Ravenwood

by Margaux Gillis

  “I cannot do this instrument justice and wouldn’t dream of assaulting you any further.”

  “I’m sure you’re only out of practice. Continue.” Hayter was by the small bar, pouring himself a draught of brandy. Elinore grimaced and tried again. She played surely the worst minuet all the country had ever heard, flinching at every wrong note. As the last, discordant note rang in the room, Hayter clapped madly, lavishing her with false praise.

  “Well done, my dear, well done. You must play for us every evening.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t recall any other songs,” she deferred quickly.

  “I will find your aunt’s musical scores. She had dozens.” Hayter waved a hand blithely. Elinore nodded tightly and wondered if she could burn the music as quickly as Hayter could find it. As she stood from the pianoforte, she turned to look at Caleb who had a terse expression on his face.

  “You kept time well.”

  It was probably the kindest thing that could be said for her playing and the stoicism with which he delivered the words warmed her heart.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling at him. She took a seat on a stiff-cushioned chair, and started counting down from an hour in her head. Just one hour, then she could be free.

  Chapter Seven

  After an hour of being under Hayter’s scrutinizing gaze, attempting polite answers and genteel conversation, Elinore made her excuses to retire for the night, claiming fatigue. As she stood, so too did Caleb and Hayter. Hayter moved as though he would come toward her and she thought about the way his hand lingered on her neck before dinner. She cringed inwardly, dreading Hayter’s intrusion into her personal space. Perhaps something showed on her face for, suddenly, Caleb asked Hayter for an update on their family business affairs. Elinore took the distraction and escaped.

  Mrs. Davenport stopped her in the hallway just as she was leaving the parlor and let her know that she would be up shortly to change her bandages and assist Elinore in removing the dreaded corset and dress. On her way upstairs, Elinore paused at the portrait of Victoria and Hayter, again noting the similarities between herself and her late aunt. Of course, long dark hair wasn’t rare - indeed you could not throw a stone in the city without hitting several ladies with the same style - but Elinore could see herself in the shape of Victoria’s eyes and the curve of her lips. Elinore’s mother had the same features and the three of them would have made a matched triad. Though Elinore could see she favored her aunt more than her mother. Had they been out together, Elinore would have likely been thought to be Victoria’s daughter instead of her niece.

  The raven in the portrait caught her eye. Black with only slight shading around the eyes, it had a feral gaze similar to Hayter. It looked as though both of them were staring out at the viewer. Elinore moved past the painting slowly, not quite wanting to turn her back to it. She turned away only when she reached the stairs. Another painting, this time only of a raven, adorned the stairs. As she glanced down, she noted the banister spindles were carved deeply with feathers and clawed feet. She paused on one of the steps, running her fingertips over the fine woodwork. For a moment, she thought she heard Caleb and Hayter’s voices carrying from the parlor and up the stairs, but decided it must be her imagination. She was too far away to be able to hear them.

  Entering her room, she found a low fire already burning, filling the room with a welcome warmth. The staff was extraordinarily well managed. Lunch had been served well, as had dinner. The manor was impeccably kept and she’d yet to enter a room and not find a fire already lit. Happily her trunk, rescued from the carriage, was at the foot of her bed. Thank goodness. She’d have her own things to wear. No matter what state they were in, they were sure to be a great deal better than what she had on. She managed to kneel down despite her current garment and open her trunk, finding that yes, her things were quite wet, but appeared otherwise to be in no worse shape. She was missing one or two dresses and wondered if Mrs. Davenport had already taken them to air out. Elinore found her books, still carefully wrapped in the deepest corner of the trunk. The paper was slightly wet and cold to the touch, but as she unwrapped them, she was relieved to find them unharmed. Opening the pages, she noted none of the ink had run or been ruined. She took a moment to hug her journal close to her chest, grateful for its safety, before tucking it under the mattress of the bed. She unpacked some of her belongings - a portrait of her parents, a box of letters, her writings and some ribbons and thought the room looked quite a bit more like her own now.

  The knock at the door was sturdy and strong, pulling her out of her reverie.

  “Come in.”

  Mrs. Davenport entered, carrying a tray similar to the one she had the night before, as well as some clothing over her arm.

  “I’ve had the seamstress, Miss Carroway, wash and check some of your clothes for damage,” Mrs. Davenport said, setting the tray down on the bed. She lay out the clothes she was carrying carefully. “She’ll have one of your dresses ready for tomorrow and I’ve had your nightgown dried already.”

  “Thank you so much. Please let Miss Carroway know that I certainly don’t expect her to work through the night. If Alice allows, I’ll wear her dress again tomorrow.”

  “Mr. Hayter would not be pleased. I’m sure Miss Carroway will be done. Let’s get you a bit more comfortable and have a look at your arm, shall we?”

  Mrs. Davenport was just as efficient getting Elinore out of the dress as she had been getting her in it. Elinore swore she could hear her ribs creak and her muscles sigh in relief as the corset was unlaced. She had the very unattractive thought of a long length of sausage being split open and bursting out of its casing as the corset fell away. Once in her nightgown and robe, Elinore sat by the fireplace, Mrs. Davenport taking a seat on the ottoman. She was silent as she worked, unwrapping Elinore’s arm. It was a strange thing, Elinore thought as the bandages were unwound - this fascination she had waiting to see what the wounds looked like.

  Black. They were black. Not wholly, not solidly, but tinged around the edges, like badly stained paper. Elinore’s eyes darted from her arm to Mrs. Davenport and back again. She had a tight look about her eyes, her lips thinned and pursed. She set the used bandages down on the floor and Elinore could see the inside of them was also stained dark - black and red.

  Another knock at the door made her jump.

  “That’ll be the younger Mr. Vollmond. I believe he wanted to check on your wounds as well,” Mrs. Davenport said, patting Elinore on the arm lightly before bidding Caleb enter. Elinore firmly closed the flaps of the nightgown, ensuring it was done up to her neck.

  Caleb looked stiff and uncomfortable as he entered, his eyes remaining firmly fixed on Elinore and the housekeeper, as though he might burst into flames if he caught sight of something too feminine or womanly in her bedchamber. As he stepped forward, his eyes moved from Elinore’s face to her arm. His nostrils flared slightly and his jaw flexed.

  “I was just about to apply the second poultice, sir,” Mrs. Davenport said, mixing her foul-smelling ingredients on the tray.

  Elinore couldn’t stop the hiss of pain that ripped through her teeth as Mrs. Davenport spread the mixture on her arm. It seemed to burn more tonight than it had before and she struggled to stay still. She swore she could almost feel it seeping into the bite marks, traveling up her veins, running through her blood, hot and sharp.

  “I wonder if we should change it again in the morning with a fresh application,” Caleb said. Elinore looked back to his face. His words were addressed to Mrs. Davenport as he watched Elinore carefully.

  “That might be just the thing,” Mrs. Davenport agreed. Elinore’s nose twitched at the smell of the paste. Mrs. Davenport wrapped her arm in a fresh swath of gauze, pulling it taut and even. The noxious odor diminished some once covered, but Elinore imagined she could still smell the foul odor, tickling the back of her throat. The bite marks throbbed to the pulse of her heart; hotter than they had been moments before.

  “Thank you
, Mrs. Davenport,” Elinore said, cradling her arm close to her chest. “I’m indebted to you for your ministrations.”

  Mrs. Davenport patted Elinore’s knee before cleaning up, gathering all her items on the tray. “Will you need help tonight with your hair?”

  “Thank you, I shall be fine.”

  Caleb stood stiffly, nodding once curtly at Mrs. Davenport as she left.

  Elinore was now alone in her bedchamber with a man. A frightfully good-looking man at that. Her eyes cast about the room nervously.

  “I trust you found your things in good order?” Caleb asked, tipping his head toward the trunk. “I was happy to hear the footman had returned with your belongings.”

  “Yes, thank you. Mrs. Davenport has already arranged to have some of my clothing cleaned and pressed. My writings and books appear safe as houses.”

  “I’m glad.” There was a brief silence wherein they both stood motionless and Elinore waited for inspiration to strike her. She should say something, shouldn’t she? Something witty or intelligent? Anything at all?

  Before she could think of anything, Caleb nodded again and then took a step backward. “I bid you goodnight, Miss Reed.”

  “Good night, Mr. Vollmond.”

  The latch clicked with a soft sound as he left. Though she’d longed all through dinner and afterward to be alone, she found herself slightly sad after Caleb’s departure. She smoothed her hands over her hair, fingers already searching for pins and pulling them out as the day’s events raced through her mind. Lunch, the library, Alice, dinner. Most of all, the puncture marks on her arm - black and deep, looking like hungry, open mouths. She managed to get her hair undone and found her brush in her trunk, relaxing as she pulled it rhythmically through her hair. As she’d pulled it from her things, it seemed as though the scent from her old home wafted up from the trunk, making her throat catch. Homesickness curled deep in her belly. This time of night, she would normally be reviewing what she and Charlotte had written throughout the day, planning out her next ideas.

  Well, Elinore supposed there was no reason not to continue her traditions here. Ravenwood might be new to her and she to it, but she could still do the same things she’d always done.

  She pulled out the book she and Charlotte had been working on, taking a moment to flip through the pages almost blindly, eyes scanning over the dark writing - some in her hand, some in her friend’s. Then, she started to read. Or at least tried to. It should have been an easy enough task - one she’d done a thousand times before - but the words swam in front of her, her eyes unable to focus on the page. It seemed as though she could see them too clearly and not clearly enough at the same time. She blinked and rubbed at her eyes to no avail. She could see each individual letter, each stroke of ink on the page, but couldn’t make her eyes focus long enough to read the words. Setting the book aside, she put out the candle and tucked herself deep into the covers. She must be overtired. Life was strange and different at Ravenwood, but she could be happy here. She was warm, she was safe and she had the promise of a close friend in Alice. Although she felt an aversion to Hayter, she’d only known him one day. Perhaps she only needed to know him better. She wrinkled her nose. Even thought the thought displeased her, she was practical. She would do what needed to be done to make life at Ravenwood acceptable.

  The howl of a wolf cut through the night and she felt her heart lurch. There was a strange pull at her heart. She wanted to get up, rush to the window and peer outside. What would she see? Elinore did not know. But the urge to find out nearly consumed her. She took a deep breath. She was merely overwrought from the day. She wondered if Caleb heard it. Would he go out hunting again? He had been out late last night and during the day. Elinore wasn’t sure he’d go out again. She couldn’t imagine Hayter heading out. There was something decadent about him. No doubt he would find it too inconvenient to go hunting in the woods. She heard a floorboard creak. Not outside her door, but farther away. Below? On the main floor? No. That was impossible. She couldn’t possibly hear that far. She would have to write Charlotte regarding how her mind was running away from her here at Ravenwood. Charlotte would have some teasing words for her. Or perhaps persuade her to write a story about it. Pushing down the deep stab of longing she felt for her friend, Elinore closed her eyes and vowed to sleep.

  What felt like moments later, she opened her eyes to find herself in the forest. She was in her gown from the carriage-ride - it was unblemished. Not a mark nor a speck of water damage besmirched it. However, her feet were bare and when she lifted the heavy skirts of her dress, she wiggled her toes and saw the pale flesh of them against the dark, muddy and mossy ground of the forest. Dreaming. She was dreaming. She looked around in wonder. The trees of the forest had a shimmer to them - their shapes climbing up against the nighttime sky. She’d never seen such shades of grey, dark blue, dark green and black before. It was dark. So dark she should not be able to see as well as she did. She reached out and touched a leaf, half wondering if it would crumble to dust beneath her fingers for surely such dark color could not be real. It was velvet soft under her fingers and she could almost feel the life force of the greenery against her skin. A sound caught her ear. She turned her head slightly and closed her eyes, hearing some kind of small rodent creature tunneling through the packed dirt, off to her left. Elinore opened her eyes and swung her head around, unerringly finding the small animal, digging in the dirt. She was at once seized with an incredible urge to pounce forward, to leap on it and … do something. She wasn’t sure what.

  A flapping sound echoed in her ear. A raven swooped down from the night sky; its wings suspended against the full moon for a flutter-beat before it sailed down low and came to rest on her shoulder. Its beak nuzzled against her jaw and she turned her head slightly away to give it better access to her neck. It pecked at the soft skin sharply, just the once, and she hissed in pain, turning back to glare at it. It flapped its wings, making a shirring sound with its feathers and then it touched its beak to her ear and she heard the strange whispering she recalled from her dream the night before. It sounded as though thousands of voices were speaking to her at once, but Elinore couldn’t make out any of the words.

  Motion in front of her made her eyes dart to the foliage and she saw white fur moving between the gaps in the trees and the bushes. It was so pale, almost silver in the moonlight. Her eyes tracked the movement - was this something she wanted to capture, or run from? It was coming closer and in that moment, she recognized it. The white wolf. It snarled and the sound echoed in Elinore’s chest, but she didn’t feel fear. The raven’s whispering increased and Elinore tried to listen closer. She could almost understand the words. Her arm burned and she clutched it close to her breast, her fingers a vice around her wrist. The wolf moved closer. Elinore stumbled backward and fell, her arms pinwheeling. The raven flew off, claws digging in one last time before it squawked loudly in annoyance. Her body hit the ground with a teeth-clacking thud.

  There was another growl from the trees, only this one wasn’t from the white wolf. Elinore’s eyes moved left and right. She was flanked now by two wolves in addition to the white one before her. There was now one to her left - grey and white, yellow eyes glowing in the dark. It was the wolf that bit her. Another was on her right - dark, mostly black, it’s eyes were golden, but not burning with a mad light. In front of Elinore, the white wolf stepped forward, watching her with its eyes unblinking. It seemed to speak to her, its mind to her mind.

  Whoever fears the wolf, should not go into the forest.

  Elinore woke with a gasp for breath, sitting upright in bed. Her armed burned, the bite marks hurting nearly as much now as they did when she was first bitten. Looking down, she could see small, black marks where something was leaking through the bandages. Something thick and dark.

  She would not sleep again, not with her heart pounding as it was. A quick glance at the clock showed it was six in the morning. A fine time to rise - she could get up and perhaps assist around the m
anor. She threw back the covers and got dressed, thankful for something of her own to wear, even if it did smell a bit musty from being in the trunk. She fixed her hair in a loose approximation of a bun and deemed herself presentable.

  She met two maids on her way down, the young girls bobbing and curtseying at her. Both averted their gaze and when Elinore paused to introduce herself and enquire after their names, they exchanged nervous glances. After a stretch of silence, the one of the left, a petite brunette, finally spoke.

  “Mary and Amelia, miss,” she said, indicating herself as Mary and the other girl, a mid-height blonde, as Amelia.

  “It’s good to meet you both. Have you worked at Ravenwood long?”

  They again met each other’s eyes as though they weren’t sure they should answer.

  “I hope I’m not keeping you from your duties, but I do like to know people’s names and find out a little about them. I’m hoping to feel a bit more at home.”

  “I’ve lived at Ravenwood my whole life. My mother is another one of the upstairs maids and my father works out in the stables. Amelia came with Mr. Hayter and his wife,” answered Mary.

  “How lovely to grow up here. It’s quite a fine estate. And you both like it here?”

  Another long pause, only this one felt thick and heavy.

  “It’s been a … strange transition since Mr. Caleb’s parents died.”

  Amelia reached out and tugged at one of Mary’s curls and Mary squawked in outrage. “I didn’t say anything!”

  “Mr. Hayter doesn’t like us to gossip. We must be on our way,” Amelia said, pulling on Mary’s hand and tugging the brunette along at a sturdy pace.