Ravenwood

by Margaux Gillis

  Mrs. Davenport patted Elinore fondly on the back and returned her hug. “Think nothing of it. We take care of our own here at Ravenwood.”

  Elinore pulled back, still keeping one hand on Mrs. Davenport’s arm. “You’re very kind for taking me in so quickly and doing everything you have to make me feel at home. I’m quite grateful.”

  Mrs. Davenport made a shooing noise and waved Elinore’s words away. “You’ll make an old woman cry if you keep going on.”

  “Then you may have to resign yourself to tears because I will keep saying it. Thank you,” Elinore said again.

  Tears did spring to Mrs. Davenport’s eyes and she dashed at them making scoffing noises as she took Elinore’s soiled dress and left Elinore to change. Hopefully, Hayter would be too busy with his ’important’ work to want to spend any more time with Elinore.

  Chapter Nine

  Elinore learned the rhythm of Ravenwood quickly in a few days. Most of the staff were early risers, like herself and Caleb, and Elinore took the time to stop and inquire after everyone she met until she felt she had a good handle on each person’s name and position. While the staff was pleasant enough to speak to her or Caleb, Elinore noted they tended to avoid speaking directly to Hayter, even the staff he brought with him from his former estate.

  “Hayter doesn’t like the staff to address him,” Alice told her, their heads bent together in the library. They quite often spent time in the afternoon together, Alice sketching while Elinore wrote or knit.

  “Not at all?” asked Elinore and Alice shook her head.

  “When he first came here, we thought he’d be rather like his brother, Caleb’s father. He was a more genteel sort of man. Boisterous and a little loud. Always pleasant. Caleb took more after his mother. Quiet, but kind. But when Hayter arrived…” Alice trailed off.

  “I suppose every family has their black sheep,” Elinore said, searching for something neutral.

  Alice sighed. “How I wish things could have stayed the way they were. If only…”

  Elinore fiddled with her yarn, finishing a pair of socks she was gifting to Alice. Alice had protested saying Elinore needn’t make her anything, but Elinore liked to give things to people and she thought the soft grey yarn would keep Alice’s feet quite warm. “How did they die? Caleb’s parents, I mean.”

  Alice bit her lip and looked around, as though unsure if they were still the only ones in the library. Hayter had gone to Haleton that morning on some important business, (dreadfully important according to him at breakfast) and the house seemed to relax in relief as he left. Caleb had indicated he would be visiting tenants today and would not be expected for lunch. Still, as Alice glanced about, Elinore couldn’t help but do the same, even though she was certain they were alone.

  “Mr. Vollmond, Caleb’s father, was attacked. Out in the woods.”

  Elinore gasped. “Oh my goodness. By a wolf?”

  Alice nodded. “It was… very unusual and quite… unnatural.” She licked her lips. “The Vollmond men are uncommonly good hunters and for Mr. Vollmond to be taken unawares…” she shook her head. “Though it was a while ago, none of us have slept easy since.”

  “How awful.” Elinore’s heart ached for Caleb. No wonder he was so intent on hunting down the feral wolf.

  “Mrs. Vollmond, Caleb’s mother…” Alice sighed. “It’s like she died of a broken heart. She started to wither away after her husband’s death and then followed him to the grave.”

  “So tragic,” Elinore said, knowing full well the misery Caleb must have felt upon losing both his parents so close together. It was likely the same misery that Elinore felt when hers passed from sickness. She may be considered a grown woman by the world, but when she thought of parents’ death, she felt all of six-years-old - lost and little. “Were they a love match? Caleb’s parents?”

  Alice nodded. “The Vollmond family only marries for love.”

  Elinore supposed when you were as wealthy as a family that could afford an estate like Ravenwood, you had the luxury of a love match. “And when did Hayter arrive?”

  “Almost immediately after his brother’s death. Ravenwood has always had an Al… a master. Hayter arrived as soon as he could, I imagine.”

  “Was his wife still alive then?”

  Alice shook her head. “No, Victoria had already passed.” Alice paused, unsure for a moment and then pressed on. “She died from illness.”

  Elinore nodded, knowing all too well how that must have gone, having watched her parents succumb to illness themselves. Though she did not like Hayter, she sympathized with him in that moment. She wondered if his wife’s death had changed the man he was.

  “Has Hayter always been…” Elinore trailed off, not sure how to complete her sentence. How would she describe Hayter without seeming rude or harsh? Was he eerie? Firm? Sinister? “… so unyielding?”

  Alice nodded. “I’ve only known of him since he came to Ravenwood, but he has been so since his arrival.” Alice looked young and vulnerable in that moment - hardly more than a child. “We were all of us much happier before.”

  At Alice’s melancholy look, Elinore quickly finished the seam of her knitting and then presented the finished product to Alice.

  “Well, I hope this makes you happy. New socks,” she said with a flourish.

  “Are you sure?” Alice asked, her hand hovering over them, as if afraid to touch. “You were knitting for several days on them. Wouldn’t you like them for yourself?”

  “I’d much rather see your smile when you wear them and your feet are warm.”

  Alice grinned, the expression lighting up her eyes as she snatched the newly finished socks from Elinore, clutching them close to her chest. “Thank you. I shall tell everyone they were made by you.”

  Elinore waved a hand. “Only if you don’t show them the uneven bits where I accidentally dropped stitches.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Elinore felt accomplished as Alice smiled over her gift. She liked doing things for people and the happiness that Alice was now exuding was well worth it. “Now, I’ve been terribly lax and haven’t asked after your father yet today. How is he doing?”

  “I sat with him last night and this morning,” Alice began, leaning in as she spoke. “He asked after you and I said you were quite well and I passed along your wishes for his speedy recovery.”

  “Thank you,” enthused Elinore. “He’s doing better?”

  “I believe so. The doctor will be out again tomorrow to check on his progress.” Alice fidgeted with her skirt. “He wondered, though, if you still had his pistol? Or the knife?”

  Surprised by such an odd question, Elinore had to think for a moment. “Caleb took the pistol that night. I’ve not seen it since. And the knife…” Elinore recalled how the sensation of the blade sliding into the wolf’s skin had travelled up the knife, settling into her fingers and bones. “It must be lost in the forest. I… stabbed the wolf with it.”

  “Oh, that’s good that Caleb has the pistol. Unfortunate about the knife.” Alice looked troubled and thoughtful at the news.

  “I’m sure if you ask Caleb, he’ll return it.”

  “Yes, of course he will,” Alice said smoothly. “We had worried that it was lost or… with Hayter.”

  How odd. Elinore wanted to ask more, but wasn’t quite sure exactly what question she needed to pose.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot,” Alice said suddenly, opening up her sketch book. “While I’ve been sitting with my father, I’ve had time to sketch a few items to go along with your writings. I confess I’m desperate to know what you think.”

  She flipped open her book and Elinore gasped as she saw such detailed and intricate sketches of what had been her most personal dreams. Alice’s work was amazing. On the pages were myriads of dense forests, trees and foliage, hovering over a faceless heroine. The image evoked the very feelings Elinore had during her dream - the feeling of being enclosed, of being somewhat trapped, but also… safe. Elinore
reached out and touched the page.

  “Alice, this is wonderful.”

  Alice’s face brightened. “Do you like it?”

  “Oh, Alice. It’s fantastic,” Elinore breathed, her fingers hovering over the pictures. She carefully flipped the sketch-book over and saw a raven, perched on the shoulder of a figure that bore an incredible likeness to herself.

  “I saw you, one morning, out walking with Hayter. You passed by a window in the room my father is in. I saw the raven on your shoulder,” Alice said, the words quiet and low, as though it were a secret.

  “It was quite unusual. I’ve no idea what caused it to happen.”

  Alice fiddled with the edges of the sketchbook, worrying the paper. “Have you had similar dreams?”

  Elinore nodded. “I have. Of the raven and the wolf. I keep meaning to write more of it down. Perhaps if I get this strange and unusual furniture out of my brain, it will no longer haunt my nights.” She reached the end of Alice’s sketches, noting that Alice had even sketched on the inside and back cover of her book. “You seem to be in need of some paper.”

  Alice sighed. “Yes, and charcoal. I’ve run out and my fingers are itching to draw more.”

  “It’s the same when I write. As soon as I’m out of ink or paper, I always come up with the most wonderful ideas.”

  “I’ll have to wait for Caleb to take a trip into Haleton and ask if he’ll be able to get me some.”

  “There’s some writing paper in the desk, I believe, and surely we must be able to find you some charcoal around Ravenwood.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to steal any of the paper you use for your writing! And I know you’ve also been using it for your letters.”

  It was quite true that Elinore had a small stack of letters already written for Charlotte and waiting for a time to send them to post. She dreaded asking Hayter to do it, feeling like he might open her correspondence and read it. Also, she did not want to be indebted to him for anything. Her only hope was, like Alice, to wait until Caleb went to town.

  “It’s likely the only other suitable paper is in Hayter’s den.” Alice looked forlorn and dejected.

  “Would Hayter object to you having some?” Elinore asked.

  Alice moved her shoulders up and down in a shrug. “I do not even want to ask.”

  Elinore understood her feelings quite well. Seeing Alice’s long face and feeling a bit reckless, Elinore reached out and grabbed her hand. “Let’s just go have a look and… take some.”

  “Steal? From Hayter?”

  “Only a few sheets of paper. He likely won’t even know they’re missing.”

  “He always knows when people have been through his things. Always.”

  Thinking of Hayter’s smug face across the table at meal times and how the staff always looked away when he moved through Ravenwood, hiding from his gaze, Elinore felt angry. “I’ll let him know it was me. He can hardly begrudge me a few sheets of paper when he’s falling all over himself to impress me.”

  Alice stared at her warily. “He is rather taken with you. You don’t… are you interested in him? In that way?”

  “Good heavens, no,” Elinore said emphatically and Alice seemed to be relieved at her response. “There is something… too severe about him.”

  “He does keep us safe,” Alice said, as if she had to defend Hayter’s harshness.

  “Safe from what?”

  Alice shrugged again, looking away. “Just… safe. And provided for. Of course, we’d all rather that Caleb was master at Ravenwood, but with Hayter here…” Alice trailed off, looking down at her lap.

  Elinore clapped her hands together. “Well, enough of this wool-gathering. Let’s get you some paper.”

  “It’s probably not a good idea.”

  “Nonsense,” Elinore replied, standing. “I shan’t let you go without.”

  Though she had been at Ravenwood for a few days, Elinore did not yet quite know which rooms were which. Alice led her through the manor, projecting hesitance in every step. On the main floor, they finally came to a set of closed doors and hesitated, leaning in and listening.

  “This is Hayter’s den.” Alice’s voice was so quiet, Elinore didn’t so much hear it, as read her lips and understand their shape and meaning. “Can you… do you hear him?”

  Elinore was not certain why Alice was asking her, but she leaned in close to Alice and pressed her own ear against the grain of the wood. She listened carefully and at first heard nothing, though that was quite usual. The wood was thick, and Elinore was not sure for what she should be listening. Then, suddenly, it was as though her hearing were amplified, multiplied. She could hear still nothing from behind the door, but she could hear Hayter’s voice, from far away, commanding a servant to help him tie his cravat.

  “He’s in his room. Dressing, I think,” Elinore said, hearing Hayter speak harsh words. She smirked. “He can’t find his blue cravat and he’s convinced it’s the best one for his eyes.”

  Alice watched Elinore carefully and Elinore felt shy and unsure under her gaze. She should not have been able to hear from so far away. It was strange. Odd. She felt the need to explain herself. “Caleb said sometimes old houses have strange sound patches. I’m probably standing in one of those odd places.” She tipped her head to the room. “But Hayter’s not in there.”

  Alice nodded firmly, seeming content to let the matter drop. She opened the door and they stepped into Hayter’s den. Elinore paused, struck still by the sight. And the scent.

  There was a menagerie of taxidermy on the walls - deer, moose, elk. Then, on the shelves and the desk, there were some beavers, small creatures, an eagle and a fox. Elinore’s nostrils felt assaulted by the scent of death. Not necessarily decay as the items appeared to be quite well preserved, but the scent of morbidity filled her nostrils. Her eyes then caught the paintings on the walls. Ghastly, horrid art showing wolves in various states - chasing animals, rending them to pieces with sharp fangs and wild eyes. A dead stag, sightless eyes staring up as a wolf flashed horrid fangs while perched overtop. Her eyes moved then to the desk where a vulgar statue showed two small creatures, human children Elinore thought, suckled by a wolf. Elinore felt her features curl into one of distaste as she took in the room.

  “How horrid.”

  “All of his things are gruesome and vile, if you ask me,” said Alice, coming to stand next to Elinore. “We should not linger. Our scent will stay in here if we do.” Alice shuddered. “Also, the eyes of everything in this room watch you.”

  As Elinore gazed around the room, she saw Alice was correct - every animal preserved had a stark, knowing gaze that pierced through her.

  “Let us find what we came for and leave this place,” Elinore murmured. “I find it distasteful.” Immediately Elinore made her way to the desk and pulled on the top drawer. Finding it locked, she moved to the next, and the next, finally finding the bottom drawer unsecured. A stack of paper was blissfully there, waiting for her pillaging. She took a large stack and then yanked open a side drawer, finding some pencils, a spare quill and a bottle of ink. She took them all.

  Alice was already waiting outside Hayter’s den for her, having at some point during Elinore’s search, stepped out of the room. Elinore could not blame her. The feeling of decay and… perhaps debauchery hung over every corner of the space. Elinore could not wait to be out herself. Once back in the hall, Elinore pulled the door shut behind her firmly, only feeling better once she heard the latch slip into place. She held back a shudder. Being in that room was akin to being surrounded by Hayter himself.

  “Come, let us drop this off and then we should filch some sweet breads and tea from the kitchen.”

  Alice’s face lit up, clearly pleased with Elinore’s plan. Once in the kitchen, they found Mrs. Thistlewaite who gave them a knowing look before tipping her head toward a ready-made platter of scones and a pot of tea simply waiting for hot water. Elinore breathed in the deep, spicy scent of the brand of tea she now associated with Ca
leb. It was likely her most favorite thing since coming to Ravenwood. Hayter had no love for it and often wrinkled his nose at the scent, but Elinore loved it. Deep, rich and heady. To her, it was intimately intertwined with Caleb. Elinore wondered if he would be back by dinner. If not, she strongly hoped Hayter would not yet return from Haleton. The idea of having dinner with him alone made her lip curl in a snarl.

  “What an expression you’ve on your face,” Alice exclaimed. Back in the library, they were settling down on the floor, cross-legged like heathens, ready to dive into their snack. Elinore raised a hand and touched her lip, not sure when it had curled over her teeth.

  “How impolite of me. I must be hungry.”

  Alice studied her carefully for a moment. “Yes. Of course.”

  Elinore poured them both a cup of tea and slathered a biscuit with a generous helping of honey. “The fruits of our labors,” she joked.

  “I’ve been thinking of this all night,” began Alice as she ate her own scone. “Now that I have enough paper, I would like to write a book with you. Or rather, I’d like to illustrate your writings.”

  “I would love that,” Elinore enthused honestly. Alice’s work was astonishing. She could think of no better accompaniment to her words. “What sort of story should we tell?”

  The rest of the afternoon passed with the two of them making up their tale. They started with outrageous plots: twin sisters separated at birth and then mistaken for one another later on, perhaps captured by the fae and made partially supernatural. They tried to work in haunted castles with menacing spirits, but decided it was too much. It was close to the same time as the day before when Alice sat up suddenly and made her regrets to Elinore as it was time for her to leave and sit with her father. Elinore offered to join her, but Alice said she would use the time to work on sketching and expected Elinore to do the same with her writing. She declared she expected Elinore to have at least five pages of prose for her to read on the morrow. Elinore countered that she then expected a complete sketch of the gloomy forest ready for her perusal. It was one of the most pleasant afternoons that Elinore had ever passed, either at Ravenwood or before.