Ravenwood

by Margaux Gillis

  “We didn’t have horses in the city. I mean, I saw them pulling carriages and such. I’m not a stranger to them, but… not so close as this.”

  Jonah cradled Storm’s face and ran a palm over it. “They’re lovely creatures. We like to train them young at Ravenwood. Get them used to things.”

  “Like what?”

  Jonah shrugged, looking away. “Just the way of things here. Some horses are too skittish to be Ravenwood horses.”

  Elinore reached out and touched her fingertips to the short hairs on the horse’s muzzle. As her eyes wandered over the horse and then the stables, she noticed some carved figures on the frames of the doors. Ravens and wolves.

  “Because of the wolves?” she asked suddenly. Jonah flinched at her words, watching her with careful eyes. Nervous, she continued, “Alice said Ravenwood has always drawn wolves.”

  Jonah nodded slowly. “That it has, miss. That it has.”

  Storm nudged her hand, a breath of hot air running over her skin and Jonah laughed.

  “We’re not paying enough attention to her.”

  Elinore grew slightly braver, running her hand over the soft muzzle of the horse, stepping in closer. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Do you ride?”

  Elinore laughed. “I’m not sure if you can call what I do ‘riding.’”

  Jonah grinned in return. “If you’d like to give it a go, we’ll set you up right.”

  Looking at Storm’s calm, serene face, Elinore wondered if she dared. She could go out on the grounds, maybe even the forest, ride among the trees and feel the wind in her face. The thought created a deep longing within her - not necessarily to ride, but just to be out in the woods. To be free.

  “I’ll think on it.”

  Spending a wonderful afternoon with Alice, visiting the stables and going for a walk, should have fortified Elinore for dinner with Hayter, however, she dreaded it. It passed similarly to breakfast with his hand lingering on her as he placed her chair, and then moments where he openly stared while she ate. The food was outstanding as always and Elinore was ravenous from her day outside, eating larger portions than she normally would. Hayter beamed, declaring it refreshing to see a woman with an appetite - as though she were eating for his pleasure. He reached out to pat her on the hand and she had the urge to snap at him - make a low sound or hunch over her food, like an animal in the wild. She took a calming breath and the urge passed. She told herself she was simply under a lot of stress, being constantly on her guard with him.

  After dinner, Hayter took her hand and led her to the sitting room, heedless of her protests, and sat her at the piano. He’d found some Victoria’s music scores, one already lay out on the instrument. Elinore grit her teeth and wondered what was worse - attempting to play the piano or being forced to have conversation with Hayter.

  It was horrible. Her playing was atrocious. She was somewhat adequate on a few bars, but was hideous on the rest. Wrong notes, bad rhythm, discordant melodies. She’d rather listen to a pack of shrieking hyenas than to herself stumble through piano pieces. At each wrong note, at every misplaced finger, she could see Hayter out of the corner of her eye, smiling, as though delighted somewhat in her discomfort. She felt like a recalcitrant child who needed to be monitored during practice time. At the end of the first song, she made a move to stand, but Hayter came to her side and rested a hand heavy on her shoulder.

  “Dear Nora, how will you ever improve if you do not devote your time accordingly?”

  “I fear such improvement is beyond my skill set,” she answered carefully.

  His fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Nonsense. You shall be a wonderful player. If you devote the time.”

  How to escape now? Hayter’s hand pressed down on her shoulder, anchoring her to the seat. Movement caught her gaze, and she could see one of the young maids hovering in the doorway, as though she wanted to come in and interrupt. Elinore had no doubt that would end disastrously. She moved her head slightly to the side, hoping the young woman understood it as Elinore’s wish for her not to interrupt. Elinore supposed that if Hayter was with her, he wasn’t wandering about scaring the staff. And all she had to do was play the piano.

  Play she did. Horribly, awfully, obnoxiously.

  Hayter declared although she was rough around the edges (a phrase at which Elinore couldn’t hold back a snort - she wasn’t rough around the edges, she was appalling), he was sure that with practice, she would be as proficient with the piano as her aunt had been. They would come to the sitting room every night after dinner and she would practice.

  Elinore wanted to burst out laughing. It was absurd. But she must choose her battles carefully and if it would keep Hayter in a good mood…. She could do it. If he wanted her to play the piano, she would play the piano. She would play it most horrifically every night until one of them, if not both, were bleeding from the ears with her clunky musicianship. Hopefully that would be all he would demand from her.

  That night, as he took his leave from her, he gripped her fingers tightly and leaned in closely, placing his lips against her cheek. She held body as still as possible, like a rabbit caught in the woods. His lips were slightly wet where they pressed against her skin and she flinched slightly, feeling a tremor of amusement run through him as she did. He pulled back, his eyes roving over her.

  “Sleep well, my dear.”

  Elinore walked as calmly and carefully as she could, feeling his eyes on her back as she left the room and headed down the long hallway. She felt that, should she run, he would only be enticed to chase her. Once around the corner, she paused, placing a hand over her chest and willing her heart to slow its maddening pace. She felt sick with the speed at which it beat, the prospect of Hayter looming over her.

  Once back in her room, Elinore changed into her nightgown and placed the chair under the handle of her door securely. She again wondered when Caleb would be coming back. Hayter was not as… disturbing with Caleb present. Thinking of Hayter’s lips pressed against her cheek, she wrinkled her nose, taking out one of her handkerchiefs and wiping at her face until the skin was pink and bright. She couldn’t help but contrast it with the memory of Caleb’s lips against her knuckles. His lips had been soft and dry, and quite a lovely shade of pink, now that she thought on it. While she feared the idea of Hayter coming to her room in the dead of night, she felt very differently thinking of Caleb being the one to sneak in. Falling down on the bed, she turned her head to the window and stared out at the darkened sky, imagining. The door would creak open softly and she’d possibly be able to see his outline from the low candlelight in the hallway. She would recognize the tread of his footsteps on the floorboards. Would she pretend to be asleep? Present him with her back and keep her eyes firmly closed? Or would she sit up? Say something? What could she say that wouldn’t break the silence in a horrible and awkward way? The bed would dip under his weight as he sat on the mattress. Her heartbeat sped up as she imagined it - not with a sick and awful feeling as it did with Hayter, but with an accompanying flutter in her belly. She would inhale and catch the familiar scent of him once he was close. She could find out if his hair was as soft as she imagined it must be, as soft as it looked. A wave rolled through her stomach, pleasant and terrifying at once. She placed one of her hands low on her belly, as though she could calm it with her touch. What would happen next? Would Caleb lean over her, his body framing hers? Would he stare at her for a moment and she back at him - memorizing his features? How much of him would she be able to see in the dark? The only light that would be in the room would be from a left-over candle or the fireplace. The new moon was rising this evening and there would be no moonlight cast down. Or would it be even more seductive if she couldn’t see his face at all? If she only knew it was him by scent… and by touch. Elinore felt flushed at the thought - giddy and nervous, but also powerful. These were her thoughts and she was allowed to have them. No one could take them from her. No one could chide her for them. She could think whatever she
liked.

  A knock at the door startled her and her stomach swooped low in dread.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s only me. I’ve brought some nighttime tea for you.”

  Mrs. Davenport, Elinore thought with a relieved sigh, heading over to the door and removing the chair to let the housekeeper in.

  “What a lovely thought,” Elinore said as Mrs. Davenport came in the room. Mrs. Davenport set the tea tray down on the nightstand and poured Elinore a cup, watching as Elinore took her first sip. She closed her eyes in happiness. “This is just what I needed to calm my nerves.”

  “I thought you might do with a cup. I heard you playing the piano for Mr. Hayter.”

  Elinore cringed. “It was horrid, wasn’t it?”

  Mrs. Davenport looked as though she would argue the point, but then Elinore laughed and the older woman smiled at her. “Are you certain you’re not tone deaf?”

  “I may very well be, Mrs. Davenport. But I daresay, Hayter will not let me use that as an excuse. He’s quite… insistent I play.”

  “My understanding is Mrs. Victoria played every night after dinner.”

  Elinore took another drink of her tea. “Well, I’m not Mrs. Victoria, nor do I wish to be.”

  “Let me take your hair down for you and brush it out,” Mrs. Davenport offered.

  “Oh, that’s all right. I can do it myself.”

  “I know you can, but I’d like to do it for you.”

  She stood behind Elinore and started pulling pins from Elinore’s hair, combing through the strands with her fingers. Elinore blinked, already feeling tired and drowsy.

  “He’s almost boorish,” Elinore said of Hayter, finishing her cup of tea. One of Mrs. Davenport’s hands came and took the empty cup from her, the other still working on her hair. “He’s so unlike Caleb.”

  “Caleb is more like his father,” Mrs. Davenport replied.

  Elinore made a low sound in her throat - feeling extraordinarily sleepy. She felt the brush, now in Mrs. Davenport’s hand, run down the length of her hair, the housekeeper taking great care not to get it caught in any tangles.

  “I do appreciate how nice you’ve been to me,” Elinore murmured.

  “Not at all dear. A good pack takes care of its own.”

  Her words washed over Elinore like a warm lap of water in a tub. Elinore realized her eyes were already closed and she was quickly drifting asleep.

  “There you are, dear.” She felt Mrs. Davenport ease her down on the bed and then pull the covers over her. “Sleep well tonight, and do not hear the call of the wolf outside. I’m sure Caleb will be home soon.”

  Elinore fell asleep with thoughts of Caleb in her head. Of the fine line of his nose and his sharp cheekbones and the soft, lush curve of his lips. She heard the door closing behind Mrs. Davenport and wanted to get up and replace the chair, but couldn’t rouse herself to. Moments later, when she opened her eyes, she was again in the forest, dreaming. The white wolf stood in front of Elinore with a raven on her back. The she-wolf trotted over to her and the raven leapt up in the air, circling once before coming to rest on Elinore’s shoulder.

  “Hello, friends,” Elinore said. She ran her fingers through the white wolf’s fur, so soft and silky. The raven whispered in her ear and Elinore thought she could almost understand it. It no longer sounded like mindless chattering or a hundred voices overlaid on one another. She listened harder. She could almost make out words.

  The feral wolf’s howl cut through the night, making Elinore’s head dart up sharply. The white wolf pulled her lips back over her teeth and growled low and fierce.

  “I hear it too, girl. Hideous beast.”

  The wolf touched her nose to Elinore’s leg, as if in agreement with her. Elinore looked down and asked her the same question she’d asked before.

  “Where is the black wolf?”

  The white wolf tipped her head back and let loose a long, sad howl. It made Elinore feel lonely and hollow. They both cocked their head to one side to listen for anything in response.

  Silence.

  The white wolf dropped down to her belly and then rested her chin on the ground. Dejected. Elinore sat down beside her and stroked her hand over the smooth, short fur of her skull. She felt the same way.

  Chapter Twelve

  Elinore was quite surprised the next morning at breakfast when Mrs. Thistlewaite not only brought out her normal meal, but also handed her an envelope with a wrapped parcel - a book, if Elinore was to guess.

  “What is this?” Elinore asked, taking the smooth, creamy parchment and package from Mrs. Thistlewaite.

  “One of the stable hands was in Haleton yesterday running errands and this was given to him. For you,” Mrs. Thistlewaite answered, her eyes lit up.

  Placing the wrapped book on the table, Elinore turned the letter over in her hands. It was too thin to be from Charlotte and there was no address on it. Her eyes traced over the deep red wax seal - ravens and wolves. The seal of the manor. She cracked it open.

  “Oh! It’s from Caleb! Is he back?”

  Mrs. Thistlewaite laughed. “Well, don’t ask me, read your letter.” She patted Elinore on the shoulder and then left her alone in the dining room. Her food momentarily forgotten, Elinore sat back in her chair to read.

  Elinore,

  Please forgive me for being away so long from Ravenwood and allow me to express my hope that this letter finds you well. I have been delayed for a few days longer than expected in and around Haleton, visiting friends of my parents and seeking their council on a matter close to my heart. When I saw young Theo from the stables in town, I bade him wait long enough for me to write you a short letter. I know the staff at Ravenwood takes great care of all its inhabitants, but I’m sorry to be so long away from you.

  Elinore wondered if she would suffer any long-term effects from her heart continually beating madly in fits and starts, as had been the case since her arrival at Ravenwood. She traced the cursive edges of Caleb’s script with her fingertip. His penmanship was not so fine as to be all swirls and whorls, nor so stark to be like that of a chicken scratching at the ground. She rather thought it was quite like the man himself - somewhat understated, but quite handsome.

  I trust Mrs. Davenport has been seeing to your bandages and that Mrs. Thistlewaite is keeping you well fed. I hope you have been able to meet the remainder of the household. I’m sure you have charmed them well with your kindness and bright smile. I find myself quite bereft of it for having known it such a short time.

  Although it may sound strange, please try not to wander too far from the manor. Jonah and the other men are still on the hunt for the feral wolf, even in my absence. And I’m sure my uncle is as well. I’m sure you will find more than enough books to keep you busy in the library, but if not, I’ve sent one along with Theo that I thought you’d rather enjoy.

  Warmest regards, Caleb.

  Elinore pressed the letter against her chest, feeling the wideness of her smile and the warmth of a blush staining across her cheeks. Biting her lip slightly, she set the letter down and carefully unwrapped the book from its plain brown packaging, taking care not to tear or rip any of the paper.

  The book had a lovely dark red cloth cover with a title embossed down the spine. ‘The Whisper of Candles.’ Intrigued, Elinore opened it up and flipped through the pages languidly. She realized quite quickly, and delightedly, that it was a gothic novel. She caught the words spirit and haunting and read a quick passage on a young lady walking down a long, dark hallway. A perfect gift - a book to keep her company and thrill her. Giving into her bookish whim, she held the book to her nose and inhaled, imagining she could almost catch the lingering scent of Caleb on the cover and the pages, as though he’d perhaps run his own fingers over the book as she did now.

  “What have you got there, clutched so deliciously close to your bosom?”

  Elinore froze at Hayter’s voice. She’d not heard him approach the dining room and certainly hadn’t expected him up so
early.

  “Just a book.”

  “A fortunate book to be held so close to one so lovely.” He sat down at the head of the table, flapping his napkin with a whip-crack through the air that caused her to flinch slightly. “What has you so enamored of it?”

  Elinore set the book down in her lap. “I’ve a great love of all books.”

  Hayter smiled at her, lips mostly closed, just a hint of white teeth peering out from between his lips. His nostrils flared slightly and his eyes immediately darted down to Caleb’s letter, which Elinore had left on the table. Unthinking, she snatched it up, beating his quick fingers a moment before they closed on the paper themselves.

  “My nephew must not be nearly as busy as I thought if he has time to pen letters home.”

  Hayter had barely glanced at the letter, but knew it was from Caleb. Elinore could see no point in denying it. That didn’t mean, however, that she had to tell the entire truth. “Just a short note, sending me a book I asked for.”

  Hayter’s eyes narrowed slightly and Elinore wondered if he would challenge her on the lie, and what she would do if he did. A staff member came out nearly silently from the serving door, bearing a serving tray of coffee and Hayter went through the motions of fixing his morning cup, waving the man away with annoyance written all over his face.

  “I must say, I never understood the need for young ladies to read. Surely, you could be more productive and make something pretty, practice the piano, learn to run the household.”

  “Ravenwood runs like a fine Swiss watch, without interference from anyone.”

  “Sometimes it’s best for everyone to remember his or her place,” Hayter said, sipping his coffee.

  “Perhaps I’ll speak to Caleb about it when he returns,” Elinore replied, folding Caleb’s letter in thirds and tucking it into her sleeve. “I’m sure he is a wealth of information, having grown up here. How long have you been here again?” She hoped her face conveyed the right mixture of blank indifference and ingenuity she wished it to.