Ravenwood

by Margaux Gillis

  “I’d appreciate it rightly so, miss. As would my Gemma, Mrs. Thistlewaite.”

  “As I said, no trouble at all. I shall be glad of the company.” Elinore paused, looking up at the sky, feeling the wind on her face. “May I ask, how long is it to Ravenwood?”

  Thistle opened the door to the carriage and held out a hand to assist her up the stairs. “‘nother couple hours at least. The horses are fresh so we should get some speed out of them. If I’d had my druthers, we’d not be out tonight at all, but Mr. Vollmond wanted you brought to the manor straight away.” He fidgeted for a moment and then added, “I heard about your parents. A real shame, miss. My condolences.”

  This kindness from a stranger, after a long day of traveling along with her fatigue and hunger was enough to make her eyes prick with tears. “Thank you, Mr. Thistle.”

  “Just Thistle, miss,” he corrected, tipping his hat a bit. “Just Thistle.”

  “Thank you, Thistle,” she said, using the nickname, feeling warm and happy to do so.

  “We best get going if we want to beat out the storm.”

  Elinore looked the sky and sure enough, the heavy clouds were pressing in closer, the light of the full moon obscured. She thought earlier that since the overcast afternoon had not yielded too much rain perhaps a storm would not come to pass, but she feared Thistle was right. She smelled the storm in the air. She settled into the carriage seat once more, noting that what had at the start of her journey felt like a comfortable seat, was now hard and bothersome after many hours of travel. It was of no importance, there was nothing that could be done about it. She settled her cloak over her shoulders, pulling out her knitting and book to keep on the seat beside her, at the ready. She hit the back of the seat with a small thump as the carriage jerked forward into motion. The obscured full moon lent no light at all to the darkness outside and although the candle in the carriage was small, it was enough to cause her reflection to peer back at her from the glass, instead of allowing her to see outside. Her reflection looked wane and pale and she averted her gaze. The long days since her parents’ death laid heavily on her features. To lose not just one but both to sickness was a terrible thing to bear. Her father fell ill first, and then her mother. Elinore had felt at once both grateful and guilty for not falling sick herself. Grateful, so that she could assist the doctor in treating them, and guilty for somehow being in perfect health while both her parents were sick. Her mother took a turn for the worse around the same time her father appeared to get better. Little did they know that her father’s rise in spirits was a death rally. While Elinore was still reeling from her mother’s death, her father passed away only a day and a half later.

  Now, a scant six weeks after their passing, she was on her way to live with relatives she had no memory of ever meeting. Her last week at home had passed in a blur of packing, of servants being severanced, of goodbyes with acquaintances and then finally, the long journey today to Ravenwood.

  A flash of lightening lit up the sky and burned her eyes, making ghostly shapes dance in the landscape outside the window. She blinked them away, waiting for the crack of thunder that would surely follow. It came quicker than she expected and within moments, the carriage was surrounded by the sound of rain. She felt dreadfully sorry for Thistle, atop the carriage in such a storm. Elinore wondered if she should try to get his attention and suggest they each take a room at the local inn until the storm passed. Although, she thought ruefully, some innkeeper or matron would likely have words to say about a young, unmarried woman letting a room by herself. As though she wasn’t capable to rent a room for sleeping.

  She lost time, staring blankly through her reflection in the glass - seeing and not seeing as flashes of lightening cracked open the sky above, the rain spilling afterward. She hummed softly to herself, old songs and familiar tunes, her pitch sometimes faltering as she was caught by memories of her parents. She pulled her knitting out of her bag only to fiddle with it, not managing anything productive.

  A particularly bad bump in the road sent her rocking in the seat and the candle went out, the wax spilling over the wick with a hiss. As the interior was plunged into darkness, she found she could better piece together the landscape as it flickered before her, lit up brilliantly by lightning. The flatter, more rugged terrain had given way to a light forest that became denser and thicker the farther they travelled. At times, tree branches dragged across the sides of the carriage, sounding like long fingernails trailing across the exterior. She smiled to herself at the thought, thinking that she looked forward to meeting Thistle’s daughter, Alice. If she read as voraciously as Elinore had done at her age, she’d likely share Elinore’s fanciful notions of creatures lost in the dark, perched on the edge of reality. Perhaps, even though she was younger than Elinore, Alice could become a companion of sorts and they could share dreadfully frightening stories together over candlelight, as Elinore and Charlotte had done. Elinore shivered a little. She wished she had a real coat on instead of just her cloak. Poor Thistle, out in the thick of it.

  As though he was spurred on by her thoughts, she felt the carriage move faster, the sounds of the horses’ hooves fast and rhythmic on the ground. Thistle must want to be warm in his bed very dearly to push the animals so fast in the dark. Or perhaps he simply knew the road that well.

  It seemed to Elinore as though she had been in the carriage alone for a long time, her limbs feeling numb from the jostling and swaying. Another bright flash of lightning struck and for a moment, she thought she saw movement in the darkness outside the window - in the trees, moving as fast as the horses.

  But that was impossible.

  Elinore rubbed at her eyes a bit, trying to push the fatigue away along with the foolish notion. She was overtired, that was all. She kept her eyes firmly averted from the window so as not to give her delusions ammunition when the next lightning bolt lit up the sky.

  Still, she felt the hair on the back of her neck tingle and stand up. She tried to shake it off. It was late. She was tired. She was over-emotional from her parents passing, the long journey and the looming unknown. Nothing more.

  The long, ululating howl of a wolf struck through the air, raising goosebumps on her arm and forcing her to give up her stalwart avoidance of the window and turn her face once again to the glass, trying to see outside.

  Were there wolves in these woods?

  The carriage jerked sharply to one side and she slammed against the wall, banging her elbow soundly, making her fingers numb. She cursed involuntarily, knowing that as a ‘lady,’ she shouldn't even know the word she just spat out with clenched teeth. They were moving faster now, the carriage feeling like it was out of control. The horses whinnied and neighed and she hoped that Thistle was strong enough to keep them under control. No doubt they were as spooked as her.

  Another howl broke through the air, louder than the rain and the sound of thundering hooves. It was hard to tell if there was only one wolf or two. The strange dual-tone of the cry confused her. She pulled her cloak tighter, fingers digging into the wool. At the next bolt of lightning she saw the same thing as before - movement in the forest.

  Elinore’s mind, always a fanciful place full of plots, contrivances and imagination, immediately came to the conclusion that there was an animal outside and, despite her earlier notion of impossibility, it was indeed pacing the carriage.

  There was a hard jolt to the carriage and she tumbled off the seat and onto the floor, landing disgracefully in a puddle of her cloak and her skirts. The carriage tipped and time froze for a moment as she was suspended in midair before slamming down hard to the floor again on her shoulder. Her teeth snapped together, the jolt of the impact traveling across her collar, jarring her bones. The carriage was on its side, the window beneath her smashed, the ground moving quickly as the horses dragged them. She scurried and pushed away from the broken pane, crying out as pain shot up her arm and shoulder. She flipped to her other side, feeling bruised, but not nearly as battered there. It was ho
rribly loud - all she could hear was the crying of the horses, the breaking of wood and the sounds of the carriage being dragged.

  The carriage lurched with tooth-rattling force and skidded to a halt, Elinore sliding into the seat, knocking her head soundly against the edge. She saw stars for a moment and tried to blink them away, dazed from the impact.

  Stopped. They were stopped.

  A sudden thought came into Elinore’s brain. Mr. Thistlewaite!

  The dark made it nearly impossible to see, but she knew which way was up. Elinore staggered to her feet, lurching slightly with a quick wave of dizziness. Her right arm ached something fierce - red hot pain shooting into her shoulder. She tucked it close to her body and scrambled for the handle with her other hand. She managed to turn it correctly and had to push hard to get the door to open upward and then finally tip over.

  “Mr. Thistlewaite?” she called, blinking furiously as the continuing rain assaulted her face. “Are you there?” Are you alive, she wanted to add, but was too afraid.

  Elinore could not hear anything but the sound of the rain and the diminishing sound as the horses, likely spooked and slightly mad, ran off into the distance.

  Right. She would get herself out of the carriage.

  If she stood tall on her tippy-toes, she could get her head up and out. Not that she could see much in the darkness, but nothing lurched forward and lopped her head off, so she counted herself lucky. She managed to get a booted foot wedged between the cushion and the seat and she jumped up, jolting her bad arm, clenching her teeth against the pain. She had gotten most of her upper body out far enough that she was bent over, half in and half out. Kicking her feet and wiggling like a worm, she said a silent prayer of thanks for all the times she and Charlotte had climbed trees and crawled on their bellies while imaging they were involved in great tales of espionage and mystery - she was no stranger to a little physical effort. In what was possibly one of the most undignified displays ever seen, she extricated herself. She slid off the side of the carriage and onto the ground, her boots landing with a slopping sound in the mud. She was already soaked to the bone through her dress and cloak.

  A wolf howl rang out.

  Elinore paused, looking around slowly, trying to make out anything in the darkness. She had no time to be foolish and scared. She needed to find Thistle. She blinked at the rain in her eyes, swiping at her face with her hands. Her shoulder throbbed and she slipped a hand under her cloak to grip at her arm for a moment, as if by holding it briefly she could somehow will the limb not to hurt. Her hand came away bloody and she realized she’d been cut by the glass of the carriage window. Poking at the torn edges of her dress, she surmised the cut was not deep and could wait to be tended.

  “Mr. Thistlewaite?” she called again, louder. “Thistle?” She thought she heard something off to her right and she paused, bending over the partial wreck of the carriage. She peered into the inky black. “Mr. Thistlewaite?”

  Elinore heard a low groan and as her eyes adjusted to the ambient light, she thought she could make out a man’s form. She reached out a hand, running it over the wooden slates of the carriage until she touched fabric - his pant leg she thought - and then patted gently.

  “Mr. Thistlewaite,” she said again.

  “Miss Reed,” came the gasped reply.

  Oh thank the Lord, he was, at the very least, alive. “Yes! Are you injured badly? Can I be of assistance?”

  It may have been only her hopeful imagination, but it seemed like the rain was letting up some. Elinore was able to crouch down lower to the ground and she squinted into the wreck, trying to see Thistle.

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  Nervous laughter threatened to bubble up, but Elinore choked it back. She was bruised and a bit battered, but no worse for the wear. “I’m fine, sir. It’s for you I’m concerned. Can you move?”

  There was a jolt of wood grinding and a pained groan. “No, miss. I think my leg is broke.”

  Elinore grimaced, wondering at the pain he must be in. “Can I do anything for you? Is it possible to free you or make you more comfortable?”

  There was another sort of shifting sound and a gasp from Thistle. “No, miss. We’ll need some men to move this carriage.”

  Elinore looked around for anything she might be able to use as a lever. There were some broken slats of wood next to her, but she doubted they’d hold up to the weight. Plus, without being able to see exactly what she was doing, she could injure Thistle further. She explained as much to him and he gave a pained chuckle.

  “That’s rather thoughtful and industrious of you, Miss Reed, but even if I were free, I doubt very much I’d be going anywhere.”

  She supposed he was correct. There was a flash of lightening, but the accompanying thunder was several long seconds behind. She was certain now the rain was passing, the drops lighter on her face. Feeling an ache in her knees from her crouched position, she forwent propriety and sat on the muddy ground. “How long until we’re overdue at the manor?”

  There was a pause from Thistle and a wet sounding cough. “I’m not sure, miss. Do you have your shawl, to ward off the chill?”

  It was Elinore’s turn for a dry laugh. The man was suffering from a broken leg and possibly more injuries and he was concerned for her warmth. “I have my cloak, Mr. Thistlewaite. I assure you, I’m quite all right.”

  “If you can, miss, you should try to get back into the carriage. It’s not safe out here. You’ll catch your death.”

  “Thank you, sir, but I am fine.” The rainfall was even less now. At the next crack of lightening it was even longer until the rumble of thunder, and further off. There was a slight wind in the air and as Elinore looked up at the sky, she could see clouds parting - the full moon shining through and giving her enough light to see the wreck of the carriage more fully. The rain was nearly done now, only a fine misting hovering over the area with fat droplets of water coming off the trees. She shivered in the cold and then looked down at the ground by her skirts, seeing a dark stain on the earth. A foreboding sensation crept into her stomach.

  “Mr. Thistlewaite, are you bleeding?”

  There was a tense silence from under the carriage until he spoke. “I’ll be fine, miss.”

  “I daresay, you are considerably more injured than you let on, are you not?”

  “The house will realize we are late and send someone along, I’m sure of it.”

  The weakness in his voice had her setting her jaw and pushing to her feet. “How far is it to the manor, do you estimate?”

  “Miss Reed? What are you doing?”

  Elinore stumbled back to the carriage, her boots slipping a bit in the mud and slick. Hoisting herself up, she was able to reach inside and find the small lamp perched precariously on its hook. Still intact. She took a fortifying breath and grabbed the lamp. Setting it down on the ground, she started hunting around the wreckage, sighing in relief when she found the small box from under the carriage also intact. Inside were candles and matches. Within moments, she was able to get the lantern ablaze, casting it about to see more of their situation.

  The front of the carriage appeared entirely buckled under. She could make out one of Mr. Thistlewaite’s legs, the other must be the one broken - somehow twisted up beneath him. She could see the darkened earth where a small puddle of blood was forming.

  “Mr. Thistlewaite, you are in need of more medical assistance than I can possibly hope to provide. I shall go and fetch help. I assume if I follow the road, I will see the manor from afar, correct?”

  Thistlewaite coughed - a wet, slushy sound. “Miss Reed, it’s not safe in these woods.”

  Elinore squared her shoulders. “Most creatures are more afraid of me than I of them. As long as I make enough noise, I’m sure I’ll startle them away,” she said pushing all the bravery she could into her voice.

  “Miss, there are… things in these woods.”

  Elinore’s stomach swooped low and hard at his words, her imaginati
on already conjuring up devils in the night. “Nonsense,” she said briskly, resolved to put on a good face for Thistle. “You are quite injured. I shan’t let you die out here.”

  “Please, miss. The manor will send for someone.”

  Elinore paused, taking in his words. It wasn’t as though she wanted to go off in the night, with only a lantern. But looking at the blood and the wood strewn about, and Mr. Thistlewaite’s leg, she couldn't imagine sitting there doing nothing for him.

  “I am quite capable, I promise.” She hesitated and added, “You are quite badly injured, Mr. Thistlewaite.”

  She heard a sort of sigh from him and she knew her words were true. After another wet cough, he said, “Come here, miss. I’ve something for you.”

  She moved closer to the wreck, the light from the lantern guiding her way. She crouched down low and this time she could make out his long, thin face - pale and grey in the aftermath of the crash.

  He held a pistol in his hand.

  “Can you shoot?” he asked, his voice quiet.

  Elinore wobbled her head back and forth. “After a fashion. My father gave me lessons once. A long time ago.”

  He nodded, as though it were expected. Teaching young ladies to shoot was most decidedly not a priority of most fathers. “Take this with you. Don’t be fancy, miss. Aim for the biggest spots on the body. The chest, the torso.”

  She laughed nervously. “You make it sound as though I’ll be shooting at a man and not at some creature of the forest.”

  His grim face made her blood run cold. “There are two shots in here. Don’t use them unless you’re sure you’re in trouble. It sounds horrible, and I don’t mean to frighten you more, but it’s best to wait until the thing comes closer to have a better shot at it.”

  Elinore reached out with a trembling hand and took the pistol. Thistle’s hand was cold and clammy under hers and she knew she was making the right decision to get help, even though she was afraid.