THE BATON ROUGE TIMES
"It is with deep sorrow that we announce the passing of Mr. Vladan Petrovic, of Belladonna Grove, whose lifeless body was discovered on the banks of the Mississippi River yesterday afternoon. According to reports from the authorities, Mr. Petrovic had taken his own life by throwing himself off the balcony of the main house, plunging several stories to his death into a small tributary of the great River before washing several miles downstream to where he was found by local river habituees. Mr. Petrovic left behind a note, the details of which remain confidential pending notification of his next of kin.
"The circumstances surrounding Mr. Petrovic's suicide have raised many questions among the community, however. Mr. Petrovic, a lifelong bachelor, had been seen with a feminine figure on the grounds of the estate, but the woman neither come forward nor been identified. The person's relationship with Mr. Petrovic is unknown, as is whether she has information that could assist the authorities.
"Mr. Petrovic's passing had led to many rumors within the community, but to date no authoritative evidence has come to light that would shed any doubt on the authorities' conclusions. Whatever the case may be, the community mourns the loss."
The article contained an artist's rendering of Belladonna Grove, which I found to be the estate itself, not the town near which it lay. The lawyer who had sent me the article, along with the summons to Louisiana to claim my inheritance, had been skimpy with details. As I stepped into the main house of the plantation, the grandeur of the place was immediately apparent. The walls were adorned with oil paintings, each one depicting some possible European nobility in dramatic poses. Some of the paintings featured noble men standing tall with their hands on their hips, exuding an air of power and authority. Others showed both men and women reclining in luxurious settings, surrounded by beautiful scenery and overflowing cups of wine. The furnishings were all antique and of the highest quality, clearly indicating my uncle's--or his decorator's--expensive tastes. In one room, I found a stunning chandelier made of crystal that cast a sparkling light across the walls. In another, I came across a massive four-poster bed with carved wooden posts that looked as if they had been painstakingly crafted by hand.
Under one of the portraits in the main hall, a placard read "Baron Viktor Petrovich, 1595-1652" and depicted a hawkish man wearing a ruffled collar, close-fitting embroidered hose, and a cape made of velvet or silk, trimmed with fur. The cape was fastened at the throat with a large engraved brooch, embellished with precious gems. In one hand, at his hip, he held a plumed beret. In the other, a rapier's hilt, with the scabbarded blade to the floor.
Next to the portrait, a beautiful woman stood before an ancient ruin. She wore an equally ruffled collar with a black bodice over a long bell-shaped skirt, embroidered and decorated with lace. Her blonde curls were piled high on top of her head, topped with a large lace headdress. The plaque read "Baroness Karina Petrovich, 1652." Examining the beautiful woman, I wondered whether she was Viktor's wife or his daughter. Her age would suggest the latter, but I assumed that 17th century daughters didn't necessarily get their father's titles, which suggested wife. In which case, good for you, Viktor. Must be nice to be the nobility.
The landscapes in the paintings were equally impressive. They depicted towering mountains and frozen wastelands that seemed completely at odds with the swampy flatlands that surrounded the plantation. The images were jarring after having traversed the countryside just outside, as if the painting were windows looking onto another world than the one from which I had entered the house.
The library was the most astonishing room in the house. I knew immediately I would be spending the most time there. It was both vast and cozy, with overstuffed armchairs and a large fireplace, cold now, but a clear image of a crackling fire filled my head when I saw it. The bookshelves were lined with volumes of every shape and size, and I couldn't resist running my fingers over the spines as I walked through the room.
Some of the titles were familiar to me, classic works of literature that I had read in school, Chaucer and Dante, but many were unknown to me: The Book of the City of Ladies by Christine de Pizan, The Blazing World by Margaret Cavendish, The King in Yellow by Robert W. Chambers. The books dated back to the 1400s. Others were mysterious and intriguing, with names like "The Book of Eibon" and "The Key of Solomon."
One book in particular caught my eye, a thick leather-bound volume with an ornate gold-leaf cover. The title was in a language that I didn't recognize, but the pages were filled with strange symbols and diagrams that seemed to hint at secret knowledge. I chuckled, imagining that the book was a wizard's tome of spells, unimaginably powerful...if only I knew how to read whatever language that is, I thought.
