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As I feared, I could not sleep. Night brought with it a tumult that rattled the tiles, swooped down the chimney, and lashed the windows with rain. I tossed and turned in my cold little bed, wishing I could be downstairs in the bright firelight, surrounded by company and warmth as I rode out the storm with the family and their guests. Instead, I was alone. Completely alone. Since my father had died, I had no one. Not one friend or relative that would look beyond my penniless state and take me in. I had been ostracised, cast out from the loving arms of society and friendship.
The storm only grew louder as the night drew on, and my thoughts grew darker. But I would not succumb to them.
Throwing off the bedsheets, I grabbed a shawl and tiptoed out into the hallway. Thunder boomed overhead, shaking the floorboards, and rain battered the roof so fiercely I thought any moment it would flood the house. Swallowing down my fear, I made my way down the staircase, feeling my way in the dark. I would head for the library, light a candle and lose myself in a good book. Distraction was key. It was no use lying awake, staring at the ceiling all night.
The house groaned and creaked as the storm continued its assault and I made my way along the row of closed doors to the one I knew to be the library. I was allowed in here rarely, on occasions when the mistress was feeling generous, or when I needed to locate a particular volume for the children. Yet of anywhere in the house, it was the place I most longed to be. Lined on all sides by row upon row of books, with long glass doors that looked out onto the gardens and deep leather chairs in the centre, it reminded me of home. My father had taught me to read, to write, and, yes, to multiply with speed and ease. He had had a love of learning and saw no reason why a daughter should not be as well educated as a son.
I rubbed my head. He had been a good man. Just not altogether sensible. I expect he thought he would live for much longer than he had. Have time to sort his finances and find me a good husband.
The door squeaked as I opened it, then snapped shut with a bang as I slipped inside.
Bright lightning flashed beyond the glass doors, water streaming down the panes and blurring the night. I took a step forward, mesmerised by the fearsome beauty of it. The trees in the gardens bent near double by the force of the wind. Another bolt lit up the library and thunder rumbled through the house.
Books rested invitingly on the shelves around me, and yet it was the window that drew me closer. Closer. Closer.
A third flash of light pierced the jet black night.
I screamed, thunder muffling my cry as my whole body snapped, rigid with terror.
Beyond the windowpane, staring straight back at me, stood a creature. A monster. It possessed the form of a wolf, but it stood on its hind legs like a man and its shoulders and arms were packed solid with muscle and strength. Thick grey fur covered its body and pointed canines protruded from its jaw. A tail draggedbehind it on the floor and sharp claws flashed at the extremes of its hands. It was a creature formed of pure nightmare. And yet there was something human about it, too. In the way it stood, in the angle of its face, in the intelligence of its eyes. Eyes that glinted in the flash of light from above. Eyes I had seen before.
I stumbled backward, the monster disappearing as the light vanished.
When it flashed again, there it was. Pressed up against the window, leering at me, its tongue lolling from its mouth as it assessed me hungrily.
My whole body shook, but I could not move, frozen by its stare in that flash of light.
The lightning ceased. The window fell dark. But I heard the crash of powerful fists upon the glass and I spun and fled, streaking out into the hallway and up the stairs as fast as my legs could carry me. In my room, I dove straight for the bed, flinging myself under the blankets and shivering there uncontrollably.
I lay there all night, waiting, waiting for the creature to find me, straining to hear paws padding on the floorboards.
But all I heard was the raging storm until finally dawn crept in my window.
Chapter 6
The next morning, the children were restless, refusing to settle into their studies and bickering with one another. After several days of adhering to the best of their behaviour on account of the guests, the strain had gotten to them. Or perhaps my own flitting mood was affecting them. I could not sit still, moving from the chair to the window, from the window to the bookshelf, and back to the chair. My body ached with tiredness and when I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, my face was pale.
By the afternoon, the children’s unruly chatter drew the housekeeper to the nursery with instructions from their mother. Another walk was in order. Activity that would blow away the cobwebs and let the children expend their energy.
I tried not to shake at the prospect. Stepping outside, placing myself in the path of that monster, was the last thing I desired in all the world. Yet, I had no choice. Orders were orders. Her ladyship could not be disobeyed.
Wrapping the children in sufficient layers, we set off across the parkland, meaning to climb the nearest hill and, once out of sight of the house, a tree or two.
The fresh air did all three of us good. Soon, the children laughed and chased each other, and out here in the wide expanse, I could convince myself last night's encounter had been some strange hallucination.
I was tired and bored, and in such circumstances perhaps it was not peculiar that my mind had conjured such a creation.
There were no such things as lycanthropes. I had simply read too many novels. These creatures did not exist except in folklore and books.
I smiled and chased after the children.
On our way back to the house, we heard the thud of horses' hooves and turned to find the children’s father and uncle riding towards us. They drew up alongside us and immediately little William whined about tired legs, though he had been running only moments ago. With a tut of his tongue, his father scooped him up to perch in front of him on his horse.
“Make him gallop, Papa,” the little boy insisted, bouncing on the saddle, and soon they were cantering towards the house.
The little girl peered up at her uncle, towering above us on his great horse.
“Would you like to ride too, Anne?” he asked. She shook her head, but looked longingly at the animal.
