Page 4 of Mistress of Darkness

They ate their first course without any real conversation which gave Gwen time to try and absorb her surroundings. Like everything else at Dredthorne, she was starting to realize, the dining room with the doors that looked like walls was not what it seemed. However, she was aware that Robert was watching her over his glass of wine. Perhaps he had become a man of few words, not that he had ever talked that much. Or perhaps he was not a skilled conversationalist.

But then Gwen understood what might be keeping his tongue still. Naturally he was curious as to the nature of her news, and she hadn’t spoken a word of it.

“I apologize that Regina isn’t with me.”

Robert examined her before setting down his spoon. “No such apologies are needed. In fact, if I can apologize for prying, I must ask you what happened. Your note was rather vague.”

Gwen steadied herself, sitting up straight in her chair. Visions ran through her head of how badly he might react, and of the many ways this evening might end in disaster. She took a deep breath. There was no help for it but to begin.

“Regina has run away,” she said slowly. “She wrote a letter stating that she had lost herself, and has gone to find herself again.”

Robert had enough grace to look surprised, even saddened, instead of enraged.

“It’s nonsense, I know,” she said apologetically. “But there were no warning signs, no strange habits that in retrospect could provide a clue as to what happened to change her mind. I feel terrible that I am going to have to break your poor brother’s heart.”

“Oh, Christopher couldn’t possibly count that as your fault,” he said. “Regina is but a child; so is Christopher, truly, but I know that my family was hoping that they could tame each other’s impulses.” He sighed as he shook his head. “It would have been such a good match.”

Gwen was shocked; it was almost as if the old Robert had been replaced by a better mannered twin. In fact his wistful tone almost made it seem as though he were lamenting his own lack of a worthy match.

Or perhaps, Gwen thought, that was what she wished to hear, due to her own very notable lack of suitors.

“I don’t know where she could have gone,” she finally confessed. “Or why she would have gone. If I had been in her place, awaiting my wedding…”

As the sentence died in her throat, Robert lowered his gaze, looking at the gleaming wood of the table intently as the main course was served. His face looked sorrowful as they ate the savory beef stew in companionable silence. She wondered what it was that he had gone through that had taught him some manners. He had not even raised his voice when she had told him the news.

“We have a had a mild winter,” he finally ventured. “I daresay the gardener is glad of it.”

“Do you grow your own artichokes?” she asked.

Their conversation ranged across a hundred little nothings, as though by some secret agreement they avoided the topic that had brought her to the hall. They talked about the upkeep of the mansion and the renovations that had been done to her room. Gwen was most interested in the discussion of the grounds and why they had been built so very far away from anyone else. The hall was so remote that she couldn’t think of any reason why the original settlers would have built here at all.

After their dessert course, Robert stood, helping Gwen from her chair. “I may not have all of the answers to Dredthorne’s mysteries, but I may have some clue where to find them. Would you like to see the hidden library?”

Gwen’s attention peaked. “A hidden library? Truly?”

She had always loved books. There had never been enough in her father’s library to sate her curiosity. Gwen had always wanted to know more, to know the answers why. Her father had said it was a curse in a woman to ask such questions, but her mother had called it wisdom whenever Father was out of earshot.

Robert went to the Pandora panel painting and pressed a finger to the portrait. Gwen went still as something clicked and the painting swung open.

“Why, that is a door,” she exclaimed.

Beyond the painting lay a large space that smelled of dust and old books, a scent that Gwen found positively intriguing. Inside, it was obvious that Robert hadn’t been the first one to discover it; unlike the hall itself, the books were meticulously cared for, dusted, and organized. She ran her fingers across the covers of several on a low, polished table, frowning.

“What are these?” she said.

They were smaller than the rest, and thinner. Fine leather bound the antique pages, and they were in remarkable repair.

Robert had gone to the opposite wall, and was perusing what appeared to be an antique Bible.

“Pardon? Oh. Those are a collection of journals from Mr. Thorne’s wife, Beatrice Thorne.”

“The builder of the hall?” she asked.

When Robert nodded, Gwen sat down at the table, pulling the first journal toward her. What would it have been like to be married to the man who had created such a bizarre estate? Two of the pages were stuck together, and she carefully peeled them apart. The handwriting was impeccable; if only her own penmanship was half as beautiful as this woman’s measured script.

Dear Journal –

Today I arrived at Dredthorne Hall. Mr. Thorne has created such a beautiful home for us; I have never been so excited in all of my time to see what our lives will bring us together. I know of no other land that is as welcoming and exotic as the hall’s grounds.