“You look very nice, mademoiselle,” he sincerely complimented when Ellena called for him. “If you don’t mind I will take your dirty clothes and have them cleaned.”
“Oh, Gregor, I will take of that. I’m sure you have enough to do.”
“No, please, allow me. Lord Wolfe is waiting for you in the dining room. Do you remember how to get there?
“I believe so,” Ellena replied, picking up her dress and taking a step onto the bare wooden floor.
“Oh, my shoes!”
But Gregor was already gone with her boots in tow.
In all honesty, she was dreading eating another dinner with Monsieur John Wolfe. She lingered in the corridors, admiring the grand chandelier and portraits. She made a note to ask Gregor about the odd pictures when she saw him again.
When her bare feet could no longer endure the cold, drafty air, Ellena made her way to the great dining table. The grand lord was already waiting for her and impatiently swiveling his cup. He did not say anything as she took her place by the fireside and Ellena could not bring herself to look at him.
He was watching her. Ellena could feel it. “Why are you dressed in such a manner?” he asked with only a slight tone of interest.
“Gregor brought these for me.” She still had not looked him, but Ellena did notice his empty plate. “Were you waiting for me?”
“I wait for no one,” he answered. “Don’t assume that just because you have changed clothes that I have changed my opinion of you.”
“Perhaps,” Ellena quickly replied, “tonight we could enjoy this lovely meal with as little talking as possible, since we only say things that seem to upset the other.” She picked up her spoon and began to eat. “I do want to say one thing, though.”
He remained silent, which she took as his sign for her to continue. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here. Your home is very lovely.”
“You are impressed by my home? Most women are.”
“I am,” she honestly answered. Ellena was about to continue when she stopped herself.
“I know you want to say more.” he slyly said. “Go head.”
“Although your home is remarkable, it’s also very sad or at least to me it is.”
“Sad? How so?” This did peak his interest. She could tell in his voice.
“It seems lonesome, like it’s waiting for someone.”
She took another sip of her soup, preparing herself for the onslaught of mocking insults she was surely to get from the man across from table, but surprisingly he said nothing. Stealing a glance, she noticed him looking into the fire, the crimson flames reflecting off of his solemn eyes. For a brief second even he looked forlorn as if he, along with the great mansion, was waiting for something. His eyes suddenly turned, meeting hers and just like a bubble floating a soft breeze, it popped as Lord Wolfe cruelly crushed the promising moment.
“Perhaps I should keep you here as my maid?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “As soon as the storm lets up I will be making my way back to the village.”
“That may take longer than you think. It’s been known to snow for weeks on these lands.”
“How is your head?” she softly asked.
“Are you concerned?”
“Did it cut you badly?”
“If you would like to come by my room later tonight, I would be glad to show it to you.”
“I’ll pass,” she grumbled. “Besides I thought you said I was far from attractive enough to tempt you.”
“Oh my lady, you are. It was quite the assumption to think that I was suggesting any sort of romantic interlude with you.”
This time Ellena did blush, not only from embarrassment, but anger. He had purposely led her to believe that he had underlying intentions just so that he could humiliate her.
“Why are you so hell bent on making me hate you?” Ellena bellowed.
Monsieur Wolfe took another sip of his drink before calmly replying. “Hate me? Far from it. Everyone knows that the quickest way to get a woman to give you her heart is for you to shatter it first. Women only want what they can’t have. The more I make you hate me, the more you actually desire me.”
“What sort of twist logic is that?”
“A logic that has served me well in getting women.”
“But not keeping them, I see.”
“Who said I wanted to keep them?”
“Regardless,” Ellena began stabbing at her potato with a fork. “I will not fall for such a disgusting tactic. I have much more sense than that,” she sternly said.
“We’ll see,” he replied. “It has also been my experience that sense is not a common companion for women.”
“Perhaps it’s not that women are incapable of having common sense, but more likely that you just attract the sort of woman that doesn’t have any.”
The rest of dinner was finished in silence. Ellena excused herself and left without another word. Lord Wolfe did not try to stop her as she gracefully walked past his chair and it did not escape Ellena’s notice that he had not eaten.
She was about to weave back to her room when she remembered the library from earlier. It would be nice to finally have a good book to read, not to mention Gregor said that she was welcome there anytime.
She didn’t find the same library as before, but the one she did find was just a little bigger. This one would do just as nicely. In fact, she liked this one a little better. It was homelier, cozier. A bright fire was burning as she cross the threshold. Books were strewn across a dark, oak desk in the far corner and lying messily along the other shelves and against the wall in stacks.
Someone had been here looking for something. Possibly Gregor? She couldn’t imagine Monsieur Wolfe as the culprit. He, himself, admitted that he loathed reading. She began with a stack by the wall and, picking up a blue bound book, began to leaf through the pages. They were old, extremely so, but in wonderful condition. Some were in French, others in German. One was even Danish along with several English texts.
“He is extremely educated,” Ellena whispered. “Especially if he knows all of these languages.”
She couldn’t help but be impressed, although she would never tell him.
One promising book caught her eye, lying off by itself in the far corner. What struck her first was the vibrant red color. The title Folklores Français was etched across the cover. It was the oldest that Ellena had come across so far. The stories were hand written, which struck her as strange, and the cover was woven together with nothing more than pieces of sturdy string.
Ellena cradled it gently, scared that any sudden movement would cause it to crumble. She hadn’t always loved books the young woman whimsically recalled. It wasn’t until her mother married that beast of man did Ellena discover her love for them. She had used them to escape, escape from the never ending barrages of fist and hateful words. She clung to the book tighter as she tried to push the disturbing memories away. These quiet, solemn objects had been her sanctuary.
“This is my personal study.”
The voice startled her and Ellena jumped to her feet. Monsieur Wolfe entered with a billowing pipe in his hand. She was about to mumble a weak apology when another thought occurred to her.
“I thought you hated reading? Why do you have a personal library?”
“Do you have to like something to want it?”
She knew he was not just talking about libraries.
“I suppose not, but it seems rather meaningless and exhausting to live in such a way. It’s like endlessly feeding an appetite that will never be satisfied.” She began toward the door. “Sorry, for imposing on you.”
“Where are you going with my book?”
Ellena had forgotten about it still in her arms. “Oh, Gregor said—”
“What did he say?” he asked in a less than pleased tone.
“He said I should be careful and always ask your permission before taking a book from any room.”
Not ever wanting to bring any disfavor t
o the gentle old man, she lied. Gregor may have told her she was free to come and go as she pleased but, as much as she detested it, Lord Wolfe was the master of this house.
“Well then, this will be your punishment for not asking first.” He snatched the book up and, giving one quick look of disgust, threw it into the fire.
“What are you doing?” Ellena screamed as she dropped to her knees, trying to pry the burning pages from the licking flames.
“Get away from there!” Lord Wolfe roared, snatching Ellena to her feet and dragging her away. An earsplitting rip followed and she looked down to see that he had torn her dress to shreds and pieces of its green, lush fabric were still dangling from his hand.
Ellena was trembling as she snatched the pieces and fled. The blood was rushing to her face, tears swelling in her eyes as she tried to find the way back to her room. He was exactly like her stepfather she fumed, a hateful man who was delighted in bringing everyone around him misery.
Her skin felt unbearably hot and she stopped to lean her forehead against the cold glass of a small window. It helped to calm her breathing and she slowly regained her composure. She would be leaving tomorrow. Come hell or high water, she could not stay here another day.
When she finally made her way back to her sleeping quarters, her belongings were waiting for her along with the mysterious red hood. She threw herself across the bed, still clutching the shredded green pieces. That’s went she spotted them, small ugly burnt cinders covering the emerald material. She sat up and looked down at the trim line of her dress. Seared holes littered the base hem line. She could barely believe it. She looked from her dress to the stripes in her hand, and then back to her dress.
It had caught on fire.
Ellena laid awake long into the night. Letting her fire burn out some time ago, she silently stared into the darkness as soft moonlight fluttered in from her window. Gregor had never come to see her, nor had Monsieur Wolfe.
Suddenly the moonlight vanished, leaving the room completely black. Thinking it was merely a patch of clouds blocking the moon Ellena felt no need to be worried, but after several moments passed with still no light, she crept from her bed and felt her way to the window to find that the clouds were not to blame. The curtains had been shut.
Her heart stopped.
Was it possible that Gregor had crept inside and thinking that she was asleep closed them?
“Gregor?” she softly whispered. “Are you here?” Soft footsteps ran across the room and Ellena threw open the curtains to better see. No one was there. “Monsieur Wolfe?”
Her dress swiveled as she slowly tiptoed around the bed. A thump caused her to whip around to see a small fire was springing to life in the hearth where a log had just been dropped into the old ashes. As the bright flames grew, they created towering streaks of light across the furniture and bed. The light steadily rose until finally reaching the portrait frames hanging on the wall, the auburn glow flickering across their golden edges.
The people were missing. Not missing as in the pictures had been taken out, but as if the people inside had just disappeared from the portrait itself. The same muddled painted backgrounds were still in each frame, one of a washroom, the other of a bedroom, only now the servants who had been in each one going about their normal chores were gone.
“This can’t be,” Ellena mumbled.
She heard the sound of footprints scurrying in the hall and Ellena rushed to throw the door open.
“Bonjour!” cried a rather plump woman who was walking down the hall with a hand full of blankets. The hall was full of people bustling about. One man was lighting more candles as a young girl swept the floor. Ellena knew their faces. They all stopped to stare, waiting for Ellena’s reply and of course the young woman replied in a way that most would in such a situation. She released a soft breath and fainted.
Chapter Five
“Mademoiselle?”
Ellena slightly stirred, opening her eyes. She was back on the bed with Gregor anxiously hovering over her.
“Stay calm,” he said as Ellena struggled to sit up. “You hit your head quite hard when you fell. We found you early this morning.”
“Gregor!” She grabbed his arm. “The pictures!”
But the servants were already back in their frames, each poised in their regular position and brightly smiling.
“Les portraits? What about them?”
“I—” she breathed, rubbing her head. “Nothing. I must have just been dreaming.”
Her confusion soon turned to joy when she saw brilliant rays of sunlight streaming inside. The storm had finally died.
“I will go prepare your breakfast.”
“Merci, monsieur, but if you don’t mind I’ll just change and be on my way.”
Gregor looked so disappointed that Ellena felt her heart break. “I’ll be sure to come back very soon for a visit.”
He nodded, leaving her to get ready as he waited in the main corridor that held the grand chandelier.
“I apologize about the dress,” she meekly said.
“Think nothing of it. I just wish your stay here could have been more enjoyable.”
“It was perfect and I certainly wasn’t bored,” she grinned. “Is Lord Wolfe anywhere around?”
“Would you like to see him?” Gregor replied with a jolly twinkle in his eye.
“I just wanted to clear up a little misunderstanding about last night,” she awkwardly tried to explain.
“He left early this morning with his bow. I’m sure you’ll see him on your way out.” He escorted her to the door and slowly opened it. The cold air assaulted her as she stumbled down the ice covered stairs. It was chilly despite the brilliant rays of light that filled the sky, but they did warm her skin a she crossed the field to the ground’s gate. She took a deep breath and pushed it opened. Footprints lined the snow, leading into the forest.
“Monsieur?” she called out as she followed the trail, but then the footprints suddenly came to an end.
“John?”
“You’re scaring off all of the game,” he angrily said, materializing from behind a great oak. “And you will not address me in such an informal manner.” He perched his bow against his shoulder in an annoyed fashion.
“About last night,” she began. “I didn’t realize—I mean my dress, it had caught on fire, hadn’t it?”
He didn’t reply.
“But I guess if you hadn’t been so cruel as to throw that book into the fire I wouldn’t have been down there for my dress to catch fire in the first place.”
He still remained silent, but his eyes were intensely staring her down.
“Well, I’m headed back to town. Merci and adieu!”
She stomped through the woodland, trying to avoid logs and wounding roots that cut from the frozen earth. It was hard to focus on the task at hand since that man, once again with barely uttering a word, had fanned her temper into a hot rage.
However, he couldn’t be all that bad. Ellena recalled how he had come to her aid, but then she remembered all of the horrible, shameless things he had done, his insults, unabashed remarks, destructive antics and her anger flared again.
It was all very confusion and frustrating. Maybe he was just trying to pretend to care to gain her trust? But then again that did not seem like his character, she thought. He was always so blunt, brutally blunt about his feelings. It made no sense for him to start being deceitful now, but which was the real Monsieur John Wolfe? That is what upset her the most— the uncertainty.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been walking when her foot suddenly hit something.
“Danielle’s basket!” Ellena grasped the woven handle. Now she was sure that she was heading the right way. A few more steps and she was back at the base of the hall that led to the village.
Ellena was running now. Well, running as much as the heavy, banks of snow would allow. Her lungs were burning as she reached the main road to the village. A few people were scuttling about doing their d
aily routines.
“Monsieur Ansel!” The older gentleman had come from around the corner and Ellena released a happy cry, rushing towards him.
“I see you still have the basket,” he said. “You must not have found Madame Danielle, yet.”
“Monsieur, you won’t believe where I’ve been,” she laughed. It almost seemed like a dream now that she was back.
“You didn’t go down to the forest edge, did you? I knew when I told you about that last week I knew you’d be running off to it as soon as you were out the door.”
Ellena could only gape at him in astonishment. “Monsieur Ansel, I’ve only been gone for two days.”
“What are you jabbering about? It’s been over a week since I last saw you.”
His remark came as quite a shock. “I’m not feeling well,” Ellena mumbled.
“You do look rather pale. Let me help you.”
She clutched his arm as he escorted her back to the inn. “I just need to rest,” Ellena answered, trying to avoid the probing questions that Ansel asked as they walked.
The innkeeper was dusting her desk as Ellena entered.
“Bonjour!”
She could only weakly nod before fleeing to her room. It was just the same as when she had left two days ago. At least, she thought it was two days ago. The basket dropped to her feet and Ellena sat down in a rather uncomfortable chair by the door.
Surely, Ansel had been mistaken. The older gentleman must have been confused. It wouldn’t be so farfetched. He was getting along in years. She coughed, her throat feeling sore and dry. Ellena was about to go down for a cup of water when something caught her eyes, something that made her heart jump into her throat.
“It can’t be,” she breathed. Her trembling fingers inched closer to Danielle’s basket. She had seen it burned with her own eyes. It had been destroyed, seared to ashes, but here it was innocently sitting in the woven basket. She flipped it over to find bright silver letters staring back at her. It was no mistake. The familiar words were etched across the red cover just as before.
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