Part VII: The Transformation

Haddock was enjoying a quiet evening in the sea-green sitting room that had recently been aired out when there was a knock at the double doors.  He sighed and lowered his book.

“Yes?”

The door opened a crack, and Evans poked his feathery-haired grey head in.

              “A Miss Marlowe to see you, Sir,” he announced.

Haddock was on his feet in an instant.

“What?”

“The Lady says she needs to speak with you.  Most urgent news regarding—I say!  Don’t shove!  The Master didn’t permit you to enter—”

Miss Marlowe pushed her way into the room, her face flushed from the cool outdoors and anger.  She was holding a light jacket in her arms, and her dress was muddied at the hem.  Evans was getting ready to extricate the lady from the room when Haddock held up his hand.

“It’s all right, Evans.  Miss Marlowe and I just needed to go over a few things for clarification.  I’ll call you when you’re needed.”

Evans was giving Miss Marlowe the politest stink eye he could permit.

“Yes, Sir,” he said, and glided out of the room, shutting the doors behind him.  Miss Marlowe cast her eyes at the door so ensure that they were truly alone, then directed her steely gaze back towards Haddock.

              “I—"

“You did receive a letter saying that your services weren’t required for today, didn’t you?” Haddock asked.  Miss Marlowe fished the letter out of a pocket in her dress and waved it in the air.

              “You mean this?  I didn’t come here to see Mrs. Haddock—I came here to see you to talk about this idiotic duel—”

“We already talked about it,” Haddock cut in. “I still stand with what I said last.  I’m going through with it.  Now please, Miss Marlowe, go home and try to face reality.”

                                                                        *

Mr. Haddock walked past Isolde to open the doors.  Isolde bristled, ready to light into the insolent man.  She took a calming breath and replaced her scowl with a smile.  Stick to your design.

              “I don’t know if you realized it, Mr. Haddock—being cooped up in your stuffy manor all day—but it’s nearly dark out and I wouldn’t feel safe walking home with You Know Who out and about.”

Mr. Haddock’s back stiffened.  He swung around to face her.

              “I’ll have Weston take you back in a carriage then,” he said.  Isolde sighed and shook her head.

“I’m afraid that won’t do any good.  There’s been a horrible storm brewing all day.  A tree already fell down in the main road and has yet to be cleared.  No carriages can make it through without taking a very long bypass.”

Mr. Haddock gave her a look that suggested she went and chopped down the tree herself.

“I…suppose you could stay here for the night.”

              Isolde beamed at the grumpy man and grabbed his hands.

“Oh, you’re too gracious, Mr. Haddock!”

“It’s nothing,” Mr. Haddock said, pulling his hands back and crossing his arms.

“Now we’ll have time to talk about this silly duel of yours and the many reasons why you shouldn’t go through with it,” Isolde said, jabbing her finger at him.  Mr. Haddock rolled his eyes.

              “Please.  You’re just wasting your breath, Miss Marlowe.  I already told you—I’ve made up my mind.”

“You men and your pride!”

“As I recall, he insulted you too!  Or did you forget that?”

              “I remember it perfectly,” Isolde replied evenly. “I have to put up with busybodies muddying my name, sermons on chastity and the sins of loose women from a reverend who says I deserve this treatment, and my own mother crying about how she failed to raise a respectable daughter.  Meanwhile, you simply hole yourself up in this prison of yours and wait out the storm because no one would dare say anything vile to your face!  You’re the rich recluse who descends from his castle with generous gifts of money at the holidays to pacify the people and make sure they respect your name!  If you go through with this, it will only make people think that everything Sir Drexel has been saying is true!”

              Isolde’s heart was racing.  She was breathing heavily.  Mr. Haddock was staring at her.

              “I didn’t realize—didn’t think—"

One of the doors opened and Evans’s head made another appearance.

              “Is everything all right, Master Haddock?  I heard raised voices.”

Mr. Haddock was still staring at Isolde.  Let that sink in.  Evans looked from one to the other.

“Sir…?”

Mr. Haddock blinked and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

              “Ah, it’s all right.  Everything’s fine, Evans.  Have Mrs. Evans prepare a room for Miss Marlowe.  She’ll be spending the night.”

Evans looked genuinely confused.

“Sir?”

“Evans.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And take Miss Marlowe to the dining room.  I’m sure she’s hungry after her travels,” Mr. Haddock said, turning his back on them as he walked over to the mantelpiece where he had left his book.  Evans drew up to Isolde and gestured to the door.

“This way, Miss Marlowe.”

“I want to finish this conversation, Mr. Haddock.  Now,” Isolde said, remaining immovable.

Mr. Haddock looked to the grandfather clock calmly ticking away in the corner of the room.

              “Tomorrow.  It’s getting late and I need to rest.”

“It’s only four thirty!” Isolde exclaimed, throwing her arms wide.

              “It’s late for me.”

“If you think you can avoid the inevitable by sending me to bed and running off in the morning—”

              “Miss Marlowe,” Evans broke in, “you need to eat dinner.”

He placed a hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off.

“Why are you avoiding this?” Isolde demanded.  Mr. Haddock was resting his head in his hand, looking as if he was suffering from a migraine.

              “Evans,” Mr. Haddock grunted.  The saturnine butler suddenly became animated.

“Come along, Miss Marlowe.”

              Isolde tried to prevent Evans from dragging her away by shuffling to the side, but he instead got behind her and began shoving her towards the door.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?!”

              “The Master needs to be left alone—”

Evans barely made it to the door with Isolde planting her heels into the wood floor when Mr. Haddock gave a cry and dropped to his knees.  Isolde moved to rush to his side but Evans held her back, causing her to stumble.  She looked at him in wild consternation.

              “What are you doing?!  I’m trying to help him!”

“It’s best if you stay here,” Evans said grimly, acquiescing to Isolde’s wish to stay in the room.  Mr. Haddock gave another cry.  Isolde watched in horror while Evans held her in check by the arm as Mr. Haddock clutched his sides, his forehead pressed to the floorboards, shaking uncontrollably.  And transformed right before her eyes.  Hair sprouted on exposed skin, clothing seams split, a tail grew out from the spine, his face lengthened into a canid snout: an ordinary brown wolf stood in front of the fireplace moments later.  He looked up at her with eyes that held far more intelligence than a commonplace wolf should have.  She cocked her head.

              “Mr. Haddock…?”