10

F lorence,

We have never met and it is my hope, for your sake, that we never will.

I could not remain any longer, I did not have the constitution for it. One day you will understand why, and I hope that when you have to make the same choice I did, you will forgive me just as I have now forgiven……..

The handwriting that had begun clear and concise started to turn sloppy. Almost as though the hand that wrote it did not have the strength to hold the quill for long periods of time, I speculated as the sentence trailed off in a section of words that were too shakily written to understand.

I came to know of you, the circumstances of your marriage, and your strength of character in regards to helping those who needed your aid. I know it is an extreme unkindness I do to you now but, if it is of any consolation, I am in desperate need of help—and I hope that perhaps you may find this alternative favorable to life in the shadow of a man like Lord Cabot.

The writing continued to become more unsteady, difficult to decipher in some words and entirely impossible in others, but I was desperate to continue, desperate to understand.

The Manor….. I do not know how or why. All that I do know is that………… and it requires………...For years I have been………….but I was never enough………..it tires of me. I can feel it tearing…………….at my being……….punishing me, always punishing…

The following words bled together in a smudge of ink and wobbly writing, and though I strained my eyes to read it—it was completely illegible. I scanned past the mess of words to the end where it was still smudged and messy, but at least every few words were legible.

You cannot leave……….you mustn’t try, only pain……..

I turned the key of the oil lamp beside me on the desk and the flame flickered higher and brighter. I held the letter up to it in hopes that the words would be easier to decode with the light.

The Manor will provide. If you provide.

I belong to the house, and now so will you.

Forgive me,

Agatha Warren

I sat back in the chair and re-read the letter, twice, four times over. Every time I got to the end I would find myself back at the beginning, straining for the illegible parts to become clearer, praying to glean a little more understanding. This note, so clearly written in a state of distress, did little to satiate the questions that swirled in my mind. In fact if anything it created more.

What had she meant she did not have the constitution to remain in the house?

Who had she forgiven? Had someone lured her here as she had me?

You cannot leave, you mustn't try, punishing me… always punishing… I belong to the house and now so do you.

Those few lines of the letter made my heart thrum faster, what does that mean? She wrote as though the house were alive.

Almost immediately after the thought the flame from the desk lamp burned noticeably higher and brighter. I turned the key down but it did not affect the height of the flame as it should. If it had been years before I may have been more skeptical at the idea of the Manor itself being alive… but I hadn’t felt the normal passing of time in years. I hadn’t been able to leave the property, and the house seemed to be ever changing, evolving around me by the day, hallways constantly reconfiguring themselves so that no door ever opened to the room I expected. The feeling of always being watched and yet never seeing any evidence that there was anyone else here with me? It made just as much sense as anything else I had theorized.

“Do you...understand me?” I felt foolish as I mumbled the words, but I looked out into the room and awaited a response. I felt the chair underneath me move gently backward and I startled upward.

I swallowed a nervous laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

There were no open windows in the room and yet I felt a breeze flow around me, gently pushing me in the direction of the hallway. I followed. As I reentered the hallway the sconces on the wall burned more brightly as I passed, almost as if directing me back to the stairs. I looked down at the grand entryway and waited for some kind of sign, my brain at odds with my gut. I felt embarrassed as I thought about waiting for a sign from…what? A haunted house? A living Manor?

The light at the base of the stairs flickered and I continued onward, down the stairs and to the right, away from where I knew the kitchen typically was. This hall was papered dark green, with gorgeous leaves twisting and climbing up the wall in shiny gold detailing. The sconces continued to shimmer as I passed and walked to the one door at the end of the hall. It was glass and ornate, the panes of the windows edged in iron that tapered up to high peaks ending in twists connected to the doorframe.

The door opened softly out into the unknown space just as I reached it. A warm breeze caressed my skin as I stepped out and down into the most extravagant conservatory I had ever seen. The steep glass roof was pitched high, each panel interlined with the same iron detailing as the door I had just passed through, with intricate curves that created dazzling refractions even in the low evening light.

The parts of the conservatory that were not glass and iron were ornate carved wood columns and beams that arched and stretched dramatically to the ceiling, connecting in the slightest whisper of a touch. The entire place was lit with varying sizes of pillar candles. They were in groups on shelves and on the stone floor in the corners, wax dripping slowly from the sides and pooling around them. Every column had a candle sconce with a lit tapered candle that emitted a soft warm glow. The windows caught the flickering of the flames and it reflected back like shooting stars across the glass surfaces.

My heart fluttered in my chest as the heady scent of earth burst from every part of the room. There were large garden beds that skirted the walls on either side of me that erupted with lush greenery. Many plants I recognized, but many I did not. There were shrubs with leaves that swirled with deep magenta and pale green, veined through the center with velvety maroon that came to points at the end like bat wings. A lavish lavender that was thick with blossoms, the center petals a dark vibrant purple that were framed in pastel. Peonies breached tall grasses that grew beneath them, the flowers a deep crimson against the almost silver of the grass. Ferns, larger than I had thought were possible, glittered with beads of dew. I walked the perimeter of the garden, my hand extended to investigate every new discovery.

In the middle of the room was a considerable-sized tree, unlike any I had seen before. It sat on almost an island in the center of a rectangular stone pool that spanned the length of the space. The water appeared deep but was densely covered by black and fuschia lotus flowers. The tree’s limbs arced and flourished randomly, contorting itself into both interesting and unnerving shapes. Instead of leaves, magnificent yellow catkins hung, scaly and almost spike-like. I had seen something similar on the willow trees that grew by our barn back home.

The base of the stone pool seemed to be alive with flowering ivy, and copper lichen. A bright green moss grew along the top edge and I reached out to press my fingers to it. It was soft, and pillowy and briefly I imagined what it might feel like to lay on a bed of it, with just my skin against it. I stared into the dark fathoms of the water, and then studied a small bud of a lotus flower that had not yet opened.

“How have I never found this place before?” I asked, all pretension wiped away by the wonder of this new Eden. “Did you make this for me?”

As if in accordance the small pink flower began to blossom, its outer petals shuddering and reaching out to explore the space around it. This was a gift, and without a doubt, the most considerate one I had ever been given. A warm glow settled within me .

“ The Manor will provide, if you provide.” I quoted the words from Agatha’s letter.

Another layer of the flower stretched outward, the first layer's petals dipping softly into the water below it.

But what was I providing? What did this place want from me? What could I even have to offer?

“But I don’t have anything I can offer you—I.” I wracked my mind for anything but the pathetic admission that left my lips next was: “I only have myself.”

The lotus burst open, an incredible canary yellow center to complement the warm bright pinks of the petals. A stunning response, as if it were telling me that the offer of my company, that being here within the walls, was enough. I was enough. The beautiful imagery did soothe the message the Manor was trying to convey, but not entirely. The warmth of the room was not able to keep the small chill from trickling down my spine.

“I belong to the house,” I conceded.