"Beyond the vast sorrows and all the vexations
That weigh upon our lives and obscure our vision,
Happy is he who can with his vigorous wing
Soar up towards those fields luminous and serene,
He whose thoughts, like skylarks,
Toward the morning sky take flight
— Who hovers over life and understands with ease
The language of flowers and silent things!"
Charles Baudelaire, Elevation, Le Fleurs du Mal (translation by William Aggeler)
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Before them stood Prenderghast Mansion. Three storeys high and twice as wide, the dark house was a beast of peaked roofs and circular chimneys. Steps trailed from the front doors, winding all the way to the walk. They ended at a black iron gate, its bars full of metal flowers and odd swirls. Inside the house, music and laughter escaped like bubbles in the air. Silhouetted women in ball gowns and men in top hats could be seen though the first floor windows.
Stanley looked up at the house, a new kind of dread taking hold.
"A ball?" Isabelle's voice filled with excitement, pressing her stuffed frog to her chest.
Mrs. Brigham repeated this question with less enthusiasm, now quite aware of her family's dirty travel clothes and exhausted state.
"Well, here we are!" Mr. Brigham came up behind his son. "Though it seems we're a touch late for the festivities."
"Dear, we weren't told they were having a ball, were we?" His wife spoke nervously, coming to his side.
"Rome, my dove. Rome." He looked away from her, wearing the same pleasant smile.
You didn't know then, Stanley thought, watching his mother try to maintain an even temper.
Footsteps brought everyone's attention to the hill. A muscular young man came stumbling down the stairs, into the gates before he reached the bottom. The noise made everyone take an individual step back.
He wheezed, lifting his head against the bars. The early evening light revealed his dark red hair and sharp freckles. "My grandest apologies, but Sir Prenderghast is not receiving guests without invitation today."
Mrs. Brigham sneered at this, but her husband smile, pulling an envelope from his coat pocket.
"It is fortunate we have this then, young man," he said.
The servant gathered the envelope and scanned it twice, his eyes promptly bugging. "You... are the Brigham family?"
"That we are." Mr. Brigham nodded.
The young man dropped his head and pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. There was mechanical pop as the entrance swung open.
"I'm Ferguson, the household's footman." The boy hustled, grabbing the bags from the front gate, two at a time. "My apologies for not being present when you arrived. With the ball and your late travel plans as they happened, the staff is quite busy- Oh! Not to say that your traveling decisions were bad, sir! No offense meant."
The last of his words were directed at Mr. Brigham, who blinked in confusion. Mrs. Brigham eyed him quietly.
"No... offense taken," he replied at last. "We apologize for our lateness."
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Chimehour (The Faire Curiosities #1) - Sample Chapters
خيال (فانتازيا)On May Day of 1901, Dublin falls. Dublin dies in the wake of a mysterious illness, leaving its victims rabid, mindless, and very hungry. Panic rises, driving people away from Ireland in fear of plague. But Stanley knows better. He can hear these 's...
