Vampyre Bride ✔️

XV⎮The Great Looming Spider

The hiring of post-chaises were for those that preferred the convenience of a journey disembarrassed by the bourgeoisie; and it was they, the wealthy, that could well afford that indulgence. The sisters, however, could ill afford it, and had Victoria not already arranged the whole affair, or had the lady not already thought to settle the cost of this extravagance up front, Emma would have then been provided the means to justify their not going.

Although, she was not so thankless or proud as to grumble about what had already been set in motion, and they were indeed fortunate in not having to travel to Whitby by the diligence, for the stagecoaches were usually very uncomfortable, unsafe, and overcrowded.

Their chaise was to make the entire journey in just over thirty hours, without an overnight stop, and that was, in actuality, to her preference. She was sure that sleeping in the carriage was far more agreeable to risking the bedbugs that one was sure to find in the inns.

The thunder of the iron tires, the powerful, clamoring hooves of the four-in-hand, and the jingle of the little bells on the harnesses soon lulled Milli to sleep as they finally left London and were whisked along the old Roman thoroughfare, Ermine Street.

Aside from bedbugs, the only peril she considered with any real fear, as the prospect transformed from city buildings to open fields, was that danger posed by highwaymen, and she wondered if the two postillions carried pistols or blunderbusses like the stagecoach guards were known to do. It was then, whilst ruminating over these morbid thoughts, that the coach flew past a gibbet, from which were hung three lonely bodies, and she shuddered, turning away from the carrion eaters picking at their easy fare.

The window blinds had been drawn after passing the gallows, the morning sun too harsh now that the last of the fog had dissipated from The Great North Road, and as a result of Emma's having been up since dawn, finalizing her packing, she, like Milli, soon found herself transferred from Pasithea's arms into those of the winged daemon, Morpheus.

It was hours later when she awoke again, and that owing to the chaise slowing to a halt so that the horses could be changed. Realizing that they were already in Royston, she wondered how many other stages they'd stopped at. To have slept through all the staging stops between here and London, for they would have stopped every fifteen miles, was very unlike her as she was usually a light sleeper.

"I am determined," said she to Milli, once they had partaken of a light tiffin at the inn in Royston and were settled in the carriage once more, "that I shan't sleep a wink again until it is too dark to see outside the window."

Now that Milli was awake and her belly filled, she was garrulous again and remarked on the lovely scenery that passed outside their window, spoke excitedly about what the Solecist Ball would be like, and then conjectured over the possibility of their seeing Nicholas Hawksmoor again. When she was not communicative, she slept.

That a person could sleep as much as Milli did during that day, was astounding to Emma, but, for her part, she was happy enough to engage in tête-à-têtes with her sister and equally as contented when Milli slept, for it was then that she could alternate between studying the changing landscape or read the novels she brought with her.

When twilight finally set in, the moon began to rise over the trees, now well into it's first quarter, and it was then she realized that it would be full on the twenty-first of June, her birthday. On the Summer Solecist Ball.

By midnight, just outside of Doncaster, a dense fog began to quicken amongst the forest along the causeway, and the postilions were forced to slow their pace considerably thenceforward. While Milli slept on, Emma peered into the misty gloom where the coach lamp lights barely reached the hedgerows and woodland that stretched along the side of the road.

They had taken some supper and changed horses at the Red Lion Inn in Barnby Moor, but from Doncaster onwards, although newly horsed, their progress was no more than a brisk walk.

The grey dawn light that percolated through the trees and fog did not reveal much, if any, of the Yorkshire landscape, and it was well-nigh midmorning when they reached York, but the sun had still done nothing to disperse brume as they crossed the River Ouse and finally alighted at the York Tavern.

There they were met with an impressive, black carriage that she recognized immediately. The very distinctive Winterly coat of arms, the serpent-like wyverns with their long teeth and black wings, caught her eye as soon as she emerged from the post-chaise. "Vitam Aeternam," she said, under her breath, remarking the strange motto again. 

Life Eternal.

The driver sat atop the bench like a somber shadow cloaked beneath his wide brimmed hat. Even the horses seemed otherworldly, and still.

No time was wasted in transferring the traps from the chaise to the carriage and the ladies were quickly ushered into the black coach by the equally pale, footmen, their faces drawn tight across their white, unsmiling faces.

At the crack of the whip, the four black steppers surged into motion and Emma therewith shifted the curtain out of the way in the hopes of seeing York Minster, even from a distance, but the fog was too thick and the daylight too muted.

All she could see was the adumbrative outline of the old buildings, the pedestrians, and the fish wagons and carriages that passed at hazard. Notwithstanding the clamor of the hooves and wheels, there was something of weightiness in the atmosphere, whether as a result of the fog itself or something else, she couldn't say. And what was more, even Milli seemed affected by it, for the journey was passed in silence, neither sister feeling the need to speak.

It struck her as odds that, between the fifty miles that separated York from Whitby, they did not refresh the horses even once. But, at the bequest of the elder Miss Lucas, the driver did relent to a brief stop at a small inn, for she and Milli had been eager to visit the water closet long before they ever stopped at New Malton.

Therefrom, they continued swiftly along the gravel road, the steam rolling off the backs of the horses as they pounded through the mist.

"We shall break our bloody necks, I am sure, if he continues this confounded pace," said Emma, but she spoke in a whisper, lest the driver should hear her. He and the footmen were rather an intimidating lot. Not because they were rude — it was nothing of that sort — but, rather, as a result of their strange coldness.

Their hats had been too low over their eyes for her to have noticed what lay beneath them, but each man had enough of a funereal dreariness about their aspect that it had pained her even to apply to the driver to make a stop. Nonetheless, he had done so without a word.

Night fell quickly over the moors, and still the mist remained. Emma knew that the castle could not be much further and she peered keenly into the night through one window as Milli did the same at the other.

The flames of the coach lamps pulsed with an almost cerise hue behind the glass, and she had been so hypnotized with watching them that she did not at first notice the shadowed, edifice materializing through the moonlit haze.

"There it is!" cried Milli, snapping Emma from the trance cast by the flames.

And there it was, indeed. Winterly Castle loomed like a great spider, even from this distance, its midnight buttresses like sturdy legs and its windows flickering with the same reddish glow as the coach lights — as of unblinking, crimson eyes as they watched her approach.

🌟They have arrived! If any of you have read Wuthering Heights or The Hound Of The Baskervilles, then you know how creepy the moors can be.🌟