Red: The Untold Story

by Angela M Hudson

  “Then tell me how I can win his trust. How can I make him love me?”

  “He will not love you, Red. Ever.”

  “Ever?” My voice trembled a bit as all my grand plans died before me.

  “I am sorry,” he offered, sounding genuine. “You seem like a very nice girl—”

  “Why won’t he ever love me? There must be something I can do. I can’t live my life like this—alone.”

  “And yet you will; and for your own good, Red, I must advise you not to appeal for his affection.”

  When his eye went to my chin, I felt a cold tear there. I couldn’t believe I was crying. Over this, of all things. I wiped it off and stiffened my lip. “Why? Why is he so cold?”

  “I would not say my father is cold. Merely distant, which is for a good reason.”

  “So that he won’t love anyone?”

  “So that he won’t hurt anyone.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “He loved my mother, Red—more than he loved the breath he takes to keep him alive—and I am only telling you this so you do not feel as alone, thinking you’re to blame for this loveless life—but my father is cursed.”

  “Cursed?”

  “Yes. Before I was born, my mother took steps to make herself immortal, and there are consequences for that, prices one must pay. That’s all I can tell you for now, but you must understand that it is why he will never, can never love a woman.”

  “I find it hard to believe he was ever capable of love.”

  “He loves in his own way. And he shows love in other ways, too. You will see. Soon.”

  “When? I never even see him.”

  “You will soon enough. And one day, when you bear him a son, you will join my mother and the other wives here on the walls of the Great Hall—immortalized in paint.”

  “But why would I want to?”

  “Red, it’s a great honor to mark the walls of the—”

  “No, why would I want to bear a son? I’ll never get to see it, raise it. Why does he have to take them at birth?”

  Theowulf looked around, lowering his neck and placing his hands behind his back. “You are not to ask such things.”

  “Why?”

  “For the same reasons I am not to speak of them.” He severed the conversation with a quick turn and exit, calling back with, “Return to you room, Red. For your own sake.”

  ***

  After Theowulf—now named Theo, because he didn’t seem that far removed from this century, and a name like Theowulf just didn’t suit him nowadays—left me, I thought stuff it! Why go back to my room just because he says so? If they want me to stay in there all day, then they’d have to bring me some friends, or at least let me go on Facebook. I’d go insane sitting around on my butt all day. And to think, a few weeks ago that’s all I wanted to do. Mom would call me down to do the dishes and I’d beg for five more minutes. There was nothing worse in this world than dishes. Or folding laundry. Now, all I had was books and time and chairs to sit on. I needed conversation. I needed activity. Shoot, I’d even be happy to do the dishes right now.

  Dreading the boredom that awaited me back in my room, I went in search of the other wives—what might be left of them—a journey that was dangerous and involved stealth. Luckily I’d been watching plenty of spy movies in the last twenty-four hours—anything to avoid sad stories about happy families, or even romantic comedies or, worse, creepy wolf movies that were so far from the truth that I cringed the whole way through. So I felt well prepared for a bit of sneaking and even a bit of hand-to-hand combat, if the situation called for it.

  After having another look at the portraits and the dates in brass below them, I’d decided to hunt for Greta, who’d be sixty now if she was still alive, and Anne, who’d be almost forty. She at least had to be here somewhere.

  I opened every door that wasn’t locked, but all I found was a drawing room, a study, a library—with someone in it—and a few empty bedrooms. It seemed hopeless. I’d searched for an hour and found nothing. Although, I still had another entire wing of the mansion to search. Maybe he kept the other wife in the east tower, but getting over there would be hard. It was one thing to tiptoe around the halls in my own wing, but going down the stairs, across the lower level and up the east staircase would be risky. Someone would see me, report it to Luther, and then I’d be flogged.

  Then again, not many people probably knew who I was or what I looked like. If I messed my clothes up a bit, and took off my ring, I might be able to disguise myself as a servant.

  I went back to my room, after getting a bit lost, and pushed the dresses in my closet apart, diving in headfirst among them to find something plain. My servant had been dressed in beige this morning, with an apron, so I found a dress that was… kind of cream, and after a bit of frustrated wall-kicking and pillow bashing when I couldn’t get the first dress off or the second one on, I opened a YouTube tutorial on how to dress Regency style. Thanks to my new friends there, I managed to get it on and then hid the pretty embroidered flowers on the skirt with a shawl from the end of my bed, tied around my waist like an apron. My hair was tucked up into my night bonnet, and then I dug my hands into the pot plant to give my dress and shoes in a bit of natural color.

  After examining myself in the mirror I decided it would do, after I removed my wedding ring.

  The kitchen, I gathered from the movies and documentaries I’d watched about this time period, would be on the lowest level, so I only needed to find a passage or door that led to it. Most likely, I realized in a moment of brilliance, a door coming off the Great Hall, since they served food in there.

  I snuck back in, giving the wives a small nod of greeting, and felt around for a loose panel. Sure enough I found one, and when it opened up I expected to see a dark stone passage that smelled like garlic. Instead, it was a white staircase with carpeted steps and I could see people with gold trays rushing past down there. It was a busy time, obviously in preparation for this grand party I was not invited to, and I wasn’t sure how I would get down there without being spotted. But the challenge gave me a rush.

  Without being noticed, I closed the door behind me and reached the bottom of the stairs, picking up some napkins from a pile on a table there just to look busy. It was much better down here than it was up there. Everyone had something to do, somewhere to be. It was noisy and smelled like hot soup, and I could hear a comical old woman shouting orders at everyone.

  The corridor broke off into three sections at the base of the stairs; one to my right led to what I guessed were bedrooms; the one to my left got darker the further my eyes went, the walls made of stone, not covered by plaster like the other corridor; and the one dead ahead, obviously, led to the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Potter, where are the wine glasses?” A dull man asked in a slow voice. His shadow appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, so I ducked into an archway beside an empty barrel. It almost looked like it was once a doorway that had been bricked up and plastered over.

  “Bethany was polishing them last I heard,” an old woman said in a hurried voice. “Go on and hassle her, Mr. French. I haven’t the time for it today.”

  The man groaned, and I peeked out from behind the barrel to watch his shadow shrink around a corner I didn’t know was down that corridor. I wanted to go into the kitchen and ask if I could help, but something about that woman stopped me; she sounded switched on and kind of like that old school teacher that smacked my hand when I was five. If anyone would recognize me as a wife it’d be her, even if it was purely by my modern mannerisms. So I followed the dull-sounding man instead, just to see what was down there in that seemingly hidden corridor. If History class taught me anything, there were probably food stores or preparation rooms. Either way I might find something fun to eat, or maybe a bag of flour to make some play-dough out of. My boredom was getting the better of me after only three days here. I couldn’t even imagine what twenty years would do to me.

  Right beside the kitchen door I pressed my back to the wall
and risked a peek around. A plump old woman in the standard servant wear was squatting down by a giant iron stove thing, tucked neatly into a brick nook. With her dress lifted up to her knees, she leaned toward the roaring flames like she was dropping a poop on the ground as an offering. I chuckled to myself and slipped past, unnoticed, but when I got around the corner and looked down the narrow stone corridor the dull man was gone. It ended just up ahead, with only two poorly made wooden doors marking rooms on each side, so unless one was unlocked and bigger than a broom closet such I could hide in it, he’d see me if he suddenly reemerged. But which room did he go in, and which one should I go in?

  Back up the corridor behind me, a door slammed and everything went silent. I listened for a moment, but even though my hammering heart wanted me to believe that they’d discovered me down here and were just waiting for me to turn around, I was sensible enough still to know that everyone had just gone to the Great Hall to set up. The silence was deafening though, and with my wolf ears I could hear things I didn’t want to hear, like heavy breathing and lips slapping together behind the door closest to me. Is that where Mr. French went? He didn’t strike me as the type.

  I pressed my shoulder and my ear to the chipped blue paint, covering my giggles. Whoever was in there with him was really enjoying that game. I decided to leave them to it, although I did think about rapping really hard on the door to scare them, but as I went to move away the door swung inward suddenly and the secretive pair screamed.

  A tub of potatoes toppled over beneath my flailing hands and a bag of flour burst open, puffing up on my landing and covering us all in white powder.

  “What is the meaning of this, Red!” Theo yelled, grabbing my arm to lift me out of my own stupid mess.

  “I didn’t mean it. The door just fell open.”

  “What are you even doing down here? You’re a mess. Look at you!”

  But as I righted myself with the help of Theo’s floured hand, I looked past him to my personal servant instead, and the color of her face. She was a simple girl with narrow features, a patch of freckles dotted over her nose and cheeks, but I saw in her an entirely different girl when I realized that she was the only one in here with Theo.

  Theo stepped forward. “Red, remember what I said about secrets?”

  I quickly brought my fingers to my lips and locked them with an imaginary key, handing it to him. My eyes were so wide with disbelief and concern that I must’ve looked like a startled white rabbit.

  Theo laughed. “Look at us. All of us.”

  I took a better look down at my dress, and though they weren’t as coated in flour as me, they were very powdery. We all looked like kids dressed up as ghosts for Halloween.

  “Come, Katy.” Theo took her by the arm. “We need to go before we’re seen.”

  “Why?” I said. “What does it matter if you’re seen together?”

  “She’s human, Red,” he explained. “And a slave.”

  “And this is the twenty-first century.”

  “Not here. Not in this mansion. If my father were to learn of my affections for Katy, he’d…” Theo looked down, softly letting go of her as he took a step back.

  “He’d send her away?”

  “Worse.”

  “Kill her?”

  Katy nodded, averting her eyes.

  “Where I come from, people don’t get treated like that,” I said, folding my arms.

  “Really?” Katy’s eyes narrowed in curiosity.

  “We don’t have slaves,” I explained, “and everyone is free to love anyone they want.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Katy said shyly.

  “I’m surprised Theo hasn’t told you all about it.” I gave him a hard glare, narrowing my eyes and lips to make it extra cold.

  “Theo?” He laughed. “Since when are we on such informal terms, Miss Redwood?”

  “Since I decided I like you.”

  “You like me?”

  “Well, I did. Because I thought you weren’t like Luther. But now I find this.” I presented the naïve slave girl he’d been fondling. “How could you? She obviously doesn’t know any better—”

  “Red, what do you think is going on here? Do you think I’m using her merely to satisfy my own primal needs?”

  “Well.” I refolded my arms. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Since you said you never fell in love again, I wanted to add, but didn’t, for Katy’s sake.

  His shoulders loosened and he let a breath out through his nose, adding softly, “No.”

  “Oh.” I unfolded my arms, reading a truth on his face that he tried to hide. “Well, in that case, I still like you.”

  They both smiled.

  “But I don’t understand something,” I added.

  “What do you not understand?”

  “If you… if this is more than just primal needs in a closet, why do you keep her here at the mansion? Why not take her away?”

  “If only it were that simple—”

  “I think it is.”

  “And you clearly do not understand what kind of man my father is—”

  “I—”

  “Enough,” he said firmly. “I will not discuss this with you here.”

  “Fine.” I folded my arms again, taking that to mean he might discuss it with me elsewhere.

  “We have to go,” Theo said. “All of us. Now.”

  “I’m going,” I said. “But—” I spun around swiftly to stand by Katy, linking arms with her, “—I’m bored up there by myself. I think Katy should come hang out with me.”

  “Oh, Miss, I’m not allowed to be—” she started, but Theo nodded kindly at her.

  “It’s all right, Katy. You have my permission.”

  She nodded back once, smiling.

  “She doesn’t need your permission,” I spat.

  “But she does,” Theo advised me softly. “It is the way of things here. Now, Katy.” He leaned in and kissed her head. “Go help Miss Redwood get cleaned up. And be sure no one sees her like that on the way back to her room.”

  “Yes, Master.” She curtsied.

  He closed his eyes, pressing his mouth tight. “Katy, we’ve talked about that.”

  Katy bit her lip. “Sorry. It’s a habit.”

  “I know,” he said, opening his eyes. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  My jaw was left hanging open by the exchange, even as Theo checked the corridor before he slipped out and scuttled away. “Nice job, Katy. He’s actually not so bad once you get to know him.”

  “And he’s a great kisser,” she said.

  I looked at her then, kind of shocked that just came out of her mouth, and we both laughed.

  Part Three: Chapter Two

  The Illusions of Someone Else’s Eye

  The party in the Great Hall went on without me. I could barely even hear it from my room, and all I could see from my window were a few headlights as cars pulled up in the dark. But I did have the elegant pictures in my imagination to keep me company: the warm light and finely dressed members of our pack; the shining gold cutlery and the table laid with a gourmet spread. People would stand around with wine glasses, chatting about things by the fire. When someone asked Luther where his new wife was tonight, he would not be the type to give some lame excuse and say I was ‘under the weather’ or something a normal imprisoning husband would say, he’d simply look at them sternly, grunt to himself, and walk away without explanation. People would learn not to ask after that, and they’d take that home to mean that I was not one of the wives he favored. Yet.

  A part of me wondered if my mom had been invited; if she was right below me, drinking and eating the same food made in the kitchen that served my food. I missed her so much my stomach hurt and I couldn’t eat my dinner. It’d be nice to know she was that close to me right now.

  For a while, I sat in my window seat, running my thumb over the silver dagger Alex gave me, trying to picture a world with the two of us. But I couldn’t see his face. I wasn’t sure if I
was tired or if maybe I’d never known what he looked like to begin with, but it was gone. All of it. And it made me feel like I’d been buried in a wooden box.

  When the darkness became too much to bear, I got up and carefully crossed the room to turn on the lamp, but there was no switch or cord anywhere on it. Not even a light globe in the center. It was odd. I thought for a moment that maybe it was an oil lamp, but there was no wick, not even a candle. The lampshade wrapped a decorative wooden stand, and when I touched it, it spun.

  “It’s a zoetrope,” said a voice from the doorway.

  I jerked around, gasping. “You scared me.” I laughed. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Sorry, Miss,” Katy said, curtsying as she went to walk out, my dinner plate in hand.

  “Wait,” I called, desperate not to be left lonely in the dark again. “What’s a zoetrope?”

  “Um…” Katy, obviously second-guessing her decision to speak up, came back into the room and put the plate down on the table. “It’s moving pictures.”

  “Moving pictures?”

  I watched as she reached for the actual lamp just behind the zoetrope and lit up the room, making me feel sort of silly. “Look,” she said, pointing to the slotted holes in the card. “When it spins, if you look through here, you can see the pictures moving.”

  Katy gave it a spin, and though the slotted holes also spun, whipping around so fast I wasn’t sure I would actually be able to look through them at all, I shut one eye and bent down and, sure enough, the wolves were running.

  I stopped it, standing to look inside from the top. A sequence of wolves had been painted around the inside in slightly different positions, so when it spun fast, moving from picture to picture quickly, it looked like wolves running.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “That’s what I said the first time I saw a TV.”

  I laughed.