7

I t had been months alone in this Manor, moving about as if I were a phantom within its walls. I never was able to breach the property line, confined to the barriers set by some unknown power and its inconsistent regulations. There were days when I was able to spend hours exploring the farthest corners of the landscape that the Manor stood on and days when I would not even be able to press a toe past the threshold of the building to the outdoors.

I had begun to explore my surroundings with caution. I found hidden doors and hallways that had surely been built for a significant team of staff who no longer inhabited the Manor. I was alone here, yet I always felt like someone was watching me. Despite the awareness of being constantly surveyed, it did not feel as though the unseen voyeur had malicious intent. More curious than anything else. At every corner I turned, it felt as though I might finally end up face-to-face with the eyes that followed me.

The first thing I noticed about the Manor was that it seemed to be completely self-sufficient. There were no staff to light the sconces, candles or chandeliers, or to monitor the abundant fireplaces that were somehow always lit and perfectly stoked. There was no one to stalk about the place, shine silverware or polish furniture, or maintain the expansive grounds. Yet there was never any dust, dirt, or disrepair in need of seeing to. I was at a complete loss as to how to explain it.

I had claimed one room for myself on the third floor. It was sizeable, bigger than any room I had in the past, including the ostentatious estate in the city, but it had a softness about it. A large bay window was trimmed with white gossamer fabric that bathed the room in the most elegant filtered light in the mornings. The bed was generous, a four-poster placed against the far wall with the fireplace across from it. It had the most luxurious feather mattress I had ever slept on. Though the temperature seemed to remain perfect in the Manor, comfortable blankets were always neatly laid out at the end of the bed, ready to cozy into. A beautiful walnut wardrobe stood grandly against the wall beside the window. It housed every combination of clothing I could possibly need, in all assortments of colors and fabrics. The ones that I gravitated to most often were the dresses made from soft green linens.

Beside the wardrobe was a door leading to a smaller room. This room also had a fireplace, though it was much smaller than the one in the bedroom, and held an oversized clawfoot tub. Like everything else in this place, the tub was always inexplicably filled and ready for me, the water never seeming to dip past my preferred temperature. Steam misted up in languid tendrils, dancing above the hot water until it eventually dissipated. The water was always clean and clear despite hours of soaking. It seemed to renew itself when I turned my attention away from it. It felt like the Manor itself offered me every luxury it could fathom.

The kitchen cupboards were always stocked but, the longer I was in this place, the less I hungered or tired. I could still eat, and at times did, if for no other reason than for the comfort of routine. But the food was never as good as it had once been, flavors seeming somewhat dull and unsatisfying. So I filled my time opening doors, peering inside to discover every possibility the Manor had to offer. There were many parlors and drawing rooms, and their furniture was ornate and positioned facing inward in order to entertain. Early on I got the distinct impression that I would have no such use for these spaces, but I took my time going through them anyway, collecting books on side tables or shelves to bring to my room for company.

As the weeks passed, I began to grow more confident. Even so, the Manor remained a labyrinth to me. I swore rooms had changed places, one corridor never leading to where it had the day before. It was impossible, like everything else in this place, but with my only choices being to let it drive me mad or just accept it, I chose the latter. There were a plethora of bedrooms and sitting rooms. I looked closely to see any signs of inhabitants but there were never any telltale signs of depressions in the chairs or beds, nor any books or journals for me to pour over.

My favorite days were when I was able to go outside. These days were typically when I awoke in a sunnier disposition, less horrified and frustrated at the knowledge of being trapped. I noticed that the outward appearance of the Manor had begun to change. Unlike the abandoned facade it had presented when I first awoke, it had begun reverting to the splendor of when I had first arrived. Windows, cleared of grime, glittered in the sunlight. The roof shingles were all realigned and straightened. Even the missing white shutters that framed the windows were all back where they had been.

Though I had never considered myself a woman of faith, I prayed often that Aisling had escaped this place. I implored whatever magic, or evil, that kept me here that Aisling had been spared from a similar fate to Agatha’s or mine. The first few months I had spent in the Manor I had initially hoped I might find a door that would open and reveal that she had been here with me, trying to find a way to me as I had been to her. That hope had died quickly and I regretted even for a moment wishing she would have been trapped here with me. I wanted her to be free, to experience life in a way I knew I never would, free from this Manor and free from Matthew.

Matthew.

I had given up wondering why my husband hadn’t come storming up to this place after me. Mostly I was just grateful that he hadn't. Though the loneliness that followed me through the empty corridors was always looming, the Manor was a haven away from that man. The rage that I had felt so palpably at the mere memory of him simmered, and began to dissipate as time went on, and I began to feel haunted by him less and less.

I was delighted to spend time in the gardens. I would care for the flowers, pruning back the overgrown shrubs that dwarfed and blocked the light of the young growth beneath it, and identifying particularly with the many rose bushes that I spent hours deliberately untangling from overgrown weeds that threatened to choke the life from them. Spending untold hours outdoors without having to worry about the shadow of Lord Cabot looming down my neck was cathartic. I did miss the companionship of Aisling greatly, but I also missed the even smaller companions I would so often have with me in the gardens. There were no birds here, hares, or hedgehogs; I had not even seen a fox nor a badger along the treeline of the forest to the far left of the property. Animals seemed to stay far away from here and, knowing what I did now, I cannot say I wholly blamed them.

Here, in the heart of the Manor, I was utterly and completely alone .