Winthrop Manor

Author’s Note: This is a pseudo-historical story with some plausible aspects but many inconsistencies with actual history. There is no actual set date for this story to take place, but it is supposed to have the leisurely feel of the rich in the late 1800s, but adorned with some modern technology like running water and electricity of the early to mid 1900s. I’m no history major, so some things may work out in this story while others do not; I’m aware that not everything is accurate, but I hope that you will be able to gloss over those mistakes and just read the story for its plot and fun. The characters and places here are also completely fake and fabricated from my imagination. Thank you, and enjoy Winthrop Manor!

--Juno

Chapter One: Unimaginable Wrong

‘What the fuck was she thinking?’

That was the first thought that had blazed through Mira’s mind once she had heard of the news. Not that her mother was especially stupid or anything, but seriously: what the fuck had she been thinking? Wasn’t there another way this could have been handled? Some sort of monthly payment deducted from her or Mira’s paycheck like the government likes to do? Or maybe 100 hours of community service or house-cleaning or something… anything but this!

Of course, Mira knew her silent protests would do no good, even if they were voiced. Her mother had no choice but to do the things she had to do. The Ritval family was such a set of incorrigible people that Mira could swear they were demons from hell, but there was no other choice. Winthrop Manor would not pay for itself. Master Ritval was “nice” enough to even offer a sharing of the place, as Mira’s mother had pointed out. He could have just taken over the entire estate and kicked Mira’s family, the Clayberns, out entirely with no money, no food and no hope for the future. But he did not, and Mira’s mother demanded that she be grateful of that.

“The sharing would be entirely equal, of course,” Master Ritval had said. Mira and her mother knew better, but Mistress Claybern would always have at least a sort of safety-net as long as she had some sort of ownership over any part of the estate. The Ritvals had wiggled their way into living in the manor with the Clayberns, but there was no way they would shove them out entirely. Once Master Claybern returned from his expedition in Africa, oh, there would be hell to pay. But there was truth of the matter at hand at this moment. An “unimaginable wrong” had been found that the Clayberns had perpetrated against the Rtivals from years upon years ago; Mira believed it was over a century ago that it had happened. In her mind, a century was a long enough time for an “unimaginable wrong” to be forgiven, but not the Ritvals. They would seek their revenge in any cunning, legal and “polite” way possible as to retain their “good reputation.” Despite being of equal status, Mira knew she, her mother, and her three younger siblings would not be treated as such. Most of the servants would side with the Clayberns, but they did not offer much comfort to Mira. ‘At least they’ll be staying in their own wing,’ Mira thought darkly.

“Come now, honey,” Mistress Claybern sighed at the look on Mira’s face, “It won’t be that bad. The Ritvals do have their good days.” Mira rolled her eyes.

“Yeah. Once every trillion years.”

“Mira.”

“But Mom! They’re hellspawn! They’ll wreak havoc over the manor! They’ll wreak havoc over us!”

“Mira, you know there is nothing that can be done about this and that is that. We all must face the facts and live with our consequences and responsibilities. Now hurry up and go get properly dressed so you can greet the Ritvals in the correct manner.”

Mistress Claybern gently waved her daughter away from the pale yellow, lightly floraled couch in the sun room, a brightly colored room with large windows and glass doors that led to a large patio on the western side of the South Wing of the Winthrop Manor. Mira sighed and stood up, stretching her body in her pale white sundress-clad frame. Now she had to go put on one of those nasty dresses with a corset and sprinkle herself with the scent of roses just to greet these evil people “properly.”

‘Oh, what a brave new world with such people in it,’ Mira thought, walking out of the room. She made her way through the winding halls into the lobby with the grand staircase and paused for a moment as she glanced at a few servants carrying a large painted portrait. They paused as well, seeing her to smile and say hello.

“Hey Jay. Hey Frank,” The young brunette greeted. “Whatcha got there?” The portrait must have been at least as tall as she was, about five feet, and had a dark blue background upon which a handsome young man was sitting. Although he was smiling, there was a dark, demonic look to his shocking blue eyes that almost appeared white-silver and what looked to be a nasty cruelty curled at his lip. His black hair was combed back in a single wave that lifted from his forehead and straightened down as it neared his shoulders, but did not quite meet them. It was the look of someone who ran their hands through their hair often. He was an obvious heartbreaker to all the little girls. The picture itself didn’t appear to be too heavy, but Mira noticed that it was adorned with a large, carved wooden frame.

“Portrait of the young Master Ritval,” Frank answered, gently readjusting the weight of the object. “We were told to bring it along with some other furniture up to his suite before they got here this afternoon.”

“Ah, yeah, Mom just told me to go get ready,” Mira said. She walked over to the portrait and, despite it being sideways, felt a small chill from looking into the man’s creepy eyes. She felt vulnerable, exposed under his painted gaze, as though he was staring into her soul, yet she could not bring herself to look away. His eyes were so tantalizing. ‘Whoever the artist was, he was a damned good one,’ she thought, despite the fact that she had never before met this person. Quickly, she looked up at the servants-turned-movers.

“Well, I should be off. Good luck with all of that and don’t hurt yourselves.”

“Thanks Mira, we’ll see you later.”

Mira ran up the stairs, taking two at a time, paused at the second floor landing, continued on up to the third story and turned left to jog down the hallway to her suite at the end of it. She was lucky enough to have been given the top bedroom, known lovingly to her as the South Tower, which was one of the few rooms on the third story, besides her bathroom, studio and the mirror image of such in the North Tower across the span of the grand staircase. She did not know how many children the Ritvals had but she dearly hoped that none of them would stay up on the third story with her. Besides, the North Tower was supposed to be haunted, or so some of the servants had told her. There was a strange architecture flaw in the plan of the building; there actually was a stone Tower that rose above the rest of the house, but no one could ever find a door or staircase that led to the top of it. All attempts only ended in the North Tower master suite bedroom on the third floor. Although technically the entire manor was supposed to be haunted, it was really only in the North Tower that anything happened. Sometimes Mira would awake one morning to find a book in the middle of the floor, but nothing had ever happened that hurt her or caused her ill health.

Still scared the shit out of her, though.

The nineteen year old opened her suite door to find a few servants waiting for her with the dreaded dress. They politely bowed or nodded their heads—The Clayberns had never been excessively worried about having their “helping hands” show submission to them. They knew the people were servants because they had to be, and work was so scarce nowadays; giving them obnoxious rules and regulations to uphold would be ridiculous. Besides, Master Claybern had always claimed he liked to be a friend of the servants rather than a boss or Master.

“Hi Jessebelle, Marie, Sophie,” Mira said.

“Hello, young Mistress Mira!” They all chirped. Mira rolled her eyes, knowing them of mocking her. The four of them were really friends and they only said that to bother her greatly. She walked behind her fancy-looking brass screen to drop her sundress to the floor. Mira’s suite was rather large for a single person’s bedroom, with her dark mahogany four-poster bed situated against the wall to the left and jutting out to almost the center of the room. Beyond the bed was Mira’s matching mahogany vanity with a bookshelf beyond that, flush against far side wall. The brass screen was in the corner to the right, somewhat next to the fireplace and the deep red armchair in front of it. There was a small mahogany side table that held a pitcher of water and a glass. Next to the fireplace closest to the far wall, but not too close to the stonework were a mahogany dresser and a small writing desk in the far corner, close to the window. On the furthest wall were two large French doors that led out on to Mira’s own personal balcony, large enough to fit the glass-topped table and four white chairs that were currently sitting out there. A large cloth umbrella covered the small seating area, shielding it from the hot sunlight that was usual of noontime. The balcony was shaped like a large circle and narrowed as it approached the back side of the house. A small walkway balcony ran all along the back of the third story all the way to the North Tower’s own matching circular balcony.

“You’re all crazy,” she called.

“Oh you know we love you dearly,” Jessebelle giggled, flicking her golden curls over her shoulder. The young girl was a stunning vision for a servant with beautiful golden hair and lovely blue eyes and the perfect face. Mira had joked that it should be Jessebelle who was the “young Mistress” of the family rather than her; the servant girl had the look of a princess. Through the joking there was a genuine jealousy in Mira’s mind, but she knew not to let that ruin their friendship. Although Mira was short with slightly wavy brown hair and cool green eyes, she had a smaller frame but more than enough curves to fill out dresses in the correct places. Her body was one thing she was thankful for.

Jessebelle carried the fancy, pastel pink dress over to Mira behind the screen in all its ruffled and laced and sewn-on-rose’d glory. The brunette picked up her sundress from the floor and flung it over the top of the screen to Sophie, who had been waiting for it and moved to hang it up. Mira held her breasts to uphold some sort of decency as Jessebelle held out the ruffled mass to the young woman. She slipped into the thing and Marie, the tallest and strongest of the four, came around back to help Jessebelle tie Mira in.

Marie had a strong imposing stance to her, and her body had filled out in muscle from all of the work, mainly outside, she had done. The woman was a natural athlete and loved moving about outdoors. When she was excused from working at the manor on the weekends, she ran the couple of miles to the next town over to participate in the athletic tournaments held there which were usually only reserved for men. The men knew, however, that she was quite a force to beat. Marie was the mother-slash-disciplinarian of the little group, being a little older than the rest of them. She and the blacksmith of the town had married a few years ago and were still happily in love; they were a couple of pure muscle, power and intensity. It was a running joke between Sophie, Jessebelle and Mira that Marie’s and Joseph’s children would be Hercules-like kids that would probably be able to rip trees out of the ground and run faster than horses.

Jessebelle was the other girl out of the group who was engaged and was scheduled to get married next spring to a young count of one of the new estates in town. She was sad that she would be leaving Mira and her manor, but she and the count were deeply in love and she would no longer have to work as a servant. Her story was one straight out of Cinderella.

Sophie was the quieter one out of the group and generally the most servant-like. Her family had been the helping hands of some noble or rich family for as long as she could remember and she seemed to have innately inherited their sense of quiet submission, knack for cleaning and cooking and a striking streak of common sense; she was a great person to go for advice, despite being the youngest of the group at seventeen.

“Jeeze, Jess, you just need to pull on it!”

Marie grabbed the strengthened ribbon out of Jessebelle’s hands and yanked hard on them. Mira jerked back and gasped as the corset squished her in an inch or two and shoved her breasts up and nearly out of the dress, defying gravity in a way she couldn’t even begin to guess how it looked good.

“Good God I hope you know I still need to breathe!” Mira coughed.

“Yadda yadda, Mira, you’ve done this a zillion times before and lived so stop whining,” Marie scolded. She yanked again, squishing Mira in even more. The bickering went on as the corset was laced up in the back; by the end the young woman was amazed her waist could even get that small. She felt disgustingly attractive; a sheep of society, bowing down to their standards of beauty.

‘I have breasts and a butt, but I’m sorry my waist isn’t ten inches in circumference!’ Mira thought bitterly. She staggered over to her bed and collapsed on it, trying as hard as she could to take in large, slow gulps of air. Sophie sat down next to her with perfume and a hair ribbon.

“Just take it in long, slow breaths. Remember… long… slow… breaths. Atta girl, come now Mira, you look beautiful… and stop giving me that look,” Sophie cooed, making Mira sit up and tied the pale pink ribbon into a back section of her hair. Mira just sulked, still trying to breathe and nearly coughed when Marie came over with the rose-scented perfume bottle. She copiously applied the smell, much to Mira’s displeasure.

“I can’t breathe because of this stupid dress and now I can’t breathe because of this stupid perfume!”

Marie rolled her eyes.

“Quit yer whining.”

Jessebelle cooed over how beautiful Mira looked while Sophie checked the brass clock that was sitting upon the fireplace hearth.

“You should probably make your way downstairs to the parlor, Mira. Your mother will be livid if you are not there to greet the Ritvals as they arrive,” Sophie meekly stated. She looked away and fiddled with her black hair tied back in its servant-like bun and averted her blue eyes. The girl hated giving orders or making suggestions that even sounded like orders. Mira made a face, not at Sophie herself, but at the idea of having to meet these demon-people in such an awful dress with a fake smile plastered to her face.

“Alright,” The brunette sighed. “Thanks for all of your help, guys. I’ll meet you in the sun room tonight and I’ll cue you in of all the gory details of these delightful people.” All of the girls giggled and Marie, Jessebelle, and Sophie all left the room to take the servants’ staircase down to the kitchen or wherever else they were needed. Mira sat for a moment on her bed, fiddling with her corset and tried to dab some of her perfume off of her body. She wanted to smell nice, sure, but she didn’t want to stink like fake roses. Pulling her fancy white dress shoes from under the bed she slipped them on, snapping the buckle closed.

Suddenly, there was a slight drop in temperature in the air, and Mira sucked it in, her body quickly putting its senses on high-alert. Something was… not necessarily wrong but… different. It was one of the same feelings Mira had gotten when she had found one of her books or journals lying in the center of the floor in the morning or late at night. Her body went rigid and her heart skipped a few beats when she saw a humanoid shadow grow along her floor next to her bed. Green eyes dilating and growing wide, she bit her lip as her heart suddenly slammed back into overdrive, beating furiously in her chest. She was determined not to scream. Fear only increased the power of beings from the otherworld. Or so she had read in books.

The girl rose to her feet, still staring at the shadow on the floor which had now gone still. Mira slowed walked forward towards the door and then spun around on her heel to face whatever was there at her French doors. What she saw made her throw herself at her door—or was it some other force?—with her back planted firmly to the carved wood. A man was standing there, just standing there, like he happened to be taking a stroll on the balcony and accidentally ended up at Mira’s window. She couldn’t see his face for he was in silhouette but she felt a piercing stare and the air crackled with some sort of predatory air; she was convinced he was leering at her.

There was a soft knock on the door behind Mira and she squeaked, whipping around, wrenching open the door and throwing herself out to the person waiting patiently in the hall. It was Sophie. She looked completely bewildered by Mira’s terrified expression as the brunette grasped onto the black-haired girl’s shoulders with a vice-like grip. Sophie was a few inches shorter than Mira and looked to be a lot frailer, but she held Mira’s weight with an invisible strength only apparent in the helping hands of the manor.

“Mira! Mira, my God, what’s wrong?” Sophie asked softly. She held Mira until the girl quieted her shaking a bit.

“There… there was a man… on-on my balcony!” Mira said shakily. Sophie looked through the door to Mira’s French doors across her room.

“I don’t see anything.”

Mira spun around to stare at the glass, but the shadow and the leering man were gone. She nearly choked.

“But… but-but…”

“Mira, calm down now. I think you’re just a little upset about this whole Ritval thing,” Sophie cooed gently, rubbing Mira’s shoulder. Mira hugged Sophie a bit closer, her heart banging around wildly in her chest. “I just came back up here because I forgot this rose for you to put in your hair.” Mira held Sophie out at arms’-length.

“Sophie, forget about the stupid flower!” Sophie promptly stuffed the rose, clipped of its thorns, behind Mira’s left ear. Even Mira couldn’t help but give a weak smile at Sophie’s attempt at humor. “There seriously was a man out there! He was staring at me, and he came out of nowhere!” Sophie’s eyes were very big and very blue.

“But… the balconies and rooms in the North Wing are all locked and closed, so…”

“Sophie, do you think it was the ghost? The hauntings?” Mira asked, fear now leaving her blood and being replaced with a thin stream of excitement and adrenaline. Sophie looked uncomfortable with the way the conversation had changed.

“Miss Mira, I must insist that you are just upset about the Ritvals and probably saw the shadow of some bird or cloud go past the sun. Here now, I’ll walk you downstairs to your waiting mother,” Sophie stated calmly and in the most formal way she could. That way, Mira definitely knew Sophie was being serious. Sophie gave Mira a look. “Please, Mira, I don’t like talking about this.”

Mira looked away and then hugged Sophie close. She didn’t want to admit that she had just been scared shitless and didn’t usually like talking about this sort of thing either, but she also wanted to look brave for Sophie’s own phobias. The poor girl looked as though a skipped heartbeat would leave her body for dead. However, the brunette’s curiosity had also been piqued. If it was the ghost, it was the first time it had appeared, and under the guise of a man, at that! There might have been some sort of mysterious past of Winthrop Manor that she didn’t know of…

“I’m sorry, Sophie. You’re probably right. Let’s go.” Mira took a hold of Sophie’s hand and led her to the main staircase. Sophie smiled at her. Mira smiled back, but she had the uneasy feeling of being watched from behind again. She willed the urge to look behind her away but she didn’t get rid of the feeling until she and Sophie had made their way to the first floor. Mira’s mother, Cassandra, walked into the lobby in her own fancy dress and looked up at the two girls.

“Ah, Sophie, you’ve found her! Thank you so much, my dear,” Mistress Claybern said. Her voice was soft and melodic, and anything she said sounded as if she were half-singing, half-cooing it to her listener. When she was young she had taken singing lessons and they had stuck with her as her life moved on. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a bun, wisps of gray streaking it throughout. She had wrinkles by her eyes and mouth—laugh-lines, and was not afraid of showing them off. Cassandra was proud of showing emotion and did not try to cover them up with lots of make-up. The woman had a calm, soothing air about her that made it hard to disagree or even raise your voice to. Her faded hazel eyes looked Mira up and down in delighted way full of pride.

“You look beautiful, Mira,” She said. Mira scowled and Cassandra smiled.

“Did you have to get a dress with so many ruffles?” Mira pouted. Cassandra chuckled at her.

“It looks fine, dear. You only have to wear it for tonight and then stuff it away somewhere so it’ll disappear, like you’ve done with all of those other dresses you’ve hated so,” Cassandra said. Mirth glittered in her eyes as she walked back into the parlor off to the right of the main lobby. Mira followed while Sophie silently scooted off towards the kitchen to help with the final preparations for the large dinner tonight. The mother gracefully sat in one of the many armchairs while Mira just plopped onto the couch and made a face.

“Corsets are so uncomfortable!” She tugged at the bottom of it through the dress, trying to somehow move it around.

“You are just angry because they make you sit properly,” Cassandra cooed. “Maybe if you kept your correct posture you wouldn’t be in so much pain.” Mira rolled her eyes.

“Or maybe if I didn’t be a cow to social standards I wouldn’t have to wear this thing at all!”

Cassandra frowned slightly at her daughter’s behavior. “Come now, darling. What would your father say of this behavior? He would expect you to be a good host and greet the Pitfalls, I mean Ritvals, properly.” Mira giggled at her mother’s joke, who smiled back in return. “He’d expect you to sit properly, use the correct language and be pleasant. I know they are all hard for you dear, but you must at least try.”

Mira made a face and turned to look out the window. It was true that she wasn’t very… feminine, at least in her actions. She most definitely looked like a girl, but while she was growing up she loved to just tromp around the grounds, in the dirt and muck, hunt for crawfish and turtles in the creek, climb trees and make and use slingshots, things that a girl most definitely should not have played with. When Mira was young she would, at times, even rip off the bottom of her dresses or just take them off entirely to walk around outside in her slips and underwear. Her reasoning had been that she was able to walk around better without the dress getting in the way. Master and Mistress Claybern, although concerned about the way their daughter was turning out, decided that they could afford the slight social recriminations and have pants tailored to their daughter’s fit. It was better than having her walk around half-naked.

Mira had been silent for a short while and Cassandra’s eyes softened at her daughter. The young girl looked lonely and melancholy. Everyone missed Master Claybern. Letters upon letters had arrived from him, but it was not the same. It had been over a year since he had left and despite the emptiness, it was good to know he was safe and well.

“I know you miss your father, dear,” Cassandra said softly, breaking the silence. Mira looked back to her mother. “We all must be strong in waiting for him to return. I’m quite positive that he will be finishing with his expedition soon and will depart back to us. It will be especially hard with the Ritvals in company here at the Manor with us, but we cannot let them get to us. We are stronger than that.”

Mira smiled at her mother while the door to the back hallway burst open and her three younger siblings all clamored in. The oldest was her sister Claire at fourteen, who was the skinniest of the family, but had her mother’s soft looks and voice. Her hair was very light, dyed with lemon juice and soaked in the sunlight and she also had her father’s blue eyes. Mykel and Carli were the twins at eleven, both having very light, golden brown hair like their father and their mother’s hazel eyes. Mykel was still the shortest of the family, despite the fact that he was the only boy. Carli had hit a growth spurt and was now an inch or so taller than her twin. He was teased ceaselessly about it.

“Mooooooom!” Mykel cried, running to his mother. “Carli is making fun of me again!” He was wearing a small suit and dress shoes and has his deep blue ascot scrunched in his small fist. His face was tear-stained and his nose scrunched up as though he were smelling something bad—a little characteristic he had developed which he displayed only when he was extremely upset.

“What is she doing, Honey?” Cassandra cooed. She pried the ascot away from his hand and tried tying it around his neck, but he squirmed away.

“I can’t wear that! C-Carli said I look like-like a girl!” He bawled. Carli giggled and hid behind Claire, who just rolled her eyes and turned to tickle the young girl. She squealed and ran behind the couch. Cassandra gave the young girl a dark look.

“Mykel, baby, you do not look like a girl when you wear your ascot. You look more like Daddy, actually. You look very proper and nice,” The middle-aged woman said. Mykel stood still, eyes wide, as his mother tied the small scarf around his neck properly.

“Really? I look like Daddy?” He asked hopefully.

“Yup! Just like him!” Which, in part, was true. Mykel was a striking image of his father, and would obviously grow into the man’s good looks and tall, muscular stature. Carli stuck her tongue out at him from her place behind the couch, but Claire just ruffled her hair as she sat on the cushioned seat.

“You look like a girl, Mykel!” Carli squeaked. Mykel shouted, trying to rip his ascot off again when Cassandra soothed him to calm down. Claire scowled at her sister sitting next to her.

“And you look like a monster,” She said. Carli’s eyes went wide.

“I do not!” She shouted.

“Do too,” Claire replied.

“Do not!”

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

Carli squeaked again when Claire suddenly attacked her younger sister with a flurry of fingers, tickling the girl incessantly until she had tears in her little eyes. Mykel was sitting on his mother’s lap, glaring at the two. Mira laughed inwardly and looked towards the window in the front of the room. Some movement caught her eye.

A black and gold carriage drawn by two black mares pulled up the long, curved drive and stopped in front of the manor, bathed in golden and green hues; it was the end of the summer and autumn was just beginning to peek its head into nature’s palette. Steps led up to the wrap-around porch, punctuated with white pillars every few yards. Flowering shrubs and bushes adorned the grass in front of the porch and followed it along the small path leading up to the steps from the driveway. The driver of the carriage had jumped down from his perch and was opening the small door on the side of the vehicle. Mira turned back to her bickering family.

“I don’t mean to break the fun,” she interjected, “but I believe the hell spawn have arrived.” Claire and Carli stopped their tickling match and Mykel slid off of his mother’s lap. Cassandra frowned a little.

“Mira, watch your language, especially around Mykel and Carli,” she scolded. “I insist that you keep your manners when addressing our houseguests—“

“Houseguests my ass—“

“Mira!” Cassandra’s voice lost its soft, melodic edge and had become hard and stinging. Mira bowed her head as though she had been slapped and snapped her jaws closed. Her eyes narrowed but she stayed quiet as her mother stared pointedly at her. There was a soft knock from somewhere beyond the room and a servant suddenly materialized into the doorway.

“I hate to interrupt, Ma’am, but the new masters are here.” Everyone in the room visibly recoiled from the term “new masters” in the servant’s voice, but Cassandra stood up and stepped forward.

“Thank you, Miranda. You may go.” Miranda bowed her head and quietly walked off towards the kitchens. Cassandra turned to her children and gave them each a strengthening stare.

“Be strong, children. We will get through this,” The middle-aged woman said with encouragement and hope in her voice. She pivoted and turned to the doorway. Sounds of the front door opening and people entering their home broke the short silence faintly, but with a distinct harshness, as though the sound were invading their minds and reminding them that control and power were being lost. Mira bit her lip in anger.

“And now,” Cassandra commanded, her voice full of bravado, “we go and greet our guests.”

Mira looked away and silently smiled at the distasteful way her mother had said “guests.” She silently followed behind her mother, being the eldest, with Claire following her and tailed by Mykel and Carli, and walked towards the lobby. ‘This is going to suck so much,’ Mira thought and then plastered a fake smile to her face as the Ritvals came into view through the large wooden doors.