The Wolf of Haskell Hall

by Colleen Shannon

  When Lil entered, those grey eyes turned from appraising the surroundings to appraising their owner. With the same merciless acuity, she gauged Lil: size, age, value, merit. With the one look, Miss Holmes seemed to make up her mind about her potential new employer, for she came forward, large gloved hand outstretched in the new American fashion.

  “I regret my tardiness, but it was beyond my control, I assure you.” She firmly shook Lil’s hand, and then stepped back.

  Lil, too, had always been a quick, astute judge of character, and she doubted that much but weather, death and taxes were beyond this woman’s control. Which no doubt accounted for the ‘Miss.’

  “Forgive me if I am at somewhat of a loss, but no one informed me of your pending employment.”

  “I am ever frank to a fault, but I confess your predecessor was less than…organized.”

  A small smile curled around Lil’s mouth. “A fact I do not quibble with. But perhaps you can acquaint me with the terms of your agreement with her.”

  Miss Holmes outlined terms that seemed equitable to Lil. The stable was in execrable shape. “Very well. If I may see your references…”

  They were already waiting on the table before the settee. Lil looked through them quickly. All were glowing, again an incongruity to Lil, for she’d found Englishmen to be even more threatened by strong, independent women than American men.

  Except for Ian. He’d probably be delighted if she flew at him, tooth and nail.

  Wishing she could sheath her thoughts–and her claws–so easily, Lil stuck the letters back inside the neat leather sleeve. “Very well. I shall see that the quarters above the stable are made ready immediately. I regret that you’ll find things in your new domain in rather deplorable condition.”

  “Quite all right. I relish a challenge. As, it is apparent, do you.”

  Lil tried, and failed, to hide her surprised look.

  Strong white teeth flashed in that angular brown face. “When last I sat in this room, there were spider webs on the ceiling, the brass was corroded, and dust hung like a pall over everything. Now, spit and polish everywhere I look. I suspect the stables would have been next on your agenda, so I am glad I arrived when I did, or my services might not have been needed.”

  “And I suspect I must watch my p’s and q’s or you will be sitting here in my stead.”

  A pleasant, deep-timbered laugh shook those broad shoulders. “There you have the wrong of it. I find a drawing room a deadly bore.”

  “So do I,” Lil whispered, leaning forward. “But you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

  “Oh, I won’t need to. You really must learn a bit more duplicity, my dear, so that your life and heart are not such open books.”

  Before Lil could ask for explanation, she was given one.

  “You are from Colorado, heiress to a fortune in gold, most likely made by your Scottish father. You are very intelligent. You despise hypocrisy and ape leaders. Yet you are lonely.”

  Lil reared back in affront. “How dare you have me investigated!”

  “I never heard of you until I arrived at your door. I knew the chit who employed me was dead because I read it in the newspaper, but I assumed, rightly, that the new owner would be in even more need of a competent stable manager.”

  “Then how….”

  “You wear a gold nugget necklace. Your father’s first strike, I apprehend?”

  Clutching the necklace that had fallen out of her dress, Lil nodded dumbly. “He told me on his deathbed never to take it off, that it would bring me luck.”

  “Luck is as much overrated as love, but that’s another story. You are obviously American. The largest gold strikes that account for nuggets of that size and purity come from the mountains of Colorado these days. Your accent, while refined, still has a wisp of a Scottish burr about it. And you obviously appreciate my honesty and boldness, which means you despise hypocrisy and the insane toadies who practice it. As for your intelligence….that is as plain as the nose upon my face. Rather prominent, indeed.”

  Lil was so stunned at this woman’s reasoning abilities that her voice was squeaky when she finally managed, “And lonely? How do you know that?”

  Melancholia darkened those clear grey eyes to charcoal. “Because I see the same expression every day in my own mirror, too.”

  In that moment, Lil’s sense of isolation became a bit less acute. Whether she had found a friend or not, she did not know. But she had certainly found a kindred soul.

  Eerily, again Miss Holmes echoed her thoughts. “We are much of a kind, my dear Miss Haskell. Rarities in an age when a woman’s worth is gauged by the strength of her womb. We need to think first, and feel later.” A smile broke through again. “Quite tiresome to the poor befuddled males of our species who will never understand us.”

  “But much more amusing as we watch them flail about,” Lil pointed out with a wicked smile.

  And they shared a laugh that, even in the lengthening shadows of the afternoon, made the house less gloomy.

  Later, Lil would view the arrival of Shelly Holmes as a turning point in her new life as the heiress to Haskell Hall. For good. And ill….

  The next day, when Lil finally saw Ian again, she told herself that she’d quite regained her equilibrium, that it was her turn to watch him ‘flail about’ while she cooly dissected him with her green eyes.

  But, as usual, Ian Griffith proved that he fit nothing of her expectations–except that he’d never fit into her expectations.

  He walked into her drawing room as she sat before the window embroidering. With Shelly ensconced in the stables, the household running like a top, all that remained for her to manage now were the outlying buildings, the lands, the mine and the village. All of which would require Ian’s tutelage. So she’d decided to pursue ladylike occupations to shore up her icy reserve.

  No matter how much of a silly ninny he made her feel, he was still a common laborer, and she was the mistress of the manor. Even in America, such a divide was seldom crossed. In England, it wasn’t even contemplated.

  Someday, she’d be able to accept it, too. As she selected the silks for the woodland design she’d decided upon, she looked down at the drawing of the wolf. Now why had she picked just that amber shade for the eyes?

  She sensed him more than heard him.

  When she looked up from her embroidery frame, he stood there. Looking at her with eyes the exact shade of amber of the silk in her hand. She had to fight a blush and the urge to hide the telltale color, but she only tilted her head back and let her eyes clash with his.

  “Next time kindly do me the courtesy of knocking, or announcing your presence in some other fashion.”

  “Why? So you can take time to put up more false barriers between us?”

  “No. So you can avoid being shot. My nerves are strained by all this talk of wild hounds scavenging the countryside.” She was glad to see that half smile flickering about his lips fade as he looked at the pistol next to her on the table.

  “Nerves? You have plenty to spare, I should think.”

  “And I shall need every one, just to tolerate your impudence. Now state your business, or get out.”

  To her shock, he only walked closer, his eyes glowing in the gloom as he stood near an armoire, where the sun could not reach. “Perhaps I came here to tell you that your tenants wish to meet you. That it is high time you ventured from your sanctuary. You need to see the moors, the farms, the village.”

  “I will so inform you when I am ready.” And it won’t be with you as guide. She was quite determined upon that. Safira’s suspicions had always amused her, but this time, she wouldn’t take any chances, especially as he’d almost seduced her the other time they’d been alone. She turned a cold shoulder to him, stabbing her needle into the outline of a tree.

  His lips quirked as he observed the severe profile. Thick silvery hair sleeked back into a knot. Austere black bombazine dress buttoned to her neck, no hint of a bustle. Mouth pursed grimly
, as if she feared what she might say–or do.

  “It will not work, you know,” Ian said softly.

  She kept her head down, though she could do little about the color rising to her cheeks under the near physical impact of his gaze. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “The more you try to pretend you’re a prude, the faster you will come to my bed.”

  Her green eyes flashed up to meet his. “You overstep the bounds, sirrah. Get out of my drawing room or….”

  “Or what? Fire me, then. I much prefer our trysts on the moor. You have had life much too easy up to now. I know a place deep in the moor, between bogs and tors, where there’s a patch of earth God forgot to take away with Eden. There, I will lay you bare before my eyes alone. You will know the utter joy of softness on your backside, hardness at your front. Then, my naive little heiress, you will truly learn the meaning of life–soft and hard. Good and bad. Joy and pain. All intertwined and inseparable.” He leaned forward. “Like us, and the bond we share.”

  The words ran over her like rough silk, abrading all her covered skin beneath the prudish clothes. But he didn’t have to know that her nipples stood erect with temptation. He forgot to mention life’s most treacherous lesson–how to figure out the difference between guile and honesty. He was masterful at both, but Lil had always been a quick learner.

  Stabbing her needle into the eye of the wolf, she rose and faced him unflinchingly even when those amber eyes trailed over her like flames. “I prefer you learn your own lesson. With your backside upon the moor, you’d have softness behind–and softness in front.” Wondering if she’d lost the last little piece of her mind he hadn’t invaded, Lil walked up to him.

  So close the tips of her slippers brushed the tips of his boots.

  Only a broken dream separated them. Or a whisper of hope….

  Steadily, Lil held that shocked amber gaze. “Sometimes, life offers only joy. But to get it, you see, you have to give it. You can’t twist it, conquer it, or tear it apart. You can only accept it like the gift it is and learn Ian Griffith’s hardest lesson.” She leaned close until her breath brushed his neck. To her delight, she saw gooseflesh rise on his skin as she drawled, “Humility.”

  Whisking her skirts gracefully to the side, Lil walked out of her drawing room. And as she closed the door, she heard the bark of his laughter. Surprised, admiring. Almost joyful.

  A small smile remained upon her lips for the rest of the day. Little surprised, and less pleased, Ian Griffith. She was glad she could do both.

  A week later, when Lil visited the stables at Shelly’s invitation, she wasn’t surprised to find all the tack oiled, the very hinges on the stall doors shining, and not a hint of dung anywhere in the barn. The horses gleamed with good health and grooming.

  When she was done, Lil looked at her stablemistress severely. “You disappoint me. A week? Would you like to tackle world peace next? Perhaps it might take you a year.”

  Shelly barked that loud, infectious laugh. “You had me going there for a minute, and it’s the rare person who surprises me. But actually, if Victoria Regina would consider stepping aside, I suspect I could contrive quite capably. Though it might take more than a year.”

  “And they say men are arrogant.”

  Even Shelly looked shocked at the deep voice that seemed to come from nowhere. They whirled in concert, staring at Ian. They’d heard not a sound, yet he stood on gravel that crunched like bones beneath the stable boys’ footsteps.

  He appraised Shelly carefully from head to toes. “If you stay out of my affairs, I shall stay out of yours and leave you to terrorize your little fiefdom. Brutus is mine, by the way. I typically ride every morning at seven. Please see that he’s saddled and waiting.” And he turned and walked off. Equally soundlessly.

  Her grey eyes finally startled at something beyond her ken, Shelly looked at Lil. “Why do you tolerate him?”

  “Until I can find a replacement, I have little choice. According to Mrs. McCavity, the groundskeepers, miners, leaseholders and villagers all have a fierce loyalty to him.”

  Frowning, Shelly stared after Ian for a moment. She seemed unsettled, off kilter, but then, with a straightening of her broad shoulders, she replied, “‘Tis your concern, of course. Not mine. But that man is more than an estate manager.”

  “A smuggler, perhaps? A pirate?” Lil had seen no such evidence in Ian’s rooms, but since she couldn’t admit she’d been there, she could only say, “As far as I can tell, he does his job, and does it well, so I have no grounds–yet–for his dismissal. But I give you leave to come to me if he makes a nuisance of himself.”

  Lil turned.

  “Do you ride, my dear? I would be happy to show you about the moor myself.”

  Lil hesitated. She had one fear she’d never been able to control. Not since she was a child. Normally she didn’t speak of it, but Shelly would be offended if she didn’t understand why the stable owner never availed herself of the stables. “I…used to ride. Many years ago. But I lost a dear friend in a riding accident and….” She trailed off, looking at Brutus, who’d poked his nose over his stall door. He was a great, fearless black stallion, almost sixteen hands high, and he scared Lil straight into Sunday.

  And she’d never seen a mount and master more suited to one another. All darkness, sinew and power kept in check only so long as they pleased.

  As she watched, Brutus seemed to sense her apprehension, for his nostrils flared. He snorted, and pawed the ground. Lil jumped back.

  Shelly went over to him and offered him a sugar lump.

  Lil tensed, expecting him to bite, but he only slurped the lump from Shelly’s gloved palm. He suffered her touch when she patted the side of his glossy neck. But he didn’t seek it, so he reared away as soon as he’d finished chewing.

  Very like his master.

  Lil turned toward the door.

  “You do not strike me as someone subject to irrational fear,” Shelly said reasonably, walking Lil to the door.

  “Normally, I am not. But this….is beyond my control.”

  “Have you tried to control it?”

  “You mean…have I ridden? No. But I drive my own curricle on occasion.”

  “That is not the same. If you like, I can take you up with me on old Betsy over there. If I spur her, she jounces into a trot. She might outrun a rocking horse, but it would be close.”

  Lil laughed. “If ever I decide to ride again, rest assured I shall order Betsy.” Lil started to walk away, but she noted an odd expression in Shelly’s eyes. “Do you wish to say something else?”

  Shelly hesitated, which gave Lil some hint of the gravity of the subject. Inexplicably, Lil braced herself.

  “I have been around many animals. And I love them all. But any animal, even a domesticated one, can be dangerous if they scent fear. The wise master shows them none, and only then, are they tamed to the hand.”

  Lil stood there staring at that serious brown face. Why did she have the uncanny feeling that they were not talking about horses? And that Shelly had a deeper purpose here than running a stable. “I….understand. I think.”

  “I hope so. Tomorrow then. First thing? We shall ride upon the moors. Once you learn where the bogs are, they’re not so frightening. It would be the better for you if learn to navigate there as easily as you do in the house.”

  Miffed for the first time with her newest employee, Lil turned on her heel. “I have other plans for the morning. I shall so notify you, if and when I decide to ride. Good day.”

  During the short walk back to the house, Lil couldn’t shake the strange feeling that Shelly not only had her best interests at heart, but that she feared for her safety.

  How could that be?

  Perhaps it was time to solve the mystery of what had happened to the former heiress of Haskell Hall.

  CHAPTER THREE

  During her short tenure, Lil had found the servants to be efficient, hard-working and honest. At least in matters of th
e household. But when it came to the history of the Hall, and even more problematically, apparently, the history of the demise of its former owners, the servants were inexplicably affected with various ailments.

  Mrs. McCavity grew strangely dumb at Lil’s direct question: “How did the previous heiress die?” The housekeeper opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then she made a garbled excuse and fled.

  The butler grew deaf. He continued about his duties, only the tinge of red at his oh-so-proper hairline above his oh-so-proper starched cravat hinting of his discomfiture.

  And the French cook seemed blind, for he stared right through her as he yelled at his cook’s assistant for not stirring his precious sauce vigorously enough.

  By the time lunch came around, Lil was steaming. Whatever the scandal, it must be shocking indeed for the servants to risk her wrath like this. But they didn’t know her well enough yet to understand that such extreme resistance only made her more determined. As Pa was fond of saying, the difference between a rich gold miner and a poor one could be summed up in one word: digging. The harder, the longer, the more gold one found.

  And since her newest servants seemed to be conspiring to keep her in the dark, she decided it was only fair that she enlist her oldest, most trusted servants–nay, Safira and Jeremy were more like friends–to help her cast some light upon the mystery.

  Besides, she was tired of eating alone in the great, drafty dining room. As the turtle soup was removed, Lil looked at her friends and said casually, “I keep forgetting to ask the housekeeper, so I was wondering….Have either of you discussed with the other servants what happened to the former heiress of the estate?”

  With unwonted clumsiness, Safira dropped her fork on her plate with a clatter. “Ah, I do not know the other servants here very well, mistress. We do not discuss such topics.”

  But Lil noted that Safira took extreme interest in her plate as she spoke. Lil looked at Jeremy.