Craven Manor(27)

The spoon and butter knife had been laid on top of a clean napkin to keep them off the dust, but Daniel still had to hide a grimace as he picked them up. He dipped the spoon into the soup and gave it an experimental stir but didn’t drink any. “You’re Bran, aren’t you?”

“Correct.” The chair’s leather creaked as the man shifted.

Daniel had been developing the idea since he’d entered the room that he might be talking to a ghost, but the noise killed that theory. Ghosts—at least the kind of ghost Daniel had heard about—didn’t have any weight to exert on their surroundings.

“You have questions,” Bran said. “Ask.”

Daniel’s spoon looped around the bowl again. His mind was churning with requests and doubts, and his tongue felt rubbery as he tried to phrase them. “Those bones… do you know who they belonged to?”

“Yes. You found Eliza Myricks. She was Annalise’s mother.”

Daniel drew a sharp breath. He looked behind himself again, hungry to catch a glimpse of Bran, but his companion remained hidden. “I heard—” He caught himself. Would it be rude to repeat what the bartender said? Will he think I’ve been gossiping about the house?

“Continue.” The cracked, guttural voice was curt but not hostile.

Daniel licked dry lips. “I heard she was paranoid. Bordering on insane.”

A strange hacking, gasping sound came from the chair. It sounded like choking, and Daniel dropped his spoon as he prepared to stand. Then he realised what the sound was. Bran was laughing.

“That is correct.” A bleak mirth infused the words and gave them life but not in a way that warmed Daniel. “She was a cruel, changeable woman. Young Annalise bore the brunt of her erraticism, and it ultimately killed the child.”

Daniel frowned at his soup. “Her grave was shallow. And it didn’t have any headstone.”

“Yes. She was interred by her sole surviving relative, her son. He was not strong enough to bury her deep, but left the grave unmarked deliberately. He did not believe she had earned a Christian burial. I agreed with him enough to leave her body undisturbed.”

“Oh.” Daniel felt a twinge of discomfort and lifted a spoonful of the soup to distract himself. “I shouldn’t have dug her up. I didn’t know she was there, and I was trying to clear a path—”

“That is forgivable. As was your trespassing beyond your curfew last night.”

The tone wasn’t harsh, but it held an undercurrent of resignation that made Daniel cringe. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“As I said, forgivable.”

Desperate to shift the discussion back to safer ground, Daniel cleared his throat. “The soup is delicious. Thank you.”

“I had the store owner prepare it.” Bran exhaled as he shifted restlessly. “Do not be reticent about your requests if you require improvements to your living arrangements. I am not concerned about the finances.”

“Oh! Right. Thank you. You’ve been really generous.” When Bran didn’t respond, Daniel brought another spoonful of the soup up to his lips. His mind was cluttered with questions, but he felt too unsafe to be pushy about them. He tried one of the less antagonistic angles. “Craven Manor is a beautiful building. Did you inherit it or buy it?”

“I inherited. My surname is Myricks.”

So he’s related to Annalise. That could explain the interest in helping her ghost. “I thought this place was empty when I first arrived. Have you lived here for long?”

“Some time, yes, though I do not spend all of my hours in the house.” Bran’s shoe scraped across the rug as he adjusted his position again. Daniel suspected something was causing him discomfort—possibly arthritis or a kind of chronic pain.

He had one more pressing question but struggled to find an easy way to bring it up. He broke the bread roll in half and painted it with butter as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m guessing Annalise is the reason you wanted me to lock my door and shut the window after midnight. You didn’t want me to know the manor is, uh…” There was no tactful way to say it. “Haunted.”

“Hah.” Again, the raspy, grating laugh put Daniel’s nerves on edge. “You are correct. Annalise can become curious. Though you seem to have accepted her presence with considerable grace.”

Daniel managed an awkward shrug, even though he knew Bran wouldn’t see it. “I’ve always been open to the idea of ghosts. I’ve never seen one before, though.” He tore pieces off the roll. “Is there anything I should… or could… be doing to help her?”

“Her state is intractable. There is no help to offer, save for preserving the places she is fond of. Her crypt. Her gardens.” Bran paused, and again, the leather seat creaked. “You are aware of her condition?”

“The sun allergy? Yeah.”

“During life, she was unable to leave the house during the day but thrived under the moonlight. From what I understand, the gardens were her sanctuary. While inside the house, she was smothered by her mother’s will. But Eliza Myricks did not like venturing into the gardens. So the outside world became a sanctuary to the girl. That is a mentality she has preserved in death, it seems.”

“Her ghost doesn’t come into the house?”