Prologue

A Chapter by WildPigeon

The prologue to The Door in the Wall Where the reader becomes acquainted with the Canterbury manor and its rich, rather odd history.

Prologue

It was love at first sight for Ezra Wellington when she saw what was to be her new house. Located in Abington, Maine, with an extraordinary view of a good portion of the town's Giant Cedar Forest, safe, relaxing and quiet, this little manor that she bought for a bargain reminded her greatly of her family's little house in the suburbs of big London.

It had everything from a candle lit chandelier to a gorgeous backyard full of rose bushes and a great chestnut tree that seemed as old as time itself. One of the chestnut's main branches had been cut out and carved in such a way as to resemble some sort of a sitting bench or a sofa. And pillows were placed on it, pillows of different shapes and colours and the place looked rather idyllic. It was the perfect spot to have tea, read a book or take a nap. And Ezra couldn't help but adore it.

Then there was the front wall of the house, which was covered in this climbing flowery weed that the real estate lady said was unknown in other areas of the world. Nobody was able to identify its origins, but in his diary, the master of the manor referred to it as Winter's Tale. It smelled amazing, almost spicy and rather oriental and it looked like a cross-breed between a royal rose and a beautiful magnolia; the flowers were fat, bountiful and heavy. The bushes were purposely groomed as to not block any door or window. Also, what made this plant even more unique was the fact that it never died. It bloomed all the time, including in the snowy winter.

"So, you’ve decided, then? "spoke the real estate agent, fishing for Ezra's definitive words.

"Indeed, I have! I will buy the Canterbury manor and move in the next Sunday! There's something about it, you know? It feels special…it draws me in an indescribable manner" she said, smiling and placing one of the exuberant Winter's Tale in her ginger hair.

Well, truth be told, the place was indeed special; in the sense that it had an awesome story to go with that breathtaking view and maybe that was exactly what Ezra found to be so appealing.

It went like this: back when the Brits were still in rule over the not yet United States, the manor belonged to Lord Jonathan Canterbury, an extremely wealthy merchant, who not only inherited his Lordship’s title and estates a great deal of time back in the past, but who was also known for his travels in the trading business all over the Globe. He'd top everyone's expectations when it came to shipments of tea, tobacco and cashmere. He was also known for being a little bit coo-coo, as the children where Ezra grew up would often say.

He was quite a spiritual guy, kind-hearted and tolerant but it was said that he had gotten together with a witch from one of the African tribes he had succumbed along his journeys. The legend told that the news of his only son having married a woman who was supposed to be his slave and not one of the beneficiaries of the Canterbury name and riches gave Jonathan Canterbury Sr. a stroke and it put him low into the ground. Then, one day, when Lady Canterbury saw her daughter-in-law praying to her own god, in some weird ritualistic dance, she felt like the entire room was spinning and she just fainted. Such a powerful faint it was, that the woman never recovered and died twelve months later, on a very frosty winter's night. Therefore, everyone was quite sure that the evil woman brought to England from the outskirts of the Empire was indeed invested with the powers of the unholy and she was somehow murdering the ones that stood in her way. The social ties that the family ever had before young Jonathan's marriage were beginning to feel loose, and slippery was also his relationship with the church. Soon Jonathan Canterbury Jr. sensed what was going to be the first financial and civil crisis of his life. The word travelled in those times almost as fast as it travels now and people could tolerate the fact that a subject of Her Royal Majesty had brought back a savage woman, but no Christian of that period could ever accept or even comprehend how and why one would just give up on their beliefs and wed such a beast. It was so the fact in those times that etiquette and appearances mattered the most. What Lord Jonathan Canterbury Jr. was doing was not only preposterous but also unholy. It was the closest thing the people knew of blasphemy.

Then Canterbury Junior had a child, a daughter who was olive-skinned like her mother and green-eyed like her father. And she was named Selma. And the folk around would look at her with both fear and awe -she was exotic and beautiful and had the grace of a swan- for they believed that she was undoubtedly the fruit of Canterbury’s bedding with the devil. They were convinced that if Lord Canterbury were to be in his right minds and not under any sort of treacherous spell, he would not have married such a woman, even less fathered such a child.

The legend continues with Canterbury's arrival in the Americas and their settling in Abington. The history describes Canterbury as a good man, a powerful and wise merchant but also as a most troubling individual for he and his wife and daughter were not only once believed to have liaisons with one Petunia Le Rouge. Le Rouge was a shady character suspected by far too many of witchcraft. But she was also the mistress of a highly influential man and she could not be touched by any law. The Lord would often invite her to dinner and she would also spend weekends at the Canterbury manor, in the company of other dubious creatures with the same complexion as the wife of his Lordship. They would play music and laugh and throw parties and the other wealthy and well-named families of the town would not be invited.

After her parents died, it is said that Selma Canterbury would regularly meet witches and that she aided many of those who would not allow themselves be judged in the Salem trials.

This perhaps not so truthful account of the Canterbury family and their tumultuous lives made many people turn away from even visiting the Canterbury manor. They were afraid it was either haunted or that it simply brought bad luck. Some would lose their car keys inside the house, would spill coffee on their pants or they would step in dog poop after seeing the Canterbury mansion. No matter how, what and why it really happened, the unfortunate event was deemed the fault of the witches' home, the Canterbury manor. As silly as it may seem, everybody believed this. And all the rumours made the prices of the building get as low as the hopes of a terminal stage cancer patient. And so was the patience of the real estate agency that had been killing themselves over making some money out of that God-forsaken land.

And then, when Leslie Fields thought about giving up and taking the mansion off the market, giving it to the state of Maine and let them deal with it- probably sell everything in it at an auction and then demolish the entire house- , the English Ezra Wellington came along. She said she was a writer and that she needed "somewhere to make her accommodation and to nurture her inspiration". She was so beautifully ignorant at the dark reputation surrounding the Canterbury manor that Ms. Fields couldn't really help but gloat when Ezra said that she wanted to buy the place. It seemed that her prayers have been listened to.

And so it came that the Canterbury manor was now in Ezra Wellington's possession. And so her own fable begins.