by Nhys Glover
She did not doubt anything that Byron had told her. That her father had become this monster, and showed compassion for others who suffered his plight, made her strangely proud. She understood now why he might not have wanted his wife and child to know what he had become.
A small part of her regretted not being given the chance to choose. It felt like he had stolen something from her. Monster or not, she suddenly realised that she would have loved to have known her father better.
And there was still a way to know a little more about him. His letter would give her the missing insights she needed.
Rising slowly, she made her way out of the room and down to the lower floor of the Keep, where the study was located. Here, she knew, the enigmatic guardian awaited her, with the answers to the last of her questions. Why had her father brought her here now, after protecting her from this nightmare for so long? He could so easily have left her inheritance to her, without the stipulation to stay here for three months. She would never have had to know.
The man who had set up this compassionate haven for these creatures like himself was not a man of cruelty, she now knew. There was something else he had in mind by forcing her hand.
Now she would find out what.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A stony stranger met her when she opened the study door, the now familiar frown marring his broad forehead. Wordlessly, he offered her a linen envelope with her name engraved on it. It surprised her how shaky her hands were as she took, and opened it. A single sheet of folded linen paper was inside the envelope. It was covered on both sides with a shaky scrawl that took all her concentration, and the lamp Byron had lit, to help her decipher it.
My dearest Phillie
If you are reading this then you have come to Breckenhill Keep, and found out my terrible secret. I am so sorry to have disillusioned you about your old father. While I lived, I fought long and hard over whether to contact you. I could not do it while your mother lived. She was a sweet woman, and I loved her dearly, but she was not made of sterner stuff.
An officer under fire learns to be a good judge of character. Learns to read the men he commands. His life, and those of his men, depends on it. So I knew that my secret would destroy your mother. She was not strong enough to bear my burden. She was happier living her respectable life as the war hero's widow. I could not even give her money from an anonymous source, because her pride made her unable to accept charity.
When she died, I made plans to contact you. I knew my beloved daughter had the makings of a hero, had she been a man. I knew that you might be capable of sharing my secret. But then my sources told me you had found a home with a good friend, and there was hope that a suitable husband would be found for you. I did not want to spoil your chances. I thought that you were better off making your way without me. And I lived on the hope that one day…
But time ran out for me. An injury I sustained while in my other form became poisoned, and I now know I have not long to live. My beloved girl, I grieve to have not been brave enough to contact you earlier, to have trusted that you, once you knew me for who and what I was, would love me just the same.
You do not have to remain at Breckenhill Keep. But there was no other way of letting you fully see what my life was like. What I had become. Nor was there another way for you to meet the young man I have come to love as a son.
I do not know what you will think of Byron. He is not every young lady's idea of the perfect man. He is arrogant and bad tempered. He says what he thinks, and never sugar-coats his words for politeness sake. And yet, he is the kindest man I have ever known. His compassion for the plight of the monster who killed his parents marks him as someone very special. I could not die without giving you the opportunity of meeting him.
I do not see my role as match-maker. You are both strong enough characters to know your own minds and hearts. I can only hope that the two people I love, more than any others, might find true happiness together. If not, then I ask that you leave the Keep in his capable hands, to continue our work. I have made a large bequest in his favour, and, added to his parent’s substantial wealth, he has the financial support to stay or go, as he sees fit. But I know in my heart of hearts that he will stay.
My dear, darling daughter, do not think of me as a monster who deserted you. Remember me as the man you once knew – the loving father. For, no matter what destiny has made of me; that never changed.
My love always,
Father
Tears poured down Phil's face as she finished the letter. She looked up from the pages of scrawl, and met Byron's searching glare. Through her tears, she smiled sadly.
‘Do you know what this says?’ she asked.
‘No. It was sealed when he gave it to me, and your father did not tell me what he wrote.’
‘He called me a hero. Up until this moment, my choices would have made mockery of such a belief. I wanted to run from this place, as fast as my legs would take me. I wanted to forget I had ever had a father.’
She stopped speaking, and looked down at the single sheet of paper that had turned her life upside down again. This time, it felt like she was up the right way, for the first time since news of his death had devastated her world.
‘And now?’ She could hear the cautious hope in Byron’s voice. He wanted to believe in her, as her father had. He wanted her to stay.
‘And now I want to know my father and his legacy. I want to see value in what he was trying to do here. What you are trying to do here. It is hard for me to see these people as anything but monsters. But while ever I do, I have to see my father that way, too. And this,’ she held out the letter. ‘This shows me he was not a monster. He was a compassionate and brave man, struggling to make a worthwhile life for himself and those like him.’
‘So you will stay for three months, as the Will required?’
‘Yes, I will. I want to fully understand what my choices will mean. If I run away now, I will never know.’
‘Good. That is good. I know your father would be very pleased by your decision.’ He allowed himself to smile just a little. She knew he was not letting himself get too optimistic. And he was right to do so.
Even after she had stayed her three months, the chances were that she would leave this place forever. There was a whole world beyond the walls of Breckenhill Keep that she wanted to explore. She was not a self-sacrificing saint like Byron. She would not dedicate her life to the wellbeing of a group of people she didn’t much like. She would not imprison herself forever in the wilds of the Yorkshire Moors. Her father might want her to form an attachment to Byron, and stay, but that was impossible. No matter how much her heart cried out to the contrary.
‘So, did he give you a reason why he brought you here?’ Byron asked, coming to her side to take her arm.
‘He wanted me to know him and you.’ She let him direct her toward the study door. It was the first gentlemanly action she could remember him making.
‘Me?’
She looked up at him, and found she couldn’t hold back from him. Grinning cheekily, she tilted her head to a coquettish angle, and batted her eyelashes at him in an exaggerated parody of flirtation.
‘It would seem my father saw you as husband material, for all your arrogance and bad temper.’
He let out a loud and hearty laugh that made her grin more broadly. What was it about this man’s laugh that made her heart lift? How could they have formed such a symbiotic relationship so quickly, that meant his mood could so affect hers?
‘He brought you here for me? He must have been further gone in those last hours than I thought.’
‘You do not approve of his match-making?’ She batted her eyelashes again, and dimpled her cheeks. He roared with laughter.
Then he sobered, and she felt the change in his mood, as surely as if it were her own. ‘He would know what a match between us would mean. I find it hard to imagine him wanting all this for you. If you were my daughter, I would want bright, glittering balls and handsome
young men dancing attendance on you. I would want the richest and most titled suitor I could find for you, so that I knew that you would live the perfect life. I would never condemn you to Breckenhill Keep and someone like me.’
She turned so she could look up at him, face to face. All silliness was forgotten. The world he wanted for her so matched her own desires that it hurt. The only difference for her would be him. There would be no need of a rich and titled beau for her. Byron Carstairs would be all she would ever want or need. But she couldn’t have him and that other world. The only way she could have him was to accept this nightmare as her own for a lifetime.
No romance was worth that.
CHAPTER NINE
Phil threw herself into the world of Breckenhill Keep with a vengeance. Now she knew who and what these people were, she was determined to assess their worth, as she would any person she became acquainted with. If her father saw something worth saving in these souls, then she would discover what that was for herself.
She first had to meet each of them, and discover their place in the household. Byron made it his task to help her do this as quickly as possible. He declared a special welcome dinner in her honour the next night, where all those who lived and worked at the Keep would attend.
To help alleviate some of Charlotte’s issues with her, Phil asked to be allocated her father’s room. In this way, she felt she could not only make peace with the girl, but get to know her father a little better. His room would be a reflection of him.
That his room was only half the size of the one Byron had given her, was a bit of a shock. But, it did give her an insight into her father. He didn’t require luxurious surroundings. He was content with a soldier’s space. But Byron was not as willing for her to let go of the luxuries. From somewhere, he had a large down-filled mattress and four-poster, mahogany bed brought up to replace the flat, comfortless pallet her father had used.
He also made sure it was covered with the best linens and blankets the Keep had available. And he replaced the old leather chair that stood in front of the fireplace with a softer more comfortable piece of furniture. But Phil wouldn’t let him take her father’s chair away. She had him set it over by the window, so that when she wanted to feel close to her father she could sit in it, and stare out at the wild moors that had been his home for the last ten years of his life.
As her new room was being made ready for her, Phil had a chance to get to know Mary, her little maid. She was such a quiet little thing that it was easy to forget her existence. It was even harder to imagine her as a werewolf. Anyone less fierce she was yet to meet.
At first, the girl kept her head down and her shoulders curved in, as if she protected her heart from attack. Any replies she made to Phil’s questions were in monosyllables. It was as if she was trying to keep distance between herself and her new mistress.
In the end Phil sat the girl down, and spoke to her directly.
‘Mary, you don’t know anything about me, so it is easy to think that I would be like any other upper-class lady you have known. I am not. I lived in genteel poverty for most of my life. My mother crocheted lace collars to make enough money for us to live. When she died, I became a governess – a servant just like you. I don’t want us to have class barriers between us. I would like to be your friend, if I may.’
The mouse-like woman suddenly looked up at her, and met her gaze. Her pale blue eyes were anything but mousey. They burned with a hellish fire that took Phil’s breath away.
‘It ain’t class that separates us, Miss, ‘tis the beast. You can’t know what it is to be one of us, even if you live here for the rest of your life. And monsters like us don’t have friends. Ever.’
Phil didn’t know what to say to that. She felt rejected, as surely as if the woman had snubbed her in public. But it didn’t feel like the rejection was personal. It felt more like she was unable to imagine someone like herself having something as ordinary as friendship. As if she didn’t deserve it. That was so sad. She wondered what had happened to the girl to make her feel cut off from the rest of humanity this way. Other than the obvious.
Later in the afternoon, Byron stopped in to see how the settling in was progressing. Mary had gone back to her normal activities by then, and Phil was busy sorting her books onto her father’s book case next to his desk.
‘Can you tell me a little about Mary? She is so hard to get to know,’ she asked him as he hovered just inside the open doorway.
Byron frowned, and closed the bedroom door behind him. Then he sat on her father’s chair, so he could look thoughtfully out the window at the world that was still wet and overcast.
Phil put down her books, tried to forget that Byron had sealed them into this room together, alone, and went to sit on her new chair by the low burning fire.
‘Mary came to us about three years ago. She was injured trying to save the child in her care from attack. It was winter, and Mary had stayed too long at the park with her charge. The beast toppled the child, mauling her to death, before Mary had a chance to do anything. When she did, the beast turned on her, and bit her hand. A constable shot the beast dead before it could do more harm.’
‘Do all of Her Majesty’s Constabulary know of the existence of werewolves?’
‘No. There is a special task force spread thinly around the country – a secret task force, made up of those who have had personal contact with werewolves. Their role is to follow up on any sightings, track down the beasts, and kill them, if they are an immediate threat to the populace.
‘They inform us of what has transpired. We step in where the person has returned to himself, and survived. And we take in those who have been turned. The Captain had tried to create a protocol where the beasts could be trapped, rather than killed, during the full moon. But it was too dangerous. The slightest injury condemned a person to this living hell. The risk was too great.
‘We brought Mary to us a few days later, after she had recovered a little from the shock of what she had witnessed. She blames herself for the death of her charge. She hates the beast that killed that child, the beast that she now is. Her self-loathing and guilt are common amongst the residents.’
Phil sat quietly, turning over what she had learned. It seemed so unfair that someone as brave as Mary obviously was, should be condemned to life as one of these loathed beasts.
‘One thing you need to know about the werewolf. It attacks only those that are wounded or are, in some other way, defenceless. Like children. That is why a battlefield is sure place to find them.’
‘I have seen no children living here. Except Jamey, of course.’
‘Children never survive an attack.’
Phil fell silent again, as she tried to digest this horrifying piece of news. No wonder these people felt such self-loathing. To think that they were capable of killing helpless children… it was awful.
‘So, do not expect to make a friend of Mary. She is closest to Charlotte, because she feels sorry for her, and Cook, because they see themselves as servants. But Mary has no real friends.’
‘Was Will turned in the Crimea too?’
‘No, Will returned home unscathed. He became a professional pugilist, and after one particularly vicious fight he was on his way home when he came upon a wolf attacking a drunk. He drove the beast off, but not before the drunk was dead. As far as he remembers, the beast didn’t bite or scratch him, but his open wounds from the fight probably allowed the contagion to enter his system. He continued to fight, and it wasn’t until after his first full moon that he had a sense of what had happened to him.
‘What you must understand is that when they are in werewolf form, they have no sense of themselves as human. When they return, there is usually no memory of what it was to be in beast form, either. Sometimes there are flashes, sensory images, mainly. Waking up naked in an alley, a bullet in his shoulder, and a memory of knocking a drunk to the ground, was all Will had of his first night. The special task force found him, had his injury tended, and
imprisoned him through the two subsequent nights of his first full moon. Then he was brought here. That was seven years ago.’
‘Did he kill the drunk he attacked?’
‘Supposedly not, nor did he injure him. The constable giving chase shot him before he did more than knock him down. Then he escaped, injured, into the back alleys of Whitechapel.’
‘He seems feral, even in human form.’ Phil couldn’t help saying.
‘Will has a wild streak that the wolf has exaggerated. But he was a disciplined soldier, and he is someone I would trust with my life. He is the only resident who accepts what he is. Your father had come to terms with the beast, over the years, too. But now Will alone has that gift. You will come to understand what I mean, the longer you interact with them.’
‘Are they very ugly?’
Byron grunted a laugh. ‘Of all the concerns I would expect you to have – their appearance wasn’t one of them. But to answer your question – no, not ugly. They resemble a large, muscular wolf. They vary in size, depending on their gender and physicality in human form, but most stand about the size of a Shetland pony. They are fierce and frightening, but not unattractive.’
‘How does it happen? Here. What do you do?’ Her curiosity was now fully engaged, and she wanted to know more about these people she now shared her life with, if only for the next few months.
‘As it approaches dark, on the first night of the full moon, they all move down to the cells. We get the furnace going, so the air is not too cold for them, as they must remove their clothes before the change. That is why there is a male and female wing. They are naked before and after the change. Once in wolf form, they don’t feel the cold, but for those ten or fifteen minutes at either end, being naked down there is very uncomfortable.’