Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) (2 page)

“Begging your pardon, Captain,” a man sitting at a nearby table said, lowering his gaze to his clenched hands. “There’s not a soul that’ll go near the mansion, sir, even at the risk of your wrath.” He licked his lips and glanced up. “We beg for your mercy.”

Devlin gulped the rest of his ale and glared at the spineless man who dared to beg for mercy in front of the entire establishment. While his reputation as the Devil was well-known among sailors, he had hoped to pass himself off as a wealthy privateer among the good people of Devil’s Cove. Tension crackled between the hunched bodies as they awaited his response.

An elderly woman at the far end of the tavern suddenly stood and called out in a strong voice, “My husband and I will take you to Devil’s Cove Manor.”

The woman’s blond hair was streaked through with gray, yet the loose bun atop her head softened her square face and gave her a youthful air. Her delicate features stood out in stark contrast against her mate’s salt-and-pepper cropped mane and austere sideburns.

After several moments, the diners released a collective sigh and resumed their chattering, returning the tavern to its normal state of chaotic noise.

“Wait here,” Devlin said under his breath to his companions. “Don’t want to scare away our only hope of reaching the mansion tonight.”

He weaved through the tables and studied the grim faces of the couple awaiting him. Of all the people present tonight, they were the last ones he would’ve imagined would stick their necks out and accept his offer. What was their motivation?

“Good evening, I’m Captain Devlin Limmerick,” he said, bowing and gesturing to the empty bench across from them. “May I?”

“Of course, Captain,” the man said with a nod. “You’re a bit of a legend. It’s an honor to meet you. This is my wife, Abigail Stevens, and I’m Samuel. Welcome to Devil’s Cove.”

Devlin clasped his hands and rested them on the table. “Thank you. It’s been a long day, so I’m going to get straight to business. Are you interested in my generous offer to escort my small party to Devil’s Cove Manor?”

“Yes, Captain,” Mr. Stevens said, clearing his throat. “But under two conditions.” The slight squeak in his voice betrayed him but didn’t deter him from his intended path.

Devlin cocked his head and regarded the older man closely, intrigued by such courage in making demands. Courageous, indeed, considering his towering height and fierce reputation. “And those are?”

“First, you must hire my wife as your cook and I as your stableman, with one year of wages paid in advance.”

Although Devlin had no intention of remaining in the manor for a full year, that minor detail wouldn’t prevent him from accepting the terms. He was anxious to restore the mansion to its former glory and search every room for signs of the existence of the gatekeeper to Hell. Both were paramount to attaining his goals, and he would do anything to get what he wanted. Money was not a concern.

Devlin nodded. “Done. And your second condition?”

Mrs. Stevens’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at her husband a moment, confusion lighting in her eyes. She returned her gaze to Devlin. “But we haven’t named a wage.”

Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the table. “I’m certain we can come to agreeable terms. Now, tell me your second condition, Mrs. Stevens.”

“Call me Abigail,” she said, her eyes softening.

Devlin nodded. “Abigail, your second condition?”

She swallowed hard. “You must hire a medium to exorcise evil spirits from the mansion.”

Devlin folded his arms over his chest as he settled back against the wood booth. “What utter nonsense! If you’re terrified of ghosts, then why have you agreed to work for me?”

The woman’s brow furrowed, and a disgruntled huff exploded from her nostrils. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. You heard the man earlier; this entire village believes Devil’s Cove Manor is haunted. You’ll not find dedicated servants unless you ease their fears. So do you want to be right, or do you want servants?”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Devlin’s mouth as he regarded Abigail with an ounce of respect. He most certainly wanted servants, at almost any cost. Yet he was shocked to discover this old woman didn’t quake at the thought of entering the manor.

“You’ve agreed to work for me,” Devlin countered. “Why aren’t you terrified of the manor?”

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and then sighed. “What makes you think I’m not afraid?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Believe me, madam, I’ve seen fear in many a man’s eyes. You’re far from frightened. Tell me why you want this position.”

Abigail clasped her husband’s hand, and he nodded his encouragement. “My brother, Crispin, was cook at the manor,” she said, her voice trembling. “Everyone died during the massacre that night. You must’ve heard the harrowing stories of the manor, and Josephine’s rampage. I would like to reclaim his belongings and several family heirlooms, if you please.”

“Then it’s true?” Devlin whispered, barely able to contain his excitement. He didn’t wish to be disrespectful, but this was the first time he’d spoken with anyone so close to the horrifying events proclaimed to have occurred in the abandoned house. What good fortune that he’d won the vast property in a game of baccarat.

She nodded.

He held his elation in check out of respect for her feelings. “I’ll strike you a deal,” Devlin said. “Let’s give it one month. I personally don’t believe in evil spirits. It’s hogwash, if you ask me. But, if after a month of living in the mansion you still want me to hire a medium to exorcise evil spirits, I will. Agreed?”

“Fair enough,” Samuel said, squeezing his wife’s hand. “What are we waiting for, then? Your coach awaits.”

Devlin hopped to his feet and motioned for Victor and Hatchet to meet him outside. While they stood on the sidewalk waiting for Samuel to bring his coach around front, Devlin shared the good news. Moments later they sat comfortably in the simple black conveyance, swaying and bouncing as they raced along the gravel path.

Leaning to one side, Devlin stared out the window, watching the oppressively dark manor inch closer in the moonlight. The sharp angles of the sloped roof and turrets were reminiscent of an older age. From what he had learned through his barrister, the grounds were massive and encompassed both a thriving forest as well as lush oceanfront property, including craggy cliffs. He could hardly wait to explore it all and uncover its hidden treasures.

When the carriage came to a halt, Devlin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d waited years for all of the pieces to his revenge to come together, and tonight marked the last stretch of his long journey.

“Shall we?” Victor asked.

Devlin grinned at his best friend and opened the door. He jumped to the ground, brushing Samuel out of his way.

“You can remain in the carriage with Abigail if you wish,” Devlin said over his shoulder as he approached the grand entrance to the mansion. “My men will accompany me. We won’t be long, I promise.”

Hatchet blew out a long whistle as he surveyed their surroundings, taking in the dark-gray stones, windows with tightly drawn curtains, and grounds overtaken by weeds and wildflowers. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, Devlin. This place is a disaster.”

“Imagine the state of the inside,” Victor said, running a hand through his thick, black hair. “It’ll take months to restore the mansion if we can’t find servants to assist.”

“I’ll ship servants in from neighboring towns if I have to,” Devlin said as he strode up the stone stairs to the entrance.

He pulled a key ring from his trousers. An ornate “D” carved into the brass bow of a key caught his eye, and he fumbled while thrusting the shaft of the key into the lock. With a twist of his wrist, the lock clicked open. Glancing over his shoulder, he winked at his mates and pushed open the heavy door, putting all of his weight behind the action. The door emitted a wailing creak, and dank air seeped out, crawling over Devlin’s skin.

He stepped cautiously into the foyer and shared a triumphant smile with Victor. Hatchet entered with a torch raised high above his head, revealing a regal staircase. It stood majestically before them, leading to the second floor, where a decadent chandelier hung in the center of the ceiling. Devlin started toward a room on their left but paused when Victor latched on to his arm and lifted a finger to his lips.

“Did you hear that?” Victor whispered, his eyes widening. His breath hitched, and he cocked his head to one side, listening.

The faint keys of a piano drifted through the air, and a shudder raced through Devlin’s body. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to discern where the noise originated. But as soon as he’d heard the soft notes, they were gone. Had he imagined it, then?

“It’s nothing but the howling wind,” he said, licking his lips. “Come.”

Devlin led the way to a set of double doors and pushed them wide. A magnificent parlor came into view, replete with a marble fireplace, multiple settees and chairs, and a grand piano. The cobwebs clinging to every surface did little to detract from the beauty of the room but served to remind Devlin of everything he hoped to achieve in the coming months.

“It’s exactly as I imagined it would be.” He exhaled and strode into the room, turning in a circle with his arms outstretched. “The ideal place to meet the gatekeeper to Hell, wouldn’t you say?”

One month later …

A clap of thunder shook the ground, startling Grace for a heartbeat. She clung to the sleeve of Brother Anselm’s habit, fighting against the howling wind and rain as they navigated a narrow road on the outskirts of town. They had traversed this path many times, so she was confident she’d not stumble, despite her blindness. Her mentor had begged her to wait until the storm passed before venturing out. But when it came to assisting the villagers, she could be quite stubborn, and in the end he had conceded to her wishes after bearing witness to Mr. Evans’s bout of hysterics.

When they finally reached their destination, Mr. Evans ushered Grace inside. She immediately sought the comfort of the fire snapping in the stone hearth and stretched her fingers out while taking in her surroundings. The cottage was welcoming; warm air caressed her icy skin, the woodsy scent of cedar planks encircled her, and a pot of stew bubbled nearby. The rich aroma filled her nostrils, and her stomach grumbled in response, reminding her that it was almost time for supper.

“Foul weather this afternoon,” she said, willing her chattering teeth to stop.

“As foul as the evil spirit lurking within these walls,” Mr. Evans said. “Thank you both for coming right away. My wife is at her wits’ end, and my son is terrified.”

A woman shrieked, and booted footfalls raced over the wood planks before a door opened with a crash. Brother Anselm wrapped Grace’s hand over his arm and guided her across the room. Another howl accosted them, but this one belonged to a young lad who deteriorated into a fit of weeping.

A woman’s incoherent moans saturated the chamber, raising the hairs on the back of Grace’s neck.

“Lord help us,” Mr. Evans cried. “My wife is possessed. Do something!”

Grace strode in the direction of the woman while issuing orders. “Begin the prayers, Brother, and go stand before Mr. Evans and his son. Protect them as best you can. There isn’t time for our standard ritual.”

After reaching for the gold cross on a delicate chain around her neck, Grace pulled it over her head and took a steadying breath, filling her lungs to capacity. She blew the air out as she cleared her mind and gave thanks to God for bringing her to Mrs. Evans in her hour of need. Grace homed in on the location of the ghastly wails and held out the cross.

She opened her heart and mind to her Creator and called out in a clear voice, “In the name of our Holy Father, reveal yourself to me!”

Listen to me! My daughter lies in the forest, attacked by wolves. Oh, why won’t anyone listen to me?

Grace swallowed hard, momentarily shocked by the spirit’s revelation. It never ceased to amaze her that she could decipher what sounded like nothing more than garbled words to others. If Mr. Evans only knew what his unwanted guest had been trying to say to him!

Keeping her voice calm, Grace reassured the ghost. “I’m listening, and I promise I’m here to help you. Please believe me, I feel your sadness and pain. Tell me your name.”

“What’re you doing, Grace?” Mr. Evans bellowed. “Get that demon out of my wife’s body now! You’re here to help my wife, not that horrible creature. You’re as crazy as Willie Jackson claims! God help us, I should’ve listened to him.”

His voice cracked, and Grace drowned out his hysterics with practiced ease. She’d been labeled crazy so often it barely registered anymore. Right now she needed to direct all of her focus on the ghost inhabiting Mrs. Evans’s body.

I’m not a demon, fool! My name is Jacqueline Moore. I’ve cried and begged for his help for days, but he won’t listen. Let me guide you to my child, Grace. You must save her. Please save my child!

“I will help you,” Grace said, holding her hands out, palms up. “Release your hold on Mrs. Evans and then guide me to your daughter in your spirit form. Can’t you see that I am blind, but I hear you clearly? The others see you, and yet they hear only garbled moans. Let me help you. Release Mrs. Evans at once, and I’ll follow you wherever you lead me.”

You promise on your mother’s grave?

Grace nodded, ignoring the piercing stab of pain in her heart. Though dead for years, Grace still missed her mother’s loving presence, a fact that ghosts latched on to quickly.

A loud thump sounded in front of Grace, and the floor vibrated near her feet, where Mrs. Evans landed in a heap.

“Gwendolyn!” Mr. Evans cried out, and the rustling of his clothes indicated he ran to cradle his wife.

Smoothing her hands over her dress, Grace turned and called over her shoulder. “Brother Anselm, please come. Mrs. Evans will recover soon, I daresay, but there is a child lost in the forest that requires our help.”

“Oh, goodness,” Brother Anselm said, rushing to her side. “Lead on.”