Ravenwood(4)
“It wouldn't be trouble at all. I remember that age well. I loved reading. Still do.” Indeed Elinore remembered how glorious it was to hunker down in a corner of her house or a small patch of the woods with Charlotte and a tale of mystery and mayhem. Oh, what fun they’d had!
“I’d appreciate it rightly so, miss. As would my Gemma, Mrs. Thistlewaite.”
“As I said, no trouble at all. I shall be glad of the company.” Elinore paused, looking up at the sky, feeling the wind on her face. “May I ask, how long is it to Ravenwood?”
Thistle opened the door to the carriage and held out a hand to assist her up the stairs. “‘nother couple hours at least. The horses are fresh so we should get some speed out of them. If I’d had my druthers, we’d not be out tonight at all, but Mr. Vollmond wanted you brought to the manor straight away.” He fidgeted for a moment and then added, “I heard about your parents. A real shame, miss. My condolences.”
This kindness from a stranger, after a long day of traveling along with her fatigue and hunger was enough to make her eyes prick with tears. “Thank you, Mr. Thistle.”
“Just Thistle, miss,” he corrected, tipping his hat a bit. “Just Thistle.”
“Thank you, Thistle,” she said, using the nickname, feeling warm and happy to do so.
“We best get going if we want to beat out the storm.”
Elinore looked the sky and sure enough, the heavy clouds were pressing in closer, the light of the full moon obscured. She thought earlier that since the overcast afternoon had not yielded too much rain perhaps a storm would not come to pass, but she feared Thistle was right. She smelled the storm in the air. She settled into the carriage seat once more, noting that what had at the start of her journey felt like a comfortable seat, was now hard and bothersome after many hours of travel. It was of no importance, there was nothing that could be done about it. She settled her cloak over her shoulders, pulling out her knitting and book to keep on the seat beside her, at the ready. She hit the back of the seat with a small thump as the carriage jerked forward into motion. The obscured full moon lent no light at all to the darkness outside and although the candle in the carriage was small, it was enough to cause her reflection to peer back at her from the glass, instead of allowing her to see outside. Her reflection looked wane and pale and she averted her gaze. The long days since her parents’ death laid heavily on her features. To lose not just one but both to sickness was a terrible thing to bear. Her father fell ill first, and then her mother. Elinore had felt at once both grateful and guilty for not falling sick herself. Grateful, so that she could assist the doctor in treating them, and guilty for somehow being in perfect health while both her parents were sick. Her mother took a turn for the worse around the same time her father appeared to get better. Little did they know that her father’s rise in spirits was a death rally. While Elinore was still reeling from her mother’s death, her father passed away only a day and a half later.
Now, a scant six weeks after their passing, she was on her way to live with relatives she had no memory of ever meeting. Her last week at home had passed in a blur of packing, of servants being severanced, of goodbyes with acquaintances and then finally, the long journey today to Ravenwood.
A flash of lightening lit up the sky and burned her eyes, making ghostly shapes dance in the landscape outside the window. She blinked them away, waiting for the crack of thunder that would surely follow. It came quicker than she expected and within moments, the carriage was surrounded by the sound of rain. She felt dreadfully sorry for Thistle, atop the carriage in such a storm. Elinore wondered if she should try to get his attention and suggest they each take a room at the local inn until the storm passed. Although, she thought ruefully, some innkeeper or matron would likely have words to say about a young, unmarried woman letting a room by herself. As though she wasn’t capable to rent a room for sleeping.
She lost time, staring blankly through her reflection in the glass - seeing and not seeing as flashes of lightening cracked open the sky above, the rain spilling afterward. She hummed softly to herself, old songs and familiar tunes, her pitch sometimes faltering as she was caught by memories of her parents. She pulled her knitting out of her bag only to fiddle with it, not managing anything productive.
A particularly bad bump in the road sent her rocking in the seat and the candle went out, the wax spilling over the wick with a hiss. As the interior was plunged into darkness, she found she could better piece together the landscape as it flickered before her, lit up brilliantly by lightning. The flatter, more rugged terrain had given way to a light forest that became denser and thicker the farther they travelled. At times, tree branches dragged across the sides of the carriage, sounding like long fingernails trailing across the exterior. She smiled to herself at the thought, thinking that she looked forward to meeting Thistle’s daughter, Alice. If she read as voraciously as Elinore had done at her age, she’d likely share Elinore’s fanciful notions of creatures lost in the dark, perched on the edge of reality. Perhaps, even though she was younger than Elinore, Alice could become a companion of sorts and they could share dreadfully frightening stories together over candlelight, as Elinore and Charlotte had done. Elinore shivered a little. She wished she had a real coat on instead of just her cloak. Poor Thistle, out in the thick of it.
As though he was spurred on by her thoughts, she felt the carriage move faster, the sounds of the horses’ hooves fast and rhythmic on the ground. Thistle must want to be warm in his bed very dearly to push the animals so fast in the dark. Or perhaps he simply knew the road that well.