Written by the dangerously talented Mrs. Tansy Undercrypt...if you would like to know more of this story, or want to wander down the crumbling path to dark delights, please visit us at www.MourningDollPlayhouse.com, our deliciously dark production company.
Overture
From scraps of paper found in the room of Mrs. Philip (Temperance) Castmarble, St. Armengard’s Respite House:
” … the full moon’s light streaming in through the painted glass … Mrs. Dreadpenny at the harpsichord, so pale but sternly focused … fingers flying from the keys like birds fleeing their cages … am spellbound … she, only a beginner, but sounds so powerful and rich in their melancholy filled the parlor without effort and without end … it could not be!”
“The servants moved quickly from the back of the house to the upper rooms with purpose but not running … remember thinking they cannot be cleaning at this hour of night … horrible, heart-breaking music resonating in the chamber and I cried out “This will put me in the ground!” … silence … Her beautiful, haunting face before mine whispering “… not to bury, but to unearth, madam” … a creak at the back door …”
“Something dragging itself through the hunt door, breathing heavily and unevenly … my arms a mass of gooseflesh … no one uses that door save the master of the house home from gaming … the master of this house is long since vanished … the light relentless upon her as she sits motionless against the instrument with her eyes locked on the darkness in the hallway … what happens next … I am feverish … “Arabella”, says the voice … “Arabella, my love” … it is a rich baritone, scratched and gutteral with lack of use … a voice from a throat filled with dirt …”
Here ends Part the First.
From scraps of paper found in the room of Mrs. Philip (Temperance) Castmarble, St. Armengard’s Respite House:
” … the full moon’s light streaming in through the painted glass … Mrs. Dreadpenny at the harpsichord, so pale but sternly focused … fingers flying from the keys like birds fleeing their cages … am spellbound … she, only a beginner, but sounds so powerful and rich in their melancholy filled the parlor without effort and without end … it could not be!”
“The servants moved quickly from the back of the house to the upper rooms with purpose but not running … remember thinking they cannot be cleaning at this hour of night … horrible, heart-breaking music resonating in the chamber and I cried out “This will put me in the ground!” … silence … Her beautiful, haunting face before mine whispering “… not to bury, but to unearth, madam” … a creak at the back door …”
“Something dragging itself through the hunt door, breathing heavily and unevenly … my arms a mass of gooseflesh … no one uses that door save the master of the house home from gaming … the master of this house is long since vanished … the light relentless upon her as she sits motionless against the instrument with her eyes locked on the darkness in the hallway … what happens next … I am feverish … “Arabella”, says the voice … “Arabella, my love” … it is a rich baritone, scratched and gutteral with lack of use … a voice from a throat filled with dirt …”
Here ends Part the First.
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