Chapter 8

THE JOURNEY HAD TAKEN four full days.

Four days in which Mab flitted between uncontrollable anger and violent crying. The footmen had been kind and tried to assure her that there was nothing to worry about. They even stopped regularly to buy her sweets and comfort food – though she wasn’t allowed out of the carriage anywhere where she might be able to identify a landmark.

They’d said it was a safety measure. No one could know exactly where Aunt áine’s was located. Mab had wondered who in their right mind would voluntarily go there.

The sun was setting when the carriage finally came to a stop. Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she took her first unsteady step outside the carriage. The footmen waited patiently for Mab’s eyes to adjust to the light. The building that was to be her new abode for the foreseeable future was almost castle-like in size. Built of grey stone and half clad in ivy and wisteria, it looked like it was part of the craggy landscape. To the left of the building was a walled garden. Mab could make out the very peak of a domed greenhouse behind the walls. The gardens surrounding the manor were extensive, except to the right, where the heathered valley looked to have reclaimed some of the grounds for itself. A steep mound – upon which sat a ghostly long-dead tree, bleached white by the sun – looked unnatural compared to the rest of the valley, despite being covered in the same thick blanket of heather. One side of the mound had a gradual incline to its peak, while the other exposed side consisted of a steep slope, the bottom of which was littered with large boulders.

“It was once an ancient monument,” came a voice from her side, causing Mab to jump.

Mab, clutching her chest, turned to face a petite woman with the most striking violet eyes. The stranger wore a simple, high-necked burgundy dress. Her midnight-black hair had a streak of grey from her left temple and was twisted into a tight bun atop her head. If Mab had to wager, she’d put the strange woman in her early fifties.

“Monument?” Mab parroted.

The stranger bobbed her head. “We once had an antiquarian stay with us. He exposed part of the monument.” She pointed at the stones scattered at the base of the mound. “Though I rather think the wilderness is reclaiming them once more. If you look very carefully at some of the larger stones, you can still make out the ancient swirls and images carved into them.”

Mab wanted nothing more than to run to the monument and use every last ray of sunlight to study the ancient carvings, but she managed to muster control over herself. She would have plenty of time to explore – provided she wasn’t about to be escorted to a dungeon to await a man to pick her to be his wife. Mab figuratively shook the vision from her mind. She was known to occasionally be somewhat fantastical in her cognitive leaps. And while the stories of this place were designed to instil fear into little girls, she had yet to be presented with any evidence confirming that was the case.

“You must be Mab,” the stranger said with a muted Irish accent.

Mab nodded.

“Hello, dear. My name is áine.”

APPARENTLY, HER NEW abode was called Gaol Manor. A very fitting name , Mab thought.

The hallway was clad in dark oak, exposed stone and tartans. The high ceilings should have kept the hallway chilly, but there was a warmth permeating through the manor. The air smelt strongly of burning peat, and Mab felt unusually nostalgic at the smell. The hallway seemed to go on forever. Large, burly servants dressed in black velvet loitered about the hallway and in the rooms that they passed. Mab wondered why Aunt áine didn’t issue them a string of jobs to complete as her father did when he spotted an idle servant.

“You can go anywhere you like in the house,” Aunt áine said. “There’s a library, a games room, a drawing room. We have plenty of activities to do as well. You can knit, embroider or paint, if you are so inclined. There’s also a greenhouse if you have a green thumb. And stables if you prefer to ride.”

Mab’s brows knitted in confusion. She thought this was a place designed to shackle poor women to a husband – not a place to explore new hobbies.

“Breakfast will be served at the eighth bell in the breakfast room. Luncheon at the twelfth bell and dinner at the sixth evening bell. There’ll also be supper after the evening’s activities, and if you’re ever peckish in between, you can just pop on down to the kitchens.”

“Thank you,” Mab muttered.

“I’ll take you up to the sleeping quarters now. I’m sure there will be a few of the young ladies loitering about there.”

“How many ladies reside here?” Mab asked as they climbed the grand oak stairs.

“Well, that depends. The castle sleeps up to thirty guests. At the minute we have about twenty ladies residing here.”

“And the men?” Mab said with disdain.

Aunt áine chuckled. “They’re not here. There’s a hunting lodge about half a mile up the road. That’s where they mostly stay.”

Mab didn’t quite like how she said mostly and was about to enquire further when a sharp giggling permeated the air. A moment later, two young women tittered their way across the landing above, heads together in deep conversation. Mab could only make out a few words such as “He did what?” and “Where?” and “I’ll need a diagram” between the giggling.

When they finally reached the top of the stairs, the landing split into two long corridors, guarded by another burly black-clad servant.

As if she could read Mab’s thoughts, Aunt áine said, “They’re guards, of sorts. They are here to make sure the girls are safe.”

Safe from what? Mab thought, an odd prickle of fear threatening to skitter over her skin.

Mab followed Aunt áine down the left corridor, the guard issuing her a friendly smile as she passed. Mab’s room was situated at the very end, and she took a small amount of delight from the large floor to ceiling stained-glass window directly outside her room. It depicted a forest scene with hares and stags. The entire border of the stained glass was outlined by a series of glass and lead Celtic knots.

Mab’s attention was pulled from the window by the creaking of a heavy wooden door. Aunt áine gestured Mab into the room, and Mab almost squealed in delight. It was as if someone had plucked the image of her perfect bedroom from her mind and modelled this room from it. The four-poster bed was decorated in carved thistles. The fabric draped over it depicted a similar forest scene as the stained-glass window outside her room. A large window overlooked the valley, flanked by curtains made from the same fabric as what covered the four-poster bed, and had cushions scattered about the sill – a perfect reading nook.

On either side of the bed were two stained-glass windows, much smaller than the one in the hallway. Both were of a moonlit scene. One depicted a hare among thistles, while the other held a white stag, which almost seemed to shimmer in the bright glass moon. Underneath the windows were bedside tables, both holding large oil lamps upon them. The floor was covered in overlapping patterned rugs, the odd bit of dark oak plank exposed here and there. Various pieces of carved furniture lined the exposed stone walls, and Mab noticed that somehow (though, for the life of her, she couldn’t fathom how) her clothes and trinkets, apart from what she carried in the small travel case that she was still clutching onto, had been unpacked.

Perhaps the most stunning feature of the entire room was the enormous stone fireplace that was carved into the wall opposite the bed, a healthy fire roaring within. Stacks of dried peat sat in a neat pile to one side, while a companion set flanked the other side. A pair of plush armchairs with a little table between them sat in front of the fireplace.

Mab’s stomach suddenly hollowed. She shouldn’t get too attached to her new room, she reminded herself. She was here to be forced into a marriage, and she doubted Aunt áine was the kind of woman to let Mab drag her heels.

As if sensing Mab’s change in mood, Aunt áine said, “Don’t worry, dear. This is yours for as long as you need it.”