She shook her head. “No, you’re here to see a friend.” Flashing me a smile, she added, “And besides, I’ve never spent a night in an ancient hall before. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun or haunted.”
“If there are ghosts in there, they’d better stay far away until we leave.”
A black crow flew past as we climbed from the car, its midnight wings glistening with a wicked sharp beak that could kill any rodent or prey it spied. My mind instantly went to Pika and Skittles. They’d been pissed we’d left them behind, but at least, they wouldn’t become lunch.
“Welcome, Mr and Mrs Sinclair.” The butler descended a few steps, his youngish face stern but polite. He kept his brown stare on the driver as he lifted out our small amount of luggage. Just one bag between Eleanor and myself. We didn’t plan to stay long, and Jethro had assured me that the masquerade attire for tonight had been taken care of.
The butler took the bag, climbing up the huge staircase. “Follow me, please. I will escort you to your room. Mr and Mrs Hawk are otherwise indisposed this afternoon but look forward to seeing you at the ball tonight.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Eleanor stayed quiet beside me as we followed the butler out of the weak English sun and into the oppressive majesty of Hawksridge Hall. The stone flagons on the floor and the bolts of tapestries hanging from the high ceiling all spoke of lineages, history, and blood-soaked secrets.
The hall was warm, which I found surprising, considering the age of such a place that still favoured antiquated methods instead of modern conveniences, and the deeper we travelled into the impressive mansion, the more I noticed primeval ideologies were slowly being replaced with the aura of a family home.
The suit of armour, polished and threatening at the end of the carpeted corridor had a stuffed purple elephant at its feet. The paintings of past Hawk ancestors in their stuffy suits and dresses had the faintest of scribbles from a child’s sneaky crayon.
Sound echoed and muffled in equal measure the deeper we travelled into the giant homestead, thick rich carpets sat like islands on top of slate tile and stone.
Everyone stayed silent as we climbed a staircase that swept up with ornate carved banisters and gold carpet stitched with the Hawk emblem.
“This way, please.” The butler continued down yet another corridor, past floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking an impressive orchard and manicured hedgerow maze, past wooden doors and nooks with wingbacks and stained-glass lamps to read by. At the end of the long corridor, the butler stopped and opened another large door, stepping aside with a stiff bow. “Your quarters for the duration of your stay at Hawksridge.”
Eleanor smiled politely, slipping past him, gasping at the splendour.
“Thank you.” I shook the man’s hand as he placed our bag on the floor and scooted from the room. With a tight smile, he shut the door, leaving Eleanor and me alone in a bedroom almost the same size as our entire villa back on Batari.
“Wow.” Eleanor drifted forward. We’d been given a room along the side of the huge hall, granting us impressive quarters.
A small kitchenette was tucked by the entrance, a doorway led to a luxurious black marble bathroom and a claw-foot tub big enough for four waited for use. Pacing deeper into the space, I skimmed the maroon velvet sitting area complete with chaise lounge down the east end, a small library with towering bookcases filled with classics in the middle, and a four-poster bed with a mattress you needed a ladder to climb into waited with fresh white sheets and rich crimson coverlets toward the west.
The scent of jasmine wafted in the space, and what was left of the afternoon sun spilled into the entire length of the room, thanks to the ten huge windows giving us a view of the meadows toward the stone stables in the distance.
Eleanor stopped by one of the large windows, drinking in the view. “Well, it’s not the sea, but the vista is spectacular.”
I wrapped my arms around her from behind, pulling her close. “It’s impressive.”
“Wonder if the stables are used or—” Her hand swooped up, pointing at a sudden movement within the willows beyond. “Horses.”
Three horses, to be exact.
Two adults and one child cantered from the treeline, all competent and carefree. The man rode a black horse, leading the way, a woman followed on a dapple grey with a small toddler sitting in front of her, and a tiny boy charged ahead on a fat little pony.
I smiled. “I’m guessing that’s our host and hostess.”
“The Hawks?” Eleanor tracked them as the family swept up the meadow and over the ridge beyond in a flurry of hooves. “They ride?”
“I think Jethro even plays polo. While we were trialling certain drugs, he admitted that being on horseback was the only relief he could find before his wife came along.”