Ravenwood(30)

“You must play for us, Elinore.”

“I only play a very little. I’m not very good.”

“Nonsense.” Hayter dismissed her words with a wave. “I’m sure that’s just your delicate feminine modesty speaking. Victoria was quite proficient.”

“It must be a talent on my mother’s side that was not handed down to me. My mother tried quite diligently to teach me and I also received some instruction from a maestro. Alas, I fear he declared me tone deaf.”

“Your humility is charming. Have a seat,” he invited, gesturing with his hand at the small bench in front of the instrument.

Elinore swallowed tightly. She would have to be quite rude to decline now. She seated herself stiffly at the instrument, wincing as she placed her fingers on the keys. She wracked her brain for the shortest, quickest, easiest piece she knew.

“It’s been some years,” she warned. Hayter looked as eager as a school-boy. Her eyes darted over to Caleb who seemed to know where this was likely going and looked sympathetic. The bite on her arm throbbed as she held her fingers on the keys and she flexed her fingers slightly, hoping that her injury wouldn’t make her playing even worse, though she doubted it was possible. She started playing and immediately hit several wrong notes. She pulled her hands back and placed them in her lap.

“I cannot do this instrument justice and wouldn’t dream of assaulting you any further.”

“I’m sure you’re only out of practice. Continue.” Hayter was by the small bar, pouring himself a draught of brandy. Elinore grimaced and tried again. She played surely the worst minuet all the country had ever heard, flinching at every wrong note. As the last, discordant note rang in the room, Hayter clapped madly, lavishing her with false praise.

“Well done, my dear, well done. You must play for us every evening.”

“I’m afraid I don’t recall any other songs,” she deferred quickly.

“I will find your aunt’s musical scores. She had dozens.” Hayter waved a hand blithely. Elinore nodded tightly and wondered if she could burn the music as quickly as Hayter could find it. As she stood from the pianoforte, she turned to look at Caleb who had a terse expression on his face.

“You kept time well.”

It was probably the kindest thing that could be said for her playing and the stoicism with which he delivered the words warmed her heart.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him. She took a seat on a stiff-cushioned chair, and started counting down from an hour in her head. Just one hour, then she could be free.





Chapter Seven





After an hour of being under Hayter’s scrutinizing gaze, attempting polite answers and genteel conversation, Elinore made her excuses to retire for the night, claiming fatigue. As she stood, so too did Caleb and Hayter. Hayter moved as though he would come toward her and she thought about the way his hand lingered on her neck before dinner. She cringed inwardly, dreading Hayter’s intrusion into her personal space. Perhaps something showed on her face for, suddenly, Caleb asked Hayter for an update on their family business affairs. Elinore took the distraction and escaped.

Mrs. Davenport stopped her in the hallway just as she was leaving the parlor and let her know that she would be up shortly to change her bandages and assist Elinore in removing the dreaded corset and dress. On her way upstairs, Elinore paused at the portrait of Victoria and Hayter, again noting the similarities between herself and her late aunt. Of course, long dark hair wasn’t rare - indeed you could not throw a stone in the city without hitting several ladies with the same style - but Elinore could see herself in the shape of Victoria’s eyes and the curve of her lips. Elinore’s mother had the same features and the three of them would have made a matched triad. Though Elinore could see she favored her aunt more than her mother. Had they been out together, Elinore would have likely been thought to be Victoria’s daughter instead of her niece.

The raven in the portrait caught her eye. Black with only slight shading around the eyes, it had a feral gaze similar to Hayter. It looked as though both of them were staring out at the viewer. Elinore moved past the painting slowly, not quite wanting to turn her back to it. She turned away only when she reached the stairs. Another painting, this time only of a raven, adorned the stairs. As she glanced down, she noted the banister spindles were carved deeply with feathers and clawed feet. She paused on one of the steps, running her fingertips over the fine woodwork. For a moment, she thought she heard Caleb and Hayter’s voices carrying from the parlor and up the stairs, but decided it must be her imagination. She was too far away to be able to hear them.

Entering her room, she found a low fire already burning, filling the room with a welcome warmth. The staff was extraordinarily well managed. Lunch had been served well, as had dinner. The manor was impeccably kept and she’d yet to enter a room and not find a fire already lit. Happily her trunk, rescued from the carriage, was at the foot of her bed. Thank goodness. She’d have her own things to wear. No matter what state they were in, they were sure to be a great deal better than what she had on. She managed to kneel down despite her current garment and open her trunk, finding that yes, her things were quite wet, but appeared otherwise to be in no worse shape. She was missing one or two dresses and wondered if Mrs. Davenport had already taken them to air out. Elinore found her books, still carefully wrapped in the deepest corner of the trunk. The paper was slightly wet and cold to the touch, but as she unwrapped them, she was relieved to find them unharmed. Opening the pages, she noted none of the ink had run or been ruined. She took a moment to hug her journal close to her chest, grateful for its safety, before tucking it under the mattress of the bed. She unpacked some of her belongings - a portrait of her parents, a box of letters, her writings and some ribbons and thought the room looked quite a bit more like her own now.