TRAITORS’ GATE
Battle of the Undead: prequel
Nicky Peacock
Copyright © 2016
Chapter One
England 1483
“Zut!” I yell, grabbing my head as it bounces off
the carriage ceiling.
My new governess, Mistress Black,
raises an eyebrow at me. “Lucinda, it is unladylike to swear.”
“Not even in French?”
“Especially not in French!” She has
a wild look in her eyes that I don’t trust, although to be fair her eyes are
the least of my worries. I am back in my home country after spending three
years in France, and despite still not being completely fluent in the language,
I have picked up an impressive array of curse words. Ms. Black had met me at
the docks. I fear she had taken one look at my curvy figure and unruly blond
hair and thought me totally unworthy of her time, let alone her words. We’d
spent the last three hours bobbing along in my father’s carriage in prolonged
periods of worrisome silence. Every conversation I had begun she had abruptly
ended with a sly comment or a wave of her gloved hand. I should be happy that
I’m back home—Lord knows I didn’t want to go to school overseas—but I’d grown
to love the place and the people, oh and the food. The flavors and smells of
sweet breads, buttery pastries and fondant filled fanciful cakes, all of them
just as delicious in appearance as in taste… I’d really like to indulge with
some of my raisin pastries right now, the ones I’d secreted in my purse but I
dare not incur the wrath of Mistress. Black, who is still failing to hide her
disappointment that I’m not some well-mannered debutant waif.
“I smell cakes,” she says, sniffing
the air.
I casually wrap my pastries up
tighter, resigning myself that I’ll have to wait until we are at Father’s house
before I can safely undress them and let my senses melt into their sweet,
buttery loveliness…no, I’m having one now. I point to a random tree out of the
carriage window. Mistress Black’s intense gaze follows my finger. Quickly I
bend and eat part of the pastry. It crumbles into my mouth and I hide my
chewing by lifting my purse slightly, to shield me from Mistress Black’s withering
stare. Oh, I hope the kitchen staff remember me and let me bake some more when
I get home.
The carriage stumbles over a rocky
part of road and my purse leaps out of my hand. Mistress Black sees everything.
“Lucinda Delacourt! Your father is
going to be bitterly disappointed in you.”
I don’t even bother finishing my
mouthful of food. “That’s nothing new to me.”
Mistress Black’s face turns from
indignant self-righteousness to absolute horror. She bends down and picks up my
purse and thrusts it back into my hand. I drop it to my side to fully expose my
now open-mouthed chewing. With each movement, I stretch my jaw wide, making
sure she can smell the sugared raisins while I finish the rest of my delicious
pastry.
Another hour crawls by and I begin
to recognize the scenery slipping past the window. The smells of the
countryside are now all around us, a pungent mix of animals and flowers. I take
in a deep breath and smile. I’m home.
“My, my, what a horrible smell!” Mistress
Black pulls out a handkerchief and a small bottle of oil. She drips the oil
onto the material. It’s lavender; she plunges her long thin nose into it, like
a pig at a trough, and breathes deeply. I smile. I love the smell of lavender
and it only adds to my scent sensation of coming home.
As we near the house, my eyes are
drawn to our nearest neighbor, Ravenglass Manor. The once majestic gothic
building is now partly marred by black soot and half of its walls are spilling
their bricks across its burnt landscape.
“What happened at Ravenglass?” I
ask.
“Ladies do not gossip.”
“Of course we do, it’s all we do.”
Mistress Black stares at me. “This is my home, I need to know. I used to spend
time with Christian Ravenglass when I was a little girl, please.”
“Well,
Battle of the Undead: prequel
Nicky Peacock
Copyright © 2016
Chapter One
England 1483
“Zut!” I yell, grabbing my head as it bounces off
the carriage ceiling.
My new governess, Mistress Black,
raises an eyebrow at me. “Lucinda, it is unladylike to swear.”
“Not even in French?”
“Especially not in French!” She has
a wild look in her eyes that I don’t trust, although to be fair her eyes are
the least of my worries. I am back in my home country after spending three
years in France, and despite still not being completely fluent in the language,
I have picked up an impressive array of curse words. Ms. Black had met me at
the docks. I fear she had taken one look at my curvy figure and unruly blond
hair and thought me totally unworthy of her time, let alone her words. We’d
spent the last three hours bobbing along in my father’s carriage in prolonged
periods of worrisome silence. Every conversation I had begun she had abruptly
ended with a sly comment or a wave of her gloved hand. I should be happy that
I’m back home—Lord knows I didn’t want to go to school overseas—but I’d grown
to love the place and the people, oh and the food. The flavors and smells of
sweet breads, buttery pastries and fondant filled fanciful cakes, all of them
just as delicious in appearance as in taste… I’d really like to indulge with
some of my raisin pastries right now, the ones I’d secreted in my purse but I
dare not incur the wrath of Mistress. Black, who is still failing to hide her
disappointment that I’m not some well-mannered debutant waif.
“I smell cakes,” she says, sniffing
the air.
I casually wrap my pastries up
tighter, resigning myself that I’ll have to wait until we are at Father’s house
before I can safely undress them and let my senses melt into their sweet,
buttery loveliness…no, I’m having one now. I point to a random tree out of the
carriage window. Mistress Black’s intense gaze follows my finger. Quickly I
bend and eat part of the pastry. It crumbles into my mouth and I hide my
chewing by lifting my purse slightly, to shield me from Mistress Black’s withering
stare. Oh, I hope the kitchen staff remember me and let me bake some more when
I get home.
The carriage stumbles over a rocky
part of road and my purse leaps out of my hand. Mistress Black sees everything.
“Lucinda Delacourt! Your father is
going to be bitterly disappointed in you.”
I don’t even bother finishing my
mouthful of food. “That’s nothing new to me.”
Mistress Black’s face turns from
indignant self-righteousness to absolute horror. She bends down and picks up my
purse and thrusts it back into my hand. I drop it to my side to fully expose my
now open-mouthed chewing. With each movement, I stretch my jaw wide, making
sure she can smell the sugared raisins while I finish the rest of my delicious
pastry.
Another hour crawls by and I begin
to recognize the scenery slipping past the window. The smells of the
countryside are now all around us, a pungent mix of animals and flowers. I take
in a deep breath and smile. I’m home.
“My, my, what a horrible smell!” Mistress
Black pulls out a handkerchief and a small bottle of oil. She drips the oil
onto the material. It’s lavender; she plunges her long thin nose into it, like
a pig at a trough, and breathes deeply. I smile. I love the smell of lavender
and it only adds to my scent sensation of coming home.
As we near the house, my eyes are
drawn to our nearest neighbor, Ravenglass Manor. The once majestic gothic
building is now partly marred by black soot and half of its walls are spilling
their bricks across its burnt landscape.
“What happened at Ravenglass?” I
ask.
“Ladies do not gossip.”
“Of course we do, it’s all we do.”
Mistress Black stares at me. “This is my home, I need to know. I used to spend
time with Christian Ravenglass when I was a little girl, please.”
“Well,
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