Manor of Shadows- Novella Excerpt

Mary Whitehall unexpectedly becomes the new mistress and lady of Cavendish Hall, an old but majestic manor in the Scottish countryside with a large staff and vast tracts of land. Truly, she has been elevated into a new life of splendor. Yet there's something…not quite right.

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of "Manor of Shadows"

Bony fingers clutched onto a key, sliding it into a lock. Mrs. Roarke’s thin wrist turned, opening the door with a heavy sound.

Mary’s face lit up. While the rest of the house had been drenched in such darkness it had felt like a tomb, these private chambers were decorated with an array of candles that coated the quarters in a warm, yellowed light, allowing her to take in the sight of the bed that had been prepared for her. All the furniture she had slept on before today was instantly dwarfed by this bed’s size. Its curtains were gigantic, woven from thick red wool with strands of gold-lining that twisted around the fabric, like golden veins on a blood-red leaf.

She could not help herself but rush forward and place her hands on the pristine silken sheets. “So soft,” she muttered. It went beyond anything she had ever felt. Smoother than paper and softer than ermine fur, scented with a sweet, flowery smell that reminded her of spring. For the first time since her arrival, her inheritance had finally given her something she longed for; soothing comfort and a bed worth sleeping in.

“Shall I have a bath drawn for m’lady?”

“Well, my luggage still needs to be brought in first—”

But Mrs. Roarke simply motioned her hand to the eastern side of the room. To Mary’s amazement, all her belongings had been brought in. Some of it had even been unpacked.

“Blimey,” she muttered, before catching herself using such coarse language, unbefitting a lady of her newly acquired status. “Dear me, I am sorry. It’s just…I had no idea my luggage had been sent for.”

“I pride my…the staff on their efficiency.”

“As you should. Well done indeed,” Mary said, hoping her compliment might thaw the icy demeanour of Mrs. Roarke.

It did not.

“I shall send for your bath. Your patience, please.”

“Of course,” Mary said, turning away as Mrs. Roarke took her leave. Mary beheld the sight of the elegant room that, while still on the dark side, was a taste of the new world she had been thrust into. With that, the realization finally sank in. She was no longer Ms. Mary Whitehall, but Lady Mary of Cavendish Hall.

A hall that, in the absolute truth, was in shambles. Not in disrepair exactly, but hardly a beacon of prosperity that would bring pride to the family name.

It was quickly clear that Mary’s position here would require large amounts of hard labour on her part and whomever she employed to bring the manor back to its former glory. Not that she was averse to hard work. But she would need to learn much about the land and its inner workings in the days to come.

Fantasies flashed before her eyes. Dreams of great parties and celebrations on the holidays. She’d invite Father and Mother to live out here. Wed a suitable husband, if necessary. While the thought hardly sparked her passions, the idea of a grand wedding held in these halls drew her fancy. White dresses. Light. Brightness. She would ring in a new age for Cavendish, returning the sun to the dark manor.

A knock at the door. Mrs Roarke had returned with another maid, who came in pushing a trolley with several copper cans on them, each filled with heated water that she placed near the copper bathtub. This girl was just as skinny as Elspeth, though with black hair tucked under the bonnet and somewhat taller. She also had dark eyes, with thick shadows under her eyelids. She appeared exhausted, yet perfectly aware of her surroundings, so Mary did not feel the need to fear if she was dealing with a sleepwalker.

“This is Sorcha. She will see to your daily needs as the lady’s maid. If she does not perform to your satisfaction, feel free to inform me and I shall see to it she is…dealt with.”

“I’m sure our dear Sorcha will perform her duties as best as she can,” Mary said, hoping to start on a better foot with her maid than she had with the head of the household. “And perhaps in time, we can even be friends.”

For the first time that day, Mrs. Roarke actually smiled and let out a grunt of humour, though this passed as suddenly as it had come. Sorcha glanced at her superior, silently asking for permission to approach Mary. This was granted with the briefest of nods. She then placed her hand on the clasp of her apron, as if wanting to release it, but was stopped by Mrs. Roarke before she could. A brief shaking of the head from the older woman was enough for Sorcha to change her composure.

What was the meaning of that? Mary wondered. But she wasted not another thought on the matter, as the sound of warm water being poured into the tub claimed her attention.

“I shall leave you to it. Good evening, m’lady.”

“To you as well, Mrs. Roarke,” Mary said.

As the older woman closed the door, Mary began to undress. It was a release like few others to be freed of her traveling clothes. Her heavy dress and boots were quickly removed. Sorcha came to her aid when removing Mary’s bloomers and corset. In little time at all, Mary stood there in her new room, her bare feet pressed against the hardwood floor, shivering from the light draft that lingered, wearing nothing but her thin undergarment. Sorcha moved closer, taking the fabric in hand and motioning it to pull it up.

“Oh no, no need. I’d prefer to wear it while I bathe if you don’t mind.”

The maid did not respond. She simply stared at her lady, seemingly confused by Mary’s desire for modesty. She moved in again, adamant to remove the thin fabric from Mary’s body.

“No, please. I’m…I admit I’m a bit too bashful to bathe before someone who is a stranger to me. I’d prefer to remain partially dressed.”

The girl stepped back, finally respecting Mary’s wishes. But her eyes stared deep into her Lady’s, studying her with such intensity Mary felt insecure.

“You are beautiful,” Sorcha suddenly said. Her voice was raspy and far deeper than Mary would have expected. It was startling, giving the maid an almost masculine aura.

Still, the sudden compliment caused Mary to chuckle nervously. She felt her face redden. “Thank you…I suppose.”

“Will you enter the tub, please? Do not hesitate to command me to help you.”

Mary nodded, not needing to be asked twice to enter the warm water. She let out a euphoric gasp as her toes submerged into the water. Though it being water was an assumption, as it felt somewhat thick to the touch. And the heavenly smell that radiated from it made Mary feel as if she bathed in honey, though lacking its stickiness. Soon, she was down to her shoulders in the tub, while the maid raised a second water can and poured more into it.

Mary’s eyes, heavier now than when she arrived, closed. Blanketed in warmth, she felt as if sleep would claim her at any moment. She thought of the manor. The vast land. The people working and living here. It was all like a mad dream.

#

It was dark. Mary stroked her fingers through her hair. She could not remember when she fell asleep. She felt the silken sheets slide across her body. The fabrics she lay on were drenched, yet she did not feel cold. In fact, it was as if her skin was on fire. Had she turned ill?

A jolt shot up her spine. A sensation like she had never felt sparked around her nether regions. She did not have the strength to press her legs together. Something moved below. A gentle caress that she could not stop.

Nor did she want to.

She tried to open her eyes, but this was just as impossible. She moved her arms, but aside from lifting her elbows she was locked in place.

What is happening?

A pressure on her stomach startled her. It moved up, sliding under the thin undergarments that she’d worn in the bathtub. She shivered as the sensation danced on her skin, striking her with minor jolts of power. One by one. As if something moved across her body, exploring it with delightful curiosity. Almost like…fingers?

“Ah!” Mary gasped, unable to restrain herself.

No sooner had she opened her mouth was it suddenly covered. Warmth pressed against her lips. Something entered her mouth, just far enough to touch the tip of her tongue. Through some instinct she could not explain, she then moved to press her tongue against it. A sweet taste that she did not recognize. But the form, the texture. Was it flesh? Whatever it was, it remained locked onto her mouth, which Mary continued to caress with her tongue.

As Mary went on, the repetitive nature of the act allowed her mind to focus. To gain a better understanding of what was happening to her. They were fingers. Hands. Multiple. Some were caressing her. Others held her down. Some were soft, using the most serene grace to glide across the skin of her legs and stomach. Others were rough and calloused, applying a strong grip to keep her ankles, wrists and even her hips in place. While she could not confirm, she was certain there were multiple sets of eyes locked onto her. She shuddered, both in shame and ecstatic delight at being handled in such a debasing manner.

The mound of flesh removed itself, slipping out of her mouth, briefly lingering on Mary’s pillowy lips, then retreated. Spittle had pooled in Mary’s mouth, causing her to cough as fluid and air mixed.

“Please…what—”

There was no time to say anything else. Once again, flesh passed her lips and into her mouth. This time, it was harder, rougher and longer. A fingernail scraped the side of her mouth. Fingers. Someone’s fingers had entered her, sliding across her tongue and slithering deeper down her throat. Mary nearly gagged from the shock. All her logical senses told her to fight back. To pull away. Bite, if necessary. But she did not. Instead, she welcomed the intrusion and began to suckle on the fingers. The rest of the hand grasped onto her face, straddling it as the digits slid back and forth over her soft tongue.

How? How can I be doing this? Mary thought. It was a dream. An erotic flight of fancy where forbidden thoughts from the most buried recesses of her mind came to the front.

It had to be a dream.

But never had she had one so vivid. Caressed…nay, molested by a legion of hands, touching her neck. Her legs. Inner thighs. Her face. And—

She flinched when she felt it. Whatever held her in place prevented her from closing her knees together, holding them in place. She struggled, hoping to break free. Yet something caressed her most private regions. A gentle touch between her legs.

Not fingers this time.

Softer.

Wetter.

She tried to gasp. To moan. But the fingers in her mouth blocked any sound she could have made. Her heart raced. Her skin felt as if on fire. Never before had she experienced such pleasure. At most, as a proper lady of London society, she had nary made an attempt to caress herself down there. A brief fleeting touch or an accidental graze against a particularly soft fabric at some point, but never active stimulation.

Never like this.

Such finesse. Such eagerness. Mary tried to imagine what could possibly bring her to such heights of pleasure. So intense were the feelings she experienced, she failed to register that fingers had taken hold of her breasts until they squeezed her nipples. The fingers in her mouth began to thrust deeper down her throat. Then, with immense strength, two sets of hands took hold of her buttocks and raised it. The soft form that caressed her nether regions—the parts she barely dared to name—began to explore the rest of her. Her folds were parted. Her bud was stimulated with a circling motion. It went even further than that, as her legs were hoisted up and her buttocks were grasped by the many hands, spreading its cheeks aside to clear the path.

The fingers exited her mouth.

“Wha—what are you…who—” All words left her when the soft wet object slithered down and pressed itself against her most private of parts.

The initial shock was harrowing. Yet even there she felt pleasure. Her privates grew wetter. Mary shivered. What was happening to her?

The stimulation of her rear did not last long, as the wet touch returned to her rosebud. For a moment, she thought to recognize what currently pressed itself against her body.

Lips! Someone’s lips were kissing her privates. Caressing her with…with their tongue?

She shuddered. To have someone’s mouth on her nether regions? Scandalous! Yet…now she desired for nothing else but for it to continue. She felt driven to the edge of delightful madness. Her toes clenched. Her hands formed fists. She was entirely at the mercy of the many hands, holding her in place and touching her so intimately while someone pleasured her with their mouth, sliding their tongue across her folds.

A light spark formed inside her.

What is this?

The tongue continued, flicking its tip against her bud.

The spark became a burning flame.

Fingers grazed across her lips.

Mary moaned, as the flame within her rose to a fiery blaze.

“Ah…what—”

Then, akin to an explosion of gunpowder, the growing inferno came to an intense climax.

Mary felt like screaming, but all she could muster was a muted gasp as she struggled to breathe. Every muscle in her body twitched. She trembled as she fought to compose herself, reeling from the orgasmic delight.

She jerked when, with a sudden speed, every hand that had held her in place released their grip and retreated, vanishing as if they had never been there. The sudden freedom from bondage left her shaking. It was then that she finally realized the pressure that kept her eyes closed had been another hand. Such force had been used that she saw spots in her vision. With squinting eyes, she tried to make out the shape across from her. Thin. Pale. Lacking any clothing, they scurried from the bed, wiped their face with a cloth and rushed for the door.

Was…was that Sorcha?

Mary felt dizzy. The flood of sensations overwhelmed her as she sat up. Sweat, spittle and other fluids coated her skin. The fabric of her undergarment stung against her nipples, which felt raw after repeated pinching and tugging. She turned her head from side to side, desperate to see all those people who had restrained and manhandled her. Surely it had to have been a crowd. Where have they gone?

Then, she saw it.

There, at the foot of the bed. A figure draped in a yellowed cloak, watching her with a burning intensity that frightened her. This appearance, this spectre, was untouched by any light source, be it the last of the burning candles or the sliver of moonlight that pierced through the boarded-up windows. Within that shadow stood two round shapes emitting a yellow glow. Are those eyes?

-For the entire novella, please purchase 'Manor of Shadows' on Kobo, Itch.io and other stores at the link here-