Chapter One

I wondered how the driver could see in front of him. It was so foggy here, all I saw when I peered out of the carriage windows was gray. For the past few hours, that's all there had been. Just gray, nothing else. Mr. Wainwright, of course he bid me to call him Charles, said that we were near Huntsville, the village that Deathcreeke was near. I had no idea how he knew where we were in this thick gray soup, but I could only take his word for it. We had been driving for three days now, and I was starting to feel very anxious.

Charles and I did not talk much. Now and again he would comment upon something about the surrounding area, but considering the fact that nothing was visible anymore, we stayed relatively silent. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to talk to him, to say something about my mother, father, or state of being, but there was nothing I felt like saying. Truth be told I was more than a little intimidated by his beautiful, haunting face and tall, broad frame. He was every inch a perfect man, and it was hard for me not to just stare at him. I knew I shouldn't, though. He was married, and he had spoken quite highly of Lily, his wife. He sounded like a man very much in love. Besides the fact that Charles was old enough to be my father.

Huntsville was a small town filled with a few houses and stores. We passed on through and all the townsfolk bowed their head respectfully when they saw Mr. Wainwright's carriage. I regarded the fact that he returned each of their acknowledgements with a bow of his own head. I smiled, despite everything. This man was kind and chivalrous. He spoke of his wife as gentile and beautiful. They seemed a perfect couple, and I wondered if they had children. As I'd thought previously, he was certainly old enough to be my father. So as we drove out of town and down the long dirt road, I smiled to Charles. "Do you have any children?" I questioned casually. It was a perfectly innocent question, I thought.

Charles looked stricken, and then flustered. "N-no," he replied.

 

I flushed and realized what it must be. Father told me that after Jason died, Mother would often become embarrassed and ashamed if anyone asked her if she had children. Of course, soon after, I came into the world, so there was no need for embarrassment anymore, but hearing Charles's response, I knew that he and Lily must have lost a child. I wanted to apologize, but knew it would be best if I just kept quiet.

My words wouldn't have mattered anyway, because we'd taken a side road that was less-traveled and suddenly, out of the fog, appeared a large manor. It was stone and there were two turrets on either side. The turrets and stone made me believe it had probably been built in the 12th or 13th century, but the Ionic columns that the house was supported by made the manor look as if it had been renovated during the Renaissance. Charles's quick history lesson as we drove up the long driveway confirmed my ideas. Deathcreeke had been built in the 13th century and was one of the first stone manors in the Northumberland area. It had been renovated during the Renaissance by John Wainwright and most of the rooms inside had been transformed as well. It was the Wainwright's ancestral home and the family had lived there ever since the son of the builder had taken the surname 'Wainwright'.
 

I was quite awed by it, and hadn't even seen the inside. As we neared it, it became even bigger, even vaster, and I delighted in taking the days to explore every inch of it. It was where I would be staying for quite awhile, and I'd need things to occupy my mind, to make me forget the distance that now lay between me and Mother.

A staunch footman helped me out from the carriage when we stopped in front of the manor, and more footman unstrapped my trunks from the back of the carriage and started bringing them inside. Charles stepped out of the carriage and looked and opened his pocket watch. When he saw the time, he cursed softly under his breath, and then turned a smiling face to me. "You must excuse me, Miss Brighton, I have some pressing business to take care of. I'll have Mrs. Cross show you around the manor."

Mrs. Cross was already at the front door when we arrived, and Charles quickly repeated his directions to her before departing down a corridor that was tucked in behind where we were standing. I leaned that way and looked down casually. "Where is he off to? Some kind of office?" I inquired. Mrs. Cross, who was obviously the housekeeper, furrowed her brow and pushed her Pince-nezs up higher onto the bridge of her nose. The small spectacles made her otherwise kindly looking face somewhat harsh.

"That is the North Wing. And it is forbidden for anyone but the Master, Mistress and whomever they allow to go with them to go down it. So don't be running off down there, because you'll be severely scolded." Her voice was sharp and I gave one last look down there before turning back to the housekeeper. I was curious, but not curious enough to get reprimanded. I was a guest here, and I didn't want to make trouble for anyone.

However, I was not beyond asking a simple, "Why?"
 

Mrs. Cross started walking up the grand staircase and I followed her. "Because it is very run down and is in need of some remodeling. And nobody wants to have any accidents happening. So, for your own safety, stay out." I knew by her tone of voice that the discussion was close. I kept my mouth shut and followed her up the stairs. She had wiry gray hair knotted at the nape of her neck and was wearing a very plain brown muslin dress with a white apron. She looked just like the housekeepers out of the fanciful novels a childhood friend of mine, Priscilla Rose, used to read.

When we reached the second floor, Mrs. Cross showed me the plethora of rooms that were in the manor, and, as she mentioned quite frequently, there were many more rooms, but she did not have the time to show them all to a young girl. For some reason, her words made me feel slighted. I did not say anything, though, and she made a special point of showing me the Portrait Room. Here there were many portraits of the various family members that had all, at one point in time, lived at Deathcreeke. My gaze fell upon one young man in particular, who bore a striking resemblence to Charles. "Roger Wainwright. Born 1640, died 1658. He was very handsome, I dare say." Mrs. Cross's soft voice startled me. I stared at the portrait.

"Terribly young to die," I told her.
 

She sighed in agreement. "Old enough to be loved but too young to really live," she said. I nodded in agreement and we stared at the portrait for a few minutes longer. The young man had a mysterious smile on his face, a smile that could only remind me of the Mona Lisa. His black as night hair was waxed back perfectley and his dark eyes shone like jewels on his pale face. He sat, relaxed, but still stiff, in a large chair near a fireplace. He seemed to know all the secrets of the world, but he was refusing to tell anyone. Of course, Mrs. Cross's softness dissapeared quickly and we continued on through the manor until we reached my bedchamber.

It was large and dark. The wall was paper in dark blue with a motif of suns, moons and stars on it. The furniture in the room was all very dark, but a fire burned brightly in the fireplace which considerably lightened the room. It was a beautiful room and the quilt that lay on the bed matched the suns, moons and stars of the wallpaper. I looked at the posters that kept the bed-curtains up and saw that they were intricatley carved with scenes from Greek and Roman mythology. "This must have been one of the rooms they remodled during the Renaissance," I mused and Mrs. Cross nodded carefully.

"Jeannette, your new ladies maid, has already put all of your clothes away. She would be here to introduce herself to you, alas she is helping Cook prepare dinner. However, you will be seeing much more of her, quite soon." Mrs. Cross looked at me carefully from down her nose. "Will you be needing anything else?" she questioned, sounding at once almost caring.

I flushed. "No, I'm quite all right, thank you." She did not answer, only nodded once, and left quickly, shutting the door behind her. Now alone, I listened to the fireplace crackle, sat down on the bed and let it really sink in, the fact that I was here. And the fact that I wasn't leaving.
 

My body all of a sudden felt cold. "Mother..." I found myself saying quietly, against my will. Even though I tried so hard to put her out of my mind, images of her still came to me. I couldn't stop a few tears from coming out of my eyes, even though I very much did not want to cry. I tried to wipe them away hastily, but still they came. I sobbed quietly while the fire in my room crackled and crackled merrily.

When I felt I'd cried the last of my tears, I stood up, smoothed out my dark blue dress and walked to the large windows that were on the far side of my room. Fog blanketed the ground thickly, and it swirled almost like a spectre. I shivered, even though it was more than warm enough in my room. The grass, or what I could see of it, was dead, and there were a few spindly trees that looked like the mangled hands of the Grimm's fairytale witches. There was nothing around us for a very long time, but I could have been wrong, for I could not see very far. I didn't see a creek, which I had suspected the manor was named after, so I made a note to remind myself to ask Charles about that the first moment I got the chance.

It was then that I heard it. It was the melody of a violin, and it sounded quite far off. Stepping away from the window, I listened to it carefully. The melody was lilting, sweet, sad and a little spooky. It did not sound as if it had been composed, it sounded as if it had been thought up, long ago, by an old violinist. It reminded me of no other songs I'd ever heard before, but that was not really what I was thinking about. Although those thoughts were in my mind, I mostly wondered where the song was coming from. Opening the door to my room, I stepped out into the hallway. The sound did not seem to get louder, and I looked around, noticing no one. I went back into my room, closing the door. Leaning down the floor, I put my ear to the ground. Yes! The sound seemed to get just a bit louder when I put my ear to the ground. It was apparant that wherever the sound was coming from, it was below me.

I didn't know the layout of the house, so I wasn't sure if there was a music room under me, but I most definitely wanted to find out. However, as I was standing up, the melody drifted away into the fog. Sighing, I once again smoothed out my dress and fixed my hair. At that moment, there was a loud knock at my door. "Come in!" I called hastily, making sure I did not look as if I'd been listening to the floor. Ladies did not put their ears to the ground. Children did.

A girl, no older than, came in. She bobbed a polite curtsy and turned her pretty and smiling face upon me. "Hello, I'm Jeannette, your new ladies maid. I'm terribly sorry I couldn't come up earlier, I was fetching some potatoes for supper tonight," she explained.

I smiled. "Please, it was no problem. I'm glad to have met you, Jeannette."

"If there is anything you need from me, just please let me know. I am so happy to be your ladies maid...I will do anything you ask of me." Her voice was resolute and it did not match with her innocent eyes. I almost wanted to giggle, but knew that she would be embarrassed. Instead, I only shook my head.

"I need nothing, thank you, though. You may go." Jeannette bobbed another curtsy and turned to go. Suddenly, a thought came to me. "Jeannette!" I called. My ladies maid turned quickly. "Directly below us...what is that?" I asked.

Jeannette looked at her feet, at the floor. She looked back up to me, obviously puzzled. "Why that, miss, is the North Wing. Why?" she asked.

I blanched. "Perchance is there a music room there?" I questioned.

Jeannette looked thoughtful. "I don't believe so, miss."

"Hm." I looked out my window, briefly. "Do you...happen to know why the North Wing is forbidden? Mrs. Cross wouldn't tell me." I pouted at the end of that, hoping it would persuade her to tell me more than Mrs. Cross did. I was not above using special little arts to help along my ladies maids...especially when they might know something I wanted to know.

My ladies maid looked at me, wide eyed. "Why, it's cursed!" she exclaimed.

"Cursed?" I inquired.

Jeannette looked sheapish. "Well, at least, that's what Peggy, the head maid, says. I'm not sure. I've never been in there. But tis quite spooky, with all those mysterious people coming in, going out...oh, I wasn't supposed to say anything to you about it though. They didn't want to scare you, with the cursed thing, and all."

I beamed. "Don't worry, Jeannette. I'll be quite all right. Thank you so much for telling me, you may go now." Jeannette curtsied once more and dissappeared. I went back to the window and opened it as far as I could, which was not very far, for it was stuck. A cold breeze blew in, making the fire dance. It was nice to me, though. There was a heat on my cheeks that would not go away by the cold alone. Cursed. I did not like that word. I remembered the horror tales my mother would read to me on All Hallows Eve that talked about spirits and spectres and ghosts. I never would be able to sleep that night, or many nights after, but because my mother had loved the stories so much, I'd let her tell them, year after year. Now, though, I made a solemn promise never to go near the cursed North Wing. Even though I didn't believe in such a thing as a curse, it was more the idea that frightened me.
 

I would not make trouble. I would not get involved in any so-called "curses". I would simply find a man I could tolerate, marry him and persuade him to move to London. There I'd be close with my mother. It was not my ideal situation, but it was much better than any other option that I had right now.

And as I looked out the window, the violin melody lilted up once again out of the North Wing...