De rattling ilk in the chicanery English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills and ancient oak trees, upon the landscape of the earth did Marlowe House stand. The ivy-walled turreted towers slated over in baroque fashion created another land, an area large on history dating back to the land itself, present luxurious in mysteries.
The house had been empty for decades, its last owner, Sir Charles Marlowe, vanishing in ways that were mysterious. This last, they said, led to an odyssey—an estate gone feral, windows darkened, gardens overgrown. He left a hidden fortune, said some; the house was accursed, said others.
On that bracing autumn morning, one young woman by name arrived at Marlowe House. Her name was Eleanor Parker, and she was a historian with a keen interest in British antiquities, to whom recently an offer of a grant had been made for investigating the history of the estate in question. Not curiosity, coupled with the promise of uncovering forgotten tales, goaded her into taking up the challenge.
The caretaker, an old man by the name of Hargrove, probably weathered by time itself, was especially cautious and, at the same time, respectful, in his approach as he greeted Eleanor and took her through the creaking gates and up the gravel path to the front entrance.
“Welcome to Marlowe House, Miss Parker,” said Mr. Hargrove in a low, rumbling voice. “I must warn you, this place has a way of getting under your skin. The past clings to it like the ivy on the walls.”
Eleanor smiled politely. “I appreciate the warning, Mr. Hargrove, but I’m here to learn. I’m sure the house has many stories to tell.”
Eleanor felt a tingle of excitement with the keys in her hand and Mr. Hargrove having left her to her work. She stepped into the grand hall, her footsteps echoing across the marble floor steeped in the musty scent of old books and dust. The tall, arched windows were throwing sunlight into the room, creating eerie shadows on the walls.
The jobs that Eleanor was assigned at the outset were mundane, to say the least, such as listing old documents, studying the portraiture of family members, and looking through some dusty rooms. She found out that Marlowe House once played host to the most brilliant social life, with parties that could barely fit under the ceiling, and some truly influential guests. The portraits she found were of an elegant family whose smiles did not seem to relay the story.
As days went by, Eleanor explored the history of the house. Old letters and diaries introduced her to Sir Charles Marlowe, a rich enigmatic man. His letters proved his obsession with a certain artifact: a silver locket belonging to some mysterious lady who was said to disappear many years ago.
One night, Eleanor turned out to be going through an old chest in the library and stumbled across an unexpected clue. She had been hiding a leather-bound journal of Sir Charles’s among the books. In the journal, he’d described how over the past year, he’d gotten increasingly paranoid and frightened of something he called “the shadow.”
According to the journal, Sir Charles thought someone or something was following him. The entries became more frenzied, with references to strange noises and unexplained happenings around the house. The last entry was dated on the day before his disappearance and spoke of a final, desperate search for the locket.
Eleanor felt some stirring interest and followed the intended clues of the journal to a way hidden at the back of a room off the sliding bookshelf, where she found an ornate—ornate was not the word for it, actually—an ornate wooden box with incredible carvings. The frills of her heart beat sky high when she opened it, and there was the silver locket: lovely, dainty, with tiny engravings on the front and a little compartment that looked like it held a secret.
A sudden chill crept over her skin as Eleanor examined the locket. The air grew colder, the room darker. All at once, a shadow crossed the wall and a sense of unease settled over her thoughts. She quickly pocketed the locket and left the hidden room.
The next day, Eleanor went to the village library to research her locket. The librarian was Mrs. Thompson, an old, sharp-minded woman with immense knowledge of the village history.
“Oh, that locket,” exclaimed Mrs. Thompson as Eleanor displayed it to her and leaned back in her chair, widening her eyes. “That is, supposedly, connected with a local legend—the tale of Lady Isabella. She was beautiful but mysteriously disappeared. Some think it’s her ghost that lingers on even now.”
Eleanor listened in earnest as Mrs. Thompson continued. Lady Isabella had been betrothed to a wealthy noble but had disappeared the night before her wedding. Some say she’s been abducted, some say she ran away rather than be forced in the marriage. Her disappearance went cold, but the locket was rumored to have been a gift of her betrothed.
The more Eleanor learned, the more the mystery deepened, and she visited Marlowe House again with determination. Working by the light of the candles that night, she remembered hearing a faint whispering noise; the chill returned, and with it came the feeling that someone was there.
Determined to find out the truth, Eleanor decided to spend the night in the library, her impression being that Sir Charles would leave some clues in the room. It was well past midnight, and the silence of the night was pierced as realization swept upon Eleanor that there was some abnormality in the dust lying on the ground. The trail, however, appeared to be leading to the corner of the room.
She followed the trail down the stairs to a loose floorboard; underneath it, she found a tiny compartment that contained some old letters and a map. It seemed to be some sort of layout of Marlowe House, with an X marked in the cellar.
The next day, Eleanor made her way into the cellar, and there, she realized she was looking down a hidden passage. The passage finally emptied History of a small, stale room, crowded with antiquated furniture and dusty ancient artifacts. It was centered with an elaborately ornate mirror.
As she stepped up to the mirror, Eleanor noted that its frame was decorated with symbols and runes. She studied it closely and discerned that the mirror was tilted slightly. She pushed it back straight and uncovered inside the wall behind it a built-in safe.
In one of the letters she found, the combination escaped. Eleanor opened the safe, her hands trembling, and found a collection of old documents that included a blow-by-blow account of Lady Isabella’s last days.
The documents exposed the fact that the lady Isabella had really been kidnapped, but it was not by some stranger; it was Sir Charles Marlowe, who had been secretly in love with Isabella and made her disappear to save her from a very influential enemy. The locket was to remember their love by.
Eleanor began to piece together what actually had occurred; Sir Charles had been consumingly maddened by feelings of guilt and fear, the truth over which he kept secret to protect Isabella’s memory. Alone then, he had been brought down by the dark fears in his heart.
Eleanor indeed discovered the truth about the mysteries that shrouded Marlowe House. Sir Charles had disappeared, but it was not due to a curse or hidden money; he was just a man consumed by his actions and the consequence of his secrets.
Eleanor put her findings together in completing her research to leave Marlowe House. She felt she had found closure with everything going on in the grand hall. Shadows that used to intimidate her in the past now felt almost endearing, a piece of the rich history of the house.
She finally turned her eyes away from Marlowe House as she drove out of the estate. The sun was setting behind and cast a warm golden light on the ancient stone, and there stood the house—the testimony to its past lives, here all secrets revealed.
Eleanor realised the tales of Marlowe House would never die; not through vengeful ghosts of revengeful spirits, but as a testimony to actual lives and paths taken that had constructed the history. As she drove into the twilight, she felt a part of the past, knowing she had uncovered the truth behind the shadows of Marlowe House that she could live with now.
