Page 24 of Lord of the Darkness

After some time, his deep brown eyes came back to hers, actually seeing her, and a wry smile twisted his lips.

“I suppose I should have told you much of it, long since. But it is something I have never liked to speak of. Rumours, once begun, take on a life of their own, and are quite capable of outliving the generation in which they begin. Let me get myself a brandy, to fortify me, and then I will tell you what I know – although for much of what happened before I was born, I can only repeat what I was told as a child.”

***

Benedict took the time to compose himself as he went to the sideboard and poured himself a large brandy from the decanter which waited there. He had known that, eventually, he would have to speak with Ariana about the history of Darkmire Abbey, but he had been, he had to admit, too wary of her responses to everything to even consider the conversation until now.

He turned, and she watched him with those clear hazel eyes as he returned to sit beside her, glass in hand. That gaze gave him courage, for it contained no judgement, no expectation of horrors – nothing but curiosity.

“Perhaps it would be best if you tell me, first, what rumours you have heard, so that I know where to start.”

She nodded, and thought for a moment before saying anything.

“The villagers… they call you ‘the Lord of the Darkness’ and I think that they called your father that before you. They whisper things about your mother – that she was poisoned, that she was mad, that she was locked away until she died. None of the stories agree, but they are all dark, and suggest that evil things have happened in this house, for generations.”

Benedict sipped his brandy, a wave of sadness filling him.

“I suppose I have deserved being called so by the villagers. I have not been a cheerful man – I have tried, since my father’s death, to do my duty to the title, and to provide the care I should to my tenant farmers, but I cannot say that I have taken joy in any of it. That no doubt makes me seem dour and threatening to them. That my father also seemed that way is not surprising either – for he did not have much to rejoice about. My mother died when I was but eight years old, and she had been very ill for years before that. My father loved her deeply, and watching her slowly fade into nothing, mentally and physically, left him despairing of the world.”

“Oh! That is so sad – to lose your mother when you were so young!”

“I wish it had been otherwise, but by the time she died, it was a blessed release. She suffered terrible megrims, and pains of the body, her body wasted until she could barely sit, and all of the brightness leached out of her. My father told me, only on his deathbed, that he believed this family to be cursed, for his own mother had spent her last years shut away in the tower wing, quite mad, as he and his father tried to care for her. When his own wife sickened so, he was sure that we were cursed. Yet I cannot imagine what might have brought such a curse upon us.”

Beside him, Ariana shuddered, and he waited, certain now that she would look at him with only fear, and damn him for marrying her, for bringing her into this cursed place. But she surprised him.

“I am not sure that I believe in curses, Benedict. A family can suffer a great deal of misfortune, without curses having anything to do with it. And, if nothing has been done to this house for generations, but allow it to sink further into darkness and gloom, it is not at all surprising to me that you might feel overwhelmed by that. Perhaps if we change things, if we bring light into the dark places of Darkmire Abbey, that will change how everything feels?”

Benedict sipped the brandy again, considering her words. Could she be right? Could something so simple as redecorating the place to something lighter really transform its dark history?

“Perhaps – but there is much to overcome. When people talk of the place being haunted, I am inclined to believe them. So much of the time, I feel that I am being watched, that the past looms over me, a weight I cannot shift. For it is not just my mother and grandmother. My father spoke of his own grandfather as having been a cruel man, harsh in his treatment of tenants and of family, and violent. My father feared that such capability had passed down to him, and fought every impulse he had towards cruelty, even though he was still a strong disciplinarian. It is as if the walls of Darkmire Abbey are imbued with the echoes of past cruelties, as if the portraits of my ancestors look down on me in disgust at how weak I am, to wish to be seen as something other than ‘the Lord of the Darkness’.”

“I cannot see weakness in that. Rather, I see strength – for to fight the weight of generations of pain, and fear, and cruelty takes great determination.”

Benedict regarded her with surprise – could she be right? Could what his father had seen as weakness, what he himself had come to think of as weakness, actually be strength?

“I hope that you are right, that it is possible to change things. Perhaps, if you help me, we might make a beginning on that, with changes to more rooms?”

“I would be very happy to do so. Although… I don’t think that Mrs Haversham will be at all pleased about it. She has not said anything, directly, about the small parlour, but she treats me with even more disdain than she did to begin with.”

“Mrs Haversham will simply have to cope. The fact that she has been Housekeeper here since my grandfather’s time does not give her the right to dictate what happens. You are the mistress of the house, and if she attempts to evade your directives, please tell me, and I will deal with it. It is coming time that she should retire anyway. Perhaps a cottage of her own, and an annuity in thanks for long service would be the best approach.”

“Indeed, I cannot see how she could argue with such generosity.”

“Then let us see how it goes, and if necessary, I will take action on that matter.”