LeRoux Manor Page 9

  “Where did you say all the Woodville stuff was?” Grace asked, and Camille pointed toward the back wall. They went there first, and Grace scanned the shelves. “Wow. Not a lot here, is there?”

  “There isn’t really a lot to write about aside from the manor,” Lachlan started. “Beyond that, we’re just like any other small town, I expect.” They each grabbed books from the collection and carried them to a table.

  “What’s the best way to go about this?” Camille asked.

  “How about we start by checking contents and indexes for any reference to the McAllister’s or any other servants at the manor,” Lachlan suggested. So, they each grabbed a book from the small stack and got to work. It wasn’t long before they realised their search was going to be more difficult than they thought.

  “Can I help you with anything?” Miss Liddell asked. All three of them jumped at her unexpected and silent approach.

  “Uh, not sure...” Camille stammered. “We’re looking for some specific information but not having much luck.”

  “What information would that be?”

  “We’re trying to find more information about the manor staff,” Lachlan stated confidently. “We know the McAllister family have worked there since it was first built, so we were hoping to find some kind of family tree or employment records. Do you know if either of those exist?”

  Miss Liddell only stared at him in response. He shifted under the intensity of her gaze, then looked at Grace and Camille.

  “Uh, Miss Liddell?” Grace asked.

  The librarian turned her attention to Grace, as though she hadn’t done anything strange, then said, “I’ll be right back.” The woman turned and walked away; her footsteps soundless on the carpeted floor.

  “What was that about?” Camille whispered.

  “I have no idea,” Lachlan replied, gazing around the library.

  Grace frowned. “That was super weird...” Camille nodded.

  “I don’t really care,” Lachlan said with a shrug, “as long as she has something that’ll help us. I guess we can put these books away.”

  It took about ten minutes—enough time for them to wonder if Miss Liddell was actually coming back—for her to reappear. In her hands was a densely packed manila folder, bound together with a piece of string, like an old-fashioned parcel. She placed it on the table between them.

  “What’s that?” Camille asked.

  “Everything I have on the manor that isn’t already published. It was donated to the library. From a private collection, so to speak.”

  “You mean, someone was actually interested enough to research the manor?” Grace asked.

  “Something like that,” Miss Liddell replied. “A professor was very interested in the history of the manor... I think it was about twenty years ago now. Possibly longer. I was only a library assistant then, but I recall him being quite charming. Some of his theories were a little too fanciful for my liking.”

  “Fanciful how?” Camille queried.

  The raised her eyebrows. “He had a rather distasteful fascination with the paranormal. The man was here all the time, writing up his findings and theories. Then one day, he just stopped coming. Shortly after that, I received this. It was quite the scandal.”

  “I didn’t know a donation to a library was considered a scandal,” Grace said with a frown.

  Miss Liddell stared at Lachlan again for a moment. “Well, he simply up and vanished. We never saw or heard from him again. I do remember the letter that came with the folder was very strange. Dated a few weeks before he disappeared, yet the package didn’t come to us until at least a month after. I suppose none of that really matters now. Everything he researched is in the folder. Please be careful with it.” Then she walked away and left them to it.

  “Curiouser and curiouser...” Camille whispered.

  “At least she came up with the goods.” Lachlan pushed the folder toward her. “It’s your family’s home. You should open it.”

  Camille gave him a small smile as she placed her hands on the folder. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt a lot different than opening a book. This felt more personal. Carefully, she untied the string, and Lachlan and Grace leaned closer. The folder was worn around the edges, and Camille gently opened it to reveal a stack of papers haphazardly thrown together.

  “Well, this’ll be fun to sort through,” Lachlan stated.

  Camille exchanged a questioning look with Grace, unsure if he was serious or joking. Then she picked up the first few papers and flipped through them. “Looks like everything’s dated, so that’s something.” She placed the A4 hand-written pages back in the folder. “How about I split this pile into three?”

  “Sounds good,” Grace replied, and Lachlan nodded. Camille grabbed the first stack and handed them to Grace. The next stack went to Lachlan, leaving Camille with what remained in the folder. Grace glanced quickly through her pile. “At least his handwriting’s neat.”

  “It might be easier if we try to sort everything into chronological order first,” Lachlan suggested, reaching for the first pile.

  “If you say so.” Grace pulled her stack toward her.

  Camille took the last stack and marvelled at how a professor could be so disorganised.

  They searched through the donated research in silence until Camille lifted a page to reveal a journal, “Hey guys, check this out.”

  “Awesome,” Lachlan exclaimed. “Open it. Maybe it’s got the professor’s name.”

  Camille opened the journal and immediately found the legible name written on the first page. “Professor Robert Rivers.”

  “Woah, what?” Grace stood from her chair and walked around the table to peer over Camille’s shoulder.

  “What? Camille asked. “Do you know who that is?”

  “Uh, that’s Lachlan’s surname.” Both girls looked up at him.

  His eyes were wide, and he seemed to have paled even more, if possible.

  “Lachlan?” Camille prompted.

  He swallowed thickly. “My uncle. I never met him, but I know he was obsessed with the manor. My father was really messed when he disappeared. Mum said he’s never been the same since. I guess that’s why I’ve always kind of been so interested in it. But I never imagined finding his work. Or that he’d done so much research on the place.” He eyed the journal with a slight scowl.

  Camille lowered her gaze. “I’m really sorry to hear that.” “Thanks,” he said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the journal with an expression Camille thought was part intrigue and part fear.

  “Here.” She pushed the journal toward him. “You should have it.”

  Lachlan only nodded in response, reaching out for the journal and pulling it toward him. He sat there for a moment, one hand on the cover while the fingers of his other hand tapped on the table. Camille and Grace exchanged a quick look, and Camille wondered whether this had been such a good idea after all. Finally, Lachlan opened the journal and ran his fingers over his uncle’s name. “How about we leave the journal for last and look through these papers for anything on the McAllister’s?” he suggested, closing the journal and pushing it to the side.

  “Uh, sure. Whatever you want to do,” Camille replied, taking a quick look at where the journal sat, all the more intrigued to learn of its contents. Instead, the three of them focused on their individual piles of paper.

  It was a slow process; everything was hand-written and at times hard to read. It seemed if the professor was particularly excited about something, his handwriting became almost unreadable. Yet Camille found herself enjoying the process of reading and deciphering, trying to pull anything relevant from the professor’s thoughts. Despite the less-than-ideal way they’d come into possession of the professor’s work, she felt herself forming a connection to her new home and its past.

  “I found it,” Grace cried, then ducked her head when she seemed to remember where they were. “I almost gave up, but this has to be it.” Lachlan and Camille moved closer and huddled around
Grace for a better look. It wasn’t set out like the LeRoux family tree in her book; it was a page of dates with entries beside each, and it was the exact information they’d been after.

  THE MCNALLY FAMILY TREE

  YEAR

  NAME

  NOTES

  1807

  Anne McNally

  McNally family comes under the employ of LeRoux family.

  1817

  Anne McNally

  McNally family move with the LeRoux family into the new manor.

  Year of Mena’s disappearance and Caleb’s murder.

  1827

  Anne McNally & Dougal McFarland

  Marry

  ?

  Catherine (McNally?)

  Possible cousin to Anne McNally

  1829

  Watson McFarland

  Born

  1849

  Watson McFarland & Caroline Felding

  Marry

  1850

  Sybil McFarland

  Born

  1874

  Alice McFarland

  Child adopted by Caroline

  1877

  Sybil McFarland & Alaric Stafford

  Marry

  1880

  Mary Stafford

  Born

  1910

  Mary Stafford & Malcolm McAllister

  Marry

  1911

  Thomas McAllister

  Born

  1940

  Thomas McAllister & Lucy Grey

  Marry

  1942

  Robert McAllister

  Margaret McAllister

  Born – Twins

  “Look,” Lachlan said, pointing at the page. “Here’s the McAllister’s down the bottom, born in 1942.”

  “And there’s Caroline.” Camille pointed to the entry higher up on the page. “1849. Watson McFarland married Caroline Felding.”

  “Woah, 1849... So she married into the McAllister family, then,” Lachlan stated.

  “Looks like it.” Camille’s enthusiasm faltered for a moment when she spotted another name on the list. She pointed to the line for 1817, the year the manor was completed and the LeRoux family tragedy unfolded.

  “He’s listed Catherine—cousin of Anne McNally?”

  “So?” Lachlan shook his head. “Anne was the first in the family to work at the manor. Maybe he just didn’t know if Catherine had worked there too.”

  “She did,” Camille replied.

  “How do you know?” Grace asked.

  “It sounds silly, but the dream I had... the one in the attic with the trunk... I heard a little girl say the name Catherine. It can’t be a coincidence.” Grace and Lachlan just stared at the page.

  “I think there might be more going on here than we thought.” Lachlan leaned back in his chair and lifted his arms for a stretch.

  “Let’s focus on one mystery at a time,” Grace suggested. “So, Caroline married into the McAllister family tree in 1849, but it doesn’t say how old she was. A year later they had a daughter. Sybil.”

  “What about this?” Lachlan pointed to a side note. “Caroline adopted a girl in 1874 named Alice.”

  “That seems odd...” Grace murmured. “By then, Sybil would have been twenty-four and Caroline would’ve had to at least be in her forties.”

  “Yeah, this is weird,” Camille added. “Maybe Alice was a relation or an orphan she took in?”

  “Maybe,” Lachlan replied. “We might find the paperwork for it in all this.”

  After another exhaustive scan through the pages, they found nothing.

  “Does Woodville have a registry?” Camille asked. “I’ll search the net when I get home.”

  “Worth a shot,” Grace agreed. They turned to Lachlan, who seemed to have been too busy flicking through his uncle’s journal to hear them.

  “Lachlan?” Grace nudged him.

  “Huh? Oh, sorry. I just saw the last entry.”

  “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to skip to the end?” Grace joked.

  “What does it say?” Camille asked, shifting to the edge of her seat, her hands clasped on her lap beneath the table. She couldn’t say why, but she suddenly felt anxious.

  Lachlan gave her a quick glance before returning to the page. “Well, it says that in order to further his research, he’d convinced Charles LeRoux to allow him a limited stay at the manor. On the condition Charles could review his research before it left the house.”

  “That’s it? That’s the last entry?” Camille asked.

  He nodded. “So we know he went to the manor and was never seen again.”

  “We don’t know for sure that was the last time he was seen,” Grace cut in. “Just because it says that was his plan doesn’t mean it happened. There’s no proof he was at the manor. He could have left town before then.”

  “Look at all of this, then,” Lachlan replied, scowling. “Do you really think he’d just leave it all behind and pass up on the opportunity to his obsession right there, at the source?”

  Camille and Grace exchanged glances. “All I’m saying,” Grace said, “is we don’t know for sure that he was there. At least, not yet. We have to keep an open mind.”

  “If you say so. I have to go.” He didn’t look up at either of them as he stood and placed the journal in his bag, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was almost as an afterthought before he turned and walked away.

  “What the hell?” Camille whispered.

  “I know, right?” Grace answered in equally hushed tones before returning to her pile of notes.

  Camille stared after Lachlan, wanting to go after him but not wanting to face the questions and innuendos from Grace if she did.

  “I didn’t know much about your uncle,” Grace said. “I don’t think anyone did. Which makes me wonder why a man as private as Charles LeRoux would agree to let someone stay at the manor. Especially someone with the intent of investigating.”

  Camille leaned back in her chair. “You’re right. It doesn’t make much sense. Maybe he knew there was something going on there and wanted to get answers.”

  “Maybe we’ll never know,” Grace added. “Did you find anything in his stuff that indicated he’d seen the old woman?”

  “Honestly, I have no idea. I haven’t been over that side of the manor yet. I’m not even sure my parents have. I think they’re leaving it until last, out of respect. All I know is that he kept to a small part of the manor and left the rest of it untouched.”

  “Might be worth having a look,” Grace suggested, and Camille nodded silently. A chill ran up her spine.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  C

  AMILLE KNEW SHE was dreaming. She could tell straight away, because the scene before her had a strange ochre hue to it. She watched a woman walking across the manor grounds. Everything was lush and perfectly manicured, and even in her dream-state, Camille longed to run barefoot along the grass. Forcing herself to focus, she turned her attention to the woman again. She was a fair distance away, yet Camille could see enough to know she was a woman roughly in her forties and couldn’t possibly be a LeRoux—not with the way she dressed. Her skirt was long and black, coming up high to the waist, and her white shirt billowed at the shoulders before cinching at the wrists. The apron hanging from her neck and fastened around her waist, though, gave away her station.

  The woman didn’t appear to be in any great hurry. In fact, she seemed sad, melancholy, her gaze focused on the ground directly in front of her rather than ahead. Camille wanted to reach out to her, to ask her if she was okay, but she apparently was only meant to watch in this dream. The woman placed her hands on her belly, and a quick sob escaped her, filled with yearning and pain. As though sensing someone watching her, she picked up the pace and, to Camille’s surprise, headed straight toward the woods. She only went in far enough so as to hide herself from anyone on the grounds, then she sat on a moss-covered log. The woman buried her face in her apron and wept. Camille felt the woman’s distress and longed
to comfort her for reasons she couldn’t understand.

  She blinked, suddenly feeling dizzy as she found herself farther in the woods, the crying woman only just visible ahead through the trees. She felt her hand squeezed, and she looked down to find a little girl at her side. Her hair so blonde it was almost white, tied halfway up with a dirty lavender ribbon and peppered with twigs and leaves. She looked like she’d taken quite the tumble through the woods. The girl stared straight ahead, and together, they walked toward the woman.

  The sound of their feet crunching on the leaves and sticks below them made the woman look up and wipe frantically at her face, as though she feared discovery. The woman peered through the trees, trying to see who approached. Camille paused and without looking down released the child’s hand before gently urging her forward. Still hidden behind the trees, she saw the woman’s expression morph into surprise and joy.

  “Why, hello, there,” the woman said. “My, you are a mess, aren’t you? Why don’t you come over here so I can get a better look at you?” The woman held out her hands, but the girl stopped. The woman lowered her hands and smiled. “Well, now. You look like you have been through quite the ordeal. Where are your parents?”

  “I don’t know,” the little girl whispered. “Daddy didn’t want me anymore. He thinks I’m naughty.”

  The woman’s smile faltered in a shadow of disbelief, but she quickly dismissed it, and the smile returned. “Well, he’s clearly mistaken. Why don’t you come on up to the house with me, and we’ll get you fixed up?”

  “Has everyone gone home now? I hate crowds. Adults are so boring.”

  The woman looked down at her, scowling a little in confusion. “There are no guests at the manor at present, if that’s what you mean. Just the family and servants, as it is most of the time. What’s your name?”

  The girl turned and studied the treetops towering overhead. “I don’t remember,” she said firmly, yet her lower lip trembled.

  “Now, now.” The woman stood, stepped forward, and placing her hands gently and tentatively on the girl’s arms. “It’s all right. I’m sure it will come to you once you’ve had the chance to rest awhile. For now, how about I call you... Alice? I do love that name.”