Wonderland End

Chapter 1

It was on a pleasant August night that the Doyle family sat themselves at their polished wooden table, between sultry crimson walls and below a marble chandelier. A delicate aroma waltzed into the dining room as their maid brought in a large tray of Lancashire hotpot and Yorkshire pudding and placed it down before each seat.

Edith and Cristopher Doyle were easily a representation of the nobility passed down through the entire Doyle bloodline — tall and delicate, harnessing a kind of uncanny beauty that wasn't anywhere near ready to start fading despite the couple's gradual inching towards old age. Their youngest daughter Gertrude, though only just fourteen, might as well have been an angel that came down from the sky — rich locks of ginger hair tied between ribbons and ocean eyes that looked like a dream. Her two older brothers were always found in tailored, handsome suits and finely combed hair. At just nineteen years of age, Arthur Doyle could've easily been even twenty-five, older than his brother Charles. Charles, as the eldest son and most graceful member of the family, preferred to go by the appropriate alias, Sir Doyle, even when it came to his siblings. Though both of these, with their youthful mischief, continued referring to him as 'Big Charlie' or 'Charlie the Steam Engine', the latter due to his tendency to emit a train-like sound in his sleep, and much to his irritation.

The dinner table was large, so there was usually many free seats for the maid, Evelyn O'Clairvane, to choose from, except for one; the one next to Big Charlie. This rule has been established for the possible occasion that their guest should be a noble young lady — which on this particular evening happens to be exactly the case.

"Miss O'Clairvane," said Mrs. Doyle, "Could you call our guest from upstairs?"

"Yes, of course, Lady Doyle"

Evelyn stood up and straightened her shoulders. Her youthful rosy cheeks and black gown disappeared as she carefully trotted out of the dining room and up the stairs towards the guest room. After a couple moments she returned, this time accompanied by a petite girl with braided black hair and large dark eyes.

She was dressed in a graceful black dress and shimmering pearl necklace. Her hair was shapely, her appearance subtle yet ornate. Even so she somehow looked thin, freezing. Ill.

Mr. Doyle stood up and dusted off his suit before heading towards her and planting a kiss in her gloved hand like the gentleman he is.

"Why hello! Good evening, miss... what was it?"

"Miss Linkworth," she replied, "Beatrix Linkworth"

"How lovely!" The man exclaimed through his bushy, large moustache, "We are delighted to have you here with us — please sit down"

He motioned towards the empty satin seat to the left of his eldest son. As the girl sat down and everyone turned to glance at her, she forced a polite smile, however her face remained looking cold and vacant all the same.

Charles Doyle placed some Yorkshire Pudding on both of their plates. As everyone began eating, silence commenced. Even on summer nights like these, the wood in the fireplace crackled and whispered, sending warm lights flickering throughout the dining room. The dark walls were lined with oil paintings of previous owners of the estate as well as yearly family photographs over the years. The largest of which was from December of 1915 — just last year. Beside it stood a cabinet with silverware and meticulously carved china with an assortment of marble figurines and porcelain dolls perched on top.

"Miss Linksorth, do pardon our silence," Charles began, "we would love to know about you"

She turned towards him. Her eyes were dead. It was impossible to tell if her look was threatening, frightened, or simply pensive.

"I'm from London," she said after a moment, "I'm a painter. I like to paint"

She said that as though it was absolutely necessary to specify that as a painter, Beatrix Linkworth did, as a matter of fact, like to paint.

"A painter," Charles echoed, "what sort of pictures do you paint?"

Beatrix motionlessly gazed at the wall for a moment.

"I suppose landscapes. I like Impressionism"

"So I assume that's why you came all the way here to the Scottish lowlands," Mrs. Doyle cut in, "They truly are magnificent when transferred on canvas, aren't they?"

Beatrix did not look in her direction.

"Yes," she mumbled, almost absentmindedly, "they really are"

Mrs. Doyle emitted a polite chuckle in response.

"Well I'm glad you find them to be that way as well"

"I would love to be a painter myself," Gertrude added, idly pouring herself some tea.

Beatrix tilted her head in the girl's direction.

"You can start with a self portrait. You're very beautiful"

The young girl turned red and looked down to hide her flattered smile. She mumbled a quick "Thank you, Miss Linkworth" upon realising she forgot to do so.

Miss Linkworth did not elaborate further. She simply coughed into her fist. A hint of panic momentarily flashed in her eyes before she hid her hand and covered it with the other. She was subtle. Nobody said anything about it, despite her frantic looking around to check for suspicion on anybody's face. It was likely that nobody noticed. Or they did, just didn't dare say anything that could possibly come across as rude.

"Learning to paint is a gradual process," Beatrix continued, "One must identify oneself with the brush and the canvas. One may have one's idea of what to paint, but the brush and canvas have their own. One must learn to agree and create beauty from the conjoined efforts"

Beatrix's words were beautiful. Her tone expressionless. Monotonous. She emitted an unidentifiable aura. Not eerie, but distant. Melancholic, chilling even. But of course, the Doyle family could not ask about her. They were nobles. Quiet, dignified nobles who spoke shallow, false but at the very least mannerly words. They could only resort to silent observations from afar.

"I couldn't agree more, Miss Linkworth," Mr. Doyle acknowledged with a tilt of his head, "Art is not perfection. It is about finding the beauty in imperfection"

At this, Beatrix smiled.