The Curse Of Rydge House

CHAPTER TWO

    Breana and Quentin walked out into the cold dark night. Quentin stopped for a moment and looked up at the sky; he gazed at the stars and the moon with its brilliant luminosity. Quentin turned to glance at Breana, and then he signaled to her to follow him. They walked down the sidewalk until they came to a lavish beautiful black car. Quentin opened the back door on the passenger’s side and put Breana's suitcase on the seat. Breana handed the attractive man the other suitcase and the satchel. He placed them in the back seat as well and closed the door. Quentin opened the front passenger's door for her. She thanked him and got into the car.
 

  Once they were ready to go, the car hummed to life and they headed down the street. “How was your trip?” he inquired.
    “It was long, but not difficult,” Breana told the young man.
    “Did I keep you waiting too long."
    "It doesn't matter, Mr. Peters."
    "Did you enjoy your visit with Ms. Valentine and Sheila?"
    Breana glanced at him. "It was nice, she answered. By this time. They had turned off the main street and were going down some back roads.
    "What did Sheila tell you?" he asked.
    "Oh. Just general things," Breana said.
    "Like what?" Quentin ask cautiously.
    "Just about your family," Breana answered. 
    Quentin let out a sigh. "What about my family?"
    Breana looked over at him again; she could see the serious curiosity in his half night encrusted face. 
    "The who's who," she told him. 
     "I see. If she said anything sinister about my family, don't believe it," Quentin informed her.
    She found this odd, because he had used the same word that Ms. Valentine had used, "sinister."
    "No, nothing like that just that, she thinks that your family is..."
    "Odd?" Quentin asked.
    "Something like that." 
    Quentin shook his head. 
     "What did the town's humble library and talk about?" he asked.
     Breana shrugged. "Not much. She did tell me not to listen to anything about about your family." 
    "That's good," he said with satisfaction. "She's a good friend of my cousin's. Has her over for tea or coffee every Sunday."
    "Have you always lived with your cousins?" she asked. 
    "No, my sister, father, and I lived somewhere else until I was about fourteen, I think. Then my sister and I moved in, until she went away to University," he told her.
    A shiver came over Breana, she seemed to feel the cold creeping into the car. "It's getting a little chilly in here."
    "You're right."
    Quentin reached down in front of the gear-shift and switched on the heater.
    "Thank you," she said.
    He nodded.
    They were now in the outskirts of Ryderspeak and had arrived at the main road that would take them to the house.
    "What do you do, Mr. Peters?"
    "Like my cousin, Joseph, I play around with stocks, but I'm also invested in a few business."
    "Sounds thrilling," Breana said.
    Quentin smiled, "Not really, but it has its moments."
    Breana decided that she liked his smile and was looking forward to seeing more of it. It was the type of smile that made her feel warm inside and bright, as if it could clear away any ill moods and negative thoughts from her mind.
    "I do have a few hobbies."
     "What kind?"
     "I tickle the ivories, a bit."
     "Oh really, that's nice. I always wanted to learn, but my father couldn't afford lessons."
    "It's a soothing pastime, once you get through the frustrations of learning and mastering the basics. So you're from Chicago. What's that like?"
    "Busy, like any big city. Lots of people. You have to watch your step," Breana said.
    "Well, you won't have to worry about that here, just mind the small town gossip," Quentin laughed.
    They came to a small road that would take them past the house. The area was quite sparse for many yards, with mostly open grassy land and a wooded area in the foreground. Breana could easily see the house, which was bigger than she had thought; there were no words to describe the size of it except the word "mansion." They soon turned down a long gravel drive. Breana could see that there seemed to be only a few lights on in the house.
    As they drove closer to the house, Breana could see that it was made of stone. She couldn't tell what color it was, on account of it being night; but she could see from what it was made. Rydge House was one of the biggest mansions she had ever seen. She stared out the windshield at it in awe. Quentin smiled at her, but she didn't notice.
    They finished driving up the gravel drive and past the house to a large garage, where they parked the car. Quentin got out and went around to Breana's side and let her out.
    "Thank you," she said, closing the car door. He got her suitcases and she her satchel and they left the garage. The front entrance of Rydge House was made up of a large door made of oak, with fancy engravings cut into the wood, a brass doorknob, and door.
    Breana reached  to turn the handle when it came alive and the door opened. Breana was startled.
    In the doorway stood a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a fair complexion, not much more fair than Breana. She was wearing a handsome skirt suit. Breana thought that she was very beautiful for her age. The woman smiled as soon as she saw Quentin.
    "You must be Miss Gale, please come in," the woman greeted her eagerly but with warmth.
    The pair entered the large house; a spiny chill rushed down Breana's back. She walked over a stone tile floor to an immaculate hall complete with marble staircase. Next to the entrance stood an old-fashioned coat rack and umbrella stand. Breana was stunned by the richness of the room. To one side of the grand stairs was a large pointed archway, where she could see a large sitting room, and to the other side were a few doors, one of which she assumed led to the rest of the ground floor. On her left was a wall covered in crimson wallpaper and sporting a door of its own. One of the doors was closer to her and the other was about four feet away from the other. On her right, against the wall, laid a small side table with a telephone upon it and an old wall clock. Breana turned around to face Quentin and the middle-aged woman.
    "Taking in the scenery, Breana?" Quentin asked.
    "You have a beautiful home," Breana answered.
    "You haven't seen the rest," the woman said.
    Quentin stepped forward a bit.
    "You haven't seen it by day," he said grimly, "Breana, this is my cousin, Sylvia Richards."
    "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Richards," Breana said. She wasn't surprised; she had had a feeling that the woman was her employer.
    "It's nice to meet you, too," her new employer replied.
    "Thank you, Mrs. Richards," Breana said. Quentin set the suitcases down in front of the stairs.
    "I hope you had a pleasant trip," Mrs. Richards inquired.
     "Long, but not difficult," Breana replied.
    Breana heard footsteps behind her. She turned, realized how high the ceiling was, and noticed the crystal chandelier with the electric light that dimly lit the hall. A young woman with rust-colored hair and was dressed in nice jeans with a heavy sweater stood upon the steps.
    "Am I interrupting?" she asked.
    "No, dear," Mrs. Richards said.
    Quentin walked over to the young woman, took her arm gently and led her down the rest of the stairs. The woman was very pretty and about her age with arching eyebrows, a hook-like nose, and Breana could see that she had gray eyes. A soft, yet warm scent pervaded around her.
    "Breana Gale, this is my niece, Rebecca," Mrs. Richards introduced.
    Breana held out her hand and Rebecca took it. The young woman was pale, but slender and very pretty. To Breana, the young woman seemed to be perhaps a tad older than she.
    "How do you do?" Rebecca asked.
    "It's nice to meet you, Miss Peters," Breana said.
    Mrs. Richards stepped in. "Shall we go into the sitting room?" she suggested.
    The four of them went into the indicated room, which was filled with expensive furniture and cabinets. The room was bigger and had a little more walking space than the hall. The floor was made of wood that creaked and groaned beneath their steps and walls were patterned in floral shapes. In the middle of the floor was a large carpet, which most of the furniture set upon. An old grand piano set off to the side, covered in a velvet cloth and a cabinet set against the wall a few feet from an immense walk-in fireplace. The wall behind them molded around the entrance of the room. On the left was a cabinet with a lamp, a vase of flowers, and a telephone. On the wall opposite from the entrance, was a glass door that led out to a patio.
    "Where's Joseph?" Quentin asked.
    "Oh, father went to bed about five minutes ago," Rebecca announced.
    "Oh," Quentin said, without much feeling.
    "Shall we sit?" Rebecca motioned toward the sitting area.
    Breana sat on the sofa, which faced the fireplace at a comfortable distance, while Rebecca and Mrs. Richards sat in armchairs.
    "I'll stand, thank you," Quentin said and stood by the fireplace, his hand reaching high up upon the mantle. Above Quentin was the portrait of a haggard man with a sharp nose and eyes like her new employer's and dressed in a very nice suit.
    "Excuse me?" Breana began, "But who is that? The man in the portrait, I mean," she asked.
    Quentin point it up. "Him?"
    Breana nodded. 
    "My father," Mrs. Richards said.
    "Did he build this house?" Breana asked.
    "Oh no, be brought it when he made something of himself, not long after I was born."
    "So, you've lived here most of your life?"
    "Yes, from before I was a year old, until I married my dear husband, then from the time that my father retired through the present day."
    "I can't imagine that," Breana said.
    "Yes. Now, I think that we'd better get on with business," Mrs. Richards said.
    Breana unbuttoned her coat. "I have my references in my satchel, I'll..." Breana said and started to unfasten the bag.
    "No need, Miss Gale," Mrs. Richards insisted. Breana placed her hands in lap and got comfortable.
    "I have chosen you, and that's the end of it. I've already checked upon your references and your previous employers in Chicago have all been very pleased with your work, that's good enough for me. You will be working with me after breakfast for a few hours and after lunch for a few hours everyday except on weekends, which you'll have off," Mrs. Richards told her. Breana  nodded in agreement. "Then you will have some time for solitary work and you will have the rest of your day free, unless I have a special project in the works. You will be paid $700 a week, and will be lodging with us, rent and food beings included as part of your salary. Breakfast is at six-thirty, lunch, at twelve, and dinner at six. Is that fair?
    Breana was overwhelmed by all this information. "Um, yes, of course  " she answered.
    "Wonderful," Mrs. Richards said.
    Breana looked at Quentin. He smiled at her and she smiled back.
    She look back at her new employer. "Mrs. Richards, I also need a percentage of my pay to be sent to Chicago-"
    "For your father, yes?" Mrs. Richards asked.
    "Yes."
    The older woman gave her a nod of understanding.
    "Already arranged, Miss Gale."
    "Thank you."
    "Not at all."
    A few moments later, an elderly woman walked into the room saying, "Mrs. Richards, has Miss Gale arrived yet?"
    Breana turned to look at the woman. The woman wore a long gray dress. Her hair was nearly all white and her face was covered in an array of wrinkles.
    "Yes," Mrs. Richards said with a smile.
    Breana stood up.
    "Miss Gale, this is our housekeeper, Mrs. Christie," Mrs. Richards said.
    The housekeeper March yourself into the room and stood erect. "Good evening, Miss Gale," Mrs. Christie said.
    "Hello," Breana replied.
    The old housekeeper gave Breana an extremely toothy smile, which made her feel uneasy. "I'm glad to meet you, very glad."
    "Mrs. Christie and my niece have been tending to my secretarial needs, since my last secretary left," Mrs. Richards explained.
    Breana looked at Mrs. Christie. "Oh. Well it's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Christie."
    "Mrs. Christie has been with us so long, since she and I were teenagers, I believe, she's almost part of the family," Mrs. Richards said.
    The old housekeeper smiled. "If there's anything you need, just let me know."
    "Thank you," Breana said.
    "It's so nice to see a new young face in this house," Mrs. Christie stated.
    Quentin and Rebecca walked over to join Breana, Mrs. Richards, and the old housekeeper.
    "I'm sure that Breana would like to be shown to her room," Quentin said.
    "Alright," Mrs. Richards agreed. "Have you eaten anything?"
    Breana nodded her head. "I had a little snack and coffee in town."
    "Oh, well if you're still hungry, Mrs. Christie will fix you something, if you like," Mrs. Richards said with some concern.
    "Oh no, thank you. I'm rather tired," Breana told her employer.
    "Are you sure?" Mrs. Richards asked.
    Breana nodded.
    "May I take your jacket, miss?" Mrs. Christie said.
    "Oh, yes, I completely forgot," Breana said. She took off her jacket, and handed it to the housekeeper. Breana's light pink skirt gleamed in the light coming from both the hall and the sitting room.
    Mrs. Christie took the garment, and hung it on the antique coat rack. The old housekeeper walked over to where Breana's luggage sat. "I'll take your things up to your room, Miss Gale," she announced.
    Quentin ran over to stop the housekeeper from picking up Breana's bags. "No need, Mrs. Christie. I'll take them up when Breana's ready."
    Mrs. Christie looked surprised. "Oh, alright," she said looking at him as if he were out of his mind.
    Breana walked over. "I think I'm ready now," she told him.
    Quentin picked up the two suitcases, and Breana followed but, stopped for a moment.
    "Mrs. Richards, where will I be performing my duties?" she asked.
    Her employer joined them. "My office, it used to be my father's study."
    "And where is that located?"
    "Oh you'll be shown around tomorrow."
    "Thank you, Mrs. Richards. Good night," Breana said.
    Mrs. Richards smiled warmly, "Good night, Miss Gale."
    "Good night, Miss Peters," Breana said turning to Rebecca.
    "Now, don't call me 'Miss Peters,' I get enough of that from Mrs. Christie. Call me Rebecca," the young woman insisted.
    "Yes. Feel free to call is by our first names, if you are comfortable," said Mrs. Richards.
    "Alright. Good night, Rebecca," Breana said, then turning to the housekeeper, "Mrs. Christie."
    "Good night, Breana," Rebecca said.
    The other three women concluded the conversation with their shared bids of "Good night."
    Breana and Quentin went up the grand staircase. As Quentin turned to the left, Breana's attention was snatched away by a dark stiff figure standing in the shadows. Upon further inspection, as they drew closer, Breana could make out a faint tarnished gleam upon the figure's surface. Her gaze strayed as she walked passed. It was an old suit of armor guarding the entrance to the second floor of the mansion, firmly station against the back wall. Ask her companion walk down the hall, Breana was pulled way from her momentary lapse of destination and remember the task at hand; though  as she caught up to the attractive man, her mind stirred in peculiar curiosity about the suit of armor. The hall was very long and had several doors, indicating the bedrooms. There were ten doors in total and some small tables placed here and there against the walls, with lamps and some bobbles upon each. The floor was wooden with a carpet that Breana could not make out the color in the blackness, while the walls and ceiling were wood paneled.
    As Quentin led the way, they passed several doors until they came to the last door on the left. Quentin opened it, set the suitcases down and switched on the lights. The room was medium sized with a burgundy colored rug, wooden walls, a four-post bed with white drapes, a nightstand with a bed lamp, a dresser, a clock that set on the mantle, and an armoire.
    Breana scanned the room carefully.
    "Do you like it?" Quentin asked.
    "Fine," she said. She walked over and set her satchel and purse upon the bed. She turned to face the attractive man who stood in her new bedroom and saw on the wall by the door a painting of a lush green forest, large strong trees, singing birds, and bright sunshine zipping down through the leaves.
    "How lovely," she said, pointing to the painting.
    Quentin turned and looked. "Yeah, it's to help you remember that days here aren't all that exist beyond  Ryderspeak. There's hope, somewhere, through all the gloom," he said.
    "That's very dismal, Mr. Peters. The painting's beautiful, though," she said.
    "Isn't it? And call me Quent," he told her.
    "Are there paintings in all of the rooms?" she asked him.
    He looked at her. "Most of them."
    She noticed that his face had an expression of sadness and decided to change the subject. "Was there a suit of armor at the top of the stairs?"
    "Yes, my other cousin, Joseph, collects antiques, he put it up there some months ago or so as some sort of redecorating campaign of his, or something. Been there some time, though."
    "I see."
    "Well, I guess that I should let you settle in," Quentin said. He started walking toward the door, stopped, then he quickly turned to her. "I'd better tell you that down the hall there are two rooms, across the hall from each other, with the doors ajar. They're the bathrooms. So, if you need to freshen up or take a shower, you'll know where they are."
    "Thank you," Breana said.
    "I also better advise you," he started in a low voice, "to lock your door after I leave."
    Brianna found this curious. It seemed as if he was trying not to be heard, like he feared that someone listening or else he wished to convey to her secrecy and urgency. Breana started to thank him for the strange advice, but he put a finger up to his lips.
    "Well, good night Breana," he said. She bid him the same and he left down the hallway.
    Breana close the door and locked it, just as Quentin had advised. She picked up the two suitcases and carried them to the bed. She opened her satchel and took out the journal, her references, her pain, her lucky blue ribbon, and her bus ticket. She set all the items on the bed and turned to her suitcases. She opens one, after setting it on the bed, and started taking out folded clothes. She carried them to the dresser and place the individually folded clothes in the drawers, while the outfits and dresses, folded with hangers, she stacked on the bed.
    She opened the other suitcase and took the clothes out of it, too. She placed the small amount of perfume and cosmetic equipment that she owned on top of the dresser in front of its mirror. She picked up the rest of her clothes, except for her nightgown, and took them to the armoire. The armoires wood grain door was open to crack. She pulled the door open to a lonesome metal rod adorned by empty metal hangers. Webb's dangled with dust inhabiting the dark corners of the wooden structure. Breana swept the corners out with her fingers and wiped them  upon her clothes. When she attempted to close the door, it would pop back open, she tried once more and then again, but soon she gave in to the furnishing's demands. After unpacking, Breana took a turn around her new room familiarizing herself with its workings. For the most part, besides the inner corners of the armoire, the room was very clean and tidy. She liked her room, it was warm enough and held a fairly comfortable air about it.
    When she had finished putting her clothes away, she put her references, and her bus ticket in one of her dresser drawers, underneath some blouses. She returned to her bed and noticed on the nightstand two keys laying beside the bed lamp. One was long and old-fashioned, and the other was short and new. The old key, she supposed, was for the door, and the short modern one was for the nightstand, since it had a lock on its drawer. She took her glasses off and placed them upon the stand, then grabbed the older key and her nightgown, and went out into the dim corridor. The door directly across from hers was open a crack, it was barely noticeable. She locked the door behind her and went down the hall. She found the bathroom easily. It was the third door down from hers. She changed her clothes and washed her face.
    After returning to her room, she went about her nightly routine of combing her hair. Everything seemed to be still within the house, until a quiet squeal grabbed at her attention from out in the hall. She stopped what she was doing and paused. A board or two grown and was followed by a slow soft rustle. Breana turned her attention toward her door, Thinking she could possibly hear better. But there was nothing. She figured it must be one of the family wandering off to the bathroom, or Mrs. Christie making some sort of rounds. A moment more and there was still nothing. Her mind made its way back to her previous task when there came a slight tapping on her door.
    "I'm fine, Mrs. Christie," she said, thinking it would be followed by the housekeeper's kind response, but there was still nothing. Breana waited a moment more, then stood and stealthily flew at the door. She knelt down to spy through the keyhole, but her eye met nothing but black. She promptly stood and reached for the knob.
    "Mrs. Richards? Miss Peters? Quentin? Quent?" she called. No answer came.
    She stepped away for a moment to retrieve her glasses, then returned to the door, produced her key and just after turning it, gave the knob a twist and opened the door easily. She was confronted by nothing, nothing but an empty hallway. She looked from one end to the other, but saw nothing.
    "Hello?" She quietly called. She looked down at the floor but all that she could see were the impressions from what she assumed to be her and Quentin's footprints. She looked across the way at the neighboring door, it was fully closed. Someone must have closed it. A curious feeling tickled the back as if eyes were on her. She looked up, again, and peered further into the hallway, squinting her eyes. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure move near the top of the stairs, but soon resolved that it was the suit of armor that she spied.
    Breana stepped back inside her room and re-locked the door for the night. She began to wonder if she had really heard the tapping on her door, the other sounds were more than likely those of the mansion settling in the night. But if she did hear somebody wandering about and tapping on the door, than it could only be the one member of the household she had not met, her employer's brother, Mr. Joseph Peters. She decided that if it had been Mr. Peters, then he would have responded and corrected her mistake when she called.
    Questions continued to run through her mind. She put some of these thoughts out of her mind by writing about them in her journal. After making the second entry, she locked it in her nightstand drawer, set the key on her stand, tied her lucky blue ribbon on her hair, turned the lamp off, and went to bed.

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