Maura makes a bargain with . . . the devil?

30 October, 2011

464

R. Linda:

I will tell you a Halloween tale from Ireland, but I cannot tell you how I came upon it, just know I have carried it around for a very long time. It's a hard one to swallow, but based on legend it is. There is no humour, but a lesson if you read it well. I bring it forth for just this night, a tale from Shadowstone Manor or should that be . . . Tombstone Manor?


Sometime in the 1790s -- County Down, Ireland

In Ireland long ago, a fair-haired, hazel-eyed lass named Maura was born. She grew into a beautiful woman known for her coyness, her laughter, and how she turned men's heads. She was not a lazy lass, nor a floozy, she was her own actress and filled with ambition. She knew when to lift a finger to a long curl and twine it round, and smile lazily at the men who watched intently every small movement. She knew when to laugh when to pout and how to tease. She did all this seemingly unconsciously, but if truth be known (and had I lived during her time), I'd have questioned it.

In time the lass came of marriageable age and the man she wanted was of a station higher than her own and unattainable. It was for him she put on her actress mask and moved as she did among the men who took notice. She did this to gain his attention, but he wasn't having any of it. He was a gentleman, well educated, landed gentry, and he meant to marry advantageously . . . and he did.

The lass's fortunes were never very high and in a season where winter killed, she lost her beloved parents who indulged her everything. She found herself nearly homeless as there was no money left her. Maura applied for work at the great house, Shadowstone Manor, to the now wife of the object of her desire and was hired as a maid. She did as told and as needed, and she watched the wife all the time and grew to know her likes and habits. Then one fall day, the wife suddenly took on an illness that came out of the blue. The doctor was called and he could not find the problem, draughts for stomach flu were given and off he went. The lass had won the esteem of her mistress and when she offered to sit up with her all the night through and administer the syrups and potions, she was looked upon as a good girl, a loyal lass. But as the days passed to weeks, mightily did her mistress suffer and again, doctor was called and he could not find the cause.

This went on until 31 October when the lady of the manor succumbed to her illness and died. But there was one thing, and this one thing belied something more than base suspicion, it intoned possible murder, as the lady's face upon her death, had turned the telltale black of poison!

The lass never nourished her lady, no that was cook herself did that. The only sustenance she gave was the pharmaceuticals given to her by the doctor and put into her hand. Had the doctor a grudge? Had the cook? These two were suspected, as the lass was absolved of any such malicious behaviour, for surely she had proved her worth and devotion to her mistress through her ministering to her, had she not? And doctor, well he was quite renowned and known as a good man. Nothing was ever found to prove the assumption of murder but such was the village in an uproar, the cook was blamed for poison and hung as a result. The testimony of Maura, the young lass, is what did cook in. Cook was accused of placing poison in her mistress's food. Had she trifled with the potions? This unnerved Maura, and she knew it would be her they turned their suspicious eyes on next. "Did cook have access to the medicines?" Maura was asked. Thinking quickly and being a good actress, she attested "Yes, they sat on the table next to my mistress's bed, certainly when I was away another hand could . . ." She let the constable think what he would. He asked, "Did you ever see cook season any of the food before she gave it?" Maura thought, then her eyes lit up as if she remembered something, "I saw cook put things in my lady's soup, herbs she told me or so I thought they were herbs. I saw her as I came back to the room and did ask." Maura was asked to describe what she saw. She described the very herb she had used to mix the drops but attributed it to the cook's doing. So well placed was her description she was believed. None of it was total truth, but clever Maura saw it as a way to save herself -- the truth mixed with just enough falsehood. And so, the lady of the manor was put to rest in the churchyard and outside the stone walls of the cemetery, the cook was hung in the square.

Since the death of his wife the master of the house had fallen into deep depression. Maura tried as she might to work her magic on him through her beauty of countenance, and softness of voice, but he would not look at her or hear her for his grief was such he could not betray his love of the dead woman. All winter, spring, and summer he languished.

The household of servants shunned Maura because they knew cook had been innocent, but Maura feigned not to notice. Nasty tricks were played upon the lass, but strong was her resolve to have the master of the manor, she carried on despite it. Yet whisperings were heard by the young lord of Shadowstone . . . how long before he believed them?

The next fall a very strange thing happened. One cloudy, early October day, Maura took a basket of fall flowers to the place where the lady rested, this done to show the object of her obsession (for his window looked out upon the grave of his beloved), her ongoing devotion to his late love. The day was warm, yet the sky looked to harbour rain and the wind was up, she even felt a drop of rain but it did not deter her. She stood by the headstone and smiled down at the grave, a single rook in a dead tree her only audience.

"Here are you and here still stand I," she sighed. "I bring you not flowers from me, but a token that my kindness will be recognised and rewarded in time, and in your place shall I stand." And she got down and arranged the flowers prettily upon the grave smiling to herself as she did thus.

"There is no 'love' as strong as one that barters love at the expense of another if ye can name it such," a deep voice said.

The lass jumped up, the flowers spraying all about her as she faced an old man of pale skin. His hair was jet despite his age, and heavy dark brows made his eyes seem piercing. His voice, his manner, and his dress, all belied a gentleman of the highest order. Seemingly dumbstruck she stood at once frightened and fascinated unable to move. He took a step nearer and grabbed her wrist, and through his teeth, he said, "Maura, I know you, I know what you did and I know what you are doing."

Maura took a step back from him and tried to loosen her wrist from his grasp but found it tightened even more. This amazed her as he looked frail.

"You are hurting me, sir, unhand me!"

"I think not. Not until you hear me and understand what I am going to offer you. You who took my due before it's time!"

She did not understand his words, but an offer? That relaxed her a little. Well, she'd hear it she would, she held his gaze and looked deeply into his green eyes and found she could not look away even if she so wished. He let her go knowing she understood him.

"You wish to be mistress of Shadowstone Manor and shall be if you do as I tell you."

"And what interest is there for yourself in my becoming mistress of such?" She asked shrewdly, wondering all the while why she shouldn't be afraid of this tall, dark stranger with piercing green eyes who seemingly knew her mind.

"My interest will be in the payment of a soul. I am due such from a pact made long ago with the first lady of Shadowstone Manor. A pact was made that every 99 years, whatever lady was mistress of Shadowstone Manor, I would call upon her to exact my payment to keep the manor as the envy of all County Down. I was due my payment but this one," he pointed at the grave, "was lost to me through you!"

"99 years?" She mumbled confused, noting the man looked 60 at most. The old manor was many hundreds of years old and the most beautiful of all the estates of County Down. She glanced up at the manor perplexed. Just then the church sexton appeared up by the cemetery gate, he doffed his hat at her and proceeded to pull some weeds. He was not within hearing distance but his being there calmed Maura's rapidly beating heart.

"Am I to understand you only come to the lady of the manor, for this . . . payment?"

"That was the pact made. Every 99 years no matter what, THAT lady owes me. Otherwise, the manor will fall into decline and eventually . . . ruin."

"I am not the lady of the manor," Maura said nervously.

"But you will be." He grinned at her rudely.

"What soul?" Maura asked saucily her attention inward on this revelation. But not having time to think, she returned it to the man standing near her as she glanced at the sexton busy weeding; giving her a sense of security he'd come to her aid if needed. The actress in her came to the surface as she acted animated toward the stranger all so the sexton could see. But on the edges of her mind, she was secretly alarmed it might be her own soul he might want. Silly girl did not fully take in what he said, for had she, she might not have put on her masquerade, but run as fast as she could, but not Maura, she saw an opportunity.

"Fool that you are Maura, not yours for it is much too black and defiled," he said reading her thoughts. "It will be for one that is honest and true and will be brought to me on the 31st of this month next year."

She nodded. Yes, she thought to herself, he isn't the devil, for surely the sexton notices he stands here, and even if he was Satan, I would make the pact with him and I won't care whose soul he takes if that he could, but I will do what he requires if all works for me. I will be the lady of the manor, I will have the man I want, and the money and servants. I will have everything. She smiled and held her hand to him in a very pretty manner.

Seeing she agreed he smiled rudely at her shallowness and took the proffered hand and shook it in bargain.

"Now lass, go back and serve the lord of the manor his afternoon tea and put this in it," he handed her a phial with powder. "Just a wee bit, a pinch, you must put it in all he drinks and within three months he will be yours. Continue it though, for if it wears off he will see you for what you are. Not to worry, you won't run out of it. Ah, you think it poison, let me assure you it is a love potion, I do not use your methods for what I desire. But first fix your flowers because as is his habit he will see from his window your good works. You have but a short time, so get to."

At first, she gave a start, did he know she poisoned her lady? But he said nothing more and so she pocketed the phial and got back down to gather the scattered blooms. She fixed them prettily upon the grave and looked up with a rueful smile for the dark man's approval, but he wasn't there. She jumped up frightened suddenly that it was all an imagining, but her fingers sought the phial and feeling it she knew it was no dream.

Gathering her things she walked toward the cemetery gate and greeted the old man who had been weeding around it.

"Good day Miss," he said straightening up, "weather is coming ye should get home fast I should think. Be a quick storm then the sun will come back. Maybe bring a rainbow."

Maura looked at the sky, it had taken on as dark a look to it as the black of the stranger's hair. "Yes, and well I should, I wanted to place flowers on my mistress's grave, that man was nice enough to help me."

"Man? I say, Miss, I must have missed him, I saw only yourself. Quite lively you were," and he chuckled to himself.

The clouds opened and the rain poured upon them, giving neither a chance to talk. Maura took off at a run for the manor as the sexton hurried back to the church vestibule. Maura was doubting herself from what the sexton had said. But in the distance, Maura saw a thin rider on a black horse. Lightning cracked in the stormy sky outlining man and beast and for the first time she felt fear as she stopped dead in her tracks, the horse reared and then suddenly disappeared. She knew who the figure was, but the vanishing gave her heart to race and this made her hurry all the more to shelter.

Once inside she leaned upon the stonewall of the outer room that led into the kitchen. She fingered the phial of powder and called herself a stupid lass as it all started for the first time to sink in. It was odd that the dark man conveyed who he was without saying, and that in his presence she was on guard, but strangely at ease as if she knew him from somewhere. Yet now that she was inside and away from the elements of the storm, she felt a chill run down her spine and a fear grip her heart. She took the phial out and looked at it. If she threw it and smashed it that would be the end of it she thought, but would it? Would he come back to exact payment for her disobedience? Yes, yes he would she thought and so she put the phial back in her pocket, put the basket down, took off her shawl and bonnet, and went into the kitchen to dry off. No one was there, which was a good thing it would give her time to think. Did she want to be the lady of the manor? Was she willing to do the devil's bidding?

An hour later she came into the master's study with the tea things. She smiled her warmest and set the tea tray down. Without a word and seeing he was in a sullen mood, she poured him a cup and placed it by his hand which rested upon the tabletop. Discreetly she made to leave.

"Maura, wait," Sir Michael said, a sadness in his voice as he motioned her to sit. "I wish to speak with you."

"Oh sir, have I forgotten something?" she asked taking the opposite chair and feigning looking at the tea things for what could have been left.

"No, no, you have everything here. I wanted to . . . " his voice dropped off. Inwardly he was battling himself not quite sure she did not have something to do with the death of his wife, yet the flowers she left daily on his wife's grave, were they in tribute or was it atonement? The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that cook had not done anything to her mistress. But this lass . . .

She picked up his tea and handed it to him saying, "Please take a sip and it'll make whatever you have to say the easier."

She was nervous, would he taste something off in the tea? But she had no time for thought for he took a sip and smiled quite brightly. This put her off-kilter as well, so unexpected was his smile.

"I was thinking Maura, that perhaps you might want the job as housekeeper. My late lady ran the manor on her own as it was her wish to do so, but without her . . ." his voice trailed off. Something else was on the edge of his mind, but he couldn't think what it had been. He took another sip of the tea and looking at Maura he continued, "She thought highly of you and I think to honour her memory as you do her with the flowers you place where she rests, I'd like you to take that position if you are willing. It's been open far too long." Still, something bothered but he could not remember what it was, something about flowers on a grave.

Maura's eyes sparkled. Housekeeper? Was that truly what he was going to say? She thought for sure he was about to let her go. She thought to herself she'd be near the lord of the manor and how could she refuse? Coyly she made noises of not being qualified, but that was soon shrugged off by the manor's master as nonsense and so, she was to be his daily eyes, ears, and her own mistress of the manor. What luck! Or was it?

It was within a short time she had mastered the position, a few short weeks actually, and this was not lost on the master of the house, nor the servants who resented the young ambitious upstart mightily. It became a habit for her to take tea with Sir Michael and that was when she'd bring her book and tick off all she had done and all she had planned for the next week. But one thing she found that mystified her and that was in the attic. Quite by accident, she found herself in the dark room above the servant's quarters. It was the result of a trick played on her by the cook's old help mate. She could not find Lilly, one of the new maids. She was told Lily was in the attic looking at an old portrait. Maura walked to the top of the stairs to the attic door, the door was open a crack and cautiously she entered. It was warm and musty, cobwebs abounded and Maura knew by the sight of them Lily was not there. Yet there was a figure facing the open door as she stood there. It was no human but a large portrait of the first lady of Shadowstone. In the dim light, something about it looked familiar. Brushing the cobwebs out of her way Maura went to the portrait but could not reach the cobwebs that veiled the lady's face. What could this mean she wondered. The portrait was quite stately but the face, she wished she could make out. Curious, she meant to mention it to Sir Michael in private.

"Yes, I know the portrait, it is the first lady of Shadowstone. Do you think I should have it cleaned and hung? I would have to look at it, I've not seen it since I was a child. This particular lady's portrait was banished many hundreds of years ago. Seems there was a rumour she made a pact with the devil or some such rot."

"My gracious, I do wonder," Maura said walking away. Yes, she did certainly wonder. There had been stories in her family, stories of a distant kinship with the first occupants of Shadowstone Manor, but none ever thought they were true, at least Maura didn't . . . until now, something about the portrait rattled her as being familiar. And, the dark man had said . . . But soon she forgot about it and concentrated instead on making herself the next lady of Shadowstone Manor.

As the fall turned to winter and winter to spring, Maura had so ingratiated herself with the master of the house that the relationship had taken itself to a more intimate level. The natural course of such a relationship found its way to the marriage aisle, and so Maura's wish came to pass. To the village, all of this was gossiped about that Sir Michael had married down and been bewitched by the beautiful lass. For a year the servants of the manor had whispered their suspicions and as to Maura marrying above her, their tongues wagged that surely Maura had cast a spell on the the master of Shadowstone.

It was the summer of her content that Maura had the most beautiful and latest fashions from Paris, her hair was done up like Napoleon's Josephine, worn high on her head showing off her long graceful neck which was adorned with the priciest of jewels. Parties, games, riding out in a four-horse coach to be seen in the park and grand thoroughfares of a summer in London tickled her fancy until October came, and she and her husband moved back to the country estate. And always the phial seemed never to empty.

Maura remembered very well the day the coach pulled up onto the avenue that led to Shadowstone Manor. In the distance, she saw a black horse and a man who cut a fine figure riding in the same direction. The horse was standing still on a hilltop, the rider watching.

"I say, I wonder who that gentleman is," she said, "he seats a horse exceptionally well, must be a man of breeding."

"Where are you looking sweetness, I see no one riding a horse." Her husband looked bemusedly at her.

This was odd, she watched the horseman move along with them until he disappeared behind another hill and they found themselves at the front steps of the estate. No more was mentioned of the strange rider, but it played on Maura's mind and made her short-tempered and moody.

For two days she did not rest and hid in her large home until she reckoned with herself she must go out and meet the devil and see how he wanted to collect his soul, and how she was to deliver whomever over to him. It should be easy, she delivered both her lady and the cook to their demise to her advantage and to save herself, she would do it again.

Taking flowers for her predecessor's grave she went on foot to the cemetery. The weather was exactly as it had been the first time she met her nemesis and she realised it was the same early October date. She looked around but no one did she see, but a lone rook who cawed from a tree. Heaving a great sigh she knelt down and was arranging the flowers when a shadow fell upon her and she looked over to see the black riding boots on the other side of the grave. She looked up at the black-dressed man and he took her breath away. He stood looking down at her under heavy black brows, the paleness of his skin striking, his look ominous. Fear prickled up her skin as she contemplated whether he was a man or the devil as she referred to him in her own mind, for such a request of a soul would belie none other.

She got up and faced him sternly.

"You are happy my dear?" He asked eyeing her fancy dress.

"Very." She said in a clipped tone not liking the sarcastic "my dear" he had intoned at her.

"Good," he looked at her, "you are aware All Souls Day will be upon us soon?"

"I am." She bit her tongue to keep from shuddering and letting him see her fear.

"Very good," he chuckled, "then you are prepared to bring me the soul we bargained for?"

"Yes. Who is it you want?"

"Ah," he said his head tilted slightly back looking down at her as if he were looking at a piece of horseflesh. "You will let me in the manor at three-quarter minutes before the midnight hour, Hallowmas."

Maura's eyes widened in shock. "NO! You cannot come in, no you mustn't!"

"I must and you WILL invite me. If anything goes wrong, or should you protest and not make my collection an easy one, you shall be plagued by my minions for all the days of your life!" He hissed at her.

She stepped back in shock, her breath stopping, her heart pounding. With a suddenness, she put her hands over her ears. She could hear voices buzzing inside her head like thousands of locusts and yet there was no one but the dark man. She looked round and fear gripped her entirely. Suddenly the voices stopped and she looked with wide-eyed horror at the man across the grave.

"You made a bargain with me, we shook on it. I gave you what you needed to get what you wanted, you got it all and when I have the soul of my choice, you will have even more. What more could you want of?"

Maura's fright held her. But strangely images began to fill her head, she, giving great dinners and parties. She, dancing with many beguiling partners, she being adored by the peasants and farmers as she drove through the village in the finest carriage, a crest in gold across the doors, the horses the best in all Ireland. 

"Oh!" Maura's eyes grew wide, he said "more" than she had now. The voices came back and frightened her. "Yes, yes, I will meet you at the appointed time!" She shouted to make them stop. They did stop and she looked at the dark man in fear. The question of who he wanted flew out of her mind as the fright shook her and the idea of riches entered.

"Very good. At your study entrance, alone. Now off with you." His smile was one of self-satisfaction, but there was something else in it, something Maura in her fear and excitement did not stop to reason. Taking up her basket she walked briskly back to the manor, her mind absorbed with more wealth to come, yet a certain fright was taking hold as well. The last she tried to push from her mind thinking instead of expanding the manor house, but her fear brought thoughts too horrible to acknowledge.

The dark man's eyes watched her, his smile had gone and the hard look he gave her would have frightened her had she turned around, but in so greedy a humour was she, she could think of nothing but her plans to enlarge the manor.

The days passed quickly, and Maura's love for Sir Michael grew even stronger; their lives bound together in happy harmony. Her mood was up with the thought of gold and riches and she talked of adding on to the manor much to her husband's amusement. She even had plans drawn up in secret and these she opened every night and by the light of candles, her eyes glittered and her smile was fierce. Many times she congratulated herself on her devious plans.

The day finally came. The wind was up and blew about the old manor with a vengeance, it howled through the cracks in the old granite stones, it moaned down the chimneys and it whipped the last visages of leaves from the trees. The dead leaves swirled and danced a vicious dance as they blew about the courtyard. Maura watched and listened to them rattle like dry old bones. She involuntarily shivered and turned away to the room, her small study, and the plans lying open on the table. She took a look at them and smiled.

"Soon Maura, soon," she cooed to herself.

All that day the gloom seemed to build, even one of the maids was overheard by Maura telling another that she felt evil in the house and she couldn't place it or why. Maura put the thread of such a feeling from her and thought only of her plans and how she would be admired and envied by all.

The night grew black and stormy. The wind was stronger than before and the rain pelted in sheets a constant tattoo that sounded to Maura like a horse's hooves pounding the ground coming closer and closer. Several times she looked out but could see nothing for the storm.

As time ticked on and the house retired, Maura listened for the chime of the clock to mark the three-quarter hour. She looked at her husband sleeping deeply and as the clock struck, she quietly got out of bed, got her wrap and a candle, and left the room. She lit her candle from a hallway taper and stealthily went down to her study and stood looking over the plans. A tap on the glass window got her attention and for a moment fear gripped her as she glanced up to see a dark ghostly presence outside. The white of his face was skull-like, the rivers of rain running down the glass made the form look surreal. Shaking she came forward and let the tall, dark man in.

She was astonished he was not wet from such rain and wind, but she swallowed hard and stood away from him.

"We have little time, lead me to your bed chamber." He whispered.

"Wha wha what? No, I cannot my husband is asleep there," she hissed back at him confused. Then it struck her, and her hand moved to cover her mouth as she desperately realised what she had bargained and as the knowledge sank in the horror did too. "I've learned to love him! I did, I know now that all the material things are nothing without him!" She grabbed the dark man's arm and went down on her knees. He lifted her up rudely and pushed her away.

"That is not my concern Madame, we struck a bargain! I promised nothing about him, only that YOU would enjoy more wealth. He was not part of your enhancement. If you do not deliver him to me in the few remaining minutes before the witching hour, all will be taken from you!"

And as she stood trying to think of a way to change it all, his image shimmered and he faded like the spirit he was into the dark. Maura's heart stopped beating for a moment in fright, and she looked around her in the shadows. Terrified she tore out of the study and into the dimly lit hallway. No one was there. Afraid for her husband she ran up the stairs and as she came round the passageway she stopped. There sitting next to the hall table where the taper burned, was the dark man, waiting. He looked like an undertaker and undertaker he was. She could hear the downstairs clock ticking away the moments. As she approached the room the door opened as of itself. She gulped and looked in, there sleeping soundly was Sir Michael.

"Your bright future or . . . him." The dark man sighed.

She turned to the dark man, "Please don't do this, I will give you all I have but do not take him." She whispered desperately, grappling with what she could do to stop the devil from obtaining the soul she so loved with an honesty that put all else to nothingness. Finally, she understood that wealth was nothing compared to true love.

Seeing she was about to hinder his collection of the soul he had chosen, the dark man looked at Maura with an unctuous grin.

"What if . . ." the devil said, "I could replace him with someone much better. More handsome, more . . . worldly, more . . . suited to you? Would that help?"

"What?" Maura said confused, she might have heard wrong.

"I can bring you a man who will be more powerful, richer and . . . can give you everything in the material world your heart could desire. You'd have it all, Maura." He said with a soft beguiling smile, appealing to her shallow nature.

Mesmerized, Maura thought, no, she truly loved Michael, no one could replace him.

"You will have a larger place than this, it will be warm all the time and filled with people, it will be so much grander than . . . this," the dark man said gesturing the whole of the manor. "You will have balls, and there will be men and women of the highest calibre in attendance, it will be one continuous grand party and everyone will adore you."

Maura was tempted now, "No . . . wait . . . no . . . I don't know. Show me, show me this grand place and handsome man, and wealth, show it to me first! I know you can do that."

He got up and came behind her placing his hands over her eyes. "Dream it now, close your eyes and see it." He whispered. And so she did, a huge gilt and red ballroom, men and women dressed in the latest fashions dancing and laughing, some drinking and playing, and there on a dais sat Maura on a golden throne, her mate sitting next to her, his leg thrown over the chair arm masked as was everyone and through his mask, she could see his eyes glittering, highly amused as he looked from her to the revellers.

He took her hand and she noticed the huge gems that adorned her fingers and saw herself dressed in the most lavishly beautiful red and jewelled party gown, her hair beset with gems, her countenance smug. Yes, she'd trade.

The dark man removed his hands and came round and looked at her for an answer.

"Yes, take him, but make good on this promise and quickly before I have a change of heart," Maura ordered feeling quite the empress. "I would be away from here!"

The dark man smiled to himself and bowed slightly. Without a word he entered the bed chamber, the door closing behind him. Maura was stricken by the ungodly sounds that issued from behind the door. Suddenly, she had a change of heart. She took to trying to turn the handle of the door but it was frozen she could not move it. She pounded on the door, "I take it back! Do not do this!" She cried and kicked at the door.

Then suddenly everything went quiet and the door opened of its own accord. She looked in, it was dark so she took the hall taper and fearfully walked inside, the bed was empty, and there was no sign of Sir Michael or the dark man, only the smell of brimstone. She could hear her heart pound in her ears as she walked around the room, and then she heard the deep laughter coming from below stairs. Frightened but curious she walked into the hall. She could hear music and voices. She wondered at the servants not hearing and stealthily made her way down the stairs. As she reached the bottom the clock struck midnight and she looked at the clock noticing it was different, all gilt and lacquer. On looking around the entire hall it was not the one she knew, and even more unsettling she was dressed in the red and jewelled ball gown she had just imagined!

Her heart began to pound more fiercely as she walked toward the great doors where she could hear the music, and the laughter, and see a light under the great doors. She pushed them open and everything stopped. She stood looking at the very same scene she had imagined. She walked towards the dais, and the people curtsied and bowed silently as she passed. She was the only one unmasked she realised, as she listened to her footfalls, she made the only noise. As she stepped up to the dais, the man who was promised to her stood up and held out his hand, she took it trying to see past the mask, but only his eyes did she see and there was something terrifyingly familiar about them. And even more terrifying was the portrait of the first lady of Shadowstone Manor. She looked up captivated and suddenly aware the portrait was of herself, memories of another time came flooding back and with the horror of what she had done and what she had become. The man bid her sit and face her minions. They were not fancy gentlemen and ladies, they were demons of horrible countenance. She screamed and could not faint, the more she screamed the more she remembered. When the man snapped his fingers she could scream no more.

A sobering end was to be had and so she did have hers. As her screams died off the echos of the walls there came before her three masked people, two were women and one was a man.  The two women pointed at her as they convulsed with laughter, dragging the man in chains with them. First one and then the other took off their masks. To Maura's horror, there was the lady she poisoned, her face black from the poison and decayed from the grave, she flung dead flowers at Maura and her laugh was hideous in its reproach. The other woman took off her mask and it was cook. Cook's face was purple with a swollen tongue lulling about, eyes horrifically bulging from the sockets from having been hung for a crime she did not commit. Cook pointed at Maura and if possible that gesture of guilt unnerved Maura even more than her lady's laughter. Finally, there next to them was the sainted Sir Michael unmasked by the cook, only he was not laughing, he looked at her with a sadness that at once broke her heart and resolve, and all the love she held for him came flooding back to her. But the enormity of what she had done struck her. She felt her unworthiness at loving such a man as he. She felt shame for the first time. She could see in his features he KNEW what she had done. The shame took her, and the worm of guilt began to eat at her. As she took a step towards him, he said, "Maura, you wished for more than I could give, you took from me everything, my life, my love, my wife . . . my soul. I see you truly for what you are. You are an abomination and a horror!" And with the last word, the sadness from his face was gone and an all-encompassing loathing took over his features. The expression cut her to the quick.

"NO!" Maura screamed as the shame of her crimes and the truth she denied in loving Michael all came whirling back as guilt set to take her. The man sitting next to her removed his mask and it was the dark man, only he was younger, more powerful, restored to his youth through what she had given him, the soul of Sir Michael. With this awful knowledge, the room began to spin as he laughed demonically at his joke played on her and with it, everything blended into one and vanished.

It was as the little clock on the mantle struck the hour that Maura awoke. The sun was just coming up a fiery red. She had been sleeping on a straw mat in front of a faded fire in a small stone cottage. She blinked her eyes listening to a rook outside cawing. She looked around and there sitting at the table was a man. He was in the shadows and she started upon seeing him.

"Maura," he said quietly, "happy are those that dream and are ready to pay the price to make them come true."

Happy Hallomas,

Gabe

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