Cecil's Gambit

Chapter II: The Last Lancasters

It was 7 p.m. when we arrived at the estate; darkness engulfed everything. Zoey was dismayed with this, more than ever.

"I guess we'll have no pictures for today," she said in a frustrated and disappointed voice, as she opened the door at her side and got out of the car.

"Just quit it, Zoey. It's not like we'll not have the whole day tomorrow for camera-clicking and picture-taking." Ashley says, just as frustrated as Zoey, but for a different reason: her. This shuts Zoey up, and instead, she just swallows her frustration and disappointment, becoming silent until we reach the manor.

The driveway was quite far from the manor itself (about a hundred or two hundred meters away), and what was left of the distance between the two destinations was a beautiful cobblestone pathway with all the greeneries displayed in the photocard. I was both happy and relieved that my expectations of the place didn't actually jinx it into becoming true; it was just as beautiful, even more beautiful, I guess, at night.

Since the manor was far away from the entrance and the driveway, its light didn't reach us, and so, we assumed that everything was pitch-black, (at least I did).

But when we actually saw the place, it was illuminated with countless lamps which made it even cozier. It looked a little creepy though, in my opinion; I guess it was because the manor was old: as Charlie said earlier, it was built in the year of 1894. And it looked a bit like it was crumbling, its dead owners' ghosts wandering around the place. This was a normal reaction, I knew, because, hey, we're talking about abandoned manors here, not cozy, 5-star hotels. What do you expect?

As we trekked on the pathway, our guide met us, smiling widely, and he greeted us with strong handshakes. He was a middle-aged man, in his late-thirties, wearing a tuxedo. He was fairly short, as tall as Mark, and his hair was combed in two separate ways, which made it difficult to look at him and not laugh. He also had quite the moustache; I think it was understandable because it's the talk of the country, the latest trend. His moustache, however, was almost like Adolf Hitler's but not as trimmed as his. By the looks of it, he had a funny countenance, but he had a big personality, and, for me, a big ego.

"I am so glad you could finally make it," he said, as he shook hands with Mark for last, "What took you guys so long?"

"Of course we had a couple of bites, here and there." Mark replied, smiling as he rubbed his sore hand. "And I don't wanna be caught speeding. We were using a map coming here, believe it or not."

"No way," the guide acted impressed, but I knew it was sarcasm, his specialty. "Oh, I haven't introduced myself yet - erghm... I'm Michael Burnett, your guide for two weeks. Mark sent me a letter concerning your visit, and so, I am more tham happy to help. Just call me Mike. Shall we?" And he opened his arms as if presenting the rest of the cobblestone pathway.

Great, I thought, a person for Charlie's delight. He can share the information he knows to him, instead of us, so he won't get embarrassed and laughed at.

Which he eventually did. We ate dinner outside the manor, in which we didn't get a chance to see the manor's interior, and after downing two glasses of wine, Mike was ready for us all.

"Before bed, let's walk around the place, shall we? I'll introduce you to your rooms in a bit, but we'll start here, outside." Again, he led the way. It wasn't really enjoyable because we couldn't see that much. Everything was quite dark; Zoey didn't join us.

"Now," Mike commenced, "we have renovated the manor, adding little embellishments and polishing the walls and floor, to make it more presentable to a given audience, such as you. This is the orchard -" He led us in an arch-like wicket, swarming with vines, into what seemed like a garden, only, it was all fruits.