Red Wolfe

by B. L. Herndon

  “If you’re looking for Monsieur Wolfe,” the old butler said with a jolly tone. “He’s in his study.”

  And indeed he was.

  The books that had once been scattered all along the floor and tables had rejoined their sisters and brothers on the selves, all neatly organized and displayed. The fire was already ablaze and a delicately painted wooden tray sat atop the writing desk, full of scones and a blue teapot with matching cups.

  A cough erupted. As she moved closer to one of the selves a cloud of dust exploded from behind the books and John appeared, looking very flustered.

  “I guess it’s been awhile since I’ve dusted,” he sheepishly grinned.

  “You are dusting?” She could barely believe her ears. “Do you need any help?”

  “I’m afraid not, just finished.”

  “How did you know I’d be here so early?”

  “Call it hunch. You probably didn’t sleep much either.”

  “Lucky guess,” she shot back.

  “The tea and scones are for you if you want to get started.”

  She slowly approached the mahogany desk and set her bag down. Her last visit had left her little time to admire the room’s beauty, let alone the desk, and it was quite lovely. Golden accents were engraved to the wood’s edge, foreign symbols that wove and curved along its form.

  The chair screeched as she slid it back to sit down. Parchment paper and a white quill placed in a vile of ink were already waiting for her. The contents of her bag were soon littered along the table— books, pens, paper.

  “What is this?” John was suddenly behind her, picking up her bold point and inspecting it.

  “It’s a pen,” she answered. “Have you really never seen one?”

  Why was he so enthralled with such a trivial thing?

  “How does it work?” he asked, clicking it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This movement, how does it do this movement?”

  “Are you talking about the spring?”

  “A spring?” he repeated in astonishment.

  “You can keep it if you want. I have several.”

  His face lit with joy as he raced from the room and she watched him retreat with a soft, lingering gaze. The man could be so adorable when he wanted to be, but Ellena knew that she would never see that pen again, at least not in one piece.

  She inhaled, relishing the delightful smell of old books and burning wood. Her dream had always been to write in such a beautiful place and now it was coming true. She plucked a blueberry scone from the tray and stuffed it into her mouth.

  Late morning came and went. A great grandfather clock standing proudly in the far corner began to chime ten o’clock and Ellena looked up from her work. Had that always been there? She was quite sure she didn’t remember seeing it before, but then again things in this old mansion tended to have a way of hiding at first glance.

  She stood, stretching her arms and then her legs by taking a short walk around the study. When she stopped in front of the window she discovered that it looked out over the horse stables. The snow was finally beginning to melt as the early afternoon sun shone brightly. The young woman with bright hazel eyes Ellena had met before suddenly appeared, and in quite a hurry at that, striding toward the stalls.

  The stable boy appeared. Well, he wasn’t exactly a boy. He was perhaps in his late teens? Possibly early twenties? He was a handsome fellow with bright red hair and a charming grin. He scooped her up joyously, twirling them about as they shared a passionate kiss. It was such an endearing scene that Ellena couldn’t look away.

  “How are you progressing?”

  Ellena jumped, spinning around to find Gregor.

  “It’s going well,” she replied, trying to act natural as she closed the window’s curtains.

  “You seemed to be distracted. Did you see something?” He started towards the window.

  “Only birds,” Ellena blurted. “Just a couple of birds fluttering around.”

  She had always been terrible at lying.

  Gregor nodded and set to work refilling her teapot with fresh hot water from the jug in his hand. “You know, mademoiselle,” he opened the door to leave. “You might give people the wrong idea if that caught you peeping like that.”

  “I was not—”

  He was already gone, and Ellena could hear his faint laughter echoing down the passageway as she grinned. Her fingers gently touched letters on her paper as she sat back down to work.

  John, that’s what she had decided to name the prince of her story. Ellena hoped Monsieur Wolfe wouldn’t mind that she had named her main character after him. It just seemed to fit so perfectly and, although she would never admit it, he had been the muse behind this book.

  She set back to work with renewed vigor. She should have this prince like to fiddle with odd little trinkets just like John and, of course, he would also enjoy hunting and horseback riding as well. He would have brown hair, dark eyes, and a charming, but slightly shy smile. Page after page of her scribbled handwriting began to pile up on the cluttered desk and even Ellena was surprised at how quickly the story just seemed to pulse through her fingertips.

  At noon Gregor came to fetch her for lunch, but she politely declined since her brain was grinding at full force and any distraction could cause her to lose focus. She didn’t think much of skipping a meal. After all, it was not the first time she had chosen writing over eating. Unfortunately, it was not a decision that boded well with everyone.

  The door crashed open to reveal a less than pleased Monsieur Wolfe. “You cannot afford to miss a meal,” he hotly said.

  “Trust me, I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time,” she calmly replied not even looking up from her work, but before Ellena knew it the pen had been ripped from her hand.

  “Femme stupide!” he cried. “You have been sick and your body cannot afford to not eat.”

  “Did you just call me stupid?” Ellena roared.

  “Oui, because you are acting in such a foolish manner. Now, are you going to come eat willingly or do I have to drag you to the dining hall?”

  She stood in a huff, collecting what dignity she had as her stubborn streak only rose to the boiling point. “If you want me to eat then bring it here.”

  It was now only pride fueling her stubbornness. If he had asked politely, she probably would have eaten, but Ellena was no one to be bossed around.

  “Very well then, suite yourself,” he rushed toward her and she braced herself as his hand shot out but to Ellena’s amazement it went right past her and then, without warning, he departed.

  For a moment, she stood there only staring at the empty doorway, but when she finally twirled around, Ellena discovered that her manuscript was gone.

  “John!”

  Her bare feet pounded against the stone floor as she raced after him. The servants stopped to stare, some laughed at the spectacle of the young woman hopping around their lord as he continued his frantic pace. He seemed even taller than before as she tried to rip the papers from the hand that he was holding above his head. She stopped to catch her breath and the troublesome man disappeared into the dining room. When she finally came rushing in, he was already seated.

  “Please mademoiselle, take a seat. You look like you could use some water to drink,” he calmly said with such a grin that Ellena’s fury began to flare again.

  “Are you happy now?” she furiously asked.

  “Somewhat,” he snickered. He caught her wandering eyes and his smile grew bigger. He knew what she was looking for. “Not until you’ve eaten.”

  There was no point in protesting any longer. She would have to give in to his demands, which as the food quickly gathered on the table, suddenly didn’t seem so awful.

  The meals had become much livelier since her last visit. Now not only Gregor, but several other servants bustled about the table, bringing in plates, stirring sauces and filling jugs. The boy she had seen cleaning windows earlier that morning bashfully approac
hed with his round face and sparkling brown eyes to offer Ellena a cup of water which she gratefully accepted.

  Juicy pork was served, along with an array of vegetables and sweet potatoes. Louisa darted around, politely laying down a bowl of broth before whizzing off again. A man Ellena instantly recognized to be the cook from his white coat and puffy hat approached Lord Wolfe and bowed.

  He was a tall, skinny man with a rather serious air about him, but when he talked about the dishes his eyes lit up with bliss and his thin, pursued lips revealed a rather pleasant smile. Ellena smiled too. He certainly was skinny for someone who adored food. John gave a nod of approval and the cook’s smiled widened as he practically skipped from the room.

  “Gregor,” she whispered as he walked by the table.

  “Oui?”

  “That is the cook, correct?”

  “Oui, my lady.”

  “Has he been here cooking this whole time?”

  “He has been away also—on a trip,” he quickly added before scampering off.

  It was big mansion. Was it possible that the cook had been here this whole time and she never noticed? She was beginning to find it very suspicious that all these people had been “gone on a trip” and were just now returning.

  Something brushed against her leg and she looked down to see two black, watery, begging eyes and Ellena threw the whining pooch a piece of her biscuit.

  “Roma, Rimi!” John called, tossing them two thick, mutton bones. They settled at his feet where they thoroughly relished in their new gained prize. Their meals together certainly had changed, she reminisced.

  “See? You were hungry,” John said as Ellena piled second helpings onto her plate. She would have replied but her mouth was full of delicious apple pie. “I can also see that your story is coming along quite nicely.” The papers suddenly appeared in his hand.

  “Have you been reading them?” she asked. “It’s not finished!”

  “I have not read it,” he defensively said. “But I couldn’t help but notice my name. Are you using it?”

  “John is a very common name,” she mumbled. “I just thought it fit the main character, that’s all.”

  “You named the main character after me?” he shyly grinned.

  “John just fit, okay?” She snatched a roll from her plate and marched to the other end of the table. “I’ve eaten now and I want to get back to work.”

  He placed the papers into Ellena’s out stretched hand and she turned to leave.

  “Just a suggestion,” John began. “You may want to name the other prince, Ives.”

  “Ives? What an interesting name,” she said. “May I ask why?”

  “It just seems to fit, wouldn’t you say?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Seven days passed, an entire week of the same routine. Ellena would spend all sunlight hours fiercely writing away in John’s study, only stopping to eat and sleep before returning to her bedroom late at night to rest. A few times she even went for a walk around the grounds to clear her mind, but John of course feeling uneasy about her roaming outside alone, demanded that either he or the dogs were to always accompany her on her afternoon walks.

  That is where she found herself at this moment, talking a leisurely stroll around the gardens with Roma and Rimi. The snow had nearly vanished and Ellena could already see the little sprouts and seedlings breaking through the newly nourished earth.

  Her book would be finished soon, probably before the Spring and a sudden sadness washed over her. The book would be completed and she would have to leave France, have to leave this place.

  “It would be uncouth to stay after my work is completed,” she muttered to herself. “I couldn’t just stay.”

  A part of her wanted to and she tried to talk herself out of feeling such a way. After all, this place had no electricity, no modern technology, and was isolated in the middle of nowhere, she fussed. There was no way she could be happy here—or could she? What did she have waiting for her when she returned home besides an empty house? Maybe she could stay in the village? She had grown very fond of the small town since her arrival and it would be nice to be so close to John.

  Her feet stopped at that thought. Was he the real reason she wanted to stay?

  Ellena forced herself to trudge forward, the red hood flowing behind her as she approached the majestic fountain she had seen days before on her way to the stables. It looked even gloomier up close with its brown, crumpled leaves floating in the green water that had accumulated from the melting snow and the faded, discolored marble had turned a dull gray color from the years of weather damage, but it was still one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. This was a monument to the test of time. This stone lady had weathered many storms, storms that had left their mark, but here she still stood, strong and regal. This was a woman who would not easily crumble.

  Roma and Rimi came to stand beside her as if they too were admiring the stone beauty, that is until they began playfully scuffling and nearly knocking Ellena from her feet. She took that as her cue to head for the house.

  The door flung open and Ellena tramped inside shaking the mud from her boots when she found John standing at the window with a pipe in his hand.

  “Did you enjoy your walk?”

  She couldn’t help but notice how the crimson shirt he wore brought out the amber in his eyes.

  “I did. They were good company,” Ellena stooped to pet her companions before they wandered down the hall. The smoke from the pipe billowed around John’s face and into his clothes, giving him an almost ethereal appearance.

  “You looked deep in thought,” he softly said.

  “You were watching me?”

  He shifted from one leg to another, avoiding her gaze. “Just to make sure that you were safe.”

  Was this really the same man who only a few days ago had moved in to kiss her? He was acting so shy now and only because he had been watching her from the window!

  “I’ll never understand you Monsieur John Wolfe,” she halfheartedly teased.

  “What do you mean?” he replied with an utterly offended tone that only made the young woman laugh harder. “I demand that you stop!” But she was already marching down the hall with him hot on her trail yelling orders and commands that Ellena would never obey.

  Their lively antics were becoming a common scene in the household now. If one wasn’t chasing after the other, one was sending the other into a fit. It was all in fun and the servants had learned to just ignore them and continue about their duties.

  Now that her afternoon stroll, as long as her afternoon tiff with John, was over Ellena picked up her pad and headed for the music room just down the hall. Not that she didn’t love writing in John’s private library, but Ellena needed a small change to keep her creative juices flowing and the airy piano room was just what she needed.

  One picture in particular caught her attention. It was hanging above the golden laced fireplace in the most exquisite stilted frame. Two noble women stood, one in a silver dress, the other in a deep violet. They were older women, but not too old and the one in violet had a dainty golden crown placed atop her curly locks. They were both attractive women with long, dark hair and bright smiles and as Ellena stared harder at the picture she realized something. The women in violet must have been John’s mother. She could see the resemblance—the same smile, same chestnut eyes. The man certainly did take after his mother, she thought. Her next thought drifted to the woman in silver standing next to Madame Wolfe. Who was she? A loyal friend? A servant? No, she wasn’t a servant, Ellena concluded. She was dressed much too finely to be a lady in waiting. Was his mother even dead? He had never said otherwise.

  The candle flickered almost in sync with the soft chimes of the great clock in the next room. The cords softly sounded reminding Ellena that it was late, very late, but no matter how hard she commanded her brain to cease and go to sleep it just wouldn’t obey.

  Her feet swung over her bed and hit the plush rug below.
She stood, the hem of her night gown falling and skimming against her toes. What she needed was some wine. That would surely help her fall asleep. Quietly creaking the door open, she ventured into the dark hallway. Most of the candles had been blown out for the evening, leaving everything cast in a dark stillness, but there was enough moonlight cascading inside for her to see. The kitchen was her destination, but since she had never been there she set her sights on the dining room. The scullery couldn’t be far from there.

  It was eerily quiet. The servants had long ago retired to bed and the cheery voices and the clashing of plates and platters that filled the house during the day had died away. Now that she thought about it, she had never once ventured out into the mansion this late.

  A shadow darted across a small window and Ellena froze. Soft tapping began and she ventured closer when a sound she knew reached her ears. Her steps quickened as she walked to the window, unlocking the latch.

  The cat’s bright yellow eyes pierced her as it slithered inside, making sure to rub its silky, black fur against her arm. Even more surprising was the violet cloth around its neck that served as some kind of collar.

  “Ami?” Ellena read the white letters stitched into the cloth out loud and the cat’s ears jerked. The small creature meowed loudly, and quite impatiently, and Ellena scooped the cat up in her arms. She was off to the kitchens anyway. Maybe she could find some milk for the poor thing?

  They soon arrived to the dining hall. It looked nothing like it did during the day. The long, rectangular table that was normally covered in brightly painted dishes and plates sat completely barren, as did the fireplace in the corner that was normally ablaze with a sizzling fire. Ami leapt from Ellena’s arms, landing gracefully onto the table as her tail impatiently switched.

  “It was somewhere over here,” Ellena mumbled to herself as she walked to the far end of the room. She had remembered the cook coming and going several times from this direction during their meals. Her fingers groped the wall when suddenly it moved or, more precisely, she had discovered a partly hidden swinging door.