The trunks moved as if in the teeth of a stiff wind, and yet James could tell by the falling snow that the air was perfectly still. Faint creaks and pops emanated from the wood as the trees shuffled aside, crawling on their roots to reveal a dark opening. The opening did not reveal the sea, however, but a long wooded passage, shadowy and mysterious.
With a screech and creak of metal, the guardrail shimmied, shuddered, and rose up into the air, its posts growing like tentacles. The rail transformed as it stretched upwards, changing from a rust-spotted barrier to a wrought-iron archway, complete with more copperplate letters arranged over complicated iron scrollwork:
BLACKBRIER QUOIT
The Wraith rolled forward again, passing beneath the sign the moment it rose to its full height.
Speechlessly, James watched, leaning close to the window on his side. Millie still held his hand between them, herself paying almost no attention at all.
The car should have rolled past the tree line and down onto stony beach, if James’ understanding of the local geography made any sense at all, and yet it proceeded instead onto a long, perfectly straight drive lined and roofed with birch trees, their branches knit overhead like revelers holding hands over a dance. Beyond the trees, on either side of the drive, James could just make out flat, grey ice, as if the drive occupied a very narrow peninsula stretching out into the sea.
Gaslights began to glow along the drive, flickering to life atop tall iron poles, illuminating the birch branches and creating golden pools on the snowy path. After a minute, the drive widened, still bordered by trees, and opened onto a broad park-like expanse, blanketed with snow and decorated with winding, illuminated pathways, stands of trees on small hills, meticulous hedges, and regal statuary. Situated on the rear quarter of the park was a stone house so broad and square, so lined with windows and pillars, ranks of steps and corner towers, that it was more castle than mansion.
“Home sweet home,” Millie sighed, not quite affectionately.
James barely heard her. He was just now noticing that, despite the size of the park and its gardens, the trees that surrounded it still somehow met overhead, lacing their branches together into an unbroken dome a hundred feet high, effectively shrouding the house and the entirety of its grounds from outside view.
The Wraith swept into a curving drive and angled toward the glow of the house, coming to a gentle halt before its grand front doors.
The doors opened as James watched and a line of three men in formal black tailcoats and white shirts came out, descending dutifully into the cold to take up positions on the steps, where they stood at attention.
Balor opened the passenger door and Millie prodded James to get out. He did, stepping speechlessly into the cold, his feet crunching on gravel beneath a frosting of snow.
“Good evening Mistress and Master,” the nearest of the formal-clad men announced, bowing his double chin with jovial good humour.
He was rotund but sturdy, with black hair pasted severely over his scalp.
“I trust your journey was pleasant and without event.”
Millie climbed out after James and nodded to the man. “It was fine, er…?”
“Topham, M’Lady,” the man provided his name with no hesitation, and then indicated the others with a sweep of his hand. “And this is Hedley and Blake.” Hedley was middle-aged with a pleasant, clean-shaven face, while Blake was only a little older than James and Millie, dark haired with sharp, handsome features. He smiled at Millie and then James in a perfunctory manner. James noticed that the man’s smile did not at all affect his eyes.
Millie nodded and opened her mouth to say something, but the arrival of a second car interrupted her. James turned, surprised to see the luxury automobile that had been following them earlier draw to a halt behind the Wraith. The driver’s door swung open as Hedley and Blake descended the steps to retrieve the luggage from both vehicles.
“Millie!” the driver of the second car called cheerily as he hopped out, his teeth showing as he grinned toward the steps. He was thin and sandy haired, dressed in a grey tweed suit and gold tie.
“Bent!” Millie called back, dropping James’ hand and running to greet the newcomer. They embraced, laughing, before Millie drug the man back by the hand. He allowed himself to be pulled along, smiling gamely in James’ direction.
“Bent, this is James Potter, from school. James, this is my big brother, Benton Ford.”
The thin man stripped off his driving gloves before reaching to give James’ hand a firm shake. “A Potter at Blackbrier,” he proclaimed cheerily. “Will wonders never cease! A delight to meet you, James.”
“And you, too,” James grinned, helpless not to return the man’s happy enthusiasm.
“Mattie,” the man called back over his shoulder, still gripping James’ hand, “Come meet Millie’s new friend, James Potter.”
James glanced back toward Benton’s car as a woman ascended from the passenger’s seat. She was dressed in a pale coat and a slim golden gown that did not exactly bless her bony body. She had large, protuberant eyes and a chin sharp enough to open letters. Her red hair was drawn up into a complicated arrangement of waves beneath a furry ivory hat. She peered at James with cool, professional courtesy.
Millie nodded toward the woman in gold. “And this is my sister, Mathilda Constance.”
“Welcome to Blackbrier Quoit, Mr. Potter,” Mathilda said, gazing at him down the length of her blade-like nose before turning her attention to Topham. “And who shall it be this time, dare I ask?”
“Miss Jillian, M’Lady,” Topham answered immediately. “I believe she served you during your most recent visit. I hope her efforts were satisfactory.”
“It isn’t her fault,” Mathilda sniffed, ascending the steps past the butler. “No outsider can compare to a true house servant.”
“As you say, M’Lady,” Topham nodded, averting his eyes tactfully.
“Come,” Benton said, deliberately ignoring his older sister and smiling again. “Let’s go inside and show James here around the old place. It looks impressive until you realize that it’s really just a stuffy old museum that some people insist on living in. Right, Millie?”
Millie agreed and followed her brother up the steps toward the open double doors. The interior of the house was brilliant with golden light, revealing a long corridor of vaulted ceilings, chandeliers, and darkly gleaming wood.
“Speaking of museums,” Benton announced with a laugh in his voice, “here we find the best exhibits of all! Mr. and Mrs. Vandergriff themselves!”
“Oh, do stop, Benton, you embarrass yourself,” his mother said, but she was smiling, her white-gloved hands outstretched to him. He embraced her while Mr. Vandergriff turned his attention to James and Millie.
“Welcome home, darling,” he said, smiling as Millie trotted up the steps to hug him in the doorway.