Stepping into the house where she’d been born took Saige’s breath away. The interior was exactly as she’d remembered it. The foyer, also known as the Winter Hall, remained decorated in the richly ornamented style of the French Renaissance. Priceless collections of antiques and art were on display: marble busts, family portraits, floral wallpaper painted in gold leaf. Two winding staircases met at a mezzanine, the ceiling painted with angels from the Sistine Chapel. A crystal chandelier hung from its centre. Saige squeezed her eyes shut. Her ancestors had never spared any expense when it came to showing off.
Neither did their descendants.
Her father, Xav, Zoe, and the wedding guests had joined a large tourist group that was gathered around for the last guided tour. Wolvercraft Manor might have been privately owned, but Saige’s father had allowed the National Trust of Ashvall to conduct public tours. Thanks to Xav and Zoe’s exclusive wedding, the house would be closed for the next week. It seemed to Saige that many tourists were taking the opportunity to see the house while they could.
Jasper stood taller as he marvelled at the house’s beauty. At six feet, he made her feel more slight than usual. “I’m glad we didn’t miss this. I wanted to go on the guided tour.”
Saige scrunched her nose. “The what?”
“The guided tour. Here.” He took out a brochure from his back pocket and unfolded it. “See? This is the wedding programme. The events run over the course of the week. First up is a tour of the house. Tonight there’s an introductory dinner.” He winked at her.
Saige remembered how much Jasper loved his food. He’d often eaten half her meal as well as his own on their dates. She groaned inwardly, not wishing to recall any more of their awkward past.
Great. A week-long wedding programme. That had to be Zoe’s idea.
“Good afternoon.” The tour guide was a woman in her late sixties with greying red hair and high cheekbones that even the most cosmetically enhanced models would envy. Saige couldn’t help but notice how vintage her clothing was. A long linen skirt and beige jacket, with black rounded glasses on top of her head. She looked like a librarian from the 1920s.
“My name is Prue, and I want to cordially welcome you to Wolvercraft Manor.” She beamed at the group. “After six years of construction by more than a thousand workers, Wolvercraft Manor was officially opened in 1846 by Frederick George Wolvercraft. The house consists of two hundred and fifty rooms, which includes forty-five bedrooms, twenty-three bathrooms, and sixty-five fireplaces. This afternoon, we will explore several of these rooms and parts of the summer gardens. The eight-thousand-acre estate is open all year-round, and I highly recommend that you explore the forested trails and the gardens after the tour. This way, please.”
Prue led the large group through the house. Distinct childhood memories surfaced in Saige’s mind as the assembly swept through different rooms. She remembered playing with her dolls underneath the large dining room table, her nanny frantically searching for her throughout the house. She recalled leaping up and down the grand staircase, determined to skip as many steps as she possibly could. She was amazed she never rolled an ankle.
Saige shook off the memories. She’d been a sweet girl back then, naïve of the dangers that lurked around her. The house had swallowed up that innocence the day her mother died.
While the tourists, Jasper included, admired and gaped at every furniture piece, ornament, and artwork the house offered, Saige smelt centuries of accumulated odour—of hundreds of Christmas dinners, birthdays, and deaths, of the lingering scent of rotting wood and decaying parchment, replaced with new timbers and paint. The house was old, tired. Saige sensed it in the way the floors creaked and the walls groaned. Wolvercraft Manor was like an aged person waiting to die. The National Trust of Ashvall, even her father, wouldn’t let it go to sleep.
Jasper leaned close to her ear. “This house is incredible.”
She shot her eyebrows up. “Yeah, it’s real amazing.”
They were in the library, which was a bibliophile’s dream. Centuries-old books lined the massive shelves that went right up to the ceiling, the woodwork carved with cherubs and flowers. On the other side of the library, large windows offered spectacular views of the gardens. On any normal occasion, the curtains would have been drawn to protect the books. As a child, Saige remembered how dark the room became, even during the day. She’d imagined monsters lurking in the shadows waiting to snare her. As a result, she’d never entered the library alone.
“Seriously?” Jasper’s long stare made her uncomfortable. “You never wanted to come back here. You and your brother are set to inherit this place, right?”
She crossed her arms. “Yes. Eventually. But I’m giving my half to Xav. After the wedding, I want nothing to do with it.”
She’d resigned herself to the fact that the only way she was getting off this island was her father’s yacht in a week’s time. She exhaled an exhausted sigh. Her family was going to get exactly what they wanted: Saige stuck in Wolvercraft Manor.
Jasper’s eyes narrowed. Uncertainty hardened his face. “I think your dad’s right. You need to move on from your mother’s death… as tragic as it was. This house, it has such potential. You could do so much… become so much with this place.”
She scrambled for a response.
He doesn’t understand. How could he? You never told him the truth.
She was afraid if she’d confided in Jasper when they were engaged, he would have thought she was crazy and run for the hills.
Turned out he ran anyway.
Her heart beat faster, but she managed to keep her voice level. “Enjoy the tour, Jasper.”
He held her gaze a moment longer, then, seeming to give up, shook his head and turned his attention back to the guide.
Saige withdrew to the window. In a room full of people, she’d never felt more alone.
Prue talked about the elaborate furnishings that Frederick George Wolvercraft had purposely travelled to France to purchase, but Saige zoned it all out.
No. That’s not right.
She could no longer hear Prue.
Sound was playing tricks in her ears. Dizziness rushed at her.
Why is it hard for me to breathe? Am I having a panic attack?
She was overly hot, and her underarms were slick with perspiration. She stumbled to the open window.
Breathe, Saige. Breathe.
As she focused on her inhales and exhales the way Dr Grigori had told her, the pounding inside her chest started to calm.
Saige stared out at the gardens, relishing the cool air on her face. A few tourists had set blankets down on the lawn and picnicked. Others were exploring the fountains and duck ponds. Her eyes travelled to the Hauteville Woods that seemed to wrap around the estate like a constricting snake. She imagined birdsong and cooler temperatures among the maples, pines, and oaks.
Something white flashed among the trees.
She blinked.
Was that…?
Had she truly just seen what she thought?
A woman in the trees, staring right back at her. A woman in a white eighteenth-century gown with raven-black hair.
No. That isn’t possible.
Saige examined the shadows between the trees. A wintry, white fog, the kind of cloud cover seen coasting over a lake in the early hours of the morning, shrouded the woodland. Shock jolted through her, as cold as ice cubes sliding down her back. The woman had returned, only this time she was in the tree. No. Not in the tree. Hanging from it. A rope hung from a branch, the noose tight around the woman’s snapped neck. Her feet twitched, reminding Saige of a skink’s skittering tail. Even from this distance, she had the distinct impression that the woman’s bulging eyes stared straight into her own.
Saige leapt back from the window.
Not again. No! Not again!
She pushed her way through the tour group, not caring who she barrelled into in the process, and hurried through the maze of rooms back to the foyer. It was the farthest room from the woods, and its windows looked out at the long drive that… eventually led back to the woods, but at least Saige couldn’t see the trees from there.
Oh my God. No. Please, no!
She had thought, hoped, that time of her life was over.
Her heart was a jittery mess again, pounding through her body right down to her toes. She sat in a chair and leaned forward, bracing her hands on her knees and sucking in mouthfuls of air.
I can’t see them again.
I won’t survive the week if I do.
Not even a day in this house… on this island, and it was all coming back.
Saige must have been there for a full twenty minutes hyperventilating when the tour group returned. She quickly hid behind a door between the foyer and a sitting room and watched through the gap. She couldn’t see her father, Xav, or Zoe, thank God. They must have left the tour early. Jasper was there. He was like an overgrown child, the house a playground he desperately wanted to climb. He watched and listened with eager curiosity, one hand curled around his elbow, the other cupped around his jaw.
Prue clapped her hands. “That concludes the tour of Wolvercraft Manor, but before you leave, does anyone have any final questions?”
A teenage girl, surrounded by a cluster of boisterous friends, put her hand up. She giggled nervously. “Is the house haunted?”
A silent anticipation filled the foyer.
It was a common question Saige had heard as a little girl. It never ceased to amaze her how the most rational-minded people were intrigued by stories of the supernatural.
Yet so quick to dismiss someone who’s experienced paranormal events first-hand.
Prue didn’t lose her smile, but her eyes remained carefully expressionless. “Of course, a building is so much more than just bricks and mortar. There have been many stories of strange phenomena surrounding Wolvercraft Manor. From 1940 to 1945, the Nazis occupied Ashvall Island. They built camps, bunkers, air raid shelters, and concrete fortifications—using prisoners, of course—around various parts of Ashvall. This house became the headquarters. It is said that somewhere beneath the manor is a maze of prisons where people were detained, interrogated, and killed. Having said that, the basement has been searched, but no prison cell has ever been found.” Prue dabbed her tongue against her lips. “There are stories of ghost sightings in the woods. People have said they have heard the screams of a woman at night. It’s all hocus-pocus, of course.”
A man somewhere in his forties raised his hand. “Can you tell us any stories about the Hauteville Woods? I’m interested about the witches who used to reside there. Some of them were hanged in the forest. Correct?”
Prue pulled on another patient smile. “There are ghost tours that leave from the Ashvall Library in the centre of town at nine o’clock every night. If anyone is interested in Ashvall’s spookier history, I suggest you buy yourself a ticket. Thank you, and have an enjoyable afternoon.”
Everyone meandered outside to the lawns except Prue, Jasper, and Saige.
Prue laughed coolly. “Is that my favourite niece hiding in the doorway?”
Saige straightened. She was feeling only a little better. “I’m your only niece.”
“Which means you have to be my favourite. Come here and let me see you.”
Saige did as she was told. Aunt Prue, her father’s older sister, took up Saige’s hands and gave them a firm squeeze. “It’s good to see you, sweetheart. I’m sorry you had to hear that last question. It’s asked often, I’m afraid.” She took Saige’s jaw in her hand and assessed her. “You’re looking a little thin, dear. Have you been sleeping?”
From the corner of her eye, Saige saw Jasper laugh.
“Aunt Prue, this is Jasper Young. He’ll be singing at the wedding.”
Jasper shook Prue’s hand. “Hi. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened in surprise. She passed a teasing look at her niece. “How long have you two known each other?”
Saige’s face coloured. “Xav is friends with Jasper. They’ve known each other since school.”
Her voice came out a little too fast to be believable.
It was evident by the way Aunt Prue examined her that she knew Saige was lying.
Jasper put a hand up like he was at school. “I have a question about the house. There’s a blank spot up there by the stairs. I just want to know who’s supposed to be there.”
Saige and Aunt Prue glanced along the mezzanine’s wall, where portraits of the Wolvercraft Family dating two hundred years back hung. Saige had the distinct impression that her ancestors were looking down on her and judging.
Jasper was right. Near the staircase was an empty space where a portrait had undoubtedly been. Saige remembered this spot always being vacant, but she’d never been interested enough as a child to know why.
Aunt Prue shrugged. “That is a mystery of the Wolvercraft household. I suppose at some stage the portrait was damaged and taken down for repairing. Perhaps it was lost.”
Jasper stared back at the empty space. “You don’t know who it was a portrait of?”
“I’m afraid not.”
He rocked back on his heels and gazed outside to where the tourists waited. A group of young women was watching him. A smile stretched across his lips. He slapped a heavy hand on Saige’s shoulder. “I have some fans to attend to. See you around.”
He stepped out of the foyer into the cold afternoon outside. Saige watched with a jealous pain as Jasper was enveloped by the giggling swarm. Each of them seemed to go redder in the face, bursting in hysterics as they snapped selfies with their idol.
Saige linked her arm with her aunt’s. “Makes you sick, doesn’t it?”
Aunt Prue only smiled. “He’s a very nice young man. Not too bright, but… handsome. Is he single?”
“Aunt Prue! He’s young enough to be your son.”
“I meant for you, dear.”
Saige swallowed discreetly.