Charlotte Merikh studied her invitation to Hannock Manor in a delicate, glove-covered hand as her family’s carriage jolted off the main road and onto the long drive. Copper ink on thick cream paper, no doubt handwritten by a secretary chosen exclusively for his calligraphy skills. She rolled her eyes, bored already, even if it was her first Society event.
“Come now, darling. You mustn’t let anyone else see you express any signs of displeasure. Once we get inside, it must be your best face forward.” Lucinda Merikh gestured to her own elegant visage, an empty, perfect smile blooming in the lantern’s dim glow.
Her mother’s reprimand was sincere, Charlotte knew. Blue eyes in a pale face remained guileless, unable to see beyond Society status. Unable to conceive of anything grander than finding her youngest daughter the same sort of dull, arrogant, witless sots the elder three girls had married just the year before.
Unable to see how much Charlotte hated the idea of being forced into the role of a bland Society wife, silent and supportive through her selected spouse’s myriad affairs, dulled by obligatory apologetic presents and presence at events exactly like this one, obediently selling her own daughters to the highest bidder merely because it was asked.
Unable to see the stars, hovering just out of reach for any born on the planet Society, doomed by ancient collective decision to a life of intentional technological refusal. Never mind that they’d all gotten here through technology in the first place. It was part of the required teachings, even if it was glossed over as fast as possible, with no details.
Charlotte slid the carriage window open and gazed upward at the shining galaxy above. Her former tutor Ned had told her that particular shining streak in the sky was their ancestral home. He’d disappeared shortly after, so it must be true.
At least Ned had left her a few books on the mysterious technology that allowed humans to travel to the stars. She wasn’t sure if that was intentional or a sign of how quickly he’d been hustled from their manor. Mostly, she wished he’d been around to explain all the things that made no sense.
On Society, archaic torchlight ruled the evenings and nights. It flickered inside the carriage as they passed a set of light markers in their glass cases, continuing the carriage’s slow journey toward the ancient manor house. She blinked, her night vision temporarily blinded by orange flames, abruptly brought back to the velvet-cushioned, horse-drawn carriage.
“Do shut the window, Charlotte,” Lucinda snapped. “You’ll get windblown. Yelena spent a full hour on your hair.”
With a pout, Charlotte slid the window closed. The precise curled hairstyle appropriate for an unmarried Society girl of her age and status took far more time than she normally was willing to stand. Tonight, her mother had insisted, claiming her daughter’s bright red locks already signified wild and inappropriate behavior.
Charlotte had been so surprised by the news that she’d stopped arguing and let Yelena ready her for the ball. She’d rarely bothered to study the Society rules her sisters delighted in understanding every twisted nuance, racing outside with her horse or reading in the library instead. It might explain why she’d been rebuked more often for the same childhood delights than her sisters, who shared their mother’s dishwater blonde hair. Perhaps it hadn’t been that she’d gotten caught more often after all, but that eyes had been watching her for unseemly comportment.
Yelena had seen her confusion, but had only a single unwatched moment to whisper in her ear. The moment had been seized, and near-immediately lost, without clarification. “You’re sixteen now,” the maid’s low voice had hissed.
She had shrugged in the looking glass, uncomprehending, wishing for a book to distract herself, and brighter light to read by. Someday, she’d sworn to herself, before she was married to some awful old man she didn’t know, she’d go to view the wonders of the Spaceport. Just to glimpse what could have been, had she been born on a different world, to a different family.
Just because the Society rejected the technology didn’t mean she had to hate it. Perhaps she would sit outside the Spaceport and use the bright electric lights to read a book.
Charlotte sighed. Even her ideas were heretical, and unlikely to boot. She shook off the sense of foreboding. Sixteen only meant she’d reached marriageable age and was finally allowed into polite company for spousal marketing. Perhaps her first ball wouldn’t be as terrible as her sister’s delighted descriptions had sounded.
Perhaps she’d learn to enjoy arranging dinner parties and flowers, or managing a household where duties rarely changed. Or the polite conversational topics that were mind-numbing fictions as best. Perhaps her curls would stay tamed, someday neatly arranged into the upswept braids of a proper married Society woman, and she would bring her mother as much status as the triplets’ glamorous triple wedding.
Charlotte bit her lower lip. It seemed unlikely. She enjoyed the wild and complicated walitzina dance, fixing her sister’s broken toys, and horseback riding. She read voraciously, eager to consume information proper Society ladies pretended did not exist. These activities were all far more suitable for the brothers she’d never had, according to her father.
The words had been repeated so often, she even thought them with her father’s inflection.
“Stop chewing on your face,” Lucinda said. The carriage came to a slow halt. Charlotte let her lower lip go with a start. Her mother leaned forward. “On second thought, that brings a delightful shade of rose to your lips. Don’t let anyone see you do it, obviously.”
“Of course,” Charlotte murmured, staring once more at the ostentatious invitation. Her voice was bleak, and she was sure she was pale enough to highlight a dusting of freckles by the way Lucinda frowned at her.
There was no more dawdling as the carriage door opened, and a footman proffered a helpful hand. Charlotte pasted an empty smile onto her face and accepted assistance she didn’t need.
There was nothing else for her but this world. It was time to play her part, time to face the rest of an exceedingly dull Society life.
Each step down the carriage steps and onto the stone courtyard tiles felt like a tiny spike driven into her soul.
***
Even Charlotte’s despair couldn’t stop her wonder at the grand manor, ancient stone shining pale in the numerous courtyard torches. Shadows clouded the details of the arched doorways and oriel windows. Crenellated walkways and ornate chimneys rose to peaked towers, only visible thanks to Society’s largest moon shining pale pink and full.
Lucinda cleared her throat pointedly. Charlotte jerked her head downward and met the anonymous footman’s patient eyes. He escorted her across the courtyard, her mother’s clacking footsteps a precise chaperonage distance behind her. He bowed and presented her to the butler just inside the carved, wooden double doors, then turned to await the next guest.
Light shone from lanterns with mirrored backings, boosting the ambient glow. The portcullis chains were evident just behind the stone pillars inside, ready to be dropped at a moment’s notice. The gate would be closed once all guests arrived, as was tradition. Host responsibilities demanded ostentatious displays of security.
“Invitation, please, Lady Charlotte?” Each Society household’s Butler gave up his given name when he took on the full role and title, after years of training and generations of household protection. The Merikh’s Butler had secretly told her his name had once been Devon because his lack of name frightened her as a young girl. She’d later learned he could have been exiled from the community if she’d told anyone he shared.
This bearded stranger was nothing like her Devon. Dressed in dark leathers, the Hannock’s Butler tonight maintained dual duties of household protector and barrier to entry. Charlotte met his piercing, dark eyes and gulped, clutching her invitation in her gloved hand. She knew he would have studied a painting of her already, to make sure no one had stolen her invitation and attempted unauthorized entrance. Dropping her eyes, her gaze stuck on the gleaming silver hilt of his sword, faceted and smooth with long use.
“Lady Charlotte?” The Butler held out his right hand, his left dropping to the sword hilt. She pulled her eyes away and held out the invitation, grimacing at the creases her grip had left in the expensive paper. Her mother made an odd sound behind her, which Charlotte recognized from long experience as a suppressed sigh.
The Butler took the invitation and confirmed its legitimacy with a nod. “Lady Charlotte. Lady Merikh. Welcome to Hannock Manor.”
Lucinda swept past the Butler without even a nod. Charlotte paused, seeing several shadows cross the wall as people she hadn’t realized were behind them moved away.
“Never fear, Lady Charlotte. There is no known threat to the ball this evening, but my brothers and I keep watch.” The Butler nodded at her, and gestured to the room behind him.
She could feel her mother’s impatience. “Thank you, Butler,” she said softly. Gathering long green silk skirts, she swept into the room.
Long training with her mother and sisters was the only thing that kept her head held high as jeweled, haughty heads turned to assess the new entrant to the stone room. Condescension was as thick as the mingled scent of oil-burning lanterns and perfume.
One elderly matron, hat precariously perched atop braided grey hair, sniffed with derision and deliberately turned her head away. The rest took their cues from her, Charlotte judged, as conversation broke out again.
A blond with the same curled style and a deep blue gown headed toward her. Her demeanor and dress were picture-perfect, in the books Charlotte was approved to read but hid under her bed instead. The girl came to a halt with a flourish. “I’m Azure,” she announced.
“Charlotte.” She fidgeted with a ring, and stilled her hands. “Is this your first ball also?”
“Yes, but of course I’ve already offers.” The girl smirked and looked down her nose at the redhead.
She thought this was a remarkable feat, since Azure was at least four inches shorter than Charlotte herself. “That’s nice.”
Azure was misnamed. Her hazel eyes bulged as her throat convulsed several times. “Well. Well. Clearly, you aren’t competition. Nice! What a redheaded nonsense answer.”
Charlotte watched the other girl flounce away. “Hmm.” She didn’t miss the company, but the sideways glances from catty women and predatory men had an unexpected dimension of inevitability.
She turned and walked toward the Barnhardts, who lived one manor over from her family’s. At least the elderly patriarch and his wife would give her a pretext at polite conversation, rather than how awkwardly she stood alone now.
An hour later, Charlotte’s jaw was sore from clenching it, her feet hurt, and her face ached from pretending to smile. She’d been patronized by older women, who murmured to her that they understood how difficult it must be, facing her disadvantage as a redhead. Why had her mother not prepared her sooner for such talk?
The men were even worse. Boys barely past light fuzz and spots sneered at her with expectant eyes, while older men who’d worn out their first, second, or even third wives with childbearing asked questions she didn’t understand and laughed at her confusion. One middle-aged man with a pointed nose and dark hair had licked his lips and looked at her body in ways that made her stomach twist. She wished for nothing more than a thick blanket to hide behind and a mug of strong, honeyed tea.
A cough drew her attention. She turned from the punch bowl she’d lingered near to find Butler watching her. The security men were circulating the room now that the portcullises were down at each entrance, ensuring honor was maintained even amongst the vicious verbal jabs that could so easily escalate beyond mere words.
He jerked his head in a short movement, barely perceptible. She looked, and saw a discrete path behind a long drapery of saffron velvet. Charlotte blinked, and tried to look grateful, but Butler was already gone, moving to intercept a spat between two young men about a horse.
She slipped behind the curtain and sighed with relief. The lights were dim here, and the perfume thinner. Charlotte wandered the hallway, wondering if this led to the kitchens. She’d been unable to do more than nibble a few treats before her mother’s reproving eye tightened her belly, but the night was overwhelming to her senses. Perhaps some food would help sustain her, and most kitchens would slip a girl a small loaf without question.
Her stomach flipped as she trailed fingertips across the cool stone. Perhaps she wasn’t considered a girl anymore. Had that been what Yelena was trying to tell her earlier today?
Her fingers grazed over the edge of stone and met empty air. Charlotte barely noticed, her mouth agape. Dark shelves held thousands of books, even going to a second story. A fire blazed at the end of the empty room, safely ensconced in stone and behind decorative ironworks. A spiral stair led to the second floor, and extended to what looked like an additional room with a closed wooden door. Exquisite glass lanterns shone at regular intervals from between bookcases.
She wandered through the selection of tomes, noting the organizational system absently as she went. She’d known the Hannocks were rich, but some of these books had such great age, they must have come from first landing! Society had been only a colony at first, in need of many skills, but agriculture had won out as technology had broken down and trade routes had been slow to develop.
Drawing near the fire, she luxuriated in the warmth. It wasn’t quite the blanket she’d wanted, but books made the evening better. Charlotte drew her skirts up in one hand and placed the other on the spiral stair’s railing. She’d never seen a staircase like this before, with one side so narrow only her toes would fit. Each step was taken with great precision, and she was glad no one was here to witness her unseemly flash of ankle.
Upstairs, she started to continue the book survey before pausing. The dark wooden doors drew her attention. Studded with metal beyond the strength of most internal doors, she wondered what in a library would need extra fortification. An ornate metal latch kept the door closed, but looked a more recent addition than the hinges.
Charlotte studied the metal swirls, made to emulate leaves. A flower bloomed in metal, inviting an outreached hand to clasp it and pull. She accepted its implicit invitation, cold iron warming against her skin, unsurprised to find the door immobile.
She let go with a disappointed sigh, and heard a faint scrape. Hand still in midair, she reached out and tugged on the flower harder. Another noise rewarded her, and she grasped the long petals with both hands, leaning all her weight on the handle.
Metal squealed, and something inside the door gave way. The door itself opened soundlessly as she pulled, red-orange rust spilling onto the wooden floor.
Panting, Charlotte straightened and brushed off her dress. She stepped inside the room. It was filled with books, but her eyes were fixed on the view through the oriel window. Each step echoed in her head, her heartbeat thudding in her ears as she slowly moved forward.
The glow of the spaceport filled the window, filled the room. Blue-tinged lights cast a cool calm across her face, newly-hated red hair gleaming with electric curls. Her dress turned to teal, the geometric embroidered trim at the hem muted by the strange beams.
Charlotte could not look away, even as her shin barked into the wooden window seat. The forest on the drive to the manor courtyard was so thick it must have hidden the view. She could see over the trees now. Vehicles moved with speed she had trouble believing, massive even at this distance. Fire blazed white-hot from one of them, and she caught her breath in fear before it vanished.
She rested a hand against the rippled glass, entranced.
“I meant for you to catch your breath in the hall, not break into the forbidden room,” a voice said behind her.
Charlotte recognized the Butler’s voice, but kept her eyes trained on the Spaceport. If this were to be her last glimpse, she would soak in every second. “Must I go?”
“If you wish to avoid answering questions about whether the ‘redheaded bookworm’ has absconded to get into trouble, yes.” He sounded amused.
“That can only be my mother.” Charlotte wondered if she’d be able to remember this exact shade of blue years from now, when she needed to sustain herself.
“Come, Lady Death,” the Butler said.
She turned, already longing for another glimpse of electric lights. “What did you call me?”
His lips twitched. “Lady Charlotte may be your real title, but your last name means death. It suits your spirit more. You’ll be the death of some poor man.”
Charlotte blinked. “Anything’s better than my real name – oh!”
The man with the pointed face who had scared her earlier slinked in behind the Butler. His eyes were dark, and a glass of amber liquid dangled from his hand. “Private party?”
“A retrieval, m’lord.” The Butler turned to keep his body between the two, facing the man who scared her more than ever.
Charlotte wondered if he’d hoped to trap her here, alone, and shuddered at the thought. “Yes, I’d like to rejoin the ballroom now.” She was proud that her voice did not waver.
“I’d like to join something,” the man snarled. He closed the door behind him.
The Butler’s shoulders flexed. “Window seat, Lady Death.”
“I don’t understa-“
“Go!”
Charlotte turned back to the seat set into the oriel window, unsure what to do. She lifted the cushion, and saw what looked like a lid. A trap door? She pulled up on the hook, and saw a narrow staircase.
Much undignified scrambling later, Charlotte scraped her hands against an exceptionally dark stone room that didn’t seem to have an exit. She hadn’t shut the trap door behind her, not wanting to waste time, and the faint blue glow kept her from panicking entirely.
Butler wouldn’t have sent her into a room with no exit, would he? She craned her neck upward, wishing she knew what was going on between the two men. Surely the Butler would win.
A thud came from overhead, and she squeaked. Redoubling her efforts, she touched a rough spot in the stone and pressed her fingers into it until she thought her fingertips would bleed. Stone cracked open, spilling her onto the wet lawn.
Charlotte ran, not knowing where to go, in dancing slippers soaked through. The doors were sealed against her, the horses safely locked in the barn. No one sane stayed out at night, even though no one had seen a sabertooth since the early settlement days. Carriage bells kept them away, but she did not have a bell, nor would it work against the pointed-faced man. And so she ran to the only place she could think of that might have safety against predators of man and beast alike.
The Spaceport would save her, with its terrifying blue glow. It must, because Charlotte Merikh could see no other options.
Last week, on Odd Prompts, Cedar Sanderson did very cool things with my prompt of an encoded quilt. Leigh Kimmel gave me a prompt that just wouldn’t let go: Something is seen at the oriel window of a forbidden room in an ancient manor house.
I still have more stories I want to tell based on this prompt, which tickled my dark and flinty gothic heart. This version went in a different direction than I anticipated, but – I think – in a good way. I think it might become a thing, because Lady Death really wants her story to be told.
It’s not like I have anything else I’m working on…or a day job that’s nuts…right?
