Ravenwood(23)

I am already plotting out events for a mesmerizing story you and I shall write. Perhaps our heroine should be beset by a number of faeries while in the forest? What do you think? I will write the first parts based on my experience and embellish for narrative effect and then I will turn it over to you, dear Lottie, and your penchant for wonderful imaginations.

I’ve not had much time to see all of Ravenwood yet, but as I write, I am seated in the most glorious of libraries. The books here shall become true companions, I am sure. Although none shall ever be as close to my heart as you and our own small collection of books. I’m grateful to have family to take me in, but I do wish I were closer to you and your family.

Elinore spent a few more paragraphs describing the general state of what she’d seen at Ravenwood, as well as mentioning that she had met with her uncle and had lunch with him and her cousin. She was careful not to convey any of the discomfort that had arisen during the meal. She may have shared those things with Charlotte in person, but to write them down where they could be seen by anyone was too ill-mannered to consider. Satisfied that she had imparted enough details so that Charlotte would not be overly worried on her behalf, she closed her letter wishing her friend well and hoping that she would write back soon.

Pulling out another piece of parchment, Elinore meant to write about the carriage accident and her voyage into the forest, but instead found herself thinking about her dream the night before. Although most dreams faded upon her waking, last night’s dream was still vibrant and haunting in her mind. She dipped her quill while she thought, placing it on the page and hesitating for a moment before she began. Soon the words were flowing, faster than she had written to Charlotte, faster than she had written before - her penmanship an atrocious scrawl of angry black lines against the cream paper. She could still feel the raven’s claws on her shoulder, hear its strange whispering in her ear. She had to pause and run her fingers over the hair on the back of her neck in an effort to get rid of the phantom feeling of feathers against her skin. She could picture the creature, in between the foliage, hiding behind the trees, stalking her. Did it represent the wolf that had bitten her? But that wolf had not been starkly white, as the one in her dream had been. The wolf that had bitten her had been grey, white and brown. Although both wolves had yellow eyes. The raven, Elinore supposed, could be easily explained by Ravenwood itself - the name and the images that she’d seen so far. Ravens were not just the namesake of the manor, it appeared, but an integral part of the decorating. She’d seen them on some of the wall sconces this morning, on her uncle’s portrait and then even now, in the library, there were several statues of ravens about. She touched her shoulder, on the spot where last night, in her dream, the raven’s claws had dug into her skin, sharp and painful. She knew it was only her generally overactive imagination, but even now she swore she could feel the lingering touch of those talons piercing through her skin.

“Miss Reed?”

Elinore startled at the voice, knocking over the inkwell, spilling black ink over the remaining parchment. She fruitlessly cast about for something to use to start soaking up the ink but found nothing. Fortunately, the owner of the voice, a small slip of a girl, rushed forward, pulling a large kerchief out of her pocket and using it to sop up the mess.

“I’m sorry for startling you.”

She seemed painfully hesitant, as though she expected Elinore to start screaming at her or calling out harsh words. “No, not at all,” replied Elinore, trying to move the rest of the paper out of the way and setting the inkwell to rights as the girl cleaned up her mess. “I’m the one that knocked it over.”

The young girl was visibly relieved as she folded up the ruined kerchief and the two of them stared down at their ink stained hands. They shared a glance and when Elinore laughed, the young girl did too. She was obviously younger than Elinore, smaller too, but already had the look of a woman about her. Elinore would guess her to be about fourteen or fifteen. Her eyes were lovely shade of dark amber and her hair seemed on the brink of escaping its messy bun. Her face was pretty, open and bright as they compared their ink-stained hands.

“I’m afraid this might not come off our hands very quickly,” Elinore said, still sharing a smile with the girl.

“I’m used to being covered in ink. Or charcoal. Or rather a number of things.”

“Really?” asked Elinore.

“Goodness, I should introduce myself. I’m Alice. Alice Thistlewaite. You were in the carriage with my father last night.”

“Oh, Alice!” Elinore exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so glad to meet you. Your father spoke of you before… well, before our accident and I was looking forward to making your acquaintance.”

Alice seemed embarrassed by Elinore’s words and blushed. “Thank you, miss. That’s kind of you to say.”

“I believe it is one of your dresses I’m wearing. Thank you so much for the loan.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Well, perhaps not to you, but I’m quite grateful to not be wearing a rain-soaked gown this morning. How is your father? I heard the doctor was here and said he’ll be laid up for a while.”

“Yes, miss. I’ve been sitting with him for all of today.”

It was only at her words that Elinore realized outside the window, the sun was starting its long path down for the night. She knew her day would be short, having only awoken for lunch, and she’d taken time to write Charlotte’s letter, but she was surprised at how much time she must have lost writing about her dream. It must be close to supper-time already and she’d barely seen anything of the manor during her first day.