Chapter 3
Clementine
Parisian Seeking Anonymity, Desperately
I head downstairs at the B&B hoping to grab a quick breakfast before returning to the manor. The smell of coffee and freshly baked scones drifts through the air, and my stomach reminds me that I barely touched dinner last night, I was so exhausted.
The dining room is already occupied by the other guests. Mrs. MacLeish bustles around a table where a young couple is seated, road maps and travel guides spread out in front of them. They’re speaking German in low voices, bent over what looks like an itinerary highlighted in fluorescent marker.
Mrs. MacLeish glances up at me, and her face lights up as though I’ve just delivered wonderful news.
“Good morning, Miss Fraser! Please, have a seat. I’ve just taken a fresh batch of scones out of the oven, and you’ll have to tell me what you think of them.”
I settle at a table by the window, the one that allows me to keep a little distance from the other guests.
The owner of the B&B is a woman in her sixties with carefully styled gray hair and a smile that gives the impression she already knows everything you’re about to say before you’ve said it.
She wears a floral apron over a wool dress, and her hands are constantly moving, as though standing still would cause her physical pain.
She sets a steaming teapot in front of me along with a plate of heavenly-smelling scones accompanied by small jars of homemade jam.
“Did you sleep well?” she asks, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Very well, thank you.”
It’s nothing more than a polite lie.
I spent a good part of the night staring at the ceiling, thinking about the manor, the impossible keys, and the shadow I thought I saw pass by the window.
Mrs. MacLeish lowers herself into the chair across from me without waiting for an invitation.
Apparently, breakfast here comes with a mandatory conversation with the owner.
“You’re going back to the manor today?”
I look up from my tea.
“Yes. I need to continue the inspection.”
“Ah yes. Of course. Of course.”
She nods as though my answer confirms something she already knew.
Then she leans slightly toward me, folding her hands on the table.
“You know it’s haunted, don’t you?”
I nearly choke on my tea.
“Excuse me?”
“The manor,” she clarifies with absolute seriousness. “It’s haunted. Everyone knows that.”
I carefully set my cup down, taking a moment to assess the situation.
Is she serious?
Apparently, yes.
Her expression leaves no room for doubt.
“Mrs. MacLeish,” I say in my most diplomatic tone, “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
She smiles as though I’m a na?ve child refusing to acknowledge the obvious.
“That’s what all newcomers say. But the couple who lived there... they never truly left.”
A flicker of irritation rises inside me.
I came here to deal with an inheritance, not listen to ridiculous village ghost stories.
“I’m sure they’re just local legends,” I reply with a polite smile.
Mrs. MacLeish slowly shakes her head, almost sadly.
“Oh no, dear. It isn’t a legend. It’s a genuine tragedy.”
She lowers her voice and glances toward the tourist couple as though she’s about to reveal a secret they shouldn’t hear.
“The Fraser who built the manor married a woman chosen by his family. An alliance between two great Scottish families. He hadn’t asked for it. Neither had she. They barely knew each other on their wedding day.”
She pauses, staring into the distance as though picturing the scene.
“He built the manor as a wedding gift so she would have a home of her own, far from the pressure of their families. They tried to make the best of it, you understand. They were polite with each other. Courteous. But they weren’t in love. How could they be? They didn’t even know one another.”
I pick up a scone, hoping eating will spare me from having to respond immediately.
Mrs. MacLeish doesn’t need encouragement to continue.
“Then she became pregnant. At last, an heir. Both families were delighted. Everyone was waiting for that child. But the birth...”
She stops, lips tightening.
“The birth went terribly wrong. She died.”
I lower the scone, my appetite suddenly gone.
Oblivious to my reaction, Mrs. MacLeish continues in an even softer voice.
“He was consumed by guilt. Locked himself inside the manor and refused to see anyone. He stopped eating. Stopped sleeping. He claimed she spoke to him at night. Said she blamed him for never loving her. Asked why he hadn’t saved her.”
She leans closer, her eyes shining.
“Six months later, Brodie disappeared. No one ever saw him again.”
A heavy silence settles between us.
At the neighboring table, the German tourists have stopped talking.
Apparently, the innkeeper isn’t nearly as discreet as she thinks she is because they’re listening with fascination.
I take a sip of tea, trying to conceal my discomfort.
“That’s... a terrible story,” I finally say.
“Oh, it’s more than a story, dear. Since that day, nobody has ever truly managed to live in the manor. People have tried, of course. But they always leave. Too many strange noises. Too many... presences.”
She fixes me with an intense stare.
“You can hear two voices at night. Him apologizing. Her crying.”
I remain silent, unsure how to respond to that.
Mrs. MacLeish sits back.
“But perhaps you won’t hear them. After all, you’re a Fraser. It’s your family.”
I’m not sure whether that’s supposed to be reassuring or even more unsettling.
At the neighboring table, one of the German tourists clears his throat.
Turning toward me, he offers a polite smile.
“Excuse us,” he begins in flawless English tinged with a faint accent. “But... you own the manor, don’t you?”
I shoot an accusatory look at Mrs. MacLeish, who wears a perfectly innocent expression, as though she’s just been discussing the weather.
“I’m... the heir, yes.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” the young woman exclaims. “Do you offer tours? We’d love to see the haunted manor!”
I freeze, my teacup halfway between the table and my lips.
They’re serious.
Completely serious.
“We’d be happy to pay, of course,” the man adds, already reaching for his wallet. “How much do you charge for a guided tour?”
I set my cup down, inhale slowly, and summon my most polite smile.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t offer tours. The manor isn’t open to the public.”
“Oh, but just a small tour? Only for the two of us?” the young woman presses. “We wouldn’t stay long. Just enough to take a few photos, perhaps?”
“I’m afraid not. The property is private and not accessible to visitors.”
They exchange disappointed glances.
“That’s a shame,” the man sighs. “We really wanted to see where the cursed couple lived.”
I open my mouth to explain that there is no cursed couple, but Mrs. MacLeish jumps in with a sympathetic tone.
“Perhaps later, once Miss Fraser has finished her business. Who knows? The manor might become a real tourist attraction someday.”
I glare at her.
She either doesn’t notice or couldn’t care less.
I finish my tea in three quick swallows, stand, and sling my bag over my shoulder.
“Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. MacLeish. It was delicious.”
“Oh, but you’re leaving already? You barely ate anything!”
“I have a lot of work to do at the manor. I need to go.”
I head toward the door, relieved to finally escape this surreal conversation.
But just as my hand reaches the handle, Mrs. MacLeish’s voice stops me.
“Oh! I almost forgot.”
Against my better judgment, I turn around.
She approaches with a radiant smile, hands clasped together as though she’s about to deliver excellent news.
“Mrs. McGregor asked me to pass along a message.”
I frown.
“Mrs. McGregor?”
“Yes, Maggie McGregor. The owner of McGregor Castle. Absolutely delightful woman. She’d love to invite you for tea this afternoon. Around three o’clock, if that suits you.”
I stand there for a second, trying to understand why a complete stranger would want me to have tea with her in a castle.
“That’s very kind, but I’m extremely busy. Perhaps another time?”
Mrs. MacLeish tilts her head as though she didn’t hear me properly.
“Oh, but Maggie will be so disappointed. She rarely invites strangers. And she’s heard so much about you!”
Heard about me?
I arrived yesterday.
How could she possibly have already heard about me?
Another wave of irritation rises.
This village is like an anthill.
Everyone knows everything about everyone, and apparently my presence has already become the number-one topic of conversation.
“Really, I can’t,” I insist firmly. “Please give Mrs. McGregor my apologies, but I need to focus on my work.”
Mrs. MacLeish nods slowly, though her smile remains fixed in place.
She clearly thinks I’m making a mistake by refusing the invitation.
“As you wish, dear. But if you change your mind, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
I can’t imagine why I would, but I simply nod and finally step outside.
The door closes behind me, and I take a deep breath of the cool morning air.
The village is quiet.
A few residents stroll along the sidewalk across the street, and I can feel their eyes drifting toward me.
Not hostile.
Just curious.
As though I’m a puzzle piece they’re trying to fit into a picture they already know by heart.
I walk to my rental car, climb inside, and lock the doors out of habit.
My phone vibrates.
Grandma
So? The manor?
I type a quick reply.
Clementine
Run-down, but still standing. I’m handling it.
Her response arrives almost immediately.
Grandma
Good. But take your time. I want everything inventoried. Who knows? There might be treasure hidden in those old walls...
Only my grandmother could turn this assignment into a treasure hunt.
With a sigh, I start the engine and head back toward the manor.
All I want is to finish this inspection, take a few photographs, and go home.
Back to France.
Far away from this village where everyone seems convinced ghosts are real and I’m the newest local attraction.
Back to the anonymity of hurried Parisians who don’t care who I am.
But as I drive down the narrow road leading to the manor, an unpleasant thought creeps into my mind.
Mrs. MacLeish already knows my story.
Maggie McGregor wants to meet me.
German tourists are asking for guided tours.
The entire village already knows I’m here.
And they’re all waiting to see what I’m going to do.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel.
The faster I deal with this, the faster I can forget Glenfield, its haunted manor, and its overly curious residents.
The manor appears around the bend, dark and imposing beneath the gray sky.
I switch off the engine, step out of the car, and stare at the building.
Yesterday it seemed abandoned.
Today it feels like it’s watching me.
I shake my head.
Get a grip, Clementine.
You’re starting to let their stories get to you.
Pulling the keys from my pocket, I push open the massive front door and step inside.
Silence greets me.
I close the door behind me and get to work.
There are no ghosts here.
Just old legends.
Nothing more.