CHAPTER ONE
A thick white fog pressed down upon the auburn autumn grass as a lone figure, clad in a woollen grey shawl, struck a course across the Moore towards the bleak shadow cast in the mud by the rusted iron gates of Beckleton Hall. The face, buried deep in the nest of clothes, belonged to Marling Sunbury, a pensive girl with a red birthmark on her cheek in the shape of a bird in flight. Marling fought through the fog and wind until she stood, dwarfed by the iron gates that led to the mud track, which led on itself to the wooden doors of her house. Marling had taken to calling the house The Coffin, partly because its wooden walls that were coated in gold encrusted swirls the way one might decorate a fine coffin for a loved one as they pass on. Of course, for Marling, this was far from the only reason she called this house The Coffin.
She used all the strength she had left in her wrists and shoulders as she pushed the gate forward, its edges catching and dragging a thick slog of mud over the ground until it gathered next to a dried pile to the side of the dirt road. The dirt on the road was hardened even after the rainfall of the past night because nobody but Marling ever set out over its cracked surface. She walked towards the house only able to see the doorway that led to the buildings atrium and the window that sat looming over the landing above, casting the room in the dim red light of the mural depicted in its stained glass. A mural depicting a man, cloaked in black, riding a black horse over a red hill in the dead of night carrying a belt of skulls upon which sits a fresh notch. Marling had been told, by her father of course, that the mural, put there by her great grandfather the first Lord of Beckleton Hall, was supposed to offer protection from death to those who live within the walls of the house, a story Marling had since seen proven untrue many times.
She arrived at the door only to see its wooden frame creak and shake open revealing a sickly old woman with a withered and bent frame standing in the atrium of the house.
“Marling Sunbury!” exclaimed the woman pulling her inside and dusting off her shoulders.
“Mud. There’s mud all over you! We must get you clean for the Gathering otherwise your father will be most displeased.”
The woman closed the door and stripped Marling of her coat, throwing it onto the black and white chessboard floor. A second woman appeared on the stairs with a smile drawn across her face. She ran down the stairs and embraced Marling.
“Oh Marling! My dear Marling! Today! Today!”
Marling smiled.
“Grace, calm down,” she said, laughing.
Grace was a beautiful girl with blonde hair that hung over her shoulders, curled at its ends like ribbon.
“Calm down? How can I be calm! We must get you washed, can’t have you looking like this for your big day!”
Grace began to unbutton her woollen dress, pulling it over her shoulders until it dropped in a pile on the floor around her feet looking distinctly similar to the mud that gathered and dried around the gate.
“Where have you been anyway?” she asked.
The older woman pulled down her underwear until Marling stood naked inside the atrium of the house. She was delicate in frame, with pale skin and blonde hair that curled at its ends as it rested on her shoulder, only after her excursion, her hair had lost much of its life.
“Getting apples.”
The old woman shook her head at Marling.
“Where are they?” asked Grace.
“I ate them,” Marling hesitated.
Grace merely smiled and began leading Marling up the stairs towards the washroom.
“I can’t believe today is your twenty-first birthday,” began Grace.
Marling forced a smile. Today was a day she had dreaded since she was old enough to attend gatherings. Every cog had its place in the machine in Beckleton Hall and the place of every girl of age in the house was at the side of their man.
Marling stood, arms raised above her head, in the cold tin bath as Grace dribbled the warm water over her skin.
“I hope I look as beautiful as you will at my gathering,” said Grace.
“You will.”
A knock at the door startled Marling as she watched the fog roll away over the horizon leaving a pervasive black cloud ominously in its wake. The knock was followed by the door clicking open and a woman entering.
“Can I come in?” asked the woman.
Marling nodded and the woman entered.
“Can we have a moment, Grace?” asked Marling.
“Of course,” she smiled and left the room.
The woman approached Marling and watched her standing, naked in the tin bath, biting her lip, waiting for the door to click shut.
“I told you not to use the front door,” began the woman.
“I wouldn’t have to if we could stop sneaking off to the woods. I don’t understand why we can’t use the bed.”
The woman placed a silk-gloved hand on Marling’s cheek.
“My sweet Marling, you do understand. Today of all days you can’t be arousing suspicion.”
“Natalia my dear, I’m not sure I care anymore,” replied Marling.
She leaned in to kiss Natalia on the cheek but she recoils and looks away for a moment. Marling’s eyes flutter before she swallows her anguish and instead takes hold of the sponge and begins to wash her own legs.
“You don’t know this place like I do,” began Natalia, “people like us don’t get met with the warmest of welcomes.”
“You forget I’m his daughter.”
“We’re all his daughters,” added Natalia.
“I’m his real daughter.”
Natalia turned to leave the room.
“I came here to tell you that we can’t see each other anymore,” she said.
Marling stopped washing and looked at her.
“When you are married your husband will want to keep you pure until he is ready.”
“Since when has that mattered?”
“Since we both know that when you and Bentley are married he’ll know where you are at all times. That’s how things are for us Marling. That’s how things are for all of us.”
Natalia left the room leaving behind the echoes of her words like ghosts haunting Marling. Never before had she felt the lid of the coffin slide so close to being closed. She sat in the tin bath, her damp hair clinging to her skin like netting, her hands wrapped tightly around her knees and the water eroding away her body.