragedy.”

  “Is it okay if I take a look at these books when I have some time?” Camille asked, longing to drop everything and look at them now. “Of course. I suppose you could say they’re yours now.”

  “Awesome. Okay, well, I told Jayne I would meet them out the front. I’ll text you later when we’re ready to be picked up, if that’s okay, Dad?”

  “Sure. Go enjoy your research with your friends.”

  Camille said good night and walked out into the foyer. She caught Miss McAllister; half hidden as she peered out through the staircase balustrade. They stared at each other for a few moments, and Camille fought the urge to say something horrible. Instead, she declared, “Good evening to you, Miss McAllister!” The woman scowled and retreated. Shaking her head, Camille continued to the front door and opened it just as the car lights rose up over the bend toward the house.

  In the car, Camille politely answered Jayne’s mother’s friendly questions, but her mind kept returning to the letter and the shawl. Stifling a yawn, she realised how tired she was, as though with each passing day in the house, more of her energy seeped from her. The idea popped into her mind that it almost felt like the house was taking her energy from her on purpose—that in order to show her the past, it needed energy from the present. She knew if she voiced this concern, either her friends or her family would tell her she was being silly, that she just needed sleep. She tried to convince herself of the same.

  As they walked into the bookstore, Grace waved at them from behind the counter where she was serving customers. Then she gestured toward where Jonathan and Lachlan lounged on a set of couches, a tray of coffees on the table before them.

  “Took you girls long enough,” Jonathan joked as Camille and Jeyne joined them. “I was almost tempted to crack open a book.”

  “
Impatient to get started on more research, then?” Jayne asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Jonathan scoffed. “Hardly. But I can’t leave you lot to your own devices while you have all the fun without me, can I?”

  “Did you bring your laptop?” Lachlan asked Camille. She nodded, frustrated by the warmth she felt rushing into her cheeks under his gaze.

  “It’s surprisingly busy in here tonight,” Jonathan said. “I think I heard that one of the staff called in sick. But Grace has a break in half an hour, so she said to just get started without her and she’ll pop over when she can.”

  Camille reached into her bag to pull out her laptop, her hand momentarily resting on the shawl before she quickly brushed it aside. She would need to wait for Grace to join them if she was going to say anything at all.

  As she stifled another yawn, Jonathan pushed the tray of coffees towards them. “You look like you could use this.”

  Camille gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, is one of those for me too?” Grace asked as she approached. Then she perched on the edge of the couch beside Jonathan.

  “Of course!” He passed a coffee up to her before wrapping his arm around her.

  “Jonathan said you didn’t have a break for another half an hour,” Jayne stated.

  “I switched when I saw you guys arrive. I wanted the goss before you got started.”

  “So do I,” Jonathan stated. “Lachlan told me you found some of his uncle’s research.”

  “Since when are you interested in research?” Jayne scoffed, then took a sip of her coffee.

  “Historically... never. But this is different. This is someone we know. Well, we don’t technically know him. You know what I mean. What are the odds that Lachlan’s uncle disappearing is connected to the manor?”