The Hungry Garden

Chapter Nine: Larkin and Adelia Set Forth

The Journal of Larkin Claydon

April 3rd

My sister and I were saddened this week to learn of the passing of our Uncle George. He was not well regarded among our family, in fact he was very much seen as the black sheep, a strange eccentric who never married, lived in a twisting old house with few servants and whose contact with us had been sparse indeed. This was actually due to the direct intervention of our Father, who had threatened him with dire consequences were he to come near either of us.

Apparently there was something of the night about Uncle George, but on the occasions we had met him we'd found him perfectly charming. He was certainly unconventional and fomented in us a spirit of adventure that was singularly discouraged by our parents, who demanded we be obedient, ladylike members of polite society uncorrupted by anything more exciting than a difficult cross-stitch. But our Father could not block the final wishes of a dying man, and could hardly continue to threaten him.

The named location was Morior Hall, a large house set in grounds just outside of the city, where the ball being held rejoiced in the sinister title of The Mortal Masquerade. Uncle George had long ago spoken to us of a club he belonged to that met outside the restrictions of prescriptive Christian society, dedicated to self-improvement through artistic engagement with mortality. This must have been the world our Father had been so desperate to keep us from, so of course we were eager to see it.

Had Father forbade us from attending he would have done so in vain. We are both of the age of majority and if he doesn't realise by now that we will not quietly wait at home to be married off to whatever bland business associate he brings forth there is no hope for him. We did not tell him all the details of Mr. Makabra's strange letter, just that we had been invited to a society ball where we would learn of a possible inheritance. Of course it sounded odd put like that, but our Father was as amenable to the prospect of large sums of money as he was incompetent at controlling us. Bottom line, we were going whether he liked it or not.

We made the necessary transport arrangements, selected gowns and sewed black velvet masks to wear for the big night.

The Journal of Adelia Claydon

April 4th

As the elder sister, it has always fallen upon me to be the responsible one, the conduit between the impetuous instincts of my sister and the craven ennui of our family. I yearn for adventure just as Larkin does – how could one not in the age of enlightenment and discovery – though I fear she is prone to overestimate her defences if trouble were to arise. My sister has the pluck and guile of ten men, but physically we remain the weaker sex, however galling that may be.

Uncle George was an enigmatic and enthralling influence on our formative years, promising a forbidden world of excitement and romance we dreamed of exploring, we could barely wait to follow the trail to see where it led. I was intrigued by the author of the letter, this Elbert Makabra, who claimed to be the executor to our uncle's estate but who I suspected had more of a stake in this than he let on.

Morior Hall was abuzz with activity as we arrived. The dress code demanded that we remained masked throughout, there was to be no midnight unmasking at this ball. Strange music could be heard playing in the hall performed by unseen musicians on harsh metallic sounding instruments. I must confess that it stirred something within me quite different to the ordered composition of the string quartet. Whatever this night had in store for us, it would be far different from anything our upbringing had prepared us for.