Ravenwood

by Margaux Gillis

  “None at all,” answered Caleb. “Uncle.”

  Elinore was amazed such a solitary word uttered by Caleb could contain so much… presence. Hayter inclined his head carefully at his nephew while Caleb came over to Elinore’s side of the table and gestured for her to precede him out of the room. While she was grateful the painfully awkward lunch was over, she couldn’t help but wonder if all the meals at Ravenwood would be the same and this was only the first of many she would endure.

  Chapter Five

  “I apologize for my uncle,” Caleb said, once they were out of the dining room and in the hallway. “We are not used to having company at Ravenwood. He means well.”

  “There is no need to apologize,” Elinore said smoothly, although truly she was quite vexed at Hayter’s behavior. She wondered how her life at Ravenwood would be with such a man at the head of the household.

  “You’re kind to say so.”

  “Have you lived at Ravenwood long?” Elinore inquired.

  “All my life.”

  “Oh, I must have misunderstood. I believed Ravenwood to be your uncle’s, well, our uncle’s, estate.”

  “It is,” Caleb answered. “Now, that is. Ravenwood is my father’s home and after his death and the death of my mother, Uncle took over the estate. But I have lived here since birth.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your parents,” Elinore said, feeling a surge of kinship with Caleb. Elinore felt the recent loss of her own parents keenly at his words. She swallowed thickly. “My condolences.”

  Caleb was silent for a moment. “It was a few years ago, but thank you. I offer my own condolences on your recent loss.”

  She couldn’t manage to speak for a moment and only nodded. “Thank you.” The words were barely audible.

  “You look rather like your late aunt. Your mother’s sister, Victoria.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Elinore replied, carefully keeping pace with Caleb. They came to the main hallway and Caleb indicated a portrait in the gallery - a young woman who did look remarkably like Elinore herself posed with Hayter.

  “That was painted shortly after their marriage.” Caleb paused before the painting, allowing Elinore to study it. “Hayter had a great many of his belongings moved here when he took over the estate. This is one of his most beloved items.” He paused. “ I believe they were quite happy.”

  Elinore had known she took after her mother’s side of the family more than her father’s, and indeed her mother had mentioned the resemblance to her late sister, but until this moment Elinore had not realized how similar they’d truly been. In the portrait, Victoria’s dark brown hair, styled intricately, was the exact same shade as Elinore’s. Her dark brown eyes, calm and focused, mirrored Elinore’s own in shape and color. Elinore could also see the resemblance to herself in the slightly turned-up nose and pronounced chin.

  “How long has it been since she passed?”

  Caleb frowned. “It was shortly before my own parents’ passing. Perhaps five years now.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “A little. In the way a child knows adults. I remember her and Hayter visiting Ravenwood when I was younger. She would sneak me treats after dinner.”

  Staring at the portrait, Elinore was able to imagine her own face in place of Victoria’s and for a moment, the sensation was dizzying. Her arm throbbed and she clutched it close.

  “Miss Reed, are you well?” Caleb touched her elbow lightly, his hand warm even through the gown.

  “Yes,” she said quickly, not wanting to cause a scene. “I’m a little tired from last night and all this talk of the dead makes my heart weary.” Looking closer at the portrait of Hayter, Elinore could scarcely make out any differences to how he appeared today. “Our uncle must be most favorably blessed. He appears hardly to have aged a day.”

  Caleb paused and Elinore felt as though she’d said something untoward or rude, but couldn’t imagine what.

  “The Vollmond men age quite well.” With a genteel sweep of his hand, Caleb steered her away from the portrait. Elinore’s head turned slightly to watch the portrait as they moved away from it - Hayter’s sharp blue eyes following her as she went. A raven sat upon Hayter’s shoulder in the portrait and Elinore had an uncomfortable memory of her nightmare - the raven’s claws as it sat upon her own shoulder and whispered in her ear. A chill passed over her and she shivered slightly.

  “If you’re cold, I can have a fire lit in the library once we arrive.”

  “Thank you.” She had no idea how Caleb noticed her shiver. He’d been staring straight ahead as they walked down the corridor.

  He paused at a set of double doors and pushed one open, ushering Elinore inside.

  “My goodness,” she breathed. “This is your library?”

  She’d never seen so many books in once place at one time before. Their spines were all wonderfully aligned to each other, the shelves perfectly arranged so that each one held nearly the same breadth of books as the one above and below. Fantastical bookends adorned each shelf. Elinore could make out cherubs, gargoyles, mythological deities.

  Wolves. Ravens.

  She stepped closer to one of the shelves and hesitatingly reached out her fingers, hovering just before the spines of the books.

  “I don’t believe they’ll bite.”

  Caleb’s voice held a hint of humor, the first she’d heard from him ever. Though it felt foolish, Elinore could hardly believe so many books could be real. She reached her fingers closer, touching the spine of the book in front of her. It was bound in fabric, the lettering of the title a lovely worn gilded-gold.

  Mythological Creatures from Classical Antiquity.

  Her eyes moved to the next book.

  A Study of the Norse Mythology Compared and Contrasted with Greek Counterparts.

  She took small steps as she moved forward, reading the titles of each book, tilting her head when she needed. Hesiod, Pindar, Aeschylus, Euripedes… more names she could hardly pronounce and then the titles shifted to Greek and she cursed her womanhood for it never allowed her to study Ancient Greek. She moved quickly away from them.

  “Do you not like Ancient Greek texts?”

  Elinore realized that in the time she’d been lost in moving about the library, Cable had managed to start a fire and had come to stand a respectable distance from her, watching her pass by the ancient texts.

  “I never had the opportunity to learn. I had other studies to attend to.” Although she tried to keep her tone neutral, even she could hear the slight resentment as she thought of the things she’d learned. Piano. Needlepoint. Knitting. All skills of a genteel woman. Such was her lot. She was fortunate that her father had taken the time to teach her some Latin. It wasn’t generally thought that young ladies need not do much more than look ornate and hang on the words of those around them.

  “I believe we have some beginner’s texts, if you’re interested.”

  She turned to look at him, sure her hope was written all over her face. “Really?”

  “Alice will know where they are,” Caleb answered. “She’s quite familiar with this room and its treasures.”

  Elinore wanted to sag in relief. The way Hayter had spoken to her at lunch led her to believe that she wouldn’t be allowed to look at any books that he deemed ‘too difficult’ for her. Her heart warmed at Caleb’s words, that she may look at any books she liked. “May I enquire if there is paper and an inkwell of which I might make use?”

  Caleb indicated the desk by the large bay windows. “I’m sure you’ll find what you need at the desk. Make use of what you wish.”

  She smiled, feeling for the first time since she started her journey that perhaps things would work out. She would have books and she would have paper and ink. It would be enough.

  “Thank you.” Elinore turned away from Caleb and back toward the books, still trailing her fingers over the spines and the shelves. What an extraordinary collection. No boring titles on treaties and politics here. Creatures, cl
assical history, medical textbooks, psychological essays. She could read for years and not be done.

  “I travel into Haleton weekly. My next journey is two days hence. Should you have any letters to post, I can take them then, as well as pick any up from the postmaster in town. We don’t get deliveries directly to Ravenwood.”

  Elinore realized Caleb was still standing in the room, likely bored to tears watching her pet the books as though they were lovely dogs she’d come across on a walk.

  “That’s very kind of you. I will have at least one letter to post. Perhaps more.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her and she felt her stomach flutter. Now that she wasn’t lost in the forest or feeling trapped at a dinner table with her newly introduced uncle, she could admire his looks. The night before, in the dark and damp woods, with her heart racing from the wolf and the carriage accident, he’d been foreboding and almost sinister. Good heavens, she’d nearly shot him, she recalled, feeling her cheeks heat up with the memory of her cocking the pistol’s hammer while aiming at him.

  Caleb frowned slightly. “Is something wrong?”

  “I feel as though I should apologize for nearly shooting you last night.”

  He appeared slightly amused. “No harm was done. Perhaps you’re not a very good shot anyway.”

  She paused, remembering the blood blooming red on the pelt of the wolf. “I was good enough to hit the wolf.”

  At this Caleb took a step closer. “You’re sure you hit it. I imagine it all happened rather fast.”

  She nodded. “I’m sure. I managed to stab it as well with a knife Thistle gave me.”

  Caleb raised his eyebrows at her. “You shot and stabbed it?”

  She nodded, cradling her bitten arm close to her. “Yes. But I was still bitten.” His eyes drifted over her bandaged arm, his expression dark and disquieting. She swallowed thickly. “Mrs. Davenport said that you haven’t had rabid animals around Ravenwood for years. Is that… not that Mrs. Davenport would lie, but she may have wanted to offer comfort and I wondered…”

  “Mrs. Davenport is correct. We’ve not seen hydrophobia around Ravenwood for many years.”

  Elinore let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “I’m glad of it.”

  “Does it pain you this morning?”

  “No. Not much. It’s… hot.”

  Caleb reached a hand out, as though to touch her and then paused. “May I?” he asked.

  Elinore held her arm out slightly and he stepped closer to reach it. He rested his palm over the bandage and though she tried not to, she flinched. His eyes moved up to hers, as if reaffirming she was still amenable to him examining her arm. She nodded once in acquiescence. Caleb gently moved his hand down and around her arm, coming to cradle the bottom of it and holding it up, as though to have a better look. She could feel how the skin under the cotton was tender and swollen, hot. Though her wounds were not visible through the bandages, his careful examination was almost as though they were. His nostrils flared slightly and she thought she heard him give a low humming sound, almost like a growl. It made the back of her neck prickle. He was very close to her, the light coming through the window cascading on his dark hair. He was quite handsome. She wanted to lean forward, to get closer to him, as though his very presence pulled her closer.

  Caleb straightened suddenly and they each took a step backward. “Mrs. Davenport will keep an eye on it, likely giving you another, perhaps two, poultices for it. I must take your leave now. You’re welcome to stay in the library and make use of anything you find, or perhaps to take a tour of the house or the grounds. But,” he inclined his head slightly, his soft tenor voice going slightly deeper as he spoke, “it would be wise to stay on the grounds. The woods are… not always safe.”

  “You said you were hunting last night, and you’re hunting again today,” Elinore began and he nodded curtly. “What are you hunting?”

  She watched his cheek flex as he worked his jaw. “We’re looking for the wolf that bit you. He may be mad.”

  Elinore felt her stomach turn over at his words, remembering the strangely glowing yellow eyes of the wolf. “But you said there were no rabid creatures in around Ravenwood.”

  “The wolf is not rabid, but we are hunting it just the same. It’s been… destroying animals in and around the area.”

  Elinore shivered, remembering its sharp teeth and fierce snarl. She could have easily suffered the same fate of those animals if not for the pistol and knife Thistle had given her.

  “Stay on the grounds and Mrs. Davenport will continue to tend to your wounds. You shall be fine.”

  She tried to smile at his words of comfort. Given the look on his face, she doubted she managed very well.

  “Good day, Miss Reed.”

  “Good day, Mister Vollmond.”

  He gave her a curt nod accompanied by a slight bow and she managed a passable curtsey. Elinore made her way to the desk where, true to Caleb’s word, she found an inkwell, a quill and some parchment. There was a large bay window next to the desk which provided ample light to read or write. Seating herself at the large desk, she began her return letter to Charlotte. Tears pricked at her eyes with the first sentence, both in longing for Charlotte’s companionship and due to the subject matter. She squared her shoulders and kept writing.

  Dearest Charlotte,

  I have arrived at Ravenwood after quite an adventure. Rest assured, I am well, but I must tell you of my journey here as I’m sure it would make a wonderful addition to our narrative collection. Dear Lottie, can you believe that I must begin with, ‘It was a dark and stormy night?’ Such a beginning is always sure to predict a story will become one of our favorites and that is how this one starts. I arrived in Haleton and had to wait for a driver from Ravenwood to fetch me. The driver, a lovely older man named Mr. Thistlewaite, finally arrived and we set off into the night. And there our tale begins, as it was a dark and stormy night, with rain pelting down on us. I’m sure dear Thistle (for so Mr. Thistlewaite is called) was miserable outside in the rain, but he is a stalwart soul and did not utter a word of complaint. Shockingly, our carriage suffered an accident and dear Thistle was injured, trapped beneath the wreckage. Desiring to retrieve help, I set off into the woods on my own, armed with a pistol Thistle had given me. A pistol, Lottie! Can you imagine?

  Elinore had no desire to worry her friend overly and hesitated over the next part of her letter, deciding to make it all seem rather harmless.

  After walking in the woods and being scared nearly witless several times by what was surely only squirrels and foxes searching for berries and nuts, I had the life scared out of me a second time that night. Mr. Caleb Vollmond, my cousin through my uncle, Hayter, happened upon me in the woods. I’m sure when I write the events down in one of our stories, it shall be very exciting and gripping, but truth be told, I was sick with fear. I threatened to shoot him with Thistle’s pistol! He, along with some other men, managed to free Mr. Thistlewaite and I found myself not long after at Ravenwood.

  The manor is quite large and though it is grand, I do confess that I miss my smaller lodgings back at home. Although I daresay I cannot call the house where I grew up that word anymore, or can I? Is it still my home though I no longer reside there? Will it always be my home though I may never sleep there again?

  Such woolgathering will hardly be productive and will only leave me maudlin, so I shall leave those thoughts where they rest now - quiet in my head.

  I am already plotting out events for a mesmerizing story you and I shall write. Perhaps our heroine should be beset by a number of faeries while in the forest? What do you think? I will write the first parts based on my experience and embellish for narrative effect and then I will turn it over to you, dear Lottie, and your penchant for wonderful imaginations.

  I’ve not had much time to see all of Ravenwood yet, but as I write, I am seated in the most glorious of libraries. The books here shall become true companions, I am sure. Although none shall ever be as close
to my heart as you and our own small collection of books. I’m grateful to have family to take me in, but I do wish I were closer to you and your family.

  Elinore spent a few more paragraphs describing the general state of what she’d seen at Ravenwood, as well as mentioning that she had met with her uncle and had lunch with him and her cousin. She was careful not to convey any of the discomfort that had arisen during the meal. She may have shared those things with Charlotte in person, but to write them down where they could be seen by anyone was too ill-mannered to consider. Satisfied that she had imparted enough details so that Charlotte would not be overly worried on her behalf, she closed her letter wishing her friend well and hoping that she would write back soon.

  Pulling out another piece of parchment, Elinore meant to write about the carriage accident and her voyage into the forest, but instead found herself thinking about her dream the night before. Although most dreams faded upon her waking, last night’s dream was still vibrant and haunting in her mind. She dipped her quill while she thought, placing it on the page and hesitating for a moment before she began. Soon the words were flowing, faster than she had written to Charlotte, faster than she had written before - her penmanship an atrocious scrawl of angry black lines against the cream paper. She could still feel the raven’s claws on her shoulder, hear its strange whispering in her ear. She had to pause and run her fingers over the hair on the back of her neck in an effort to get rid of the phantom feeling of feathers against her skin. She could picture the creature, in between the foliage, hiding behind the trees, stalking her. Did it represent the wolf that had bitten her? But that wolf had not been starkly white, as the one in her dream had been. The wolf that had bitten her had been grey, white and brown. Although both wolves had yellow eyes. The raven, Elinore supposed, could be easily explained by Ravenwood itself - the name and the images that she’d seen so far. Ravens were not just the namesake of the manor, it appeared, but an integral part of the decorating. She’d seen them on some of the wall sconces this morning, on her uncle’s portrait and then even now, in the library, there were several statues of ravens about. She touched her shoulder, on the spot where last night, in her dream, the raven’s claws had dug into her skin, sharp and painful. She knew it was only her generally overactive imagination, but even now she swore she could feel the lingering touch of those talons piercing through her skin.