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The East Wing

A Sinclair Kingdom Tale

By Avelyn Arden Published 3 years ago 26 min read
1

On the moors of England in the 19th century, you take a job as

governess to two small children of a reclusive Lord. The Lord

tells you the rules of the house, including that it is forbidden to

enter the east wing; indeed, the door to that section of the house

will always be locked.

One day the children run away from you. You look for them,

and eventually hear them on the other side of the east wing door.

Unable to open it, you ask the handsome groundskeeper for help.

He uses his skeleton key to open the door, and you find only

darkness on the other side. The children suddenly appear behind

you. You ask them where they were, and they tell you that they

were playing in the kitchen. Then the groundskeeper pulls you

aside and warns you that this house is not what it appears to be,

and you should be wary of your surroundings.

Just as he finishes his warning, the east wing door slams shut.

The Sinclair Family

T he sound of a slamming door scares me awake.

Searching for the sound in the dark open space, the

estate is eerily silent. I strain my ears to catch the

feintest of sounds. Absolute silence meets my effort.

I kick my legs out over the edge of my bed and put my feet into

the warm worn Slippers I had placed there the night before. I

grab my dressing gown from the little hook on the closet door,

and make my way out of the room.

As soon as I broke the seal on my door, there was a hiss-like

suction, and once the door was open, the many sounds from the

estate assaulted my senses. I staggered back, caught my balance,

and took a deep breath.

Stepping out into the grand hall, my feet were silent on the

floor as I searched for the children’s bedrooms.

Two doors stood side by side indistinguishable from the many

others in this hall, except for two little hearts placed right in the

center of each door. Holding my breath, I quietly opened the

first door, and slipped inside.

Annabelle Sinclair was a fair-skinned, red haired six year old

who was the heart of everyone who knew her. She had the staff

wrapped around her little pale finger. Often, the chef would

sneak food up to her at night, or the maids would leave treats

under her pillow. Everyone in who came into the estate adored

her.

I always felt so protective of Annabelle. She was the youngest,

so that made sense, but also because her mother had passed after

childbirth. That kind of awful thing leaves a stain on the world.

I felt like I needed to keep her safe. She was always following her

brother around the property, and he was a troublemaker; intent

on finding new ways to bend the rules, and taking dangerous

risks on silly adventures.

Alfred Sinclair was a tall, slender boy of 8. He had red hair like

his sister, but his was far darker. She called him Alfie. She was

the only one who was allowed to call him that, as he had a soft

spot for his little sister. Everyone did.

Seeing that Annabelle was sound asleep in her bed, I moved

on to check Alfred’s room. As soon as I opened the door, I knew

something was wrong.

The room was far colder than anywhere else in the mansion. It

smelled like fresh air and fear mixed together. I moved toward

the bed, and used the scarce light of the window to check on

Alfred. The sheets had been tangled and strewn about, and the

curtains were billowing through the room.

Not understanding, I rubbed my sleep-filled eyes and tried

to focus. Why were the curtains moving like that? I took a few

cautious steps toward the window, and finally found my answer.

The large window of Alfred’s 3rd story bedroom had been

thrown open.

But where was Alfred?

FRANTIC

"I t’s Alfred. He’s missing. Or hiding. I don’t know and

I can’t find him anywhere we need to find him!” my

hysterical voice shocks even me. It had been fifteen

minutes since I discovered the boys disheveled bedroom.

The groundskeeper, Harold, tried to ease my worry.

“I’m sure he is around here somewhere Miss Hawthorne. We

will find him, together. You said his door was closed but the

window was open. Was there any sign of conflict? Or could the

window have been a diversion, to keep us thinking he had left

the estate?”

I went over everything again and again as Harold and I

searched the third floor. By the time we had gone through all 26

rooms, we had come to the conclusion that this may not have

been one of Alfred’s common antics.

Down on the second floor, the west and east wing of the estate

sat around a common room of luxury. There were beautiful

paintings adorning the walls, thick velvet drapery that was a

deep red like wine, and lavish Victorian seating for the various

events hosted here. I wasn’t paying attention to any of that.

We checked every crevice of that common room before we

decided to separate. Harold opted for the West wing, so I took

the East. I remembered his warning clear before he repeated it

earnestly.

“Miss Hawthorne, I urge you to be wary of your surroundings.

Things here are not what they appear to be. Please be careful,

Miss.”

His rough voice, made rougher by the warning, sent a chill

down my spine. Still, we had to find Alfred. I had to do this.

I turned around and faced the door to the East wing. I held

the groundskeeper’s skeleton key in my shaking hand. It was a

heavy and cold metal key, with an intricate labyrinth of curved

markings almost indecipherable. I lifted it into the old lock on

the door, and turned.

The creaking door surprised me. The estate was kept in perfect

repair everywhere else, so it was a clear sign of how neglected

this part of the building was. I wanted to be finished in here so

that I could find Alfred and get out fast. The very air felt like it

was warning me to leave.

The East Wing

I stood there, frozen in place in the doorway. I couldn’t

believe my eyes. The walls were empty of art or decoration,

there was no furniture, and it was one immense open space.

To the left of the door there was an oil lantern and match set on

a time-worn wooden stool. I set to work lighting the flame as I

studied my surroundings.

Where the West wing had twenty six luxurious bedrooms and

sitting rooms, the East wing looked like a barren open space

decorated only by an uncomfortable chill. It was a stark contrast

from the lavish care that had been put into maintaining the west

wing, this space had clearly been gutted and left to rot away in

time.

Not wanting to be caught defying the Lord’s orders, I hurried

to close the door behind me, keeping the lanterns flame from

going out in the process.

As soon as I closed the door, I felt the same eerily silent

sensation as I had in my bedroom so many hours ago. It set

my hair on edge as I tried to breathe through my fear. I had

never been inside of here before, and to my knowledge no one

else had either. The Lord had said it was forbidden, and if he

said something, you listened.

Traipsing through the forbidden wing already felt scary and

wrong, so I quickly shook off the fog and started making my way

around the large empty space. I looked for Alfred, though it was

not long before I knew he wasn’t in here.

There were only a few objects inside this wing that I could see

with just my lantern. There was a thin, ratty mattress shoved

in a corner with a paper sheet tucked neatly around. Beside

the mattress lay a dirty and torn pile of clothing, a tray with

some kind of leftovers stuck to it, and a cup half empty of what

I assumed was water.

Someone has been sleeping here.

But where are they now?

There is no one here but me.

My thoughts helped to drown out the sound of my panic

beating heart, but did little to help the situation. I was alone in

a strange place, and I still hadn’t been able to find Alfred.

Just as I was turning toward the door, ready to find Harold

and search elsewhere, I heard a twinkling sound. It was so feint

I thought I’d imagined it, but it was the only sound I had heard

since I’d closed the East wing door.

I closed my eyes and willed the sound to come again. There

it was, still feint but louder than before. It sounded less like a

twinkling and more like laughter. I opened my eyes and looked

around. I was alone. There was no one here.

I turned for the door again, and this time faced it completely. I

was only a few feet away, so the light from the lantern perfectly

illuminated my path to the door.

Unfortunately, the only exit from the East wing was blocked

by a figure. My heart tripled its speed, and I slowly backed up

until I hit the wall. The figure followed, never coming closer

than those few feet.

When I had nowhere else to go, I put my hands out in front of me to protect myself, and begged.

“P-please don’t hurt me, I’m looking for s-someone. I didn’t

mean to b-bother you, please let me go!”

Laughter

I was terrified. It was dark and cold, the mere expanse of the

wing was foreign to me. I couldn’t make out any details

about the figure standing before me, and all I could think

about was how to get away.

Then she laughed.

A joyous, playful, happy laugh that did not belong in this

barren space.

My heart had begun to slow, and I was able to reach out with

the lantern for more light. As soon as I did, I gasped. The

terrifying figure coming toward me moments ago had been a

woman.

She was tall, with pale olive skin, rich copper hair, and a

heart shaped face. Her aqua-blue eyes were striking, as was

the carefree smile she wore. She laughed again, and it sounded

like a warm hug.

“I will not hurt you, silly woman. I just want to talk to you. Do

not be afraid of me, I am nothing to you.” she said. Her voice

made her sound like a child, but those eyes told a different tale.

Physically she looked like an adult, but a very malnourished one.

“W-who are you? What are you doing in here? Does the Lord

know you sleep here?” I rattled off the questions as quickly as I

could. We needed to get out of here before anyone noticed.

Speaking of…

“Do you know Alfred? He is a boy not yet nine. He went

missing tonight and I need to find him. He has red hair, like

yours but darker. Have you seen him?”

She was quick to respond. “Alfred. Yes, Alfie, though only

Annabelle calls him that. I know the boy you speak of. As I also

know the Lord. He is unaware of my presence, I’m sure. As

for the reason I am here, that is an altogether trickier matter.

Please, have a seat.” she gestured to a dark corner and I was

surprised to see a chair there.

Had that been there before?

Curiosity held me captive and urged me to listen to the strange

woman, so I took a seat in the surprisingly comfortable wooden

chair. I fidgeted with my hands in my lap as I waited for her to

continue.

She settled on the old mattress, and crossed her legs. Her torn

clothes were barely holding together, and she looked like she

hadn’t seen a washcloth in ages.

Her voice rang clear and strong when next she spoke.

“My name is Avery Sinclair. I am the long discarded mother of

the two beautiful children you care for in this home. My home.”

Buried deep

M y mind was reeling. This was the mother of

Annabelle and Alfred? I was told she had passed

in childbirth with Annabelle. Everyone knew that.

Even the children themselves knew, yet here she was, an exact

replication of both of the kids’ features. The red hair, dark in

one light, vibrant in another. The striking blue eyes. The lilt of

her laughter. It was theirs. It was the truth.

She sat stoically on the shabby mattress and relived her

harrowing story. She told of how she used to be the Lady of

this land, how after the birth of Alfred, the Lord had become

obsessed with having more sons. He wanted to have six sons,

six heirs. He tried to impregnate her every chance he could, and

each time she hadn’t conceived, he had gone into a rage and

destroyed the East wing. Her wing. He made her live in the

rubble of her life, forced to remove and clean everything herself.

Only when nothing remained in the empty wing did he resume

his efforts.

Finally, after two long years, he was elated to find her pregnant

once again. He moved her back into his chambers, he lauded her

over the staff and guests, he showered her with treasures and

gifts aplenty. It was a joyous time, and Avery lit right up as she

relived it.

Her smile suddenly disappeared. She seemed to shrink in on

herself as she told of what happened next.

“I was ready to give birth to our child. Dressed in a white

chiffon gown and laid upon the soft spread of quilts handmade

by the townspeople, I was blessed in my joy. My husband’s

adoring stare shifted to concern as I writhed. The pain ripped

through me sure as if I’d been torn wide open.” a lone tear

escaped now, but she made no effort to catch it, as she was

trapped in a different time.

“My child had arrived, healthy and loud and the whole of the

room cheered for the new life brought forth this day. My joy

turned to fear as I watched the wet nurse hand our bundled

blessing to my husband. What should have been absolute love

and adoration in his eyes was instead disappointment and anger.

I didn’t understand at first. Was there something wrong with

the baby? Why was he so upset? He handed the baby over to me

with a grunt. He told me to deal with it myself and clean up the

mess. Then he turned around and walked out of the room.

I brought my child to my chest and held on. I wasn’t sure what

had set my husband off but I loved my child. I would love my

child no matter the issue. I unwrapped my newborn baby and

instantly burst into tears.

She was beautiful. Already a thick head of bright red hair, her

striking blue eyes, she was perfect. I didn’t have to think hard

on why my husband had reacted the way he did, he had wanted

a boy.”

Wrecked

I could tell that she had been lost to the memory. She was

wide eyed and still. I worried for what was coming.

“After my recovery, the wet nurse took my child and I

never saw her again. My husband came to me and asked me

what her name was to be. I told him Annabelle. He accepted this.

That night, as I was waiting for my daughter to be brought back

to me, a few members of our staff took me for a short walk in

the gardens.

In the dark, between the beautiful flowers and under the heavy

moon, I was restrained by thick rope and my head was covered

by an old flour sac. I was draped over the back of a horse, and

forced to endure what felt like years of torture as each stride of

the horse brought a new pain, a new agony.

When the horse finally came to a stop, I was weak and

trembling. I didn’t dare speak. I knew what this was, it had

been coming for years. I couldn’t give my husband a second son.

I had given him a daughter instead.

I was sure that whatever punishment I was about to receive

would be a level of agony I had never felt before, but that after, I

would be welcomed back into my home, even if it was to stay in

the barren wing that was once my own. Not so. My punishment

for bringing forth a daughter instead of a son was not to be in

the form of physical pain.

I was given a lantern and a quilt. Left in the middle of nowhere.

They hadn’t said a word. As the two cloaked people who had

brought me here were hastily repacking to leave. I begged them

to stay. I needed to get back to my daughter. The tall man under

the blue cloak told me to forget about my children. He told me

I was to leave. To never return. His words did not make sense.

But then they were gone, and I was alone.”

She looked at me then. I could see that this was a horror for

her and I wondered how she had gotten back here after six years.

“Avery. This is unimaginable. How have you made your way

back? What will you do now?” I asked. I was enthralled in her

retelling. I was hopeful that this tale would have a happy end.

“Yes, well. That is a rather long tale, and I’m afraid that we

do not have the time if I am to have any hope of catching you

up. Suffice it to say that I met a fisherman in a village by the

coast. He took me in, made space for me on his ship, tended to

my wounds, and listened to my horrors. His name was Phillip.

He was kind and cautious and protective of me. He fed me with

his own hands, catching our food from the waters we sailed.

Phillip made haste in his travels back here. He wanted to

reunite me with my children, almost as much as he wanted to

face my husband.

Unfortunately, some years ago, we had sailed through a

violent storm, and the ship was wrecked on a small island not

far from the estate.

I searched for Phillip a fortnight on the edge of the small island.

I had scoured everywhere, only to find on the fourteenth day,

that he had been lost in the debris when the mast of the ship had

collapsed during the wreckage.

I had to free him from the rubble, and find a place to lay him

to rest. Once I was finished, I gathered myself and set to work. I

was on my own once again.”

TRAVELS

I was astounded by the tale. The version we were all taught

was that Avery had died shortly after giving birth to

Annabelle. They held a funeral, a mourning, and erected

a statue in her memory. If any of Avery’s words were true, this

was bigger than I could have ever imagined.

She continued her telling while I sat quietly enthralled in the

wooden chair. We must have sat there for hours. She told of

how she buried Phillip, under the light of a harvest moon, in

the valley on the island where they wrecked. She told how she

fashioned a raft with the debris of the ship, and made her way

across the inlet towards her home.

“It had been a weeks journey from the passing of Phillip to

the time I set foot on my land once more. I was sickly and weak,

starving and wrought with worry over what I would find. It

had been years since I last laid eyes on my family, what would

they look like now? Would the children know me?” She smiled

wistfully at the thought, as if wishing for that outcome.

“I noticed the statue first. Beautiful and tragic, it stood vigil

over the gardens as if my very soul were there. I approached the

base of the statue and read the inscription.

‘Avery Sinclair - devoted wife, loving mother, taken far too

soon.’

Below the scrawling text were numerals denoting my birth,

and the day of Annabelle’s birth.” She cried then.

I wanted to comfort her. I could not imagine the pain of all

the travels or the loss of Phillip. How she managed to make it

back home in one piece was a mystery to me. But then, to find

out that her husband had created a lie so grand. Here she was,

sitting in front of me reliving this pain, and everyone thought

her dead. I wanted to know why she was here, in the East wing.

As if she was reading my mind, she continued. “Once I realized

that he had everyone believing I had passed, I couldn’t just

walk into my home and say hello. I knew that my children had

mourned their mother. I could not recklessly reveal the lie that

their father had so meticulously weaved. I couldn’t do that alone,

anyway.

I found the old hatch in the back of the property that led to the

cellar. I had used it to come and go from the East wing when my

husband had been in his rage. It’s path is well hidden so as not

to reveal itself. I made my way back into my home. I have been

here for months, watching over my children and waiting.” She

finished. And then she waited.

“Waiting for what?” I asked, worry once again seeping in.

“Waiting for you.”

The missing piece

“W hat do you mean, you’ve been waiting for me?” I

shrieked, confused about how I got thrown into

this whole mess.

Avery smiled knowingly, as if she had heard my thoughts.

“Miss Hawthorne, I have been living in the shadows of my home

for months. I’ve watched over my children and I’ve seen with

my own eyes the love and care you have for them. If not for you,

they wouldn’t know a mothers love. I am ever grateful to you for

how you’ve cared for the children. I have been waiting to meet

you, to tell you my story. We thought it best that you be the one

to enter, to figure it out, because of your connection to Alfred

and Annabelle. We needed the help of someone who would defy

the Lord in aid of the children. And you have. Just by setting

foot inside this crypt of my old life, you have proven that you

are who we have been waiting for.” she answered. Resting her

hands in her lap, she waited for me to process her words.

“You said ‘we’, who else knows about this? Who is ‘we’?”

Just as I finished my question, like I had pressed a button,

the door to the East wing opened. Both Avery and I hid in the

shadows, the lanterns flame had long burned itself out. We

waited with held breath, until I heard his voice.

“Miss Hawthorne? Are you still in here? I’m afraid I’ll be

needing my key back, if you would please.” Harold’s rough voice

cut through the darkness as the pieces started falling together.

He had given me the key. He had been the one to warn me that

things weren’t as they seemed here.

I stood from my crouch and stepped out of the shadows

towards the groundskeeper. Avery followed.

“Ah, I see you two have met. Impeccable timing. Have we all

caught up on the events of this atrocity?” he asked, glancing

first at Avery with a smile, and then at me with curiosity.

Avery spoke first.

“Harry, I am glad you came in when you did. I was just about to

fill her in on your involvement. Seems I may not need to connect

those dots for her though” she said, eyeing me cautiously.

I was overwhelmed. Everything I had learned tonight was

swirling around in my mind, and in all of tonights revelations,

my first question came back to me.

“Where is Alfred? He was missing. The window… Did you find

him?” my voice was climbing octaves with each word.

“The boy was never lost, he was in the kitchen stealing sweets.

No need to worry for him now, dear. The goal was to have you

enter the wing on your own, to discover Avery and her truth.

You would never have come if you didn’t think there a reason.

Now you know, and now we can put this dark and terrible lie in

the light of the truth.”

They tricked me? I felt a strange sadness at that thought. I

knew it was for the best, because as Harold had said, I would

not have come otherwise. Still, I was worried about what they

had planned, but I needed to know the rest of this story, to make

sure the children were safe. That was my only goal. I squared

my shoulders and made firm my voice.

“What do you need me to do?”

The Light of a New Day

H arold had ushered me out of the East wing, and we

reluctantly parted ways with Avery. We had to, it was

part of the plan, but I felt a strong connection to her,

and I wanted to keep her safe. She was going to stay in her

darkness until the time came, and that was the safest place for

her to be.

I on the other hand, had to return to my bedroom after

checking in on the children once more. This time, both were

sound asleep in their warm beds, visible now in the fading

darkness caused by the rising sun.

Back in my room, I bathed and dressed for the day. I knew what

was coming, so I didn’t focus on what I was wearing. Stepping

out into the hall once more, the sun had fully risen, and I could

hear the sounds of the estate readying for a new day. I made my

way to the grand staircase and descended to the first floor.

The dining hall was set with meticulous attention and detail.

Every setting, seat and side was lavishly decorated. The people

milling about the room were cheerful and chatty; catching up

with friends and relaying various news, many approached me

and presented a warm and welcoming morning greeting. I had

to fight the urge to tell them all what was about to happen.

Eventually, a silent signal was given and we were all arranged to our seats.

THE EAST WING

A long and sturdy mahogany table sat between us as we

faced toward the chair at the head. It looked more throne than

chair, with large precious jewels adorning the chair back. It

sat looming empty in front of us until the room went silent. A

moment passed, and a side door opened. Everyone stood.

A tall and muscular man entered the room, and with him came

a feeling of dread. He had short, dark hair, and was dressed in

deep blue robes inlet with gold loom. His stare was piercing and

his face was sharp, so his as he smiled to welcome his guests, it

looked like he was sneering.

“Blessed morning to you, my friends!” his booming voice cut

through the silence like acid. He took his place at the head of his

table, and motioned everyone to sit.

Once everyone had settled, and the Lord had summoned for

his wine, friendly busy chatter resumed and filled the hall again.

I was trying to keep myself calm, I knew it would be any moment

now.

I met the Lord’s gaze and something he saw in mine must

have surprised him, because he sat straight up and dead still. He

stared at me with hard eyes until someone in the room felt the

tension, and slowly the voices died down.

As if on cue, another door, this one on the right side of the

room opened. There were only two people in the room that knew

who was about to walk in, and the Lord was not one. He stood up

sharply and readied himself to confront whomever had intruded

on breakfast.

He couldn’t have prepared for this, though. Everyone of Note

in our kingdom was here. We all sat silently and watched as

a cloaked figure entered the dining room. The figure stepped

toward the Lord, and his guards stepped in to block a presumed attack.

THE LIGHT OF A NEW DAY

Harold appeared from somewhere, and whispered into the ear

of the guard on the left. He startled when Harold stepped back.

The guard turned toward the figure and bowed deeply before

ushering the second guard to follow him out of the room.

I looked around the room at all of the faces there, and saw

differing versions of confusion, curiosity and ignorance. One

face was twisted in fear. The Lord sat down in a slump on his

throne and looked on as the figure removed the hood. The guards

reverent bow must have given her away.

Avery must have bathed this morning, I thought oddly as she

let her long silky red hair out of the hood. She was resplendent

in her shimmering navy cloak, and the contrast of her pale olive

skin and her striking blue eyes was captivating. She briefly

searched the room until her eyes met mine. I couldn’t stifle

the smile that came out, I was happy to see her well, and she

looked like a true queen.

The Lord must have thought the same because he seemed to

cower in on himself as she turned her stare to him. Suddenly,

gasps and whispers filled the room as the people spotted her. It

was hard to deny, this was Avery Sinclair, alive and well.

She didn’t say a word as she stalked slowly toward his throne.

It was a calculated move, meant to bring out his panic. It worked,

but all he could do was stare back at her. His knuckles turned

white as he held onto the arms of the chair, and I could see his

breathing becoming more shallow, more rapid.

She only spoke eight words, but those words changed everything.

“Blessed morning, Darling. I trust you slept well?”

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