Excerpt: The Manor House

As she contemplated staying in bed for another hour or two, Cate was suddenly aware that someone was in the room. She peeked through sleep-sticky eyes but saw no one. Maybe it had been Alice, or Mrs P. As weird as he was, Cate didn’t think Peck was the perverted type. A sound came from the other side of the room, and Cate shuddered. Maybe it was mice. Rats?
“Hello?” she called. Immediately she slapped her hand over her mouth. The voice she spoke with was not her own voice. “What the hell?” No, it was not her voice, or her accent. This voice was softer, higher, and distinctly British. She bolted upright in bed and cried, “Holy shit!”
On the other side of the room, a young girl in a light-coloured dress dropped a tray of toiletries and jumped back in fear, “Miss Catherine? Are you unwell?”
Cate rubbed her eyes quickly and took stock of her surroundings. Aside from the strange girl, everything around her looked different. The room was the same – even some of the furniture was in the same place – but it wasn’t dark and dingy. The walls were brightly patterned with wallpaper, the drapes a bold hunter green. The rug on the floor looked almost new. The bed she sat in was not the bed she had gone to sleep in. At least, the mattress was not the same. This one was stuffed with something. Feathers and straw were a possibility. It was lumpy and hard. There were drapes on the four posters. Her cell phone was missing from the bedside table. Instead there was a thick candle half burnt down, a leather-bound book no bigger than the length of Cate’s hand, and a doily that looked suspiciously handmade. “Oh. My. God.”
“Miss? Shall I send for the doctor?” The girl hadn’t moved an inch from where she had dropped the tray. She hadn’t even moved to pick it up. Cate stared at her. She was wearing a period costume, with a long white apron tied just under her breasts. Her hair was covered by a white cap, except for the curls that poked out from beneath the gathered edge of it.
Cate said nothing, afraid that she would hear the other voice come out of her mouth. Instead she threw back the covers, leapt out of bed – which made the girl in the costume step back a little more with a look of fear on her face – and ran for the door. She threw it open and stepped out into the long hall.
Here she was faced with the same strange thing. The long carpet runner was clean and fresh, the ornate wall paper was not cracked or torn, there were living plants here and there along the wall, and there were fewer pictures decorating the place. Cate looked down at herself. She was not wearing the Old Navy tank top and panties she had gone to bed in. She was, however, wearing an ankle-length nightgown with ruffles at the sleeves, neck and bottom hem. As she looked down, her hair fell over one shoulder. It had grown several inches overnight, and instead of being neatly straightened, was somewhat wavy. And it was her original colour, too. No blond highlights or reddish lowlights. Just plain brown. “Oh God,” she said.