Moonbeam - A Robin De Noir Story (The Secret of Moonacre)

PROLOGUE

You never appreciate the things you hold most dear until you lose them. That is the saying that you get told almost everywhere you go. Well, it is true. Constance Eliza Jane Merryweather felt the utter loss of not only her mother, whom she was partly named after, but now her father too. Not that he was around much, the military man he was, meant he would be assigned across the country or overseas regularly. Or so she had thought.

Constance Eliza Jane Merryweather. She knew herself what a ridiculous mouthful of a name she beheld, being the eldest of the two children her father and mother brought into the world. She inherited her two middle names from her mother and even though she disliked it at many points in her life she had grown a fondness of it. It felt as though she was still connected to her mother in a special way.

Constance is beloved by everyone who knows her and, everything a Lady is supposed to be. She holds herself with decorum and grace at all times having been brought up and taught by her governess Miss Heliotrope. She has never left the city, despite having relatives who live out in the country. Her sister Maria, who might we add, does not have the burden of having any additional names is a different story. It came to Constance's mind that all the names in the entire universe were used on her.

Maria and Constance both share glowing auburn hair. The older sibling's drastically longer and with only a slight wave brushes against her lower back elegantly, almost as a dance, as she walks. Whereas Maria's requires a lot more attention. The curls in her hair, temperamental as to how they wish to behave each day, must often be tamed by coaxing the strands into a tight braid.

Constance and her sister both inherited the greyish blue moonlight eyes from their father, which is a known trait for the descendants of the Merryweather family. Their skin both pale, and in the moonlight the reflection of light has been said to make them look like shining stars.

But they were not star like today. Dressed in the coal-coloured gowns which emitted the same grievous emotion as was displayed on both daughters and their governess' faces. Constance walked sorrowfully alongside her father's coffin which lay on a glass carriage with white roses displayed on the lid. Her usual glistening auburn hair was covered by a black veil.

In her one hand, she clutched two blossoming crimson roses close to her heart, while in the other a silk handkerchief with delicate lacing handsewn by herself dabbed her weeping eyes. Her usual grey moonlike eyes had turned to a deep blue sea colour, breaching the floodgates, and rushing down her soft cheeks.

Her sister was doing a much better job at keeping her composure, but she could not help it. She had always been sensitive. Her mind wandered on the times her father had actually made it home. Despite it only being for short periods of time, she remembered his stern face as he sat in his armchair within their library, his nose in a thick paged book. Or when he would tell her stories of where he had been and what he had seen. One time he had been to Paris and she had learnt of the architecture and history which he could remember.

Before she could reminisce further, she noticed the two strong night-black horses had stopped and they were beside many other graves now. Upon looking around two men dressed in light brown robes approached to retrieve her father. They went about their job and Maria and Constance gazed emotionlessly as she said goodbye to him for the final time.

A priest approached them and nodded his head with a sad look in his eye. He read several scriptures and reassured them that their father had gone to a better place to be with the Lord in heaven but could scarcely bear to listen. Her eyes shut tightly, and her hearing tuned in to the sound of the birds soaring above her.

Her eyes opened slowly still refusing to return her attention to the priest. The atmosphere changed around her and she began to feel anxious. It interrupted the first bit of peace she had since losing her father. Her grey eyes scanned around in front of her at the seemingly peaceful cemetery before turning her head to the side where a stone structure was built.

Underneath stood a boy or man. She could not tell, as his face was partially covered with a black cloth. He was not moving. Just watching. That did not sit well with Constance. In fact, she felt rather uneasy. The figure she was eyeing had his arms crossed in front of his chest. His clothing was what you would expect a highwayman to wear. What made her uneasy was the blank look across his face. Until he smirked.

Upon feeling Maria's hand upon her upper arm Constance inhaled sharply from shock and received a furrowed brow from her sister. She shook her head and insisted she was fine. Being the oldest of the two daughters it was she who needed to say her goodbyes first. Her feet moved for her and within a few thumps of her heartbeat, she had thrown one of the roses on top of the coffin her father now rested in. A single petal detached from the others as if mocking her that another part of her was torn away.

Beside her father lay her mother. At least they could be reunited, she thought. Her mothers stone memorial stood tall and she placed the second rose below the headstone. Having had a few moments of thought she moved slowly still with her head held high, as a lady should, to stand beside her governess once more.

Out of curiosity, she tilted her head to the left again only to find the mysterious man clad in black and red gone. Perhaps she had imagined him. Of course she had, she muttered to herself in a way to reassure herself.

But the young man had not left. He remained and gazed upon the family who were grieving. He had no care for that. His only mission was to scout them out and find a treasure that had remained hidden for many decades.