The Wailing Woman of Brackencliffe Abbey (A Ravynne Sisters Paranormal Thriller Book 5)

By Merabeth James

Some say 'good things come in small packages'. Do bad things come in them as well? Meg and Charlie Ravynne find out the truth of that when they head to England to keep a promise they reluctantly made to their overbearing mother. It was promise that neither sister imagined would have them staying at a ruined abbey perched on a cliff high above the sea and cut off by the changing tides.
Once there, Meg poses as governess to a troubled child while Charlie struggles to resist an inexplicable attraction to the scarred, darkly handsome owner who is haunted by his dead wife...the wife he confessed to killing.
Layer upon layer of dark secrets are woven into the very walls of Brackencliffe Abbey, where troubled restless spirits seek their revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merabeth James
• Release date: Jul 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005866679

Merabeth James

There are six things important to me...well, most important to me: To love unconditionally, to always keep a sense of 'wonder', to always be kind, to find joy in simple things, to never take myself too seriously, and to make sure I don't leave this earth with a list of "if only I hads".I've taken many 'leaps of faith' in my time and, so far, have landed on my feet or, in one case, on a dilapitated houseboat with my dog, and a lot of enthusiasm. I named her 'Sanctuary Annie' and hoped for the best. I knew nothing about boats, couldn't swim and wondered how long she would stay afloat. In the middle of the night, when my dog jumped up to join me on the antique Victorian bed I had moved on board, I would check to see if he was wet, knowing, if so, we were both in big trouble. But Sanctuary Annie hung in there, even surviving a hurricane, when others around her were not so fortunate.Living in the small marina, with the sea as my back yard, I found a profound sense of peace..and the love of my life....my Jim, captain of 'Wings', a beautiful racing sloop that flies across the water, when the wind fills her sails.I often think how much I would have missed out on, if I hadn't taken that leap of faith and followed my heart. Life is meant to be lived and I intend to keep on doing just that.

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This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters are entirely fictitious and do not represent any persons living or dead. Product, business, and location names used remain the property of any and all trademark holders and do not represent an endorsement or association of any kind, either expressed or implied.

(copyright 2013 elizabeth repka all rights reserved)

THE WAILING WOMAN OF BRACKENCLIFFE ABBEY

MERABETH JAMES

PROLOGUE - The Year of Our Lord 1487

There are those that purport she be a witch, Brother Thomas intoned looking down at the slim, red haired girl glaring up at him from her manacles. Her eyes blazed and her mouth was contorted as she snarled a reply, I be all of that, you fool, and I curse you and all your brethren. I curse this abbey and all that shelter here. I curse God Himself…

Stop your blasphemy, you wretched girl! Father John shouted crossing himself as he stared into her green eyes. Cover her face. Her eyes bewitch us just as they did poor Father Joseph who was but tending the orchards when she seduced him and corrupted his immortal soul. He broke his commitment to his vow of Chastity and will surely spend his next ten years in exile praying for his own redemption in the eyes of God.

Exile? Where could he be sent that is worse than this God forsaken place unless you are one of his chosen, his companion murmured.

You tread the edge of blasphemy yourself, Brother Thomas. Now what of her?

Perhaps we should burn her as is just punishment for a confessed witch, his companion mused."

She is the Smith's favorite daughter and we need his good will now that Brother James has fallen ill, Father John told him. It would be better if she just disappeared, though it be up to Father Abbot to decide. It is he that ordered her capture.

You dare not touch me! she screamed writhing in her chains until blood ran down both arms.

I am afraid we must, child, for your own salvation. You have confessed to being a witch…a whore of Satan's whose child you most likely carry.

If I be with child, it is Joseph's. I swear no one else has touched me. Ask him if I was not a virgin when he took me, she whispered hoarsely. I beg of you. Please be merciful and release me.

Would it were so simple, Father John told her sharply turning from her in disgust as she slumped to her knees on the filthy stone floor sparsely covered with straw. We will remove your manacles and give you free reign of this cell until midnight. That is all the mercy you shall receive from us, Mistress Hobson. May God forgive your transgressions as I surely cannot.

At his signal, Brother Thomas approached her. He could feel her tears drop on his sandaled feet and he stepped back in horror. Could witches cry, he wondered? Where had he heard that they could not produce human tears? A tiny flicker of pity found its way into his heart, and he was not ungentle when he removed her shackles. Pray for your soul, child while you yet have time, he murmured. Salvation may still be yours.

She looked up at him then; her eyes filled with both hate and horror. I pray to no one. Do what you will to me, but remember my curse till the days of your own ending.

He backed away from her in fear feeling a strange tingling in his feet where her tears had wet him. Snagging Father John's arm, he pulled him from the tiny cell and slammed the door behind them. Her screams followed after them until, wearily, she leaned up against the grate and listened to the sound of their sandals slapping against the stone floor…watched the flicker of their torches lick along the stone walls fading with distance.

She sighed heavily and pressed her hands to her eyes wiping away the tears she had not wanted them to see. She had told them she was a witch, but was it true? If she had such powers, they were untried until now when she uttered her first curse. Her mother had brewed potions for the sick and the lovelorn, but most had called her 'healer' not witch. Her grandmother had had her own powerful gifts that sent her fleeing for her life from her village in France where they were going to burn her at the stake. A flight across the channel that had almost claimed her life. She smiled wryly. Had she died all of this would never have happened. Now all was lost. Joseph's punishment was light compared to whatever they were planning for her. She would disappear, or something worse…far worse…would befall her at the Abbot's discretion.

She shivered in foreboding and let her thoughts drift back to the day she had first seen Joseph, in his black robe, headed for the apple orchard. She had run away from home for the morning…out to the meadows and a place to breathe freely. Wandering through the upper pastures, she was drawn towards the abbey and crossed the wooden bridge that separated it from the main land. It seemed a magical place to her rising as it did from the sea mists. She liked listening to the hymns that soared above the walls all the way to Heaven.

Lying in the tall grass, she was watching the clouds roll in from the sea across a deep blue sky. One looked like a raven another like a man from the village they called Crooked Tim. She had smiled at her own imaginings. It was then she heard him approach. He was whistling some tune and swinging a leather bag with his tools jangling loosely inside. She rolled to her belly and watched him through the thin veil of tall weeds and grass. He was beautiful. Angelic even with golden hair the sun played in. She touched her own red locks and smiled ruefully. He was prettier than she was and most thought her comely.

I see you there, he had said as he cut away a wind damaged branch its apples still half formed. I cannot speak with you. I am already doing penance for my behabior..

No one will tell on you, she called back with a giggle.

She stood up then and let him see her. Her waist length hair was a tangle of red and copper stuck with bits of grass. Her long woolen gown was rumpled and her feet were bare. What is your name? he'd asked and she shyly told him, Gillian but everyone calls me Gilly.

Tis like the flower. It is a beautiful name. My own is Father Joseph.

Why are you one of them? Do you love God that much? she asked moving closer.

It was my father's wish that one of his sons join the Order and pray for his salvation. Though I have yet to take my Holy Orders I have pledged myself to Poverty, Chastity and Obedience though I am not very good at keeping the last one. A sin for which I am being punished as here I am doing the work of a lay brother instead of my duties as a choir monk.

I often don't obey my father though he has never threatened to send me to a convent…at least not recently. I am too much like my mother sometimes, and I think it frightens him.

Which means what? he asked looking her slowly up and down with a wry grin.

I don't know exactly. Do I bewitch you? she asked softly.

He laughed then, and she'd liked the sound of it. What if I told you some think my mother and her mother before her were…witches?

He laughed again. I would think them addlepated without a brain between them. But to answer your question, you might bewitch me given time.

And they'd had that time…days and nights of secret meetings, but, truth be told, it was he who had bewitched her…had taken her virginity in the long grass with the stars and moon bearing witness.

Was she really with his child…had their nights together borne fruit? Her mother would have been able to tell with a simple glance had she but lived. She felt her eyes fill up with tears again as she remembered her touch…her gentle smile. I need you now, she whispered knowing there would be no answer, but needing to say the words anyway.

She fumbled her way back to the pile of straw that served as her bed and collapsed into its damp, moldering welcome. They had left her in darkness. A complete and utter darkness filled with tiny sounds. Rats scurrying. Water dripping somewhere. She pulled her thin blanket over her shoulders. The cold air seeped deeper into her bones now that her rage was spent leaving only despair and hate in its wake.

She began to cry...great wracking sobs that shook her thin frame. Joseph, my love, I so wish you were with me, she murmured, but she knew in her heart no wish…no prayer of hers…would bring him to her. He was already on a journey of his own.

CHAPTER ONE - THE PRESENT

I'll bet my eyes are as red as a ferret's, Meg murmured around a huge yawn.

Sort of rabbit pink would be closer, Charlie replied. Try resting them for a while. I don't think you slept a wink on the flight over here.

Unlike you. How do you just drop off like that with everything going on around you?

Charlie smiled. I learned to sleep practically standing up in a safe situation knowing that might be my last chance for awhile.

Meg yawned again. Since you splurged on a rental with a GPS, you won't need me to navigate. Wake me at the first glimpse of a village, or castle, or something. I don't want to miss a single thing.

She was asleep in less than two minutes. Charlie smiled down at her sister and thought about straightening her head that was bent at a weird angle, but decided not to disturb her rest. She had worn herself out babbling almost non-stop across the Atlantic and would need some sleep before they arrived at their destination.

They were on their way to a little village tucked above the sea they had Googled before they left. It was called Brackencliffe and somewhere on the outskirts was the manor house Jerome Thorne had bought with their mother's money. The 'monstrous pile', as she had called it, which would be improved by tearing it down. Her threat to stay with them at Hensley Hall until the 'situation was rectified' had put the entire household…ghosts included…into a state of near panic. Since they couldn't very well turn her out into the street, or seal her up in her room no matter how great the temptation, they had taken on the task of doing what they could to straighten out the tangle.

She looked out the window as the morning sun slanted through the trees lining the road creating a strobing effect that threatened to give her a headache. Despite what Meg thought, she had not slept well either. She had pretended to sleep in order to tune out Meg which hadn't seemed to daunt her. When she did sleep, dreams found her. Disturbing dreams about the man their mother had told them about. The son with the scarred face who lived in an ancient ruin above the sea.

She let her thoughts drift back to their return from New Orleans when they found their mother settled like a tick in the tower room…Zack's room. What she had to tell them had started them on this path…this possible fool's errand.

"I had the worst time of my life. First of all, he brought me to England, not Spain, and you know how I hate the damp sea air. And then there was the house he bought with my money! He told me he wanted a proper 'frame for the queen of his heart'. It is worse than this place! Another rubble pile that should have been torn down. It hadn't been lived in for years…no water…no power. Turns out he wanted to be close to his son who lives somewhere along the sea. Met him that first day, when we came to see the house. Tall…dark…with a long white scar down the side of his face that a good plastic surgeon could have fixed for him had he cared what other people thought, which, apparently, he didn’t.

Needless to say. I took one look at the house…at him…and left immediately in the rental car I had paid for. I came back here by the fastest means thinking to find help at my disposal and…. she had paused long enough to dab at the corner of her eye with a lace handkerchief she had pulled from her sleeve. Of course, what should I have expected? You have both been disappointments to me all your lives in ways we won’t even get into at the moment.

Charlie smiled to herself as she remembered Meg's reply. A Meg who was no longer intimidated by their formidable mother. When it comes to disappointments, we each have our own list we may share with you some day, Mother.. Why did you let this man get his hands on your money? That is totally out of character for you.

I was sort of dazzled by him, if you must know. He is handsome, charming, and refined. Told me he had a title. He handled the sale through a broker in the village and may even have forged my name. I want my money back, that hideous house gone, and him in prison. Those are your orders.

Charlie remembered her own reply. We don’t take orders from you…not any more.

Their mother had smiled grimly. I don’t remember that you ever did. We shall see. With no home of my own and my financial state in shambles, it looks like I’ll be staying with you indefinitely.

Reacting to her thoughts, Charlie had unconsciously pressed down on the accelerator and the trees on either side flashed past. Easing up, she shook her head. She could still get to her. There was no way she would stay at Hensley Hall a moment more than necessary. They had come a long way to make sure she didn't.

Meg moaned in her sleep and murmured, Freddie.

Charlie smiled again. Even in her sleep she was worried about her dog Freddie…her adopted 'pound puppy' that their mother had threatened to harm if he came within her grasp. Agnes had agreed to take him home with her while they were away despite her husband's allergies, which…on a trial basis…proved to be imaginary. In fact, her spouse had taken such a liking to the furry bundle of energy that Meg was afraid she'd have a hard time prying him loose when they returned.

A sign flashed by. Castle alert! Wake up, Meg! Corfe Castle is just around the corner. The very one you were Googling before we left.

Meg opened her eyes, looked around blankly for a second, then recited, Corfe Castle built by William the Conqueror in the 11th century though you can bet he didn't turn over a shovel. One of the first stone castles. It was demolished in 1645 by Parliamentary Order. Politics once again rearing its ugly head.

The castle turned out to be a picturesque gray ruin perched on a hilltop on the right hand side of the narrow road where a scattering of cars were parked along the edge. A bridge spanned a stream that tumbled alongside and, as they drove over it, Meg resumed her tour guide hat. That hill is made of chalk and was shaped by that stream we just passed and another on the other side we can't see from here. Chalk sounds like a bit of a risk for building. I wonder how long before it topples down the hill.

Longer than we have on this planet, Meg. We can stop and play tourist now or push on. I'd like to get to Brackencliffe before it gets too late. We still don't have a place to stay. From what you Googled about the place, it's not likely to have an inn which means we may have to do some back tracking or sleep in the car. Something you don't seem to have much difficulty doing.

I was just resting my eyes per order. There's Corfe Castle village just ahead where we could get some lunch and maybe a bit of information about our destination.

I wouldn't mind stretching my legs and lunch sounds like a great idea. I know you were checking out some place on the Internet with a name I can't quite remember.

The Polka Dot Squirrel, Meg supplied. Reviews were sort of mixed, but I'm willing to risk it for the ambience alone.

Charlie laughed. You would!

A short time later they pulled up in front of a white, plaster over brick building with purple shutters. A scattering of tourist occupied tables edged precariously close to the narrow street. Finding a place in the 'car park', took them more than a few minutes. I sure hope this place is worth it, Charlie muttered under her breath when she finally found an empty slot.

Threading their way between the buildings, they made their way to an empty table and sat down with a collective sigh. The waitress spotted them almost immediately, but took her time getting to their table. She had a tattoo of a snake around one wrist and a purple streak in her dark hair. What would you recommend? Meg asked covertly studying the silver studs that marched up the outside rim of each ear. They were tiny skulls.

Cocking one hip to the side, she popped her gum and thrust two menus in their direction. You Yanks like your burgers. They're pretty good here….them and the chips, or you can have kettle crisps for a bit less. There's other stuff you might fancy. Call me back when you're ready to order.

Knowing instinctively she'd best order while she had the waitress' attention, Meg chose burgers and chips for both of them. While they waited, Charlie looked around at the other tables. Everyone was intent on having a good time and she envied them more than a little. Their vacation in New Orleans had proven to be anything but, and this trip was destined for the same fate.

They had lost the better part of an hour before they were back in the car and on their way. A short time later, they left the main track that led to Swanage and cut off across the sweeping, undulating countryside that was early spring green and crisscrossed with hedges and stone walls. The road was even narrower and boxed in on both sides with thick hedgerows. It's getting late and I really wanted to be off the road by dark, Charlie muttered as they bounced out of another rut she couldn't avoid.

It was the fog at the airport last night that set us back, Meg told her defensively. Otherwise, we would have plenty of time.

Time we can't make up on this road, she continued to mutter. Hope you enjoyed your burger.

Sorry about that. I didn't think it would take so long. Well, I kinda did, but by then it was too late, and we were both hungry, and at least we got to see the dancing polka dot squirrels before we left.

Purple and white faux ones with buck teeth doing the conga, so I can't say it wasn't time well spent, Charlie replied with a wry grin as she watched the landscape slide by.

Dwellings were few and far between now…mostly stone farmhouses of uncertain age nestled among their clutch of outbuildings. Sheep grazed the new grass along the slopes…white dots against the verdant green.

Rounding a curve, Charlie braked hard and swore under her breath. A brown and white cow was standing in the middle of the road looking both scared and confused. Now what? We have to move her out of the way because we can't just squeeze past her. From the look of her, she's frightened out of her cow mind and who knows how she'd react, Charlie told her sister.

Meg's blue eyes widened in concern. The hedges seem to go on forever, but maybe we can find a break and lead her through. Even if we could get around her, we can't just leave her in the road for some speeding car to mow down.

Yeah, right. Speeding cars on this road probably kill hundreds every year. Sheep, too. Do you want to drive or lead?

Meg gave her sister's silver blonde ponytail a playful tug. I'll lead for once. I've never been this close to a cow before. Do you think she's dangerous?

"Probably not. She doesn't have horns,