Once in her room, Elinore opened the window and let the fresh air rush in. She inhaled, smelling grass, trees and maybe even the faint scent of horses. She laid down for a moment, just so she could again remember the press of Caleb’s lips against her skin. She wanted to memorize it in perfect detail and then she would write it down - not for a story or even for Charlotte - but so she would have the memory flawlessly preserved. She rested her hands over her chest and could feel her heart thump madly in its cage as she went over every minute detail. His eyelashes, the curve of his lip, the line of his cheekbones. She felt warm and happy at the thought and… something else. She didn’t know what to call it. It made her feel nervous and anxious, but also excited and daring all at once. She sighed, rolling over onto her stomach and kicking her feet slightly, like a school-girl.
After Elinore felt as though she’d gotten every detail of the incident pristinely captured in her mind, she got up from her bed and took a quill, inkwell and notebook from her trunk. She had to balance the inkwell precariously on the small nightstand and write on her bed. She wondered if she could ask to have a small desk in her room as well. Should she wish to write in here, she couldn’t manage for long spells of time with such a set-up. Her quill flowed easily across the page and only when she had completely captured the moment could she stop. She stared down at her script across the page. It was now preserved for all eternity, never to be forgotten.
Satisfied, she picked up her mythology book and read, immediately immersed in a tragic myth - a couple deeply in love, but forbidden to see one another, only able to speak through a small crack in the wall. Elinore’s heart swooned as they whispered words of passion and devotion to one another. The tale ended in tragedy, with both lovers dying at the end. Elinore dropped the book to her side and lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, digesting the words. It was always after reading tales such as these that she wondered how on earth it was that some young ladies did not read at all, or declared they had no interest in it. Didn’t they know how you could feel so much from a book? Didn’t they know how your heart could race and break from words on a page? Had they never read something so wonderful and horrible that they felt as though the very world should stop and pause to acknowledge the depth of feeling it produced?
How horrible for those two young lovers, so devoted to each other, to never have a moment for their happiness. How terrible they were kept apart by their families and the world. How awful to think each other dead, to feel as though they lived on in a world where the person they loved was gone. Elinore ran her fingertips lightly over the bone of her knuckles were Caleb’s lips had pressed earlier. What if she should lose her chance before she’d even had one? What if there was another horrible carriage accident like the one she’d had, only Caleb died and she never found out where these feelings might go? Would she forever have only the memory of the soft skin of his lips against the almost impersonal flesh of her hand and nothing more? It left a hollow, haunted feeling deep in her belly.
Elinore read the story four more times that day, pausing when Mrs. Davenport came up to tell her lunch would be served, should she wish it, in the dining room. Elinore went downstairs and took a plate of food to the library where she again curled up with her book, voraciously reading as she ate.
Alice didn’t come by that afternoon and Elinore could only assume she was staying with her father, or perhaps had some duties of her own to attend to. She luxuriated in the solitary time - reading, going upstairs to get her knitting and working on it for a while and then finally taking a walk outside in the falling afternoon sun. She stood for a moment in the sunshine and closed her eyes. She could hear the birds, the wind and if she concentrated, she swore she could hear the slight gurgling of a small stream or brook in the woods.
The deep bark of a raven caught her attention, but she didn’t open her eyes and somehow she knew, even before it happened, that the raven would nosedive low and come to rest on her shoulder. The flap of its wings as it settled itself blew a light breeze across her face. It touched its beak to the soft skin of her neck and she tilted her head to the side to give it better access. With her eyes closed, she had the strange sensation that she wasn’t as tall as she should be - that she was lower to the ground, closer to the grass and the dirt. Elinore felt if she moved, that her limbs would be in closer proportion to one another, instead of her legs being so much longer than her arms. It caused a feeling of vertigo to rise up in her brain and she felt herself swaying slightly in the sun. The raven shirred its wings and cawed again, loudly and sharply in her ear and Elinore wanted to bat at it playfully and scold it for making such a loud noise. Or perhaps she should turn her head toward it and snap her teeth.
She could almost feel the snap her teeth would make, the loud crack of sound. She could curl her lips back and open and close her jaw lightening fast, just to tease, just to bait the raven. She opened her eyes and saw four more birds, all ravens, around her - two circling in the air, two on the ground by her feet. The bite marks on her arm pulsed, but not with pain. More like pressure or a heart-beat. Suddenly, she knew she was being watched. Unerringly, she looked to her left and into the woods. A wolf stood at the edge of the forest - cautious and attentive. It was not the feral one that had bitten her on her first night, nor the white or black one she’d seen in her dreams. Elinore stared at it and it stared back, not moving. Only watching until, for a reason unknown to Elinore, it darted away, pulling back into the forest and disappearing, leaving nothing behind and making her wonder if she’d imagined it all.
Caleb and Hayter weren’t back that evening, and although Elinore supposed it was to be expected with the distance to Haleton, she was still disappointed. Their business probably took most of the day and they must have elected to stay the night. Or perhaps longer. She hadn’t asked if they would be in town long; she hadn’t thought to. Alice and Mrs. Thistlewaite invited her to have dinner with them in the kitchen and Elinore readily accepted. The small table was cozy and friendly and sitting with the two of them warmed Elinore’s heart. Mrs. Davenport came in and was heartily invited to join them as well. Then, halfway through their meal, one of the stable hands stopped by for a slice of bread and, unthinkingly, Elinore asked if he’d like to join them too. For a moment, the table was silent and then the young man smiled and pulled up an old crate, sitting low at the table.
Alice and her mother were obviously close and it made a thick lump grow heavy in Elinore’s throat, even as she smiled at the two women. Alice kept up a steady stream about the novel she was currently reading, enrapturing the table with her bright expressions and keen emotions. Mrs. Thistlewaite bore a patient, indulgent expression and, when Alice finally took a break to breathe, asked after Alice’s studies in maths, English and history. Alice’s posture slumped and she admitted she’d been neglecting her work. Elinore asked the young stable hand, Theodore, how he found his chores in the stables and he seemed delighted to be included in their small gathering, and even happier when the women all listened to him talk about his love of horses.
Another member of the stable staff drifted in some time after dinner when they were still chatting in the small kitchen, and then one of the maids and then one of the footmen. Elinore could hardly believe it when Mrs. Thistlewaite noted it was far past Alice’s bedtime and they should all be abed if they wanted to rise early on the morrow. Elinore was sad to leave the cozy kitchen with its warm chatter, but everyone started drifting away, one of the stable boys snatching a handful of biscuits before he left. Realizing he’d been seen by Elinore, his eyes went wide and she thought he might either drop the biscuits or put them back. She held a finger to her lips, the well-known gesture for being silent and smiled at him, making a shooing motion with her other hand. She doubted Mrs. Thistlewaite would begrudge him the snack.
Mrs. Davenport came with her up to her room, checking on her wounds again, tut-tutting at finding them black.
“I should have asked Mr. Caleb to get me some more herbs from Haleton on
his trip,” the housekeeper said as she applied yet another layer of the foul-smelling poultice.
“Do you think he’ll be gone long?” Elinore asked, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t desperate to know.
Mrs. Davenport looked up at her with mischief in her eyes. “Find yourself missing him already, do you?”
“Oh,” Elinore breathed, looking away, feeling her cheeks flush. “I mean, as much as I should miss anyone at Ravenwood, I suppose.”
“Hmm.” Mrs. Davenport cleaned up her supplies, a smile on her lips.
“He is posting some letters for me and I hope he’s had no trouble with them.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re quite worried about your letters and not at all about his handsome face.”
Elinore smiled, unable to keep herself from doing so. Her cheeks felt even hotter and she glanced up to see Mrs. Davenport grinning as well.
“He is very handsome,” Elinore admitted. “And kind.” Elinore sighed. “And not at all like his uncle.”
Mrs. Davenport’s smile faded. “No. No, I daresay he’s not. But in some ways, that’s a pity.”
Elinore was surprised by her words. “Why?”
Mrs. Davenport only shook her head and cleaned up the rest of her tray. “It’s late and I’ve chores to do tomorrow. And you should be getting to sleep yourself.” She left without saying anything more, leaving Elinore feeling like her words were hanging in the air, heavy and thick.
She thought perhaps the happy company she’d shared in the kitchen would keep her dreams at bay, but once asleep, she still found herself in the forest. The white wolf trotted out of the thick wooded area and came to rest at Elinore’s side, pushing its head into her leg. Elinore lowered her hand and trailed it through the thick fur, marveling at its softness. The white wolf preened, a low sound of contentment coming from its throat. Petting the wolf was soothing and peaceful. Elinore thought she could spend hours in the forest with the wolf and be happy.
A wolf howl broke through her calm feelings and she frowned as she stared into the deep, dark forest. The sound was off. Discordant and out of tune, just as it had been before. It surrounded her, coming at her from all sides. She wanted to run, but something about the sound made her instead move deeper into the forest. The white wolf nipped at her fingers, as if trying to keep her still. She shivered as she heard the howling again.
Strangely, she awoke - confused, but alert. The howling still echoing in her ear. No, that wasn’t right, she thought. She really was hearing it. Her eyes darted toward the window. That was why the sound had seemed so strange in her dream. It was real. She kicked off the covers and headed to the slightly open window. The moon was not yet full and gave little light. From her window on the second floor of the manor, she didn’t know what she expected to see. Still, her eyes roved over the darkness, looking for… something. The howl came again and the sound went to her bones. Unthinking, she grabbed her robe, throwing it over her nightgown and rushed from her room, down the stairs of the main hallway and out the front door of the manor.
Outside, the ground was sharp and cold on her bare feet. She moved further from the manor and closer to the trees. Elinore didn’t know what she was doing outside, only that she had to come, she had to try and get closer to the sound. Awful, hideous and tuneless as it was, she felt compelled to follow it. Was it the wolf from this afternoon? What if it was the feral one that bit her? Her steps slowed as she moved further from the manor, closer to the forest. She was outside, in her robe, barefoot, with neither a light nor anything with which to defend herself. What on earth was she thinking?
She turned her head slightly, listening in the direction of the forest. Waiting for… something. Another howl? Something else? She didn’t know.
When she did hear another howl, she was confused even more. It wasn’t the same as the first. Then there was barking, the faint sounds of animals fighting and then…
“Miss?”
Elinore startled, clutching her robe around her like some dowager duchess.
“Miss, it’s George, from this morning? In the house?”
Elinore easily recognized him in the near dark, the same young face and somewhat floppy hair. “Yes, of course. George.”
“Are you all right, miss?”
“I…” Elinore looked away from George, to the forest and then to the manor. “I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here.”
Although she feared George would think her mad for saying such a thing, he only nodded grimly, as if this was what he expected. “I’ll take you back inside the house.”
He came around by her side, herding her like a sheep dog without actually touching her. Her gaze trailed back over her shoulder to the forest. Seeing nothing she forced herself to look ahead, watching George out of the corner of her eye.
“Did you hear anything? Like… a wolf?”
George’s lips thinned slightly. “No, miss. But my hearing is not so good as others at Ravenwood.”
“What made you come out then?”
“Mr. Caleb asked me to keep an eye on Ravenwood in his absence. On the manor and the people. I saw you leaving and came to check up on you.”
Elinore grasped her robe tighter around herself, only now feeling the chill of the night. “I’m glad you did. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“We’ll get you back into the house and Mrs. Davenport can make you some tea.”
Elinore nodded, thinking that perhaps a hot cup of tea would be just the thing to soothe her nerves. George was a kind lad, walking at a slow pace that was easy for her to match in her bare feet and then taking her all the way upstairs to the door to her room.
“If you wait here, I’ll fetch Mrs. Davenport.”
Looking around at the quiet, dark manor, Elinore shook her head. “It’s so late. There’s no need.”
“She can make you some tea and you’ll sleep better.” Not waiting for a reply, George turned and left. Elinore wandered into her room, standing next to the low burning embers of the fireplace, trying to warm up. Minutes later, Mrs. Davenport knocked and then bustled in, a steaming mug in her hand.
“George told me your troubles. I’ve made a special tea to help you sleep.”
“I’m fine now, I was just… being foolish, I suppose.”
Mrs. Davenport nodded, holding the mug toward Elinore anyway. “Be that as it may, drink this up and you’ll feel warmer.”
Mrs. Davenport had gone to the trouble of making her the tea, and it was late at night. The least Elinore could do was drink it. She took the heavy mug and sipped, finding the liquid hot and spicy. Not quite like Caleb’s tea, but with some similar flavors.
“This is quite nice.”
Mrs. Davenport nodded again and then led Elinore to bed, helping her in and handing her the mug again once Elinore was safely tucked in the covers.
“It’s so ridiculous. I was awake, but just… not really thinking.”
“Have you had strange dreams lately?”
“Yes. Coming to Ravenwood has all the furniture in my head disarranged.” Elinore took another sip of the tea, feeling warm and languid. “You were right, this tea was just what I needed.” She yawned and Mrs. Davenport took the mug from her hands as she sunk down lower on the pillows.
“I’ve a great many helpful recipes,” she heard the housekeeper say before Elinore drifted off to sleep.
She didn’t dream.
Chapter Eleven
Much to her dismay, Hayter returned the following day alone. Elinore did her best to hide her disappointment as he came into the library where she was taking afternoon tea. The door opened and she sat up straight, eyes alighting to the doorway, hoping it was Caleb. To face the specter of Hayter was a sore disappointment indeed.
“Dearest Nora, look what a vision you are in the sunlight.”
Elinore set her tea-cup down and stood. “Uncle. How good to see you,” she lied. “Have you and Caleb returned from Haleton?”
“I fear my nephew had to stay behind to
finish up the minutiae of our meeting. You know how it is.” He waved a hand grandiosely and Elinore managed to contain the scowl tickling her face.
“Of course,” she replied. “I’m sure your business is far more intricate that I realize.” She was quite good at lying when the situation called for it, she thought.
“I have brought you a small gift from town,” Hayter teased, his eyes bright with mischief.
Immediately, her chest tightened, not in excitement, but dread. A present from Hayter was not something she was interested in at all. “Oh?” she queried.
Hayter crooked a finger for her to come closer. Setting her jaw and squaring her shoulders, she set her book down and stood, coming across the library to stand before him.
“Were you waiting for a gift?” he cajoled.
“Truthfully, kind sir, I confess I hadn’t thought the slightest upon receiving a gift from you.”
His lips tightened at her phrasing and she felt a rush of pride. Yes, two could play the word game.
With a flourish, he presented what was behind his back - a small box wrapped with pretty paper and tied with a lovely fabric bow. She was almost sorry it was so beautifully packaged. She wanted to hate it.
“Oh, how lovely.” She reached out to take it and he pulled it back playfully, making her move closer into his space to bring it within her grasp.
“There you are,” he said, once she was more intimately in his space. “Good girl.”
He purred the words and she had a strong visceral reaction. Her chest tightened further and the hair on the back of her neck rose. She had an urge to pull her lips back and bare her blunt-edged teeth. He handed the parcel over and she took it gingerly, meeting his gaze. She did not blink nor look away bashfully as she had been taught a young lady should do. To look away from Hayter was to take your eye off the hunter.
Elinore unwrapped the elegantly adored box with care, ignoring the eager sounds that escaped Hayter’s throat. It contained a strip of lace. Perhaps a handkerchief? She pulled the flimsy fabric out of its confinement, not understanding. It was small circle of lace, made of a material that had some give to it. She had no idea what it was.
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