Mardenhal, House of Mae
The ten acre estate is well hidden away, tucked behind the blocks of city housing that have built up around it, leaving very little besides alley space between the stone-and-wrought-iron fencing and city houses.
There are other estates, naturally, and many of them were far more developed, but Mardenhal estate boasts a lovely eighth of a mile walk along a well-graveled driveway. To each side of the drive, trees have been cultivated to offer visitors a shady entrance. Along the northern entrance, a natural pond has also been cultured and grown, and while it isn't deep, fresh water wash in and away, leaving clear water for geese, swans, and ducks alike to enjoy. Every now and then, the surface broke as a fish jumped or hit it to gobble up an unsuspecting water bug. The other field is a little overgrown, a modest garden had overrun a modest little garden house. The house was quaint and worn down, with shingles missing, found strewn across the ground, or canted where they hung loosely to the roof. The yard to Mardenhal consumed at least an acre of that plot. More stone had been built up here, with a half-moon drive, packed and graveled. It reflected the curvature of the front entrance to the stately house, and although showing signs of neglect and age, the house rose up with a sense of pride, even with dingy white-washed walls and a few broken shutters.
Mardenhal Entrance:
The grand salon was just that: grand. Here, all three stories came together, in this one room, with its high vaulted ceiling and crescent-shaped stairway. It was the only place with such high ceilings, this section of the house, as two wings stretched east and west, each only two stories high. There were plenty of windows to let in the light, but much of it found itself absorbed by the cherry paneling that lined the salon. It was sparsely decorated with heavy hints of masculinity, and coupled with a refined, elegant taste that didn't give in to extravagance. A few framed portraits were mounted at eye level. Older men and women, many of their names had been engraved on little plaques and riveted to the center of each frame along the bottom run. It was the chandelier, high in the ceiling, that cast light down onto them. It was built of thousands of hanging crystals and lit by candlelight, which could catch and throw little rainbows of light here and there across the high ceiling.
West Wing:
There were four total bedrooms in that west wing, two upstairs and two downstairs. At the end of the hallway, rest an inviting parlor where books of all sorts lined the walls on shelves upon shelves directly to the ten foot high ceiling. There was a ladder on wheels to reach whichever shelf one needed to reach, a chandelier in here, low-hung and lit with candles. Oil lamps on two reading tables. By the fireplace, overstuffed chairs had been arranged to enjoy as much of the heat from the fireplace as one might during the crisp winter months.
East Wing:
Just past it, the hallway to the eastern wing was cordoned off, almost theatrically, with heavy velvet cords on polished brass stanchions. Said hallway seemed a lot more garish in its style than the rest of the old manor. Here, the velvet runner reflected the deep red of the cords that were used to block off entry from the hallway. Said corridor had an odd bend to it, as if one might be looking into it from the concavity of a looking glass. There were several portraits along the golden walls here, in groups of three, or five, or even seven. Some of them were nestled into golden frames, while others were recessed within wooden frames stained a deep pine green. Sometimes, on either side of the double wide hallway, a framed picture sat askance, as if set upon its nail carelessly within those oddly numbered clusters. The pictures themselves were adjusted and aligned as if they might have told some story, but they were old, old stories, of happier times, it seemed, in a house that had seen a lot of sadness. There were extra rooms here, of course, and most of them stood behind closed doors - three closed doors on the left side of the hall, and four on the right. There was also a closed door at the end of the hall. Cobwebs hung in all of the doorways, and it was clear they hadn’t been opened in months, and even years. Past the third door along the right on that hallway, a staircase swept up, and upon its landing stood a locked door. The door was surrounded by more red velvet ropes providing a barrier, and it was apparent that this was, perhaps, the point of no return. For those sensitive to such things, it was clear dark magic had been practiced and still lurked here, and the further down the hall anyone traveled, the heavier the sense of such became.
The Study:
A mere antechamber compared the rest of the house, every corner of Bartholomew Mae’s study was packed and cluttered. At twelve-feet-by-twelve feet, it must have been the smallest room in the house -- though perhaps not, if one had ever seen Andenae’s ‘modest’ closet. There was a door at the opposite side, and to the left of the entrance, there was space enough only for bookcases stacked high with books, boxes, and a few things that might have been heirlooms or puzzles. The farthest wall from the entrance was stacked the highest. Here shelves were built into little alcoves which held books stacked horizontally atop books stacked vertically. There were alcoves with artifacts as well as mundane items, such as statues and old forgotten portraits. Most of the portraits, to the unfamiliar eye, seemed to be of Sadie Lynne Montague. There were three of them set about in different alcoves and shelves, most of them at eye level and all in gleaming gold frames. There was, at the heart of it all, a gold and red rug set atop a checkered green and white tiled floor. The tiles were large, sixteen-by-sixteen inches, the white marble not quite all white and the green marble tiles were as much black and brown as they were green. Near the back wall, set behind the rug was a large mahogany desk. It was easy to see the rug was not entirely parallel to the bottom edge of the desk. On the wall to the left of the desk (when facing it), was a long table set up with a variety of lab instruments. Much of the decor was now covered in cobwebs and dust. The desk had been left cluttered, in disarray. Someone had managed to jimmy open one of the bottom drawers, and it was left yawning wide. Inside, upon inspection, was nothing more than a stack of old parchment pages and a cigar box.
Bartholomew’s Bedroom:
Inside the bedroom suite, it was an elaborate, garish, and obscene display of wealth. The fireplace was set dead center of the far wall. Behind the double door entrance along the wall to the left sat a four-postered bed large enough to sleep five comfortably.
Exterior
There are other estates, naturally, and many of them were far more developed, but Mardenhal estate boasts a lovely eighth of a mile walk along a well-graveled driveway. To each side of the drive, trees have been cultivated to offer visitors a shady entrance. Along the northern entrance, a natural pond has also been cultured and grown, and while it isn't deep, fresh water wash in and away, leaving clear water for geese, swans, and ducks alike to enjoy. Every now and then, the surface broke as a fish jumped or hit it to gobble up an unsuspecting water bug. The other field is a little overgrown, a modest garden had overrun a modest little garden house. The house was quaint and worn down, with shingles missing, found strewn across the ground, or canted where they hung loosely to the roof. The yard to Mardenhal consumed at least an acre of that plot. More stone had been built up here, with a half-moon drive, packed and graveled. It reflected the curvature of the front entrance to the stately house, and although showing signs of neglect and age, the house rose up with a sense of pride, even with dingy white-washed walls and a few broken shutters.
Interior
Mardenhal Entrance:
The grand salon was just that: grand. Here, all three stories came together, in this one room, with its high vaulted ceiling and crescent-shaped stairway. It was the only place with such high ceilings, this section of the house, as two wings stretched east and west, each only two stories high. There were plenty of windows to let in the light, but much of it found itself absorbed by the cherry paneling that lined the salon. It was sparsely decorated with heavy hints of masculinity, and coupled with a refined, elegant taste that didn't give in to extravagance. A few framed portraits were mounted at eye level. Older men and women, many of their names had been engraved on little plaques and riveted to the center of each frame along the bottom run. It was the chandelier, high in the ceiling, that cast light down onto them. It was built of thousands of hanging crystals and lit by candlelight, which could catch and throw little rainbows of light here and there across the high ceiling.
West Wing:
There were four total bedrooms in that west wing, two upstairs and two downstairs. At the end of the hallway, rest an inviting parlor where books of all sorts lined the walls on shelves upon shelves directly to the ten foot high ceiling. There was a ladder on wheels to reach whichever shelf one needed to reach, a chandelier in here, low-hung and lit with candles. Oil lamps on two reading tables. By the fireplace, overstuffed chairs had been arranged to enjoy as much of the heat from the fireplace as one might during the crisp winter months.
East Wing:
Just past it, the hallway to the eastern wing was cordoned off, almost theatrically, with heavy velvet cords on polished brass stanchions. Said hallway seemed a lot more garish in its style than the rest of the old manor. Here, the velvet runner reflected the deep red of the cords that were used to block off entry from the hallway. Said corridor had an odd bend to it, as if one might be looking into it from the concavity of a looking glass. There were several portraits along the golden walls here, in groups of three, or five, or even seven. Some of them were nestled into golden frames, while others were recessed within wooden frames stained a deep pine green. Sometimes, on either side of the double wide hallway, a framed picture sat askance, as if set upon its nail carelessly within those oddly numbered clusters. The pictures themselves were adjusted and aligned as if they might have told some story, but they were old, old stories, of happier times, it seemed, in a house that had seen a lot of sadness. There were extra rooms here, of course, and most of them stood behind closed doors - three closed doors on the left side of the hall, and four on the right. There was also a closed door at the end of the hall. Cobwebs hung in all of the doorways, and it was clear they hadn’t been opened in months, and even years. Past the third door along the right on that hallway, a staircase swept up, and upon its landing stood a locked door. The door was surrounded by more red velvet ropes providing a barrier, and it was apparent that this was, perhaps, the point of no return. For those sensitive to such things, it was clear dark magic had been practiced and still lurked here, and the further down the hall anyone traveled, the heavier the sense of such became.
The Study:
A mere antechamber compared the rest of the house, every corner of Bartholomew Mae’s study was packed and cluttered. At twelve-feet-by-twelve feet, it must have been the smallest room in the house -- though perhaps not, if one had ever seen Andenae’s ‘modest’ closet. There was a door at the opposite side, and to the left of the entrance, there was space enough only for bookcases stacked high with books, boxes, and a few things that might have been heirlooms or puzzles. The farthest wall from the entrance was stacked the highest. Here shelves were built into little alcoves which held books stacked horizontally atop books stacked vertically. There were alcoves with artifacts as well as mundane items, such as statues and old forgotten portraits. Most of the portraits, to the unfamiliar eye, seemed to be of Sadie Lynne Montague. There were three of them set about in different alcoves and shelves, most of them at eye level and all in gleaming gold frames. There was, at the heart of it all, a gold and red rug set atop a checkered green and white tiled floor. The tiles were large, sixteen-by-sixteen inches, the white marble not quite all white and the green marble tiles were as much black and brown as they were green. Near the back wall, set behind the rug was a large mahogany desk. It was easy to see the rug was not entirely parallel to the bottom edge of the desk. On the wall to the left of the desk (when facing it), was a long table set up with a variety of lab instruments. Much of the decor was now covered in cobwebs and dust. The desk had been left cluttered, in disarray. Someone had managed to jimmy open one of the bottom drawers, and it was left yawning wide. Inside, upon inspection, was nothing more than a stack of old parchment pages and a cigar box.
Bartholomew’s Bedroom:
Inside the bedroom suite, it was an elaborate, garish, and obscene display of wealth. The fireplace was set dead center of the far wall. Behind the double door entrance along the wall to the left sat a four-postered bed large enough to sleep five comfortably.
Type
Estate
Owner
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