Remy, seated in a reasonably-fashionable-yet-completely-utilitarian carriage, folded her hands in her lap and pondered her future. She felt exactly like Cendrillon, the persecuted heroine in the fairy tale she had absolutely adored as a child. Scorned and abused by a female authority, ordered to slave away at menial and meaningless tasks, and being offered a chance of rescue--something told Remy it was all too good to be true, but what if this truly was her one chance at "happily ever after"? If she took it and eventually lost, then at least she would have attempted to seize the opportunity, but if she never tried at all...Such was tantamount to losing, too, and Remy didn't want to waste her life in the endless lament of "could have, would have, should have". Thus, she steeled her spine and summoned her courage as the carriage bore her slowly up a steep incline to the very summit of the cliff upon which Le Manoir Macabre rested. The only other way down led straight into the sea, right off the edge of that very same cliff.
If I recall correctly, Le Manoir was not originally owned by the St. John family, Remy thought to herself. I believe that the St. Johns acquired it from a wealthy French couple, Maurice and Ludivine du Monde, who were running out of money very quickly due to the massive debts they incurred. Gambling was Maurice's secret vice; social climbing was Ludivine's. Eventually, after they sold the mansion to the original Master St. John--Anthony's great-grandfather--they made a pact to die together as gracefully as they had lived. On their last night in the house, Maurice shot himself with a brand-new invention: Samuel Colt's magnificent 'revolver', and Ludivine drank red wine laced with an extremely potent sedative. How sad! The mansion, which was formerly known as Le Manoir du Monde, became Le Manoir Macabre in local parlance after that...
Shivering due to the sudden cold from getting out of the carriage, Remy let the coachman help her up the wide marble steps to the front porch of the grand old house. She walked with a heavy limp and slow, faltering steps, and thus was grateful for his kind assistance. Knocking on the door three times using the handle of a large brass lion's head, she smoothed her red tea dress.