Craven Manor(50)

Chapter Twenty-Two





Daniel shuffled his feet as he stood on the doorstep of apartment 612. He felt painfully self-conscious. Leaves and grime had gathered in his hair, and brushing his fingers through it hadn’t done much to improve the situation. His jeans were in dire need of a wash, and thorns and sharp branches had nicked holes in his jacket.

The door rattled as the occupant unlocked it, and a second later, Mrs. Kirshner’s wrinkled face was squinting up at him. “Daniel! You are back, Daniel! I have been missing you.”

A smile came easily, and some of the tension left Daniel’s muscles. “I’ve missed you, too, Mrs. Kirshner. Have you been well?”

“Yes, yes, come look!” She seized his sleeve and tugged him into the apartment, even though she was short enough that he could easily see over her fluffy white hair. “Someone give me gift. Money under the door. Look!”

Daniel followed her finger, and a laugh burst out of him. Mrs. Kirshner had invested part of his money in a gigantic cat climbing tree. It was a maze of tunnels, boxes, and ledges that reached almost to the ceiling. She’d placed it into the room’s corner, where it clashed hilariously with her old-fashioned, sparse furniture. Her grey cat lounged on one of the highest ledges.

“Alonzo looks happy,” Daniel said as the magnificent creature blinked down at him.

“Yes, Alonzo is happy, and I am happy.” Her eyes sparkled. “My biscuits have cranberries in them tonight. You can stay for a bit, yes? Have tea with me?”

“I’d love that.” Daniel cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “And, uh, actually—this is going to sound very rude—but I need somewhere to stay tonight—”

“Daniel stay here.” She patted his shoulder on the way past and made herself busy in the tiny kitchenette preparing tea. “Daniel is good boy.”

“Thank you. So much. I’ll pay you back when I can—”

She made shushing noises as she dropped teabags into two cups. “Daniel keeps me company. He is like grandson. He is always welcome.”

Daniel sank into the small wooden chair beside Mrs. Kirshner’s recliner. The cat tree wasn’t the only change he saw. She’d bought curtains for the windows and new cups to replace the chipped ones. Both looked like good quality but not expensive brands. Except for the cat tree, she seemed to be using the money carefully.

Alonzo slipped out of the seat and thumped onto the ground. It stretched, back arching, then reached a fluffy paw up to tap at Daniel’s leg. He knew what it wanted and moved his hands out of his lap. “Up you get.”

It leapt up then bumped its head into his chest. He sank his fingers into the long grey fur and enjoyed the feeling of rumbling purrs as he scratched around the cat’s chin.

“Hot, hot, very hot,” Mrs. Kirshner murmured as she set the teacups on the floor beside them. She’d stacked four of her biscuits on the saucer beside his cup. They looked as though they had more cranberries than batter, but Daniel was starving and picked one up.

“Mrs. Kirshner, you used to be a part of the local historical society, didn’t you?”

“Ooh, yes.” She settled back into her seat and adjusted a knit blanket around her shoulders. “When I move here, I have no friends. I meet lady on street, tell her I am lonely. She say, ‘Come join club! Learn about country!’ So I do.” Creases built around her eyes as she smiled. “They were so kind. It did not matter that I did not know the country or could barely speak the language! They wanted to help me to learn. They are still best friends. It was happy times.”

Daniel nodded and adjusted his cup of tea. He knew Mrs. Kirshner and her husband had emigrated from Germany nearly fifty years before, and they had been a core part of the local historical society until death and illness had caused it to finally disband. He went out on a limb. “Mrs. Kirshner, have you ever heard of a place called Craven Manor?”

“Oooh.” She made a series of muttering tsking noises. “Bad house. Bad family.”

“And Flinton?”

“The lost town. Yes. You have been learning history, Daniel?”

Her smile was so genuine and sweet that Daniel couldn’t bring himself to tell her he’d been living at Craven Manor. He didn’t want her to recoil from him.

“A little bit. Can you tell me about them?” he asked, digging his fingers deeper into Alonzo’s fur.

“It is all very old stories now.” She picked up her saucer. The cup wobbled, and for a second, Daniel was afraid the arthritis in her hands would cause her to drop it. But she stabilised the cup and blew on the steaming liquid. “Two hundred years old. Maybe more. Family lived in big mansion on the hill. A mother and two children. Myricks. Family had a lot of money—dead husband was duke—and their money make the town rich.”

Mrs. Kirshner paused and sent Daniel a searching glance, as if she were trying to gauge how much to tell him.

He gave her an encouraging nod. “Go on.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Daniel believes in science. Stories from old are myths to him, yes?”

“Uh… not necessarily.” He didn’t know how much to share, but at last he said, “I believe in ghosts.”

She made another murmuring noise, and the teacup shook as she sipped from it. “Daniel is good boy. Has open mind. These days, people do not trust in the old stories. They do not understand, so they think it all fiction! Myricks family came from, uh, from… from…”