Blooming Petals Gaping Portals 

Yarrow Hart isled at the core of this crimson sea became more possible to believe as the deviant glamour of its spires pierced reality. I prayed my eyes deceived me, as I fixated upon towers of nightmarish distinction.

Shaking free of the delusion I cast my gaze instead to the gates that loomed ahead. After what seemed endless passage through a world aflame with roses the sun and storm bleached brick walls surrounding the manor paled in comparison. I was met with yet another bright bloom in the monstrous twist of metalwork fashioned a great rose centered in a maze of vine and thorn. 

“Remarkable.” The word seemed to invoke itself, my voice a mere instrument to its emergence.

Joram did not respond though his manner and countenance grew repressed.  

I settled my awe enough to make sincere query. “What sort of metal looks so alive.” 

“No one has ever answered when I asked. Thus, I stopped asking.” His weak shrug was offered with a tone that meant I should do the same. 

Our transport rumbled to a halt as the fall of hooves shuffled to stillness. A shift of weight marked the descent of a footman from his platform. The door swung open. A young man’s face appeared at Joram’s knee.  

“We alerted the gatehouse of our arrival, Master Joram, but it may be a moment before we are admitted.” A hint of hesitance in my direction flashed on the footman’s face before he gave a nod to Joram and latched the door in place once more. 

I was dismayed at how quickly my eyes adjusted to the moment of natural light yet slowly to the dimness of the cabin. In that breath of time, Joram’s face seemed overcast, almost monstrous. It was here I thought again of Kassia’s warning to the nature of Yarrow Hart’s inhabitants.

As if to clear all thoughts of Kassia and the cottage the sharp rasp of metal on metal sounded through the walls of the carriage, stealing my senses. The tone drew an involuntary urge to shield my ears.

“The sound of the gate will drive you as mad as the aroma of the gardens unless you are determined to deafen yourself to it.” Joram almost smiled. “It does not open all that often though and I’m not certain you can hear it from where your rooms will be within the house.”

At this the last of Joram’s humor melted and the carriage passed from gateway to courtyard. 

The enclosed gardens were equally boisterous in color and abundance, yet took on a less manicured pattern, deviated as they were in bushes and vines, all heavy with bursting heads. Nature ambled and clawed at statuary limbs and fountain bowls, as alabaster urns choked with emerald leaves. Pale angels and imps strained against the bondage of loops and thorns, their beauty overrun and obscured. Pools bubbled with blossoms rather than sprays of water.  

“There are so many.” The thought escaped into the hollow of the carriage as my reflection hovered in clouds of roses. “Almost too savage to be beautiful.”

“And yet so savagely beautiful.” Joram corrected through his own musings.

My eyes failed to turn from the ambling paths of brick and roseate. “Does no one manage the grounds?”

“The inner courtyards, surrounded by the sanctum of the main house, have not a thorn out of place, but out here, the roses rule.” Joram could look away no more than I. “I suppose they keep unfavorable varieties from the ideals still developing within.” 

The contentious scenes passed from view as hoof and wheel of our transport trampled advancement to the manor steps. A smear of crushed petals mottled the cobbles in gasps of red. And in our wake the wild tangle seemed immediate in its clamor to steadily reclaim spaces vacated by our passage. 

Setting sunlight cast shafts over the battered vines, and a haunted gladness overtook me. Grateful as I was for having met this beleaguered garden under some passing light of protection.  

A jolt and rumble brought the carriage to a halt, and roused drab thoughts from my mind. The step to the carriage banged into place and I leaned aside as the latch clicked a release. The door swung unimpeded to reveal a hand in the bright opening. At Joram’s gestured behest I allowed the hand to conduct me from the safety of our chariot. A lone footman guided me to the questionable stability of the ground. Joram dropped into step beside me as the footman stepped aside. 

Much to my relief, our landing appeared mostly free of thorns. Unburdened by the concern for my feet and ankles I nodded thanks to the gentleman, dressed in a customary suit and dusky short coat, his blouse a bloody red match to the flowers encircling the sun-bleached marble columns of the house. 

The man spoke not a word to Joram or myself, instead offering a sharp nod as he slipped with dutiful ascent to the ladder for our baggage. 

The footman spent what seemed an inordinate stretch atop the carriage. Mingling with other thoughts I hoped a man of such slight build capable of carrying the weighty trunks.  

Curiosity urged by boredom took me from Joram’s increasingly stoic presence. I stepped from the carriage and made way to the horses. They were beautiful creatures. Clydesdales, with breeding as pure as Hadowen roses. Yet far more tame, I mused as my hand lingered on the velvety snout of one of the great beasts. 

The steed’s tail flicked the air as I ran a palm along its cheek.  

“Shh.” Muscles twitched beneath the beast’s velveteen skin.

I captured the view of one large eye. The creature tossed its head in a show of trust and a smile grew unprompted from my lips. I rubbed the snout of the towering equine and turned my exploration away from the wagon.  

“Magareen.” A hiss scolded from behind.

In a breath, Joram captured my arm, his grip demanding as I pulled away instinctively. 

“Joram?” His eyes halted me from saying more. 

I needed no gesture to realize I had broken some unwritten ordinance. The eyes of the footman bored deeper into me as Joram released his assault with an apologetic bow of his head. His manner relayed unspoken mandates I, as yet, had no knowledge of. I was soon to discover Yarrow Hart had many. 

Not yet privileged to explore on my own, Joram guided our steps clear of the carriage. 

The horses tapped hooves and tugged at the harness. Above, the driver remained as sullen as the statuary surrounding the front gardens. With little more than a shift in posture the carriage lurched and trundled into motion. My gaze followed the path of crushed petals marking the departure of hoof and wheel. 

Joram and I remained in the presence of the lone footman, a solitary satchel gripped in each of the man’s hands. One I recognized, the other I assumed to be Joram’s.  

“What of our trunks?” I scanned for some sign of my remaining luggage.

At this a new voice interrupted the exchange. “Few items from beyond the gates will be required during your stay at Yarrow Hart.”

I whirled to the source of the speaker. 

A woman, of appearance a match to her hard voice, descended the steps to the manor. Her pale eyes impaled with a commanding gaze. Her steps, though wielded with grace, caused each marble slab awareness of her harbored power. This woman was by no doubt a Hadowen as pure as any I had yet to meet. Her regal aura reeled with the knowledge that she was grand dame of the house, beyond reproach. She cast a silent order to the lingering footman.   

The man animated to the house, disappearing into the mouth of Yarrow Hart.

“All your needs will be provided for, Mistress Magareen.” The woman’s tone clipped. “I am head of Yarrow Hart in the Master’s absence. You will know me as Madame Elestren Hadowen, and may refer to me as Madame Elestren.” 

Her introduction broached her name as it held less meaning than her position within the house.

To memories most vague the name begged to mean more. 

“I feel we have met.” I curtsied in acknowledgement. 

“You would have seen me at the funeral assembly for your parents. I had expected Amalia to have made that meeting our last.” Elestren offered a curt nod in summation of her greeting and dismissal of my assumption, before turning her glittering eyes to my travel companion. “Master Joram, I had assumed your stay to be less eventful this season.”

The statement carried the weight of a thousand questions, none of which would presently be answered, as both Joram and Madame Elestren’s faces caged their thoughts.

Madame Elestren offered no more space for Joram’s response than she had for mine, instead pivoting on the stair she perched upon and returning to the entrance. She disappeared as if no more than a fleeting apparition. 

A notable chill rushed through as I toed the first step to the terrace. Deeper than the coolness of the marble, my bones tremored in ominous comprehension. The threat of night choked the dying dusk with the immediacy of snuffing a candle. The roses however, redoubled their presence.

Pressing into the ebb of threat, I entered the jaws of Yarrow Hart. 

As I moved to follow, passing beneath the arch of the front doors I wondered how long it would take to seal the manor in a living cage of thorns.  

Joram set a hand on my shoulder allowing Madame Elestren a few more paces between us.

The distance between our faces no more than a breath, “If you are indeed the cousin Magareen who is only whispered about, you know nothing of the ways of Yarrow Hart. Or the realities of the Hadowen lineage.” His eyes flashed a blend of fear and caution. “Be wary of encounters here. And do not cross Madame.” 

“I have been told much of the Hadowen, I have a quick enough mind, and Ama taught a solid sense about people.” I shook free of the disturbing transformation of his manner from jovial to foreboding. 

I fell into step behind Madame Elestren. An unease settled upon my shoulders in passing through the gate and no longer allowed itself to be ignored as nerves, sudden change, or the unknown of a new place. 

It burdened my senses with each progressive step. 

“As head of Yarrow Hart while Master is on business, all issues and concerns should be presented to me.” Madame Elestren carried on as the entry to the house engulfed us. “If your maid executes her duties properly you and I will scarcely need speak, nevermind see one another, other than soirees and dinners. The season should pass without undue event.”

Madame Elestren’s posture suggested certainty. As well I assumed anything I would be required to know would be conveyed. If I needed to ask, I would not necessarily be informed. This did not stop my mind from devising questions with each footfall. 

As the house consumed us, I absorbed the new surroundings as my senses allowed. In the shifting illumination of the foyer I found myself overcome. Contrary to escaping the garden, I had been devoured by it. My gaze followed the slope as my eyes adjusted to this latest imbalance of light and shadow. Arches ascending overhead mimicked skies in a blue so soft I fought a desire to reach into it. 

I could not however keep from caressing the walls, half expecting the silky ebb of petals and prickle of leaf and vine. Only uniformity of columned greenery betrayed these flora as sculpture rather than living from the walls. Through the mouth of the stately house, deeper into its domain, my fingers found thorns and half predicted to feel it prick my flesh. 

Life depicted within the halls of Yarrow Hart was as false and controlled as the garden beyond was wild. The juxtaposition of beauty quickened my heart.  

“Astonishing.” I eyed slithering ropes of painted vine from ceiling to floor, following  the tendrils onward.

“Maddening. Maddening.” Joram was half himself with doleful repetition.

 Catching me from the labyrinth of vines, Madame Elestren halted our promenade to cast her stalwart stare upon Joram. 

Silenced once more Madame Elestren quickened her pace.A sudden concern enveloped my thoughts of Joram, a feeling I could neither name rational nor irrational, though recognized as familial and as endemic as my own soul.

Urgency clicked my steps upon the tile, grounding me to the uncharted potential of Yarrow Hart and her inhabitants, even as my attention continued to be drawn to the vines and petals. A repeating track of ruddy clusters bordered our passage, flowing as unwelcome companions, each design seeming to cloy my heels. 

Roses mosaiced into marble  lay as enormous portals. I paused at the center of one tremendous flower, breath caught, as I momentarily succumbed to the experience as an insect. For all the beauty of life and nature the decor drew in, the foyer left me with foreboding and apprehension akin to entering a trap. I struggled to pull free from the captivating allure of this gilded cage.