by Nhys Glover
Phil tried to hide her shock at the idea of women standing naked in those cells she had seen the day before. It seemed a cruel thing to do to them.
‘Why must they be naked?’
‘Because the change tears the fabric from their bodies.’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘No. It is a painless morphing. They usually drop into unconsciousness for the few minutes before the shift, and again when they come back. It is fascinating to watch.’
Phil felt her face fire up at the thought of Byron watching Charlotte shift from naked, beautiful woman into her wolf form. She also felt the first stabs of jealousy follow quickly on that thought.
‘Surely a gentleman wouldn’t watch…’
‘Not the women. No, of course not. But I have witnessed the males change, more than once. You cannot help it. Some go through the shift faster than others. My task is to secure all the cages, and take the clothes from the men. The women are forced to push their clothes out into the walkway. If the beast can get to them, it will tear fabric to shreds. That’s why there is no bedding down there, either. They take out their frustration with being caged by shredding anything they can get their teeth into.’
‘I cannot imagine what it must be like. And to go through it, every month for a lifetime.’
‘Yes. For most of them, it is a fate worse than death. There are less residents now, than there have been in the past. Many take their own lives, when the weight of their burden becomes too great.’
‘Oh Heavens, that is terrible!’
‘Yes. That is what the man who killed my parents did. He was the officer whose parents financed this sanctuary. He lived here with your father and several others for a year, until that fateful night when he escaped. When he came back to himself, and found out what he had done. He hung himself. I was the one who found him. In a way, I blame myself. Having me around, knowing he was responsible for my grief and pain, finally made it too much for him to bear.’
‘I wondered who had taken your parents. I was afraid to ask, in case it turned out to be my father.’
‘The Captain wouldn’t tell me who the culprit was until after he had taken his own life. Up until then, I did wonder if it was your father. But he had been the first on the scene the next morning, in full military regalia. It didn’t seem logical that he could have returned to the Keep in time to make the change, and come looking for me.’
‘I am glad it wasn’t my father, anyway.’
‘So am I.’
‘Are you ready to go down to your welcome dinner? It is growing late, and we eat early here.’
‘Certainly. I am looking forward to meeting everyone properly and all in one place.’ And although it was partly politeness that made her say that, there was an element of truth, too. She did want to get to know these strange, tortured souls her father had cared for. Even after only a day, they had stopped being monsters to her.
CHAPTER TEN
There was no formal dining room in the Keep. The morning room was the only space set up for eating. Its huge table could sit twenty people. And that was how many people sat around the table that night.
After bringing a large tureen of carrot and leech soup to the table, Cook ladled out portions for everyone. Then she sat down to enjoy her food with the rest of them.
Byron took the moment to go around the table, introducing the diners. Next to the matronly Cook sat the grizzly gardener, Job, who was Jamey’s father. He did no more than nod in her direction when he was introduced, and was obviously uncomfortable sharing a table with what he saw as his betters.
Next came Jamey, who smiled at her in bashful pleasure. ‘Sorry for me big mouth, Miss. I thought you knew, an’ all.’
‘Do not worry, Jamey. I did somewhat led you on, so I could get some answers. It is my own fault that those answers were a bit of a shock.’
‘A bit?’ The cynicism in Will’s voice as like acid to her, and she pointedly refused to look at him sitting next to Jamey.
‘Yes, well, it is not every day you find out you have come to a sanctuary for werewolves, is it?’ she snapped. She wished she didn’t let him get to her. It didn’t help her case to be so prickly. These people needed to trust her, and come to like her, hopefully, during her stay. Snapping at them wasn’t a good way to make friends.
‘Fainting is better than how my wife took it,’ said the middle-aged man sitting next to Will. His owlish expression, and thick glasses, marked him as a scholar of sorts, and when Byron introduced him as Professor James, she acknowledged her assessment.
‘What did she do?’ Phil had to ask, as he seemed to be inviting her curiosity with his comment.
‘Tried to shoot me.’ The silence that fell immediately after that was deafening.
‘I have only ever heard of wives shooting husbands who were unfaithful to them,’ Phil said, trying to lighten the mood.
The shocked expressions on most of the faces told her that making jokes about such events was not usual.
‘I could see you taking to a gun, if your paramour proved unfaithful,’ Byron commented with a smile, trying to cover her faux par.
Grateful for his assistance, she grinned cheekily back at him. ‘My paramour would never think to be unfaithful to me. No gun required.’
They stared at each other for several moments, as an electric current shot between them. Then, with a loud guffaw, Byron burst into laughter.
The tension at the table eased considerably after that. But Charlotte, not to be outdone, added her contribution. ‘I tore my lover’s throat out. He didn’t get the chance to be unfaithful.’
Phil almost choked on the mouthful of soup she’d been sipping. She turned to see the reaction of the others. Everyone seemed to be scowling at Charlotte, and the tension was back.
‘Makes it difficult to make up afterwards, doesn’t it?’ she said, trying for levity.
‘Yes, it did. But men are easy to replace, so it was no great loss.’
‘Do you make a habit of ending your relationships that way?’ Phil fired back.
‘These days she has to be satisfied with verbally tearing men to pieces. We keep her leash tight, don’t we, Charlotte?’ Will entered the fray, iron lacing his words.
Charlotte huffed, and returned sulkily to her soup.
‘I would think it wise to keep sharp instruments and guns away from family members, when you were informing them of your changed condition.’ This was a tall skinny man in his early thirties, who had the most infection grin Phil had ever seen. The tone in his voice made it very clear he was joking.
‘Micky...’ Will admonished sternly.
‘It sounds wise. A knee jerk reaction could prove fatal.’ Phil grinned back at Micky, ignoring Will.
Phil was rewarded by a soft snigger from around the table.
‘I find a little nip keeps most people in line,’ said the Cook, as she put on her best matron expression, and looked daggers at all those around the table.
The snigger turned to a chuckle.
‘I like to chew on my problems. It makes the solution more palatable.’ This was Jasper, and by the expression on the faces around her, his pun was totally unexpected.
‘As long as you don’t bite off more than you can chew,’ threw in Mickey, in a loud aside to her. ‘That is my problem. Don’t know when enough’s enough. Leads to awful indigestion.’
Even Mary cracked a smile at this.
‘Has anyone tried huffing and puffing, and blowing the walls down around here?’ Phil asked innocently.
‘Watch out Little Red Riding Hood, you’re surrounded.’ This was Charlotte again, but this time her tone was lighter, and if she meant it as a threat, no one took it that way, even Phil. She laughed instead.
‘I’ve considered sheep’s clothing, but the local flocks are a canny lot,' Job put in, and Phil was gratified to see Jamey turn to his father with a surprised smile. She wondered when they had last shared a joke like this.
The awful puns continued around the ta
ble until the groans became loud enough to drown at the next attempt. By then Mary, Jamey and the Cook had placed the main course on the table, and Byron had begun to cut up the roast, while others served up the potatoes and other summer vegetables.
A companionable silence then fell, as everyone started to enjoy their meal.
‘Cook, this is wonderful. Do I taste rosemary in with the mutton?’ Phil said, as she ate with relish. For the first time since her arrival, she found she was really enjoying herself.
‘Yes. We have a good herb garden. Job has a green thumb.’
‘The whole garden is amazing. The roses especially,’ Phil went on.
‘That’s Charlotte’s area. She don’t much like me interferin’ with em. Even does ‘er own fertilising, does that un.’ Job nodded in Charlotte’s direction.
‘Well, roses require special treatment. Your heavy hands would kill my babies.’ Charlotte sulked elaborately.
‘Charlotte’s roses are like a little piece of Heaven, here,’ said an old lady who, up to this point, had kept silent.
Charlotte puffed out her chest with pride, and looked at the old woman in surprise. ‘I didn’t know you appreciated my work so much, Ellen. I will bring some blooms to your room tomorrow, if you like.’
The old lady nodded and grimaced a closed-lipped smile, but said no more.
‘Ellen has a little trouble getting around these days. You will not see much of her, which is a pity. She is a gentle soul,’ Byron said, loud enough for Ellen to hear.
‘As gentle as a big bad wolf can be,’ Ellen said, with a twinkle in her eye. Phil was grateful that the light mood still remained, and that this comment was greeted with a few more sniggers.
‘Oh, Grandmama what big teeth you have…’ Jamey couldn’t help putting in. Ellen snarled in mock fierceness, revealing a toothless mouth. Once again people laughed.
By the end of the dinner, Phil felt she knew each person at the table at least my name. She also felt that the group had cautiously come to accept her.
After the meal, Will suggested Jasper get out his violin. The others all clapped at the idea. The handsome young man blushed bright red with pleasure, and rushed off to fetch his instrument. In the meantime, someone suggested a parlour game, and that kept everyone busy until Jasper returned, with his violin already tuned. Then they all sat back, and enjoyed the bitter-sweet melodies that flowed from Jasper’s bow. Phil could not remember hearing such a skilled performance in a drawing room before.
Finally the hour grew late, and the first of the diners started to make their excuses to escape to their beds. Byron offered Phil his arm, and led her up the stairs to her new room. At the door he stopped, and took her hands in his.
‘You cannot be aware of it, but this has been a remarkable night. I have never heard these people laugh, as they did tonight. And to make fun of their own condition… unheard of. I would have sworn it was impossible. You are a light in the darkness, Phil, and your father would be very proud of you.’ Byron met her gaze with his own, and what she saw there made her heart beat faster.
‘Laughter can ease even the most terrible situations, and laughing at yourself, well it is the first step to acceptance, it seems to me.’
‘You are wiser than I guessed. Did you learn this from your mother?’ Byron reached out, and stroked the side of her face.
‘Alas no, my mother was not a particularly insightful woman. But she had a good heart, and I loved her very much. What, if anything, I have learned about human nature, came from my father and my school days. I was always a people watcher. And laughing about my troubles seemed easier than suffering them.’
‘Being a watcher usually implies a quiet, receptive disposition. You would never be the quiet one in the crowd.’ Byron’s observation was said as a compliment, and she took it that way, even though she had learned, over the years, to keep quietly in the background because of her station in life. The exuberance of her natural personality had been dimmed by the loss of her father and their penniless state.
‘I can be both, if the situation warrants it.’ This was the only thing she could think of to say, as his touch was setting off delightful little explosions throughout her body, and making conscious thought difficult.
‘Well, the situation warranted your light hand tonight. I am grateful. For a little while there, I was returned to the happiness of my youth. And it was good to hear Jasper play. He has been with us for just over two years, and at first he played regularly. But the deeper into his misery he went, the less he sought music to lighten his load. It became a pleasure he considered he no longer deserved.’
‘He is such a proper gentleman. So genuinely nice.’
‘He is. His family were devastated when he cut them out of his life. Even knowing what he was, they wanted to stay in contact, to visit. But Jasper would have none of it. He has shut them all out. I call him friend, just as I call Will friend, but it is a largely hollow relationship. There needs to be a connection between people for friendship to form, and Jasper will not let that happen, beyond the social requirements of sharing a living space.’
‘I am sorry, for him and you. It seems you have a lonely life of it here, trying to help people who do not want your help.’ She reached up to stroke his cheek, mirroring his actions.
‘They do want my help, they just do not know how to handle it. And I do not let myself think about being lonely.’ His voice had taken on the rasping tone he used when emotion was being heavily schooled.
‘And that is even sadder still,’ she whispered, her focus now on the fullness of his lips. She remembered what it felt like for those lips to cover hers, how they stroked at her skin, and sent tingles of pleasure careening though her body. Even though it was unwise to invite more closeness with this man, she wanted his kiss.
As if he heard her desire, his mouth descended to meet hers. For a moment before they touched, he paused, unsure of what he was inviting. She took the choice from him, and moved her mouth the final inches, so their lips met and mingled. Phil sighed into his mouth. It had seemed an eternity since they had touched like this, had drunk from each other like this.
‘’Ron, the new lad is asking for you,’ came the unwelcome intrusion into their private world. They drew apart reluctantly, and Byron turned to Will, who stood politely at a distance.
‘Thank you. I will go to him now. Good night, sweet Phil. Sleep well.’
With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness, with no light to guide his way. Once again she marvelled at his ability to traverse the darkness. It was as if it was more his home than the light.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Over the next few weeks, Phil became acquainted with the general running of the Keep. Cook and Mary, with help from Jamey, ran the household, and it was a smooth running establishment. Most of the residents looked after their own possessions, and cleaned their own rooms. They came and went as they chose, and some would disappear for days at a time, without explanation or warning.
The Library was one of the busiest rooms in the Keep. Professor James, Jasper and several of the more educated members of the household were researching their condition, and keeping a record of sightings from around the world. This seemed to be a time consuming activity, and Jasper would ride into the village every few days, and return with a bag full of mail.
She had spent some time reading some of the letters. Many recorded horrifying and bloody events. In one, a werewolf had set sail on a small Mediterranean sailing ship amongst a group of tourists, and on the full moon had savaged many of the passengers. The captain had scuttled the vessel because he feared what he, and the others injured, would become.
The account of those tragic events came from one of the few survivors, who had been lucky enough to escape the scuttled ship, unscathed. His account was dismissed as the ravings of a traumatised victim, but the Special Branch had been quickly on the scene, and collected the evidence. They passed their findings on the Breckenhill Keep.
&nbs
p; Bobby Dunemore, the young man injured by the last attack, was recovered quickly from his injuries. But his emotional state was still in doubt. At first, he had rejected outright what had happened to him. Then, as his memory threw up more details of the attack, he started to come to the realization that his life was changed forever. For days he wouldn’t speak to anyone, and he refused food. It was as if he was determined to die.
Hearing the hushed evaluation, Phil made the decision to see what she could do. Of course, not having experienced such trauma, she felt her ability to relate would be limited. But, whereas the others who cared for him gave him no hope for his future, she might be able to.
She would have asked Byron if it was wise, but he and Will had gone off for two days, following the trail of the old lady who had died. She was not a local, so the constable had been able to find out, and had been trying to get back to her home in Wetherby when her carriage had broken down. Her liverymen had been very cagey about their mistress, and had disappeared shortly after the constable had spoken to them.
Phil made her way to the infirmary shortly after luncheon. She saw the tray beside the cot, untouched. With a ‘tut’, she checked the food, and then sat down on a wooden stool at the bedside.
She studied the young man. He was about eighteen, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. His features were balanced and appealing, but a little on the thin side. Age would remedy that situation, she imagined. There was no way of telling his height, but he didn’t look particularly tall or short. In all, he would pass as pleasantly unremarkable. How easily looks could deceive.
Her steady inspection unsettled the lad, and he shifted uncomfortably against the pillow on which he leaned. He refused to meet her eye.
‘So, they say you are recovering well from your injury,’ Phil started, as upbeat as possible.
The lad looked away toward the stone wall, his face closed.
‘I am not a werewolf,’ she started, and then shook her head in disbelief. ‘I still have trouble saying that word. It sounds so ridiculous when you say it out loud.’
