Free Shadows of the Silver Screen by Christopher Edge

Then stepping towards them both, he clapped Monty on the back.
    “I see your niece is as sharp as a tack, Mr Flinch,” Gold replied with a forced smile. “For hundreds of years, this manor house has been the ancestral home of the Eversholt family. Hundreds of acres of moorland, the village and copper mine too, came under their command. However, when the last Lord Eversholt died without an heir, the estate was put up for sale by the Crown.”
    Gold glanced up at one of the portraits hanging on the wall. The painting showed the late Lord Eversholt, his imposing figure dressed in voluminous ermine robes. Only his face was uncovered, and a touch of cruelty lingered in his painted smile.
    For a second, a flicker of hatred gleamed in the filmmaker’s gaze. Then, dropping his eyes from the portrait, he turned again towards Monty.
    “The estate has languished unsold for nearly a year now and when I heard that Eversholt Manor lay empty, I knew that I had found the perfect location.”
    The filmmaker turned his gaze towards the window. He looked out across the landscape to where the silhouette of the pithead rose above the trees, almost lost in the gloaming.
    “I persuaded the solicitor in charge of the sale to allow me to film here, convincing him that this would bring a horde of prospective purchasers to his door. After all, who would not wish to live in the house where the illustrious Montgomery Flinch had set his tale?”
    As Monty beamed, a frown creased Penelope’s forehead, the reason why Gold had changed the setting of her story suddenly becoming clear. But this still didn’t explain all the other changes he had made. The sound of a timid knock at the drawing-room door interrupted her thoughts. Turning towards the door with a twirl, Gold raised his voice to a showman’s bark.
    “Come in!”
    The door squeaked open and the face of Miss Mottram peered shyly around the frame. Seeing Montgomery Flinch and his niece standing alongside her employer, she half bowed in greeting as she entered the room.
    “Good evening, Mr Flinch, Miss Tredwell,” she began, her voice a little tremulous. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Edward – I mean, Mr Gold – asked me to bring him tomorrow’s script pages as soon as they were typed.” In her hand she held a loose sheaf of typeset pages. “I’ll just leave these here for you, sir.”
    Miss Mottram carefully set the sheaf of papers down on the reading desk that was stationed next to the fireplace. Penny’s gaze narrowed as she eyed the script. What fresh meddling had Gold inflicted upon her story?
    Clearing her throat, she turned towards the filmmaker. As he glanced across at her, Penelope cast her face in an expression of wide-eyed wonder, fluttering her eyelashes as she began to speak.
    “My uncle let me read your script on the journey down, Mr Gold,” she gushed, “and it was remarkable to see his story in the new light you have cast upon it. What a talent you have, taking his words from the pages of
The Penny Dreadful
and reimagining them for the silver screen.”
    Gold grinned immodestly.
    “There was just one thing that I wondered,” Penny continued, a puzzled frown creeping across her features. “Why have you made so many changes? The scenes on the moor, the argument in the drawing room, even the grisly ending. None of this is as it was described in my uncle’s story. Why even the daughter of darkness herself now answers to the name of Amelia Eversholt. Are these amendments really necessary?”
    At Penelope’s question, a dark cloud passed across the filmmaker’s face. He frowned, meeting her gaze with a glowering stare.
    “The most frightening tales, Miss Tredwell, are those that the audience believe to be real.
The Daughter of Darkness
may be my inspiration, but there are other stories that lurk within these walls as well. Rest assured the changes I have made all add to the truth of this tale.” Beneath the lamplight, Gold’s dark eyes glistened, but before