The Lore Chronicles Collection - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,1
Picture of Dorian Gray, which was first published in 1890. Now, let us retreat inside to see it before the rain swamps us.”
As if on cue, fat droplets began to pelt the ground and the tour group hustled inside. Lee and Debra brought up the rear, drinking in the ambiance of the place as the tour guide droned on about the history of the family that built the house. Lee wasn’t nearly as interested in that as in the house itself and she nearly tuned out everything else but any mention of the famous painting…
Hope.
There were a couple of other tours in the house at this time of day, in the morning when it first opened, as well as other visitors not with any organized tour. Children ran in one of the corridors upstairs and Lee could hear someone admonishing them. As the tour guide headed off into the dining and kitchen area, which Lee had no interest in, she broke off and began her own tour, going in search of the famous painting she so wanted to see.
It wasn’t hard to find.
Much like the Mona Lisa, Hope was in a room with several other paintings and works of art from various time periods. There were marble statues, undoubtedly looted from their country of origin, as well as the paintings on the walls. A gallery of sorts had been built on the east side of the house, with tall ceilings, long windows, and a skylight. The windows had heavy drapes to protect the paintings and the skylight could also be covered.
Lee noticed Hope almost immediately, framed in a hermetically-sealed case unlike any of the other paintings in the chamber. People were already gathered around it and, as the rain began to beat against the windows and the sky darkened with the coming storm, Lee found herself entranced with the painting before her eyes.
It was quite a piece of work.
It was tall, about four feet in height, and the woman in it nearly had her back turned. She was walking away, towards something that looked like Roman ruins in the distance. She was wearing a black dress, flowing and beautiful, and her copper hair was bound up behind her head. She was carrying a candelabra to find her way in the dark landscape of the painting, but there was something beautifully haunting about her face.
It was almost surreal.
Pale skin, like cream, hadn’t seem to age over the two hundred years since the painting had been commissioned. As a couple moved away from observing the painting, Lee moved forward and found herself staring up at it, as if she couldn’t take her eyes off of it.
“Do you know the story behind it?”
The voice came from behind and Lee turned to see an older man standing there. He was tall, dark, and handsome, and when their eyes met, he smiled politely.
She smiled in return.
“I know that it was painted in 1815 and that it’s the wife of the owner of Blackmoor Hall at that time,” she said. “My mom had a book about Blackmoor Hall and I was always fascinated by this painting.”
He took a few steps towards her, looking at her curiously. “You’re American.”
“I am.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment before turning his gaze to the painting. “That painting is the draw here,” he said. “Maybe because it’s so mysterious.”
Lee nodded as she looked back to the painting. “It’s very enigmatic,” she agreed. “She looks as if she has a secret or something. Maybe she’s running from something.”
“Or to something.”
“True,” she said. “You get the feeling that she’s either spooked or someone to be trusted. She looks at you as if you can follow her and she’ll make sure you’re safe. Or she’s running away because something is after her. It’s hard to tell, but I’ve always gotten an odd feeling from this painting.”
“I do, too, and I’ve been seeing it my entire life.”
Lee looked at him again. “You’re local?”
“You could say that.” He paused. “So, are you on holiday or business?”
“Both. I’ve got some business in London but I couldn’t resist coming up here to look around and see Blackmoor.”
“Because of your mother’s book?”
Lee nodded. “Definitely,” she said. Then, she started to look around. “It’s weird, but I kind of have a strange sense of déjà vu here. Like I’ve been here before. But I’m sure it’s because of that book. As a kid, I used to pretend I lived here.”