September 13

As the mid-September sun cast long, amber shadows across the Witham, Sir Edmund Brattleby took the harrowing decision to wall up the Low Gate. The Great Mortality had already devastated the tenantry at Owmby, and the first whispers of the 'pestilential carbuncles' had reached the castle's inner bailey. With a heavy heart, Edmund personally oversaw the masonry work, commanding that no soul, regardless of rank or pleading, should cross the threshold until the air was purged. His sister, Lady Maude, stood atop the battlements, scattering dried hyssop and rue into the breeze, a desperate aromatic barrier against the unseen miasma rising from the damp fens.

Inside the cloisters, the atmosphere was one of grim prayer and meticulous isolation. The House of Brattleby survived that autumn while neighboring manors became silent tombs, yet the cost was the total severance of the fief from the world beyond. The stores of salt-pork and ale were rationed with iron discipline by the steward, Hugo Vane, who recorded in the ledger that the silence of the village below was more deafening than any siege engine. This act of preservation defined the family’s survivalist ethos for generations to come, cementing their reputation for ruthless pragmatism in the face of divine wrath.

When the household is in a state of 'Locked Grace'—be it for mourning, plague, or holy retreat—the Master of the Keys holds a rank secondary only to the Baron himself. During these periods, all internal processions are led by the jangling of the chatelaine’s ring. It is the height of discourtesy to request the opening of a barred portal after the vesper bell has tolled, as such actions signify a breach of the collective safety. One must wait for the formal inspection of the seals at dawn before any petition for movement may be granted by the Seneschal.

Furthermore, when dining during a lockdown, the salt-cellar must remain covered at all times to prevent the corruption of the air from tainting the seasoning. Noble guests, if they find themselves caught within the walls during such a period, must cede their usual seating rights to the household physician, acknowledging that in times of crisis, the preservation of the bloodline outweighs the seniority of the peerage. To act otherwise is to display a vanity that invites the very calamity the House seeks to avoid.

Begin by peeling the Warden pears, leaving the stems intact to signify the nobility of the fruit. In a deep pewter or ceramic vessel, combine the Claret with the sugar and aromatics. Grate the ginger finely and stir in the Grains of Paradise, ensuring the spice is evenly distributed to provide a sharp, peppery heat that counters the sweetness of the wine. Add the sandalwood to achieve a deep, regal crimson hue that will please the eye of the lord and his guests.

Place the pears upright in the liquid and simmer very gently over a low peat fire. They must be poached until they are tender enough to yield to a silver spoon but still firm enough to stand proud upon the platter. Once softened, remove the fruit and boil the liquid vigorously until it reduces to a thick, lustrous syrup. Pour this reduction over the pears and serve chilled or lukewarm with thin wafers, as the cool properties of the fruit are said to temper the autumnal humors of the blood.