The Sisters of Castle Stone

#18: The Box

Clouds of steam coated the windows of Charlotte's small en-suite bathroom as she stepped out of the hot shower. After spending hours traipsing through the wet and cold, the shower felt like a refreshing sauna. She reached forward and wrapped a warm fluffy towel around her slender body. It didn't take her long to dry herself and throw on some dry clothes. This time she decided to skip the makeup.

Running her fingers through the lengths of her dark tresses, Charlotte scraped her hair back into the top of her head and secured it in place with an elastic hair band. She had to prioritise, and at the moment, drying her hair wasn't the most important.

Charlotte stepped out of her bedroom and determined to find out the truth about Bethany, she hurried down the stairs as quickly as she could. No way could it wait any longer. As she moved from the bottom step, she expected to see Araminta sitting waiting for her, as she said she would. A pair of stiletto-heeled boots lay near the bottom of the stairs, their heels caked in nearly an inch of mud that went halfway up the material. But Araminta was nowhere to be seen.

Although the family had lived at Castle Stone for nearly a month now, it felt as if they had only been there for less than a week. With everything that had gone on since they moved, Charlotte still had problems finding her way around. She wished more than anything that she didn't keep getting lost inside her own home. She thought for a moment and struggled to think where Araminta could be.

Araminta wanted to show Charlotte the paperwork to prove Bethany wasn't a Greyson by blood. Information like that, passports, birth certificates, and school reports, were all kept in Dad's office, and the more she thought about it, Dad's office was the third door on the right from the entrance hall.

Her pace quickened, and she headed further down the corridor. The third door on the right was open slightly, a light flickered from inside, and a shape was visible. Charlotte placed her hand on the door handle and was just about to open it when a voice called her name.

"Charlotte?" Dad called, "Charlotte? Are you here?"

Charlotte stopped dead in her tracks, her heart started to pound inside her chest. Sweat coated the palms of her hand and glued her damp hair to her forehead. 

"Dad," she said, her voice slightly louder than her usual tone, "what are you doing?"

"I live here, Charlotte." Dad paused for a moment.

Charlotte could sense that he was listening for something. Maybe he knew that Araminta hid in his study. She wiped her sweaty hands down the front of her tight skinny jeans as he walked closer. Dad stood right outside the door.

"Excuse me."

Charlotte stayed in front of the door as if her trainers were glued to the old faded carpet. A deep feeling of dread welled in the pit of her stomach. No way was she prepared for the drama that would occur if Dad knew who hid behind the door.

"Charlotte please, I need to get something from my study. Now will you move?"

The hinges of the old oak door groaned loudly. Araminta stood in the doorway.

Like a highly changed bull, Dad huffed and rolled his eyes.

"What the..? I thought I'd told you to leave?"

Charlotte turned to see her. No longer was the elderly lady's hair so wild as it was earlier, her white ringlets hung loosely and fell just under her ears. Weighty golden earrings pulled at her lobes that stretched like over-chewed sweets. With a swift movement of her hand, Araminta flicked a stray curl away from her eyes.

"Oh my darling son," she gushed, "You do look awful. How's Sally? How was the burial?"

"For goodness sake, Mother!" Dad sighed, "My wife and I have just buried our teenage daughter. Whether or not I look awful isn't something I give a fuck about right now. Can you please just go? I really can not deal with you at a time like this."