1. Meeting
Mary told herself that she should look at this as an adventure.
She had lived with her Aunt Patrice since she was born, and since Aunt Patrice was a religious homebody, Mary had been too. When Patrice died unexpectedly she felt completely lost and confused. She had no friends to comfort her, her aunt believed friends were nothing but a bad influence. She graduated from an all girls Catholic high school, but had never worked or did much of anything outside of the home. Going to church was a big event, but not something that one was supposed to be excited about. The lawyer that she went to see about her aunt's Will had been the first person she had spoken to in a week.
"Your aunt made arrangements for you to inherit her house and its contents, and a few financial assets." She wasn't surprised by that. Her aunt didn't have much, but she also didn't have any children of her own. "Then there's the house in England and the associated assets."
"Wait a minute, what house in England?" Mary was shocked.
"Patrice didn't tell you?" He looked over the rim of his glasses, his bushy eyebrows drawn together.
"No. Are you sure there isn't some mistake?" She leaned forward, trying to look at the papers spread out on his wide desk.
"No, there's no mistake. Your great-grandfather Ambrose Beeson left you his estate, your aunt was supposed to tell you that when you turned eighteen. Knowing Patrice's peculiarities though, I'm not surprised that she didn't."
"I didn't know I had a great-grandfather Ambrose." Mary thought back to her eighteenth birthday, nearly two years ago now. It seemed like something had been bothering her Aunt Patrice, but she claimed it was nothing.
"You wouldn't have met him. He was a rather strange sort from what I've been told. He never set foot in this country and from what my colleagues in London tell me he chose you as his heir because of your birth date. The house in an enormous mausoleum of a place, but he made provision for it to be well cared for so it should be in good repair. There are substantial financial assets and investments that go along with it so with a bit of care you should be able to manage quite well for the rest of your life." Mary barely heard him as he continued, telling her that he would make her travel arrangements for her.
The flight to England was terrifying and wonderful. Mary had only been out of her small hometown once, and that was to go to the funeral of a great-uncle she had never met. Aunt Patrice had driven directly there and directly home again, saying there was nothing anywhere that was any different than it was at home. This was most definitely different than anything in Langston.
She was met by a car at the airport and taken to meet with her great-grandfather's attorney (or solicitor, as she learned he was called), Mr. Scott. She spent a mostly sleepless night in a very nice hotel and the next day he took her out to the house. In the car, she told herself that this was an adventure. If she didn't look at it that way she would have been trembling with terror.
They arrived just before three and Mary was awestruck by her first sight of the house. The small bungalow she had shared with her aunt was nothing like the enormous stone edifice that she stood in front of. There were towers and battlements, stone gargoyles glared down at her from several different directions in silent threat.
"Miss Beeson?" An older woman looked at her with motherly concern and Mary realized that she was standing there with her mouth hanging open.
"Yes, I'm sorry." Mary blushed and the older woman smiled at her.
"It's alright, most people react that way when they first see Beeson Hall. It looks like something out of an old movie, or so I've been told. I'm Mrs. March, the housekeeper. Mr. March keeps the gardens and does most of the odd jobs around here. He was supposed to be here to meet you too, but he likely lost track of time." A pinched looking young woman picked up her suitcases and took them inside.
"This is Maggie. She comes in from the village and if you find you want more help there are plenty of girls in the village who would be happy for the work. Mr. March and I live in a cottage on the grounds."
"It's nice to meet both of you." Mary said, following the Mrs. March into the house. She found that the inside was as imposing as outside. It was clean, but dark. Stern-looking people looked down from portraits and Mary was reminded how the statues of the Saints in their church at home always looked like they disapproved. The heavy antiques and dark draperies made the house feel as if it were hiding some deformity that would be revealed in the light. Mrs. March led them into a sitting room.
"If you and Mr. Scott would like to make yourselves at home I'll bring in a pot of tea." Mrs. March left them and Mary started to look around the room.
"Did you know Ambrose Beeson?" She asked.
"Not well. Toward the end he saw very few people, he only saw me long enough to iron out the details of the estate." He finished telling her about her great-grandfather's financial holdings and how they were managed. He gave her a large set of keys and his card, telling her to call him if she had any questions or needed anything.
Mary ate dinner alone and then Mrs. March gave her a tour of the house and was able to tell her a little more about Ambrose. Mostly, she described how Ambrose had an almost obsessive interest in the occult. The house itself was enormous and she knew she would have to wander around on her own to really get to know the place, and she was certain that she would probably get lost at some point. Finally, she was shown her rooms. They had been her great-grandfather's and there was a sitting area and bedroom as well as a spacious balcony and a fireplace large enough for her to stand up in. There were a few lamps, but Mrs. March told her that the electricity was sometimes unreliable. She left her candles and oil lamps and then said goodnight.
Once again she was alone and a little nervous in the cavernous rooms with strange shadows and odd noises. She tried to sleep, but even though the huge, curtained bed was comfortable she found she couldn't relax. Mary got up and wandered to the draped doorway to the balcony. The weather was mild so she walked out in her long white cotton nightgown and bare feet. She stood at the railing and looked out over the dark countryside. There were a few lights on in the village, Badger's Drift she thought Mrs. March said it was called, but that was all. She turned to go back in and nearly screamed when she saw the large stone gargoyle crouching in the shadows.
