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“But Aunt adored her.”
    â€œYes, she spoiled her with pretty dresses and dolls. Never scolded her, never found fault, never made her behave. Unfortunately, Sophia did not return her aunt’s affection. Indeed, she took advantage of my sister.”
    I seized Uncle’s hand. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
    â€œNo, indeed.” He chuckled. “Why do you ask?”
    â€œPeople in the village think Crutchfield Hall is haunted. Did you know that?”
    Uncle laughed. “The villagers are a superstitious lot. Pay their stories no heed, Florence.” He looked at me closely. “You’re not frightened, are you?”
    â€œSometimes I think Sophia is still here,” I said quietly. “I feel her following me, watching me, listening to me. Wherever I go, she’s nearby.”
    Uncle looked at me earnestly, his kind face filled with concern. “Oh, my dear, foolish child, that’s quite impossible. When we die, we leave this world and do not return. Be a sensible girl.” He handed me
Vanity Fair.
“Read your Thackeray. You’ll find no ghosts in his stories, just ordinary people like you and me and a thousand others going about the world as we must.”
    Uncle sat with me for a while, trying to calm me. I was too imaginative, I was too sensitive, I was alone too much, he said. Because I wanted to please him, I did my best to dismiss my fears as silly and childish.
    After he left, I listened to his footsteps until I heard them no more. Let Uncle believe what he liked, but I knew Sophia was here in this house. I hadn’t imagined the laughter and the voice in the garden, or that cold hand on my cheek. Sophia was watching me, and I didn’t know if I should fear her or try to befriend her.

S ix

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    T HE NEXT DAY I WOKE ONCE more to the sound of rain driven hard against my window. I dressed and went down to breakfast, deliberately arriving too late to join Aunt or Uncle. I was not in a happy mood. I’d slept poorly, waking from one bad dream after another. Sophia traipsed through each one, taunting me, chasing me, frightening me. Sometimes she looked like a living girl, but in the worst dreams, her face was a skull and her bony hands stretched toward me like claws.
    When I’d eaten all I could, which wasn’t very much, I wandered through the house aimlessly, drifting from room to room, lonely, sad, and scared. Uncle had gone to Lewes on business, and Aunt had gone with him. James was shut up in his room, too sick to be a companion. Nellie was hard at work somewhere in the house, and Mrs. Dawson was busy in the kitchen. Neither had time for me.
    But I wasn’t alone. No matter where I was, no matter whether it was day or night, Sophia hovered in the shadows, watching and listening, daring me to find her.
    I climbed the stairs to the second floor, but instead of going to my room, I went to James’s room and stood at his door. All was quiet within. What did he do all day? How long could books interest him if he did nothing but read? I was tempted to turn the knob and confront him.
    But I didn’t do it. Aunt would find out. She’d already threatened to send me away to boarding school. If I flagrantly disobeyed her, she’d make sure I went as soon as possible.
    I backed away from James’s room. What else was there to do? I was tired of reading, tired of drawing, tired of being trapped inside by the rain and the wind.
    At the bottom of the stairs to the third floor, I paused. Aunt had told me there was nothing up there but empty rooms where the servants used to live. Maybe she was right, but exploring those rooms would give me something new to do.
    At the top, I was confronted by a narrow hall lined with closed doors. I opened one after another. Except for dust, spider webs, and more dust, the small rooms were all empty. Curtainless windows looked out on bare fields under dark clouds and pouring rain.
    I found a dead bird