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The Haunting of Rookwood Manor: An Erotic Mystery

Catherine DeVore

Copyright 2012 Catherine DeVore

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Lydia regarded the mist-shrouded manor with a sinking heart as the attendant hauled her trunk out of the carriage. Rookwood Manor had been known for its pastoral beauty at its prime, but that time had certainly passed. Trailing ivy, no doubt charming when properly cared for and cultivated, covered wall and window alike. The gardens, somehow simultaneously overgrown and sparse, gave the grounds an ominous air that was only enhanced by the low-hanging fog.

“Is it always so grey?” she wondered aloud, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

The attendant just laughed, a brief, hollow sound. “Often moreso.”

Ah, well. Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.

He carried the battered wooden trunk up to the massive front door, swinging it open without bothering to knock. Lydia trailed behind him awkwardly, uncertain of what reception she might receive. She needn’t have been nervous, though; inside the dim great hall, only a single, stork-like man awaited her. Lydia waited for the carriage driver to introduce her, but he set the trunk on the hardwood floor and beat a hasty retreat.

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