Castle of the Wolf

by Sandra Schwab

  “I don’t believe this,” she muttered, and her breath transformed into puffs of white fog. A thick layer of ice flowers bloomed on the windows, and—who knew—by midafternoon there might be icicles hanging from the candelabra!

  Anger exploded inside her. How probable was it that a household the size of Wolfenbach suddenly and unexpectedly, virtually overnight, ran out of firewood?

  Not. At. All.

  Angry heat washed up from her bosom to her face. Cissy gritted her teeth. That devious bastard von Wolfenbach! This was surely just another one of his harebrained schemes to rid himself of her! She took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten before she bestowed a forced smile on the butler. “And since we’re surrounded by forest, has somebody gone out to fetch some more firewood?”

  Rambach blinked like a large owl. With a red nose. “But, gnädiges Fräulein, that wood will be all wet and will need to be dried.” He sniffled.

  “Bah!” Exasperated, Cissy threw up her arms. “So you think it’s perfectly fine that your crack-brained master brings pneumonia over us all?”

  “Gnädiges Fräulein?”

  “Ah, never mind!” She made to stamp out of the room, but changed her mind. She advanced on Rambach and poked her finger into his chest. “When you next see the fine Fenris von Wolfenbach, you can tell him that he is a devious bastard of the first order!”

  And with that, she marched out of the room.

  From then on, the day proceeded downward. At midday a young girl arrived, sent by the Gräfin von Wolfenbach to be Cissy’s maid. Young Marie looked as if she expected to be devoured by a mad beast at any moment. She looked even more horrified when she became aware of the freezing temperatures in the castle. “There’s no need to worry,” Cissy told her cheerfully, and sent her to Frau Häberle in the hope the housekeeper would take care of her.

  Sighing, Cissy went back to the drawing room, where Mrs. Chisholm, wrapped in a fur coat, sat enthroned on the red settee. The lower half of her face was covered by the collar of her coat, the upper half by a fur cap, which she had pulled down over her ears. Cissy blinked. For a moment she could have sworn that a particularly fat marmot had settled down on the widow’s head.

  “Hello, dearie,” came Mrs. Chisholm’s muffled voice from behind the collar. To perfect her outfit, she had thrust her hands into a fur-trimmed muff and now looked ready to brave Russian winters.

  Cissy exhaled noisily. “This is so ridiculous!” She sneezed. Even though she was wearing her woolen dress and her pelisse, she was still cold. “That sheep-brained, puerile nodcock! He thinks he can just frighten us away!” Angrily, she stomped up and down the room, in intervals blowing on her icy, mitten-covered fingers. “And of course, the servants are all blastedly loyal and support his imbecilic whims!”

  “Loyal servants are a good thing, dearie,” Mrs. Chisholm mumbled into her furs. “Just regard it as an adventure.” The skin around her eyes crinkled as if she were smiling.

  “An adventure? We’re all going to freeze to death because of that dratted gooserump!” Abruptly, Cissy stopped as something occurred to her. “Is the dead rat still in your room?”

  Mrs. Chisholm’s eyes widened in horror. “Of course not! I threw it out of the window after the deed was done.”

  “A pity.” Thoughtfully, Cissy gnawed on her lower lip. “Where do you think we might find rats in this castle?”

  ~*~

  When they came back upstairs from their adventure underground, Rambach already awaited them. “There’s a gentleman here to see you, gnädiges Fräulein,” he said. Warily, he eyed the basket Cissy was carrying.

  “Really?” Cissy handed him her lantern. “Who is it?” She started to pat at the dust and cobwebs clinging to her pelisse.

  “Herr Geheimrat Haldner of the Altertumsverein Kirchwalden. I understand he is the president of this institution.”

  “Oh dear, oh dear,” Mrs. Chisholm muttered.

  Very slowly, Cissy straightened up. “Is he? Is he indeed.” The Altertumsverein. She snorted. So the vultures are drawing in. “Where is he now?”

  “In the drawing room, with the master.”

  “Ex-master,” Mrs. Chisholm corrected him kindly.

  “Indeed, gnädige Frau. Gnädiges Fräulein…”

  “It is quite all right. I will go upstairs immediately.”

  “The basket—”

  “No. I’ll take that with me. Thank you, Rambach.” With her free hand, Cissy lifted her skirts a little and went up the stairs.

  The scene she came upon in the drawing room didn’t look promising. His arms crossed in front of his chest, von Wolfenbach leaned against one of the windowsills, while an obviously nervous, red-faced man sat on the settee, rustling a pile of papers he had brought with him. At her entrance, his face lit up. “Meine Gnädigste!” he exclaimed, and rushed toward her. Before Cissy quite knew what was happening, he had taken her hand and, bowing low, bestowed a smacking kiss on the air above her knuckles. “It is a great pleasure to meet you.”

  “Er…likewise.” She threw a frowning glance at von Wolfenbach. A mocking smile played around his lips. He lifted his brows. Hastily, she turned her attention back to the man before her. “Herr Haldner.”

  He straightened. His face fell. “Geheimrat, gnädiges Fräulein.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I believe as a foreigner you will not be familiar yet with our customs…”

  Irritated, Cissy freed her hand and pointed to the settee. “Won’t you sit down again?”

  “Oh, yes, yes.” Cackling, he rubbed his hands. “I dare say we have a lot of things to discuss.” He blew on his hands, which had already turned red with cold. “It is somewhat chilly…”

  Cissy shot a glowering look at von Wolfenbach. “We have got a small problem with the firewood.” At von Wolfenbach’s answering smirk, she gripped her basket tighter and fought against the urge to fling the contents at his head then and there. With an annoyed grunt, she plopped down in one of the armchairs. “Now, how can I help you, Herr Haldner?”

  “Geheimrat.” With a pained expression he sank back on the settee. “I have to say, Miss Fussell, the Altertumsverein is rather delighted about its imminent acquisition of the Castle of Wolfenbach.”

  “Imminent…?” Cissy started to protest, yet he continued unperturbed.

  “Back in 1811, when the government auctioned the castle off after the family had unfortunately lost all rights to it, some of the later members of the Altertumsverein were already very interested in the object. You know, to make sure that such a historically important building remains the property of the town. But of course, your father beat them to it.” Cackling, he shook his finger at her. “I have to say, that must have been set up rather craftily. A foreigner, an enemy even! Buying such an important historical object from the government of Baden!”

  Cissy gaped at him in utter astonishment. Her annoyance had fled long ago. “The auction was done by the state? I thought the Wolfenbachs sold it.” She looked at Fenris—and her heart missed a beat at the transformation that had come over him. The sneer had been wiped off his face, which had darkened ominously. His lips had flattened into a thin, bitter line, and where his hands curled around the edge of the stone windowsill, his knuckles pressed white against the skin.

  “Sold by the Wolfenbachs? Oh dear, not at all.” Haldner gave a half-smothered cackle. “No, no, everything had fallen to the state, of course, after…um…” He coughed delicately.

  “Yes?”

  “Well…” Haldner licked his lips, shot a look at von Wolfenbach, and erupted into a series of embarrassed cackles.

  Von Wolfenbach pushed himself off the sill and sauntered over. Despite the sound of his uneven steps on the tiles, his movements possessed a feral grace. Rather than diminishing the danger he emanated, the wooden leg heightened it; a wild wolf was not any less dangerous because of a vicious scar—he presented an even greater menace, for the things he had survived had made him stronger and more cunning.

  “Wha
t the Herr Geheimrat wishes to say, is…” He raised an eyebrow at Cissy. His voice was smooth as silk, yet at his sides his hands had curled into fists. “Due to my youthful error of judgment, the family of Wolfenbach lost all of their privileges: the rights of the land, jurisdiction, administration, you name it. And the rights to the castle, it would seem.” His mouth twisted.

  With wide eyes, Cissy looked from one man to the other. Her heart thudded with sudden apprehension. “An error of judgment? What are you talking about?”

  “Er…well…” Cackling, Haldner fumbled with the buttons of his coat and drew a large handkerchief out of his jacket, with which he proceeded to mop his brow.

  His green eyes glittering, Fenris von Wolfenbach watched, and a cynical smile lifted his lips. Abruptly, his gaze shifted and his eyes met Cissy’s. “When I was nineteen, I betrayed my country and ran away to join the British army to fight against Napoleon.”

  Something worse than just the wintry cold chilled Cissy’s heart. Almost still a boy and he had gone to join the war? Her eyes dropped to his leg. Was this a wound he had incurred in battle? So he had fought for the freedom of Europe, had sacrificed his well-being, and in turn his family had lost everything? Suddenly his intense reaction when they had met made awful sense.

  “Quite rash, if I may say so,” Haldner muttered. “Such a betrayal of all patriotic sentiments.”

  Von Wolfenbach lifted his shoulders a little and turned his back on them.

  Cissy considered banging the contents of her basket into the face of the slimy, arrogant Geheimrat. “Betrayal of patriotic sentiments? How so?” she asked in her iciest voice. “When Baden was under the thumb of Napoleon? And did not your government finally decide to join the alliance two years later?”

  Haldner ran his hand under the collar of his shirt. “Yes, we did, but—”

  “So how can it be a betrayal to his country, when Herr von Wolfenbach went and fought heroically against the man who threatened peace and order in all of Europe?”

  “I—”

  “This is quite enough,” von Wolfenbach’s voice cut in like a whiplash. He turned around, his face a stony mask. “Didn’t you want to tell us why you have come here, Herr Geheimrat?”

  “Oh yes, yes.” Clearly relieved, Haldner dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. He took a deep breath; his chest swelled “In view of the imminent acquisition of the castle by the Altertumsverein, I thought it best if we could already have a look at the ledgers. For reasons of preparation, so to speak.” He regarded them expectantly.

  Cissy folded her hands in her lap to hide that they were trembling with anger. The nerve of that man was unbelievable! Yet before she had even opened her mouth for a scathing reply, von Wolfenbach asked very quietly. “What makes you think the castle will go to the Altertumsverein?” His voice sent a shiver down her spine. “When it is Miss Fussell who holds the deeds to the castle?”

  “Well…” Haldner looked from one of them to the other. His forehead wrinkled with confusion. “I thought this was obvious, given there has been no news of your impending nuptials.” He smiled.

  “My what?” von Wolfenbach spat, his eyes glittering with fury. He took a step nearer, and Haldner shrank back on his seat.

  “I th-thought you knew,” he squeaked.

  At the same time, Cissy asked, “Didn’t you know?”

  “Know what?”

  Haldner gulped, his eyes bulging from the sockets. He obviously would not be capable of an intelligible explanation. Cissy sighed. “It is true: I hold the deeds to Wolfenbach—for the moment.” She gave her intended a bland smile. “But my father’s will stipulated that if I don’t marry the son of his old friend Wolfenbach within four months, then the castle will fall to the Altertumsverein Kirchwalden.”

  Haldner coughed. “Indeed, indeed. Which seems only fair given that Mr. Fussell—”

  “Lord Hailstone,” Cissy corrected automatically. It seemed that the Geheimrat had regained his composure—or, what was more likely, she reconsidered after glancing at von Wolfenbach’s thunderous expression, that he had completely taken leave of his senses.

  “I do apologize, my dear Miss Fussell,” he continued sunnily. “Given that Lord Hailstone snapped up the castle in 1811, don’t you think so, too?” He beamed at von Wolfenbach. At the expression on the other man’s face, his own cheerfulness subsided. “Er…”

  Von Wolfenbach’s voice was very, very quiet, when he said, “You will take your papers and leave my castle immediately.” And then he simply exploded. “Out! Before I see my castle fall to you bunch of cackling hyenas, I will set fire to it myself!” He steadily advanced on Haldner, who hastily scrambled to his feet and fled the room in a flurry of rustling papers.

  Breathing heavily, von Wolfenbach leaned his hand on the open door and watched the Geheimrat stumble down the stairs. Cautiously, Cissy rose from her chair and went to him. “Do you think he will be back?”

  He barked a laugh. Yet when he turned his head to look at her, his face was once more void of all expression. “The next time you talk about the war,” he said pleasantly, “do not spout such utter rubbish about heroism and glory and whatnot.”

  “But—”

  His tones became chilling. “There is nothing glorious about war. It turns men into beasts, intent on slaughtering each other.” He raised one brow. “But what would a silly country chit like you know about it, hm?”

  For a moment Cissy simply gaped at him. “God, you’re such an arrogant bastard!” she hissed. She marched back to the armchair in order to fetch her basket, and her boots clicked an angry staccato on the tiles. Her head held high, she stopped in front of von Wolfenbach. With jerky movements, she pulled out the basket’s heavy content, wrapped in a now dirty napkin, and plonked it into his hand. “It seems that you’ve forgotten something in Mrs. Chisholm’s room.” She lifted her lips and showed him her teeth. “Don’t do it again.”

  And with that, she left the room.

  ~*~

  “She gave you a dead rat?”

  “Wrapped in a napkin.” Fenris rested his chin on his folded hands and regarded his valet. “It looked a bit…mushy.” He had to bite his lip to suppress the betraying twitch. “It’s been stomped to death by the good Widow Chisholm.”

  “Dear God, Fen.” Johann momentarily closed his eyes. His Adam’s apple bopped up and down. “These women are—”

  “Wild.” Fenris poked his tongue into his cheek and then raised his brows. “I know.”

  The two men looked at each other.

  The valet blinked. “Rambach said he had to fetch them a lantern so they could venture down into the cellars.”

  “To terrorize the rats.”

  The men exchanged another long look before they finally burst out laughing. Fenris wiped his eyes. “And did you see what they’ve been wearing today? One looked like a bear, the other like…” His voice trailed away.

  “A plucked crow?” Johann suggested.

  Fenris’s smile faded. “Yes. Yes, exactly like a plucked crow.” He stood up and went to the window. The bulges in the bull’s-eye pane distorted the view of the outside world, and the flaming colors of the evening sky appeared as if mirrored in a prism. Beneath lurked the dark bulk of the forest, black and impenetrable, hoarding secrets and fears. He had always loved the solitude the forest offered, the darkness behind which the world retreated.

  His fist lightly touched the window frame.

  But now his solitude had been disturbed. Never to be regained, it seemed.

  A young woman, as lively as a whirlwind, with oh-so expressive eyes and courage in her heart. And with all the naïve ideals of youth still intact.

  He snorted.

  And yet…

  And yet, when she had plopped the dead rat into his hand with that strange mixture of triumph and exasperation, something in his heart had wrenched.

  Just like that.

  And for a moment he had yearned for that same naïveté, that same innocence and fire. So
much fire. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the cool stone. His own fire had been extinguished long ago, and there were only ashes left now. Only darkness and guilt.

  He had seen how shabby and old-fashioned her clothes were—another weight to his burden of guilt. It seemed his youthful folly had not just ruined his family, but also hers—at least financially. There was no way he could ruin her life even more, burden her with a husband whose body would remain crippled forever after. With a husband whose body could ever only evoke disgust in a woman. He should know. After all, it had happened before.

  “I cannot marry her,” he said very quietly.

  For a moment, Johann was quiet. “If you say so. But we can light the fires again, can’t we?”

  Fenris smothered a laugh. “Yes, you can.” He turned his head to look over his shoulder at his valet. “There’s no need for all of it any longer, is there?”

  ~*~

  The firewood reappeared mysteriously, and no rats could be found in the upstairs rooms ever again. In addition, Fran Häberle apparently managed to convince Cissy’s new maid that, except for the demon wolf, no beasts lurked in the corners of the Castle of Wolfenbach. As a result, young Marie stayed on despite any initial misgivings she might have had. Cissy was glad, for she missed Evie, her maid at home in England, and their intimate chats in the privacy of her bedroom. She had always loved to giggle over the latest gossip and scandal with Evie, and she was delighted to find that Marie was not adverse to doing the same, albeit with the latest Kirchwalden talk. Furthermore, she introduced Cissy to the intricacies of the Badener dialect, and soon Cissy knew how to say “thank you”—vergelt’s Gott; “goodbye”—adee; “would you please”—dädsch; and, most importantly, “moron”—dummi Nuss.

  The latter was certainly an apt description for von Wolfenbach, who turned into even more of a bugbear than before: he usually wore the most thunderous expression, his brows drawn together in a perpetual frown. His moodiness soured the atmosphere during meals and his contribution to conversation consisted of monosyllabic snarls.