Free The Ghost of Crutchfield Hall by Mary Downing Hahn

uncle’s hand. “Is James well enough to have a governess?”
    â€œYes, I think it will do him good.” Uncle smiled at me. “She could give lessons to both of you. I can’t think of anything better for him. Or for you.”
    Suddenly worried, I looked at Uncle anxiously. “Will James want to see me again?”
    â€œI talked to him before dinner. He wants you to know he’s sorry for his outburst.”
    â€œI’m relieved to hear that, Uncle. I would enjoy taking lessons with James.” I paused a moment before asking an important question. “But will Aunt agree to my staying here? She seems determined to be rid of me.”
    Uncle contemplated the fire as if the words he needed might be found in its flames. “My sister often wants things she doesn’t get,” he said softly. “She hasn’t had a happy life.”
    With an attempt at a cheerful smile, he turned to me. “I prefer to keep you here with James. So here you will stay. Tomorrow I shall begin my search for a suitable governess.”
    With that, he reopened his book and I reopened mine. For some time we read in silent harmony. It didn’t matter that Sophia joined us. It didn’t matter that she crept close and whispered, “Aunt might not get everything she wants, but I do.” It didn’t matter that she drew some of the warmth from the fire. With uncle beside me, I felt safe.
    Going up to bed after supper was a different matter. Buried under a heap of quilts, I shivered as if I’d never be warm. Although I didn’t see or hear her, I knew Sophia could be anywhere, visible or invisible, hiding in dark corners, watching and planning, mocking me, scaring me, a presence following me as closely as my own shadow.

N ine

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    I N THE MORNING, I WENT down to breakfast feeling more tired than I’d been before I’d gone to bed. Sophia had chased me through dream after dream all night long. She wanted me to do something, she said I had to, and I knew I mustn’t obey her. She was wicked, and the thing she wanted done was wicked too. I had to escape, but we were in the garden and she was here and there and everywhere. I couldn’t get away from her. Or the thing she wanted me to do.
    â€œYou’re up early,” Mrs. Dawson said.
    Yawning a great yawn, I reached for my teacup. “I had bad dreams.”
    â€œNever tell a dream before breakfast.” Mrs. Dawson handed me a plate of bread, butter, and jam. “It’s the surest way to make it come true.”
    I shuddered. “That’s the last thing I want,” I told Mrs. Dawson.
    As I was finishing my oatmeal, I saw Nellie hesitating in the doorway as if she weren’t sure of her welcome. I raised my hand and beckoned to her.
    Like a mouse, she scurried across the room and slid into a place beside me. “I been thinking, miss,” she whispered, eyeing Mrs. Dawson’s broad back. Deciding the cook was intent on her chores, Nellie continued in a voice so low, I could barely hear her. “Maybe it were
her
that made ye speak so mean.” As she spoke, her eyes darted around the room. “Her ain’t here now, is her?”
    I looked around uneasily. “No, not now.”
    â€œBut her can come anytime her wants.” Nellie laid a cold hand on mine. “I been feeling her meself. Like a shadow her be, dark and cold and hateful.”
    â€œCan you see her, Nellie?”
    â€œAlmost.” Her body tense, Nellie peered about just as I had, checking dark doorways and corners. “Her scares me something terrible, miss.”
    â€œHow long have you known about her, Nellie?”
    â€œHer been comin’ upon me slowly.” Flustered, Nellie knocked a spoon off the table and onto the floor.
    Surprised by the noise, Mrs. Dawson looked over her shoulder. “Are you finished with your chores, Nellie?”
    â€œNo’m. I come to fill me bucket.”