Everyone in Little
Hetwidge thought Brownley Hall was haunted. It sat up on a lonely hill and overlooked
the land as if a great giant was looking down waiting to stomp on anyone that
got in the way. The castle was very ornate and quite beautiful. It had six
levels that seemed to reach towards the sky and the middle three layers had
balconies with roofs and archways that were six feet tall and about fifteen
feet wide a person could actually stand out on during a rain storm and be dry.
To the left of the castle walls was a tall tower that was gray and round and
seemed to stretch towards the sky as if it were actually touching the clouds
high above. Towards the top was another tiny tower that was also round and gray
and had a top that looked like a witch’s hat. It had been used as a nursery and
so many generations of children played in that room and looked out the tiny
little window that faced the south and could look down on the village and to
the lands below and dream of flying. There were a lot of trees in the front of
the castle that blocked the entrance and from a distance the castle gave the
impression of rising up from the trees.
The inhabitants inside were a different story all together.
On really rainy days if a person stood at the bottom of the
hill and looked up at the castle and saw the lightning hit just right they
would swear that they saw ghosts flying high above the castle walls. For years
there had been rumors that the Brantwells were indeed cursed and that every
male would be doomed to live an unhappy life because of something that an
ancestor had done in the past but no one was able to prove that story true. But
as the years progressed the villagers believed in the rumor and so they sighed
and said the Brantwell’s had once again been hit by the curse.
Lord Jeffrey Brantwell, known to his friends as Brant, was
the newest male to inherit the family fortune and the castle since his father
had passed away six months ago. Not many people actually got to see him since
he seemed to stay in the castle and never come down to the village, so the
people figured that he was a monster and didn’t want to be seen. He was quite
handsome and strong and his features showed he was a man. Even though he wasn’t
classically handsome there was something about his personality that drew women
to him to find out his secrets. But there were times when they feared if they
figured out his secret that he would figure out theirs. He had lived a full
life for thirty-two years and he was quite content. He was six foot three and
had thick brown hair that had hints of grey at the temples and he had deep blue
eyes that could pierce a person’s soul if they got too close. His nose wasn’t
straight and had a ridge on the top where he had gotten into a fight in his
youth and won. He was broad shouldered and his clothes fit him very well and
when he went to London the tailors were always happy to see him.
He had many offers to attend functions in the tiny village
but because he had just returned six months ago he didn’t feel like he had the
time to attend such gatherings nor did he like social gatherings. So he just
either sent notes of regret or ignored the invitations. Some of the villagers
who thought they were the elite set thought of him as a snob and too big for
his britches but some understood and they hoped that maybe they would be the
lucky ones who broke through and had him attend one of their parties.
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