“It’s a garter.”
Elinore held it away from her as though it were poisoned. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s meant to be worn about the leg. Let me show you.”
He knelt down at her feet and she scampered backwards.
“I must decline.”
“Come now, Nora. We’re family. It’s hardly inappropriate.”
“I decline most strenuously,” she said, putting as much steel into her voice as she could. In her mind, she envisioned every stern schoolmarm and severe preacher she’d ever heard and mimicked their tone.
Hayter seemed amused by her reluctance, sighing. “I forget you are a young girl and the cosmopolitan ways of the world are unknown to you.”
Not knowing how to respond, she held her tongue.
“But I hope, in time, you’ll come to realize that there are many… advantages to being stationed at Ravenwood, and many benefits that may come your way if only you could or would rise to another station.”
What on earth was he on about? Elinore resisted the urge to take a step away from him, fearing it would show weakness. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Hayter smiled, considering her. “You’re very much like your late aunt, Victoria. I loved her dearly.”
Elinore felt her eyes narrow. Elinore had seen the painting of Victoria and knew she favored her aunt in features, but it was clear from when she wore her aunt’s dress, they were not alike in stature. Was Hayter intimating that Elinore should be the next mistress of Ravenwood? It was absurd. She’d sooner pitch all her belongings into a river and live life amongst gypsies selling fortunes and baubles than marry Hayter.
“You must still be completely inconsolable at her loss,” Elinore managed.
Hayter’s lips quirked. “Well, not completely, not anymore.”
The library was silent as they stood there, staring at each other. Hayter watched her unblinking, his eyes like some large beast of prey. Elinore dared not move, fearing that any motion, no matter what, would indicate surrender.
A knock at the door sounded. Neither she nor Hayter turned toward the door. The door creaked open and a servant popped her head in, Mary.
“Dinner is served.”
“Ah,” Hayter said, breaking his frozen posture with sudden movement. He clapped. “How wonderful. Dinner.”
He turned and exited the room with a joyful bounce in his step. The moment he was outside the library, Elinore sagged. She now feared she was locked in some sort of battle with her uncle. She prayed she was up to the task.
Elinore’s spine had never been more straight, her posture never more perfect, and her manners never more impeccable than they were at dinner. Though she was poured a glass of wine and had been indulging of late, she needed her wits about her and she left her glass untouched. For dinner, Mrs. Thistlewaite had prepared a lovely roast with country vegetables. The meat was incredibly rare and she normally wouldn’t have cared for it, but tonight, it made her mouth water. She ate her entire portion and wondered how she could get another serving without seeming greedy. Hayter’s eyes rested on her the entire meal as he kept up a deluge of words. He no doubt thought he was regaling her with his business acumen and conquests - winning her over with the notion of his virility and power. Truthfully, she was incredibly bored by the entire thing. What did she care if he had piles of gold down in the basement or diamond necklaces in the attic? She was not fond of him. She had not once entertained thoughts of a romantic nature for him. He was acting as though she should be grateful for his attention, for his wealth and for his prowess. It was maddening.
After dinner, though she hated to use the excuse, she claimed she suffered a headache and bid her uncle goodnight, exiting quickly before he could trap her in the room or worse, the parlor with its piano. Elinore took a quick detour to the kitchen to thank Mrs. Thistlewaite for a marvelously prepared dinner, smiling when the older woman blushed in response.
Once Elinore was in her room, Mrs. Davenport, bless her soul, came to check on her and change her bandages. Though Elinore’s wounds were sealing shut, they still retained the horrid black color. Lines of black wound up her arm, moving across her shoulder. Mrs. Davenport reached out and touched one of the dark vines on Elinore’s forearm, her fingers light and careful.
“Does it pain you at all, miss?” Her sharp eyes settled on Elinore’s face and Elinore shook her head.
“No. Is that bad?”
Truth be told, she felt fine. Perhaps better than fine. She felt she had endless energy and wanted to do something, go somewhere, open the window again and breathe in the night air and just… run. Yes, that was it. She wanted to run.
“No, of course not.” Mrs. Davenport patted her soothingly on the hand, as she was wont to do. “I just… I worry for you.”
“Do you think I need a doctor? Is it serious?”
Mrs. Davenport hesitated, her mouth twisting and curving as she tried to find her words. “No. You’ll be fine. Ravenwood is your home now.”
It was hardly an answer and Elinore would have to ponder it later. At the moment, she had another pressing concern, something that came to mind this afternoon when Hayter had presented her with his unsuitable gift.
“Mrs. Davenport,” she began briskly, “there’s no easy way to say this. I hope I can rely on your sensibilities and simply ask.” Elinore squared her shoulders. “I need a chair for my room.”
Whatever Mrs. Davenport thought Elinore was going to say, that was not it. She shook her head in confusion. “I’m sure we can have one ordered for you. What sort of chair were you wanting?”
“I’m afraid I cannot wait. I must have a chair this evening and it must be of a height to be jammed under the handle of my door so that it cannot be opened from the outside.”
Mrs. Davenport’s eyes went wide. “Surely you don’t mean… Oh, but Miss Reed, Elinore,” Mrs. Davenport coaxed. “You are perfectly safe here at Ravenwood. No one would dare-“
“I fear someone would dare and wouldn’t in fact consider it much trouble at all.”
Mrs. Davenport regarded Elinore for a moment, a heavy silence between the two of them. Finally, she nodded, her throat working up and down as she swallowed nervously. “There’s an extra chair in one of the other guest rooms further down the hall that would be of a serviceable height. It shan’t be missed. I shall have one of the footmen fetch it for you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Elinore took Mrs. Davenport’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m sure you think I’m being foolish. But I’d rather be a fool with a chair stuck under her door than … well… thank you,” she repeated.
Mrs. Davenport nodded, a tight expression on her face as she stood. “I don’t think you foolish. Not at all. I think Ravenwood has been waiting for you. We’ve all been waiting for you.”
Her words were like a pleasant, heavy stone in Elinore’s stomach - not one that made her feel sick, but one that made her feel anchored as though she belonged. Before Elinore could reply, Mrs. Davenport curtseyed quickly, something she’d never done for Elinore and made her exit. Elinore watched the doorway after she left for several minutes.
True to Mrs. Davenport’s word, there was a knock at Elinore’s her door half an hour later. On the other side, a footman wordlessly presented her with a solid, sturdy chair. She tested it under the door and was quite satisfied with the results.
Elinore spent the evening stretched out on the floor, most uncomfortably, penning another letter to Charlotte and working on some of her writing. Perhaps she should ask for another chair and a desk! Until then, the floor would have to do. She’d burned through two candles by the time she finished and was surprised to find it dark outside. Standing, stretching out her stiff and sore joints, she made her way to the window, snuffing the candle so she could to see out the glass. She wondered if the wolf she saw the other day was still there, somewhere. She thought perhaps it was, although she couldn’t say why she was certain. As if the universe had heard her though
ts, the sound of a wolf howl broke through the night - the same off-tune sound that made her neck prickle and her ears hurt. The feral wolf. It was out there, she was sure of it. She had the same strange urge as the night before - to leave her room and follow the sound. She wrapped her arms around her midsection, feeling her wounds pulse in time with her heartbeat, as though they had been awakened by the call of the feral wolf. But that was madness, wasn’t it?
She drew the curtains closed and turned her back to the window. Sitting on her bed, she drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. She would not leave this room. Not tonight. She would not.
The howl broke through her thoughts again, cutting to the heart of her, like a sharp knife through soft, tender meat. She would not leave the room, she repeated to herself. She would not.
Her stomach rolled with nausea and she thought she may have to make use of the pot under her bed, but she clamped her lips tightly and found comfort in a slight back and forth rocking motion. She would not leave her bed, she would not answer the strange call of the wolf. Finally, she drifted into a restless sleep.
Elinore’s dreams were fitful. She was in the woods with the white wolf and could hear the feral wolf circling her, though she could not see it. The white wolf peered into the foliage at regular intervals and growled, lips curling back over its teeth. Her teeth, Elinore realized. The white wolf was a female. She felt a certain kinship to her now. A group of ravens circled them and she wracked her brain trying to remember what they were called. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, repeating the words over and over: a rafter of turkeys, a murder of crows, an exaltation of larks… an unkindness of ravens. How strange. She felt very safe with them.
The white wolf darted into the forest for a moment before coming back to Elinore’s side - a steadfast and true companion.
“Where is the black wolf?” Elinore asked. The she-wolf cocked her head at Elinore and stared back, unblinking blue. It was the first time Elinore could remember speaking in her dream. “There are four wolves in all. You. The feral wolf that bit me, the black wolf, and the one in the woods the other day. I hear the feral wolf when I’m awake. I’ve seen the other one in the forest. But I’ve never seen the black one anywhere but here. Where is it?” The white wolf tipped her head in the other direction and Elinore was suddenly compelled to add, “Where is he?”
The white wolf tipped her head back and howled - a beautiful, sonorous sound that resonated deeply in Elinore’s bones. She could pull that sound into her marrow and keep it with her always. Once the she-wolf was done, the howl echoed in the night - the air ringing in its wake. She listened, wishing that she could prick her ears and turn them to hear sounds in all directions.
There was no response to the howl. Silence. Her heart felt heavy.
A pervasive feeling of melancholy rested deeply in her heart when she awoke, carried from her dream into the waking world. The next day passed as many of her days had at Ravenwood although there was a different tension between her and Hayter now. He was already in the dining room when she entered for breakfast and she knew he’d been waiting for her. His fingers lingered too long on her shoulder, as he tucked her chair into the table. Then, his hand decidedly brushed hers as he passed the butter. Only the coffee pot was laid out on the serving table and when Elinore asked one of the staff for some tea, Hayter declared they were out and wouldn’t be receiving some for days.
He made his desire for Elinore to join him on a morning walk clear and decisive, not leaving her room to refuse. Elinore kept her shawl wrapped around her like a shield, though she didn’t need it for protection against the cold. She found she must be getting used to the weather at Ravenwood for it was quite pleasant to her and her shawl was overly warm. But, it was one more layer between herself and Hayter and for that, she would suffer a shawl in the midst of hell itself. Hayter’s conversation was heavily weighted toward himself, his accomplishments and how much Elinore must adore Ravenwood.
After their walk, Elinore excused herself to find Alice, hoping that the young girl would be a deterrent to Hayter’s continued presence. It either worked or he had deemed his wooing for the day complete; he bid her farewell, indicating he looked forward to seeing her at dinner. Relieved, Elinore went searching for Alice, finding herself at the back of the house, where the servants quarters were located. A young boy, who worked in the stables judging by the slightly horsey smell he emitted, directed Elinore to the Thistlewaite’s room where Elinore knocked and felt her heart swell when it was indeed Alice who opened the door.
“Oh! How good to see you!” Alice exclaimed in a low whisper. “Come in, come in.”
Just behind Alice, prone on a bed, looking pale and thin, was Mr. Thistlewaite.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“No, not at all,” Alice said, keeping her voice quiet. “He’s sleeping now, but I know he’ll be happy to see if you if he wakes.”
“If you’re sure…”
“Sit, sit,” Alice beckoned. Elinore took one of the small, slightly rickety chairs next to Mr. Thistlewaite’s bedside. She felt so much more relaxed in Alice’s presence. Alice pulled out several sketches to show Elinore, her excitement evident in her voice and expression. Her sketches were magnificent with so much detail and so many fine lines. Elinore found herself enraptured - it was as though the charcoal were a sentient thing - spreading across the page, alive. Toward the bottom of the pile, were several drawings of wolves and ravens and Elinore paused over those.
“Have you seen any wolves?” Elinore asked, trying to keep her voice light.
Alice took the pages away from Elinore, fiddling with them as she tried to make the edges align. “Ravenwood has always drawn wolves.”
“And what of the feral one? The one Caleb hunts. The one that bit me.”
Alice swallowed. “I’ve not seen any wolves at Ravenwood that I’m unfamiliar with.”
Elinore turned Alice’s words over in her mind, not quite sure what unsettled her about the answer. Alice quickly changed subjects, talking of their shared endeavor of creating a story with illustration and Elinore did her best to focus on that, and not on the way her mind kept traveling back to the drawings of the wolves and ravens circling the grounds of Ravenwood.
After some time, Mr. Thistlewaite stirred and he was indeed happy to see Elinore, thanking her for retrieving help. Elinore seemed unable to convince him it was merely the right thing to do.
“Well, I’m just glad nothing happened to you, miss,” he said. His voice was so soft Elinore had to lean in close to hear him.
Alice went still beside her and Elinore’s fingers briefly touched the sleeve of her dress where, underneath the fabric, the wolf’s bite marks were no longer bandaged, but still flared dark and sinister looking. “Right as rain, Mr. Thistlewaite.”
His lips quirked a bit. “I told you. Thistle. Everyone calls me Thistle,” he said, repeating his sentiment from the night they met.
“Of course, Thistle. I’m glad to see you making a recovery. I’m sure you’ll be up and about in no time.”
“Caleb said he’d send the doctor from Haleton and I’m sure we’ll hear good news about his progress,” Alice said, looking at her father fondly.
At Caleb’s name, Elinore’s heart beat a little faster. “Does he often stay away long?” she asked, wondering when he would return.
Alice thought about it. “Sometimes. I think he meets with people on behalf of Hayter. I think Hayter likes the important meetings, but sends Caleb for the check-ins or lesser meetings.”
“Of course,” Elinore murmured, not feeling at all surprised. Though her spirits had been lifted visiting Alice, the news that Caleb could be gone for longer than she’d thought made her heart sink in her chest. She forced a smile and changed the subject. “We should plot out the rest of our tale, if your father is up to hearing it,” she glanced at Thistle with a teasing look in her eye.
He gave the happy sigh of a beleaguered, but content father. “Li
stening to you two chatter is like listening to birds - bright and cheerful.” He paused. “And very high-pitched.”
Mrs. Thistlewaite came by a little after noon with some cut-up sandwiches and some of the spicy tea that just that morning, Hayter insisted they were out of. After their quick repast, Elinore and Alice left Thistle to rest and decided to enjoy the fresh air outside.
The air was crisp against the insides of her lungs and Elinore breathed it in deeply, smelling the moss from the forest, the horses in the stables, the grass under their feet and perhaps a touch of rain coming on the wind. She’d rather thought herself an urban girl before coming to Ravenwood, but now, standing outside and seeing the sprawling expanse of the estate, she wondered if perhaps she’d been rural in her heart all along. Alice snatched her hand and tugged at her, pulling Elinore into a light run, dashing for the stables. Once there, Alice showed Elinore where the sugar cubes and carrots were kept and they each took great big handfuls and made their way to the horses. Elinore recognized a few of the staff in the stables - Jonah, the young boy from earlier, and some other men whose names she did not know yet. They nodded at her, offering her tentative smiles, which she brightly returned. Her eyes were drawn by a pale grey horse with a white mane and she drifted toward it, pausing when it seemed to whinny and neigh as she got closer.
“It just takes a while for Storm to warm up, but she’s one of Caleb’s favorites. I daresay she’ll take to you as well.”
Elinore wasn’t sure what that had to do with it, but true to Jonah’s word, after a few more hoof stomps, Storm jerked her head one last time and then exhaled loudly through her nostrils.
“There you be. She’ll take some sugar from you now.”
Elinore spared a glance to Alice who appeared busy visiting a soft-faced foal hiding beneath its mother in another stall. Tentatively, Elinore moved closer to Storm, holding her hand out with the sugar cube. She almost jumped when she felt the soft, velvety touch of nostril on her palm, but stayed still until the mare had neatly and gently plucked two cubes from her hand. Elinore grinned at Jonah.
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