The Secrets of Bellingham Estate (closed to cnuveau)

[Desiree_Radcliffe]

At the bottom of the cliff, the waves rushed in and out. Sometimes they would peak spectacularly. The way to the shore would be blocked by the surge of water. The rise and fall of the tides were the lifeblood of Bellingham. A partially crumbling Tudor-era manor, the estate sat atop the Cornish cliffs like a heavy crown on a monarch's graying head.

Inside the large, creaky house, a dignified elderly man sat at his desk in his study, drumming his fingers impatiently upon a book that lay on the polished oak. He was pensive, his eyes cast down, lips curved into a far-off frown. Sir Edgar had been this way for years now. When his daughter entered the room, the black silk of her dress whispering against the floor, he looked up sharply.

"Anne, my daughter. What did I tell you about straying too far? You know better than to interrupt me in my study." There was a tiredness to his voice, a weariness beyond even his years. He straightened up, shuffling some papers on the desk, perhaps to give himself something to do. Perhaps, he reasoned to himself, if he ignored her, she would go away.

"I was wondering when the new gentleman would come," the woman replied. A woman--yes, a woman--of 30 years of age, Anne was far too old and dusty for marriage. Sir Edgar had made sure of this, when he refused to let her leave the house after her mother's premature death. He kept her clad in black. The severe neckline of her gown kept her modest, but her voluptuous, cinched waist accented what the gown put on display. A small thing, she stood at barely five feet, ghostly pale and with ebon locks. She gave her father an expectant, but patient look from cerulean eyes--so much like her mother's.

"The writer? Oh yes, yes. I believe he is due any hour now." Sir Edgar appeared less than amused. He combed his hand through his graying hair, glancing out the large window behind him. "Why don't you wander back to the library. I expect you to stay scarce while he is here. He needs to work, after all." He offered her an almost furtive glance, almost sympathetic, before returning to the window.

Anne, a respecter of her father's wishes, glided silently out of the room.

The day was dreary, and coming to an end. It always felt longer than it should be, and Anne yearned for the night. She returned down a few corridors to the library, a large, cold room bursting with books. Sitting silently, she picked up a book, occasionally peering out the window onto the lawn.

 

[cnuveau]

Edward Lockhart gazed over the railing of the steamer as in pulled into port. The sea air caused his brown locks to curl more than usual and he could taste the ever present salt that clung to his beard as his tongue nervously dragged across his lips. After weeks at sea he was desperate to feel solid ground beneath his feet once again. Though the journey from his modest New England home was long, he was very much looking forward to finally visiting England. Often the setting for his works, his knowledge of England was entirely academic and derived from his own reading over the years. At 35, this would be his first visit and he was looking forward to experiencing life in England first hand.

Edward's correspondence with Sir Edgar stretched out over the course of the last year. He was of course honored to hear of the man's affinity for his work but was stunned at the offer of patronage when it was extended. The manor, described in exquisite details in their correspondence, sounded of an idyllic setting for his next work and he eagerly accepted the invitation to work along the high cliffs of the land he'd, up to this point, only imagined.

Cinching his coat around his toned chest and adjusting his top hat Edward made his way down the gangplank and onto the docks where a carriage was to be awaiting his arrival. Making his way through a sea of crew and passengers that scurried about he made his way off the docks, thankful to no longer feel the ground moving beneath his feet, and found his carriage awaiting him.

After the long journey at sea the constant jostling of the hours long carriage ride was little relief but the view of the English countryside and the cliffs, as they traveled up the coast was a welcome departure from the monotonous view of the sea he'd grown to loath.

The carriage pulled onto the grounds of the manor just after dusk. The silhouettes of the sculpted hedges and the manor glowed in days last light. He'd hoped to have arrived before dark to take it all in but that would have to wait until the morning. The carriage pulled to a stop at the base of the steps leading up to the grand entrance of the manor. Edward stepped out, adjusting his coat and hat one last time before climbing the steps and knocking at the door.

 

[Desiree_Radcliffe]

The house seemed silent. There were few lights in the long, hollow windows, leading one to believe that most of the house had retired for an early evening. What little remained of the night was fading fast. It was a few, ponderous minutes before anyone opened the door.

A surprisingly young, blond gentleman, with sickly pale skin soon opened the door. He was dressed in the dark garb of a butler, and he frowned when he opened the door, deeply. Offering the man a very keen and discerning once over, a sardonic smile lit his pale lips.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Lockhart," he intoned in a sonorous, gentle manner. "Do come in. I will lead you to Sir Edgar." He spoke little more than this, gesturing for another manservant to take up Lockhart's trunk and other effects. The butler began to edge toward a corridor to the left. "This way."

 

[cnuveau]

As Edward waits at the door he took a few steps back and observed that very few of the windows of the estate were lit. As early in the evening as it was he didn't expect that Sir Edgar had already retired for the evening. Eventually the door swung open revealing a young gentleman formally dressed.

"I am, a pleasure to meet you." Edward said lacking the formality that the butler was likely used to.

Edward followed the man into the home marveling at the grandeur of the estate as they moved through it. It was a far cry from his own relatively meager home back in New England but very much as he'd imagined it from his correspondence with Sir Edwin and what he knew of English Estates.

The walls were filled with hand painted portraits. Some of them he suspected with Sir Edwin and his family. Others were obviously from past generations of the estate's residents. It was all so new and exciting and he couldn't wait to explore more of the estate and grounds.

The butler finally led him to a large door then pushed it open. "Mr. Lockhart sir!" he announced before stepping aside to let Edward pass.

 

[Desiree_Radcliffe]

The older man, now in his late fifties, turned from his position by the window, hands clasped behind his back. Cold, gray eyes regarded the younger man, clearly assessing him with a discriminating gaze. He gestured to a wingback chair across from his desk, indicating Lockhart should sit. He stood a moment longer before taking a seat himself.

"Mr. Lockhart, good evening. I confess I was expecting you earlier, but time is such a strange thing, is it not? It is a pleasure to meet you in person. No doubt you will find yourself in need of sustenance. I have not myself partaken just yet. I was pleased that you accepted my offer. I realize it must be strange to read such a missive from a far off admirer of your work."

Restlessly, Sir Edgar rose, moving toward a cabinet by the fireplace, where a small fire burned. Opening the creaking, ancient door, the man took out a decanter of amber liquid, pouring into two crystal glasses. He neatly set the bottle away, then, closing the cabinet with another creak. He set one of the glasses in front of Lockhart, taking his own in his hand and swirling the liquid pensively.

"You must be a little cold. It is dreary here, even in the summer. Tell me, Mr. Lockhart: how was your trip here? Uneventful, I hope."

 

[cnuveau]

When Edward had received Sir Edgar’s correspondence he’d developed an image in his mind of what they man looked like. As she stood before he was startled to find just how accurate that image was. Perhaps it was the language the gentleman used that helped paint a picture or his own images of a proper English gentleman. Whatever it was, as he sat with the man he felt oddly like he knew him.

“I apologize for the lateness of my arrival. They journey from the port was more time consuming than I’d anticipated.” He said, settling into the wingback chair.

“If you’ve yet to dine, it would be appreciated.” Though he hadn’t eaten since morning, he found himself so excited to have finally arrived he wasn’t ravenous. When he arrived at such a late hour he knew it was a possibility that he’d have missed dinner.

“I have to say, it was quite unexpected but having admired this land from afar for so long I was quite eager to accept your offer. It’s quite an honor for me.” He replied only now realizing that his presence might be an equal honor for Sir Edgar.

Taking the glass that was offered, Edward took a sip and forced back a cringe at the strength of the drink. “Transatlantic travel is certainly trying but the accommodations on the ship were more than adequate. Uneventful would be an apt way to describe it.” He said, thinking back to the monotonous boredom he endure during the trip. “I do look forward to resting in a bed that isn’t moving beneath me.” He added with a laugh.

Forcing back another sip Edward looked at the man earnestly then scanned the room. “What I’ve seen of your home is lovely. I look forward to exploring the grounds at first light and taking in the rest of what I’m sure is the magnificent grounds.”

 

[Desiree_Radcliffe]

The ghost of a smile pulled at Sir Edgar's lips at the joke the younger man offered. He noded, a single inclination of his head. There was an eerie stillness about the house, a quiet that had an almost preturnatural quality.

"I have been an ardent admirer of your work since I first picked up your first novel. It was a triumph for a budding writer, penned so brilliantly and beautifully that I knew not what to do with myself after reading it--I was enchanted, one might say. It is a pleasure to have you here, and it is my hope that you will find, at Bellingham, a place of rest, where you may yet put your pen to paper without the slings and arrows of the outer world imposing upon you. And perhaps you might wish, in time, to meet my little circle here." There was a gleam in his heartless eyes during the last words, but he soon averted them at a soft, persistent rapping upon the door.

The elder man stood, excusing himself. The rapping continued, gentle yet tenacious in nature. It seemed to echo in the study and perhaps even through the house. As Sir Edgar moved to the source, the knocking became more inisistent, more urgent, and bolder. Even footfalls led the man toward the heavy door of the study. The knocking changed in nature, slowly becoming the clawing sounds of nails on wood. Scratch, scratch, scratch. More ugent, as though a very hungry beast were trying to gain entrance.

 

[cnuveau]

On several occasions in the solitude of his cabin on the journey over Edward imagined himself passing an afternoon in the type of small English pub that he'd romanticized in his books. Sir Edgar's mention of meeting his little circle conjured images of them sharing a pint with his friends from the surrounding area. He judged that Sir Edgar wasn't necessarily the sort that would frequent such establishments but it was an image he enjoyed nonetheless.

The knocking at the door startled Edward and stiffened in his chair as his gaze snapped toward the sound. It sounded as if a petulant child was demanding the man's attention but he knew Sir Edgar was far too old to have such young ones running about.

He watched as Sir Edgar made his way toward the door then the knocking transitioned into a scratching that made it all the more alarming. He was just about to get up to help render aid when Sir Edgar made it to the door. Edward watched with rapt attention to see what lay on the other side.

 

[Desiree_Radcliffe]

Sir Edgar's expression was stony, set with a melange of grim determination and latent fear. The feral scratching intensified as the man drew near. Setting his jaw, Sir Edgar yanked the door open in one swift motion.

A blast of uncharacteristically cold air entered the room. Sir Edgar took a candle off a nearby table and peered into the near-pitch of the corridor. There was nothing. The shadows seemed to dance under the flickers of the candle, but there was neither person nor beast in the hallway.

With a deepening frown, Sir Edgar gave the room a silent gaze and then closed the door, setting the candle back on its table, and offering Lockhart a calm smile.

"Wind, rain, and the sea are constant companions here, you see, Mr. Lockhart." He turnred toward the fire in the grate, throwing a log on it. "The house is old. It was built before the time of King Henry. Pay it no mind. It can be a little shocking, but all changes are, to an extent, do not you think?"

 

[cnuveau]

As alarming as the urgent knocking and scratching at the door was Edward found it more alarming when Sir Edwin opened the door to find a darkened, empty corridor. The disruption so close he found the explanation strained credulity but he also left open the possibility that his travels and wariness had left his senses in a state that he couldn't truly rely on them.

"Yes, I quite agree. Change often is shocking but also invigorating with it's penchant for reigniting embers that have long since faded." he said, reflecting the feeling he himself had regarding the adventure he'd just embarked upon.

Edward stood from his chair and peered out the window into the darkness. The faint traces of the moon filtering through the haze provided just a glimpse of the grounds in the distance. "I venture to say change isn't something that comes quickly in a place like this." he pondered aloud as he thought of how the old man must ramble about in his estate largely undisturbed by the bustling life the likes of which he'd grown accustomed to.

 

[Desiree_Radcliffe]

Sir Edgar glanced slowly back toward the door, which no longer emitted any sort of sound. There was a gleam in his eye, perhaps caught in the glare of the fire. He planted himself nearby, resting a hand casually upon the mantel. The cold, autumnal gaze of his fell upon the younger man, and he examined him while he was turned away, calculation keen in his mien.

"My dear Mr. Lockhart, this house is older than your quaint little country. My family spent generations on these lands, lording it over our tenants, making a fair amount of wealth at their hands, as well as in the newfangled industry. Change in Cornwall is something as foreign to us as you. Even the average folk here still believe in the fae folk. They still think of the Tintagel Castle, long since ruins, of those men and women of the time of Arthur who may have been a king or may have been a legend." He chuckled to himself.

"But that is nothing. We modern men know that such things are superstition. Even you, I daresay, Mr. Lockhart, know that such things as fae and spirits and the like do not exist, no?" His lips twitched in some secret amusement. "Now, if you are not terribly afraid, I believe my housekeeper has a decent spread for us in the dining room. After, I will make sure that Brimsley sees you to your room. I believe you will enjoy the view very much."

 

[cnuveau]

Though Edward worked largely in the realm of realism there was a part of him that wanted to believe that there was some grain of truth to mystical beings roaming amongst man. Though intellectually, he knew the notion was absurd he found himself fascinated at times with the idea that there was something magical in the world. "I like to believe it's possible they exist though my rational mind tells me otherwise." he said, noting the hint of amusement in the old mans face that was a stark contrast to the stoicism he'd shown thus far.

"Something to eat sounds wonderful. You have my gratitude." he said before following Sir Edgar out of the study and down the darkened hall toward the dining room. As they enter Edward is taken by the splendor of the dining room. The polished dining room table shimmers beneath the flickering candles that lights the room. The veritable feast laid out before them was just what Edward needed after the long journey and weeks of the bland food served on the ship.

Both men sat and began to eat becoming better acquainted as they did. "So you're hear alone with your staff?" Edward finally asked, wondering if there was anyone else about the house.