“Since my dear brother met his maker in a rather untimely fashion, his wife following him not long after.”
Hayter’s words ran over Elinore like a prickly-toothed comb causing gooseflesh to rise on her skin. His eyes caught Elinore’s and she feared if she looked away, he would take that as permission to pounce. She finally had to look away - a fine sheen of moisture rising to her upper lip, her heart pounding. Out of the corner of her eyesight, she saw Hayter smile.
“It’s hard to say when my nephew will return,” Hayter continued and Elinore’s heart sank further. “So young and vigorous. Perhaps he’ll find an inn somewhere and stay for the local delights.”
Elinore could guess very well what Hayter was intimating, but would not give him the satisfaction of expressing that she did.
“Perhaps,” she replied. In her lap, she ran her fingers over the cover of the book Caleb sent her, tracing the imperfections in the cloth.
Blissfully, Hayter excused himself after breakfast to attend to business although not before he took the opportunity to grasp Elinore’s hand where it rested on the table, squeezing her fingers slightly too hard. He admonished her to be a ‘good girl,’ and to practice the piano for at least an hour before she saw him again at dinner. She wondered how improbable it would seem if several piano strings suddenly snapped, rendering the instrument unplayable. His presence seemed to linger after he was gone and she felt the need to be outside, out in the air and away from the manor where he could be lurking around any corner, waiting to pounce.
Once outside it was easy to let the open air and warm sunshine assuage her feelings, like a salve on a wound. She breathed in deeply, cataloguing the scents she was coming to know and love as particular to Ravenwood Her nose wrinkled, a strange scent tickling her nostrils, one she could not place, but felt an immediately dislike for. Something sharp and coppery. She made her way to the stables - looking in on the quiet, solemn creatures would be just the thing to soothe her. As she approached, a young boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen led Storm out of the barn toward a small paddock. Elinore waved brightly to him, smiling when the young lad gave her a small wave in return. Storm whinnied and neighed, her feet kicking up as she pulled against the young boy, who had a hard time keeping his grip on her reins. He was well-footed, but no match for the horse, who was determined not to go into the paddock. She had no notion that she could be of help, knowing nothing about horses, but she didn’t like the idea of the young boy on his own with no assistance.
“Should I call someone?” Elinore asked, approaching carefully. She had no wish to upset the situation further. Storm tugged hard on the reins, freeing them from the boy’s hands and then darted back into the barn, out of sight.
The boy sighed. “I’ll call Mr. Jonah. He’ll know what to do.”
“Is she all right? Storm, I mean,” Elinore asked. The horse had seemed so calm and gentle the day before. However, it wasn’t as though Elinore knew much about animals.
“Something spooked her,” the boy said, his dusty hair falling a bit over his eyes as he looked around. “She usually likes to have a trot in the morning.”
Elinore inhaled again, the strange smell stronger and sharper here by the stable than it had been before up by the manor. “What is that smell?” she asked suddenly.
The boy looked up at her, his dark eyes confused. “I don’t know what you mean, miss?”
“That smell, it wasn’t here yesterday. It’s… metallic. Wet.” Elinore wrinkled her nose and then took a step closer to the paddock, finding the scent stronger. The ground suddenly gave an awful squelching sound under her feet and the horrid smell wafted up strongly, assailing her nostrils. She lifted her skirts and looked down at the ground, finding dark mud beneath her feet.
But it was not mud. It was blood. Blood and… other things.
“Go get Mr. Jonah straight away,” Elinore said to the young boy, keeping her voice low.
He darted off toward the stables as Elinore gingerly stepped backward. Her boots were covered in blood, the bottom of her skirt as well. Now that she knew what she was looking at, she could see the ground had been soaked in it, with bits of matter in the grass. She could not say what those bits were.
Hearing footsteps coming toward her, Elinore turned to see Jonah along with the young boy and George from the house.
“Miss Reed.” Jonah nodded at her and returned the same to him. “Young Pete says you wanted to see me.”
Elinore wasn’t sure if she should continue on in front of Pete. He looked young, but he was likely a country boy, used to things she had no knowledge of. Well, there was no time like the present and no need to dance around the topic.
“There’s a great deal of blood in this area. It’s likely what spooked the horse. I don’t know much about country ways, but I would think this is not a normal occurrence.”
Jonah and George exchanged a look and then stepped past Elinore, to the area she indicated with her hand, inspecting the ground. Their faces were grim.
Jonah turned to George and though he kept his voice low, Elinore had no trouble hearing his words. “Take Pete and take stock of the barn, see what’s missing. Round up some lads. We’re off to the woods today.” George nodded firmly and bowed quickly at Elinore before leading Pete toward the barn. Jonah took one last look at the blood on the ground and then came back to where Elinore stood.
“I don’t suppose you’re likely to faint.”
“I haven’t fainted yet.”
“You’re worthy of Ravenwood for sure,” he said cryptically, then sighed. “You’d be correct, miss. It’s not normal. But it’s not quite unexpected either.”
“The feral wolf.” Elinore had surmised as much. Jonah nodded again. “You’ll be going out with some men?”
Jonah’s jaw tightened. “We’ll have to. It’s hunting again. We’ll have to hunt it. Though without young Mr. Caleb…” he trailed off, looking into the woods.
“Is Hayter not as experienced? Or will he not go with you?”
Jonah turned back to Elinore and she felt the weight of his gaze settle across her entire body. “I wouldn’t like to be long in the woods with Mr. Hayter.”
Thinking of her long meals with Hayter, of the way his presence loomed, of how the denizens of Ravenwood feared him, Elinore could only nod herself in agreement.
“Nor I.”
“Best you go inside, miss, just in case. This attack… the blood was left here, right on Ravenwood grounds, but no body. I don’t know what we’ll find in the forest, if anything, but I’d feel better knowing you were in the manor.”
Dread filled her heart at the thought of going back inside the manor where Hayter was, but she knew the sense of Jonah’s words.
“I’ll speak to both Mrs. Thistlewaite and Mrs. Davenport. We can prepare you some traveling satchels of food and provisions. Once you’ve gathered the men, please stop by the manor before you leave.”
He took his leave of her and she started the walk back to the manor, her thoughts heavy as she walked. This must be the work of the wolf that bit her, still roaming the countryside. She wished Caleb would return from whatever work he was doing. Though Elinore felt safe from the feral wolf inside the manor, there was still Hayter. She felt as though there were no peace to be had anywhere - neither outside Ravenwood, nor within.
Mrs. Thistlewaite and Mrs. Davenport, along with Alice and one of the serving girls, were all more than happy to prepare items for the men for their hunting. Elinore felt a burst of camaraderie working in the kitchen with the women, their voices soft and easy with one another. Jonah and the men came by the back kitchen door before they set out, their faces grim. Elinore was surprised when Jonah addressed her before they left, informing her that should they be unsuccessful, half the men would be back before nightfall, but the other half would remain out, searching or hunting. He seemed to wait for some kind of gesture from her at his words and she nodded and said she thought that was a fine plan. Satisfied with her response, the men se
t out. Mrs. Davenport stood behind Elinore in the doorway, watching the men leave.
“It’s good of you to give your approval to them,” the housekeeper said.
Surprised by her words, Elinore turned her head to face her. Mrs. Davenport’s eyes were far away and distant as she watched the men make their way to the forest. “They hardly need my approval.”
“I wonder.”
The day passed long and slowly, like watching molasses pour out on a cold day. The feeling in the manor itself was also thick. Her limbs feeling restless, Elinore ended up in the staff’s living area, darning some freshly laundered socks, happy for something to do. Night finally fell and with it, as Jonah promised, half of the men returned, young George with them. He asked to speak to Elinore privately in the kitchen and she obliged.
“John Moran up the hill is missing three sheep, but we found no other… remains,” he said slowly, as though he’d searched for a better word to use, but had not been able to find one. Elinore nodded gravely at his words, again unsure if he was waiting for some kind of sign from her, as Jonah had previously that morning.
“And will you go out again tomorrow, if nothing is found tonight?”
George looked unsure, his young face solemn.
“Would it be better to wait for Caleb to return if you’re not successful?”
“That it might be, miss.”
Feeling empowered, Elinore said, “That’s what we shall do. I… dislike the thought of you all out there for an interminable amount of time.”
He looked relieved at her words, taking his leave from her with a small nod, going back to speak to the other men. Elinore wished she could go with them, but she was no doubt expected at dinner. With Hayter.
Hayter was entirely unconcerned with where part of his staff was, if he noticed at all. Elinore thought he probably did not, having no inclination, it seemed, to know any of the staff by name. He inquired after Elinore’s day, his sharp eyes watchful of her. Not knowing how to answer, she simply replied it had been as many other before and surely many others would be after - she spent the day enjoying Ravenwood. He looked pleased at her answer before launching into his dinner, cutting his meat into large pieces, his steak still bloody and red on the inside. Elinore had requested hers cooked longer and thought she saw disappointment flash over Hayter’s eyes when she did. His came out from the kitchen nearly raw with red juices flowing out with each press of his utensils. Hayter caught Elinore staring at his plate and smiled, his teeth slightly red.
“Perhaps you find yours cooked too well?”
“Not at all. Mrs. Thistlewaite has done an excellent job,” Elinore answered truthfully, turning her eyes away from Hayter.
“And how is your arm,” he asked, apropos of nothing.
“Fine, Uncle. It hardly pains me at all.”
“That is indeed excellent news.” His smile was sharp and his visage accompanied by the scrape of his knife against his plate caused her to shiver. “And again, you need not call me ‘uncle.’ I’m hardly your elder. Many girls your age have husbands older than me.”
His comment scraped across her already frazzled nerves. The thought of being with Hayter, as a wife, was not only preposterous to her, but offensive.
After dinner, she again was pressed into playing the piano. Not only had her playing not improved at all, she also found her mind wandering as she sat at the bench. Her thoughts were focused on the blood she’d stepped in that morning, the lack of any remains and the other missing animals. She thought of the staff of Ravenwood - how they all seemed to be waiting for something - something dire or fortuitous, she could not tell. But the sense of something ‘imminent’ pervaded the manor. Elinore wanted to pace - indeed she wished she could not only pace throughout Ravenwood, but pace the grounds, as though she needed to survey he land.
The only thing that settled her was when, at bedtime, Mrs. Davenport again came to her room with a pot of tea. She took the time to brush out Elinore’s hair with the same languid, easy strokes she’d used before and a heavy, sleepy feeling overtook her. She was falling asleep just as Mrs. Davenport leaned over her and, as she had the night before, told Elinore to sleep well and not to hear the call of the wolf.
The next morning, the rest of the hunting party returned, tired, dirty and unsuccessful. Just outside the dining room, as she was about to enter for breakfast, Jonah came to Elinore, and detailed their findings, or lack thereof. She repeated her notion that it would likely be best to wait for Caleb to return, noting how the young man seemed to sag in relief upon her words.
“He trusts you,” said Mrs. Thistlewaite as she served Elinore her breakfast. Hayter was still absent, preferring to take his meals later, usually after a walk with Elinore. “We all trust you.”
The weight of their trust was a heavy, yet, comfortable weight on Elinore’s shoulders.
The days passed, bleeding into one another and Caleb still did not return. There were no further animal attacks that she knew of and all of Ravenwood was on edge. For Elinore, time was measured in intervals - breakfast alone, a walk with Hayter, time with Alice, time in the library, writing, knitting, reading. Elinore felt she was some kind of mindless golem, going through the motions of life admirably, but waiting for something. Or someone.
She became churlish with Hayter, and though she thought it might dissuade him, he only seemed amused by it. She gave short answers to his questions or chose not to answer at all. She drank wine with dinner and cared not for propriety, ordering a second glass or another plate of food as she liked. She hoped Hayter would grow disgusted with her lack of manners and unladylike behavior, but instead he laughed. Once he clapped his hands together and praised her appetite, noting it was so pleasurable to see a lady with such hungers. Elinore drank an entire glass of wine in three gulps after that, out of spite. She played the piano each night, crashing and banging on the ivory keys as though they personally offended her, hoping Hayter would declare her hopeless and call an end to her playing. He found it amusing and marveled at her passion. Elinore went to bed each night feeling like a caged animal. She opened her window, breathed in the night air and watched the moon. She wanted to leap from the second story, to the ground, and run.
She had nowhere to go.
Mrs. Davenport came every night to check her wounds and to offer tea. Though it was the same beverage, it began to taste bitter and sour to Elinore, but she had not the heart to decline it. Mrs. Davenport’s face was tighter and sterner each night as she examined Elinore’s wounds. The bite marks were closed shut, but kept their dark, blackish tone. Black lines snaked up Elinore’s arm across her chest, toward her heart, but Elinore no longer feared sickness. She should have been horrified by the spindly lines working across her skin, but when she looked at them, she felt strong. Powerful. She still feared Hayter coming to her room at night, but at the same time, she was almost… pleased by it? She relished the idea. Not that she would be happy to see him, but that she would be angry. Angry and vicious. She would curl her lips back like that of the white wolf and make the same low, growing sound in her throat and he would fear her. She would make him fear her.
Her dreams each night were of the white wolf, the raven, and the forest. She heard the call of the feral wolf - muted and filmy, as though it was behind a thick veil. Some nights there was another call, another howl - one that belonged neither to the feral nor the black wolf. The white wolf’s ears would go upright and narrow against her canine head and she would make a low, displeased noise and Elinore’s heart beat with the uncertainty of it all. The raven would whisper in Elinore’s ear and she began to understand the whispered tones as words. Caution, careful, patience, prudence - these were the words she heard from the raven, but she did not know what they meant.
Elinore continued to have breakfast and then walk with Hayter. She managed to only stiffen and glare when he touched her, but kept herself from brandishing her fork like a weapon or her lips from curling in a snarl. She continued to write in the library wit
h Alice during the day, stealing away for a casual lunch with the Thistlewaites or joining members of the staff in the kitchen. She visited the stables, speaking with the stable hands, checking in on the horses. She continued having dinner with Hayter and playing the piano in the evening, striking out wrong notes and badly tempo’d pieces that he falsely praised. But all the time, she felt as though she were waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. For something, for someone, for some occurrence to break the brittle quiet at Ravenwood.
At night, she went to bed feeling lonely and bereft. Although she knew it couldn’t possibly be true, she felt as though the manor didn’t even carry Caleb’s scent any longer. In her dreams, the white wolf moped around the forest even as the raven whispered in Elinore’s ear, speaking of the moon, and cycles, and patience. Each night, Elinore would ask the white wolf where the black wolf was, and each night, the white wolf would howl and they would both patiently wait, hearing nothing but silence on the night air.
Then, finally, after a full week of breakfasts, walks, dinners and horrid piano playing, in her dream the white wolf’s ears pricked up and Elinore heard it. An answering howl - not the feral wolf’s tuneless and jarring howl, not that of the unknown wolf from the forest. No, this was the black wolf’s howl - a response to the call of the white she-wolf. It was further away than Elinore hoped, but it was there - coming along on the night air. The black wolf had heard her and responded. He was coming. Something in Elinore eased and relaxed. She fell into a deeper sleep and dreamed no more that night.
Chapter Thirteen
With Hayter’s presence continually looming over her and with all of Ravenwood tense and unhappy, Elinore started a morning routine. When she woke, she stayed in bed for a moment and reminded herself that her silence was as powerful as noise, that good posture and a stiff spine could convey her meaning as easily as sharp words, and that she must remain calm and unshakeable in the face of Hayter’s insinuations and leering glances.
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