They were a perfect match.
“I expect
your friend to be announcing an engagement to Dear Celeste any day now,” Lady
Wilson chirruped as she pulled a silver-handled brush through her thick black
hair. From her vanity mirror, she saw Lord Wilson drop the top of his newspaper
from the settee he was lounging on, fixing his wife with a smirk.
“Ahhh My dear, naïve Phoebe. It’s nothing more than a fleeting holiday
affair. I can guarantee you that nothing
will come of this “match” of yours.”
Lady Wilson wrinkled her nose at the reflection of her husband.
“Oh,
fi! What do you know, Harold?”
Lord Wilson looked like he was
about to reply with the expression of one who had had years of experience in
the matter, thought better of it, and scratched the side of his face as he
looked at the paper again.
“Well. It won’t last. I know Malcolm better than you do, and your
Miss Claymore doesn’t exactly strike me as the type of woman he would settle
down with,” Lord Wilson muttered with a hint of finality. Lady Wilson set her brush down on the vanity
and fluffed her hair. She sniffed.
“We’ll see,” she said more to herself than to her doubting husband.
*
Mr. Haddock
and Celeste took more trips to the castles nearby the Wilsons’ abode, along
with spending time in the city and walking along the riverside when the both of
them agreed that they needed a break from humanity.
Lady Wilson kept giving Lord Wilson significant looks whenever she espied
her match together or Celeste told her about the outings and how much she
enjoyed Mr. Haddock’s company. Lord
Wilson only responded with a roll of the eyes, or worse, a sardonic
tight-lipped smile that began to wear on Lady Wilson’s nerves.
In an effort to prove him wrong, she interfered a bit with the
would-be-couple. If the Wilsons and
Celeste and Mr. Haddock were in the sitting room, Lady Wilson would remove
herself from the room under a trivial pretense (and force Lord Wilson to
follow), so that her match would have some time to speak freely to each other,
and possibly grow a little closer. She
arranged so that Celeste and Mr. Haddock sat together at the table when her
balls called for a sit-down dinner and made constant rounds during the dancing
and card games to see that they were in each other’s’ company. If one was missing, she would immediately
inquire where they were, having trouble keeping the squeak out of her voice as
the horrible vision of her match falling apart rose before her eyes, followed
by Lord Wilson saying, “I said so”
with a sneer.
In the privacy of their rooms, Lord Wilson drawled:
“Perhaps you
should be a bit less obvious, My Dear.”
Lady Wilson grabbed his newspaper,
swatted him on the head with it, and dumped it back into his lap.
“Just a thought,” Lord Wilson
remarked, unperturbed.
*
Lady
Wilson’s machinations had not gone unnoticed by Haddock and Miss Claymore. She was painfully obvious in her efforts to
push them together, but Miss Claymore suggested that they divulge in her
friend’s plotting to teach her a lesson about interfering with other people and
their love lives.
“Lady Wilson always gets what she
wants, so let us give to her what she most desires and then rip it out of her
clutches at the last second,” she crooned while she and Haddock walked along
the riverside. Haddock saw something
cross her face that Miss Claymore hadn’t displayed before. It was an expression of mingled delight and
venom that he thought would have been foreign to her face but in fact looked
quite natural. He blinked and her
features reverted back to their normal wryness.
She must have noted his surprise, as she quickly added:
“It would all be in good fun of
course.”
“Of course,”
Haddock reaffirmed, still a little distracted by what he had seen. They walked on in silence for a few moments
before Miss Claymore halted and swung to stand in Haddock’s path.
“I mean, I’m not forcing you to—”
“Oh, no I
completely agree, with Lady Wilson being something of a bother, that is,”
Haddock said as he tried to sort out his words.
He had been peeved when he realized that Lady Wilson was trying to set
him up once again. She had cornered him
only the other day to ask in a roundabout way if he was considering making a
proposal to anyone in particular soon.
Haddock strongly wished to tell her to mind her own business, but his
sense of civility prevailed, and he had told her “I don’t think I would like to
rush into things after a week,” before making an escape.
Miss Claymore was still standing
in his way, looking expectant for him to finish his thoughts.
“As long as
we don’t take things too far,” Haddock said.
Miss Claymore’s worry evaporated.
“Yes, yes. I don’t expect any proposals from you.”
*
Miss
Claymore surprised Haddock with the vim she put into her role in the sham. She didn’t change her personality completely
to behave like the rest of the fickle women that Lady Wilson had tried to match
him with, but she seemed to become more relaxed and unconventionally
flirtatious around him when Lady Wilson was in the vicinity. So much so, that Haddock found it hard to
delineate between Miss Claymore and the Miss Claymore the Flirt persona that
she so easily slipped into. He would be
lying to himself if he wasn’t being slightly taken in by her act either.
Miss Claymore the Flirt eagerly
joined Haddock in dances at the balls and sat closer than an unmarried woman
ought to if they shared a settee. When
they were on their own, she easily lapsed back to her usual self, which caught
Haddock off guard. It was easy for her
act to get to him, now that he had distanced himself from Broadburn. And
Isolde. He was ashamed to admit to
himself that Isolde wasn’t frequenting his thoughts as of late. Instead, the first woman to come to mind over
the past fortnight had been Miss Claymore, and despite the guilt, her face was
a welcome one.
Though he knew by now that she didn’t like people giving her things,
rather seeing them as a handout, he couldn’t help but notice the way she eyed a
small necklace at one of the stores they visited in the city. He went back to buy it for her and had one of
the Wilsons’ servants spirit it up to her room in gift-wrapped form. She wore it the next day, and although the
gift had been anonymous, she colored a little when Haddock recognized it on
her. When they had a few moments to
themselves, Miss Claymore hastily and falteringly thanked him for the gift, all
the while subconsciously touching the pendant on the chain. Before they could initiate a conversation,
Lady Wilson whisked her off for a day in the city, leaving Haddock alone with
his thoughts. He couldn’t talk to his
old friend, as Lord Wilson was holed up in his rooms, suffering from a headache
that Haddock knew to be caused by an overconsumption of alcohol from the night
before.
Haddock paced around in the galleries for a while, eventually the
monotonous tone of his bootheels clicking on the tiles rhythmically growing on
his nerves. He went up to his rooms to
throw on a jacket, hat, and snatch up his walking stick and was tramping along
the riverside minutes later. There were
very few people out today, as the sky was overcast and the weather too cold for
many to stay outside for too long without growing uncomfortable. The cool air, however, seemed to take the
edge off of Haddock’s mood and clear away the fog in his head.
During the time he had spent at the Wilsons’, he had sent three letters
to his mother, describing his travels and the balls thrown by his hosts, and
then casually inquiring if Isolde had returned to Broadburn. Each letter he received had punctured his
optimisms a little more, as Mrs. Haddock tried to soften the blow by saying
that Miss Marlowe was still abroad, but she would most likely be returning any
day now. Haddock knew she was trying to
give him some hope, but he really had started to doubt if he would ever see
Isolde again. He sent letters to Mrs.
Marlowe to forward to Isolde too, but he hadn’t heard much about whether the
latter had received them or not in the end.
The thought of Isolde meeting a handsome, wealthy man who didn’t have to
worry about turning into a large wolf every full moon continued to niggle at
the back of his head.
And then he would chide himself when he realized he was doing the same
thing with Miss Claymore, maybe not consciously, but she had grown on him since
their initial meeting. Haddock
frustratedly swatted at the sand with his cane, causing it to spray up and fly
into the wind. Miss Claymore is a werewolf. It
would take away so many complications that a human bride would create... Haddock stopped by a large rock to stab his
cane into the ground and rub a hand over his face. Why am
I even entertaining the thought? He
wanted to be loyal to Isolde. After all,
she had been there for him when he had most needed someone like her. And it was his fault for their current separation…
If only Florence hadn’t shown up…If
only Grant hadn’t sprung their engagement on me…If only I hadn’t treated Isolde
so abominably.
Haddock was caught up in his regrets, staring at the rock face when he
noticed that there was someone in front of him.
He immediately popped his head up to see Miss Claymore standing before
him. At first he thought it was
imagination and blinked a few times.
Miss Claymore was still there.
She had looked like she was going to tease him at first, but her
expression quickly changed to one of worry.
“Are you all right, Mr. Haddock?”
Haddock
hadn’t realized how much his inner thoughts had telegraphed to his face. He cleared his throat and did his best to
paste a smile onto his face.
“Yes, of course. Just taking a little stroll to clear my
head.”
Miss
Claymore didn’t look the least bit convinced.
Haddock fleetingly wondered if he was so terrible at hiding his
emotions, or if certain women in his life were just very good at reading him.
“Lady Wilson remembered she had
promised to visit an infirm friend today,” Miss Claymore explained, “She
dropped me off back at the manor a while ago.
I didn’t find you anywhere inside, so I thought you would be out here.”
Her gold eyes were studying his
face, waiting for a reaction.
“I thought
we might visit another castle. If you’re
not feeling up to it though, that’s perfectly fine.”
Haddock
slowly shook his head in reply. He
really wasn’t in the mood. Miss Claymore
cocked her bonneted head with a small smile.
“That’s all right. I understand,” she said, giving his hand a
pat. “I’ll see you this evening then.”
She started
on her way to the Wilsons’ home, picking up his skirts to make the trek easier
in the shifting sands. Haddock had
pivoted to watch her. There was a little
inward tugging in his chest that worked his way to his throat.
“Miss Claymore!”
She stopped
and swept a white-blonde curl out of her face, raising her eyebrows at him.
“I’ve
changed my mind! Where are we off to?”
Miss
Claymore flashed him a smile and trudged back to him.
“Are you sure? You’re not just saying this to make me happy,
are you?”
“No,”
Haddock replied, feeling a genuine peal of excitement. “I think I need to get
away from here for a while. See
something new.”
“All right then. I hope you like surprises,” Miss Claymore
said as she slipped her hand through Haddock’s offered arm.
“Only good ones.”
*
Miss
Claymore related her morning with Lady Wilson during the carriage ride and how
she seemed to know, or at least pretended to know, two or three people at each
place they visited, and expressed her appalment at her friend’s outrageous
spending habits. She said that she felt
like Lady Wilson saw her as “a project,” or someone she wanted to throw her
charity on so that she could brag about her “good deeds” to others. She had tactfully denied Lady Wilson buying
her anything on their outing, however, which had made the rich woman a little
peevish. She also said that Lady Wilson
had been inquiring about Mr. Haddock and if he had made any intimations about a
proposal yet. The both of them laughed,
but they were very feeble, forced. Miss
Claymore dropped the conversation then, sending a hand up to the necklace while
diverting her eyes. The rest of the ride
was a very quiet one as the two of them withdrew into their own minds.
When the carriage lurched to a
stop, Miss Claymore suddenly became animated again.
“Oh! We’re here!”
Haddock barely had the presence of mind to help her out of the carriage,
she was moving so rapidly. When he
stepped out, he was met with an icy wind and darkly clouded skies. He hesitated on the step of the carriage
before removing his hat and placing it inside.
He wouldn’t have a repeat of their first outing with his runaway hat
again. When he looked up, he saw a
red-bricked castle, darkened at the top from age and wear, and with sections
and pieces chewed up by time. Miss
Claymore clapped her hands onto his arm and began dragging him towards it with
a laughing, “Come on, you!”
They paced the exterior of the castle, sometimes walking against the
wind, at other times protected from its chilling touch by the castle’s walls. Miss Claymore clung tightly to Haddock’s arm,
more out of coldness than affection. She
pointed out certain features of the ancient edifice she had read about and
breathlessly gave a brief history of the castle. They wandered into the castle’s walls once
they finished their exploration of the outside where the wind’s strength was
cut in half.
“What do you think of it?” Miss Claymore asked as they stood at one end
of the courtyard. Her face was red from
the wind, but her eyes were lively.
“It’s a bit depressing,” Haddock said, truthfully. Miss Claymore shot him a mock look of
indignation.
“I suppose. The crumbling walls
don’t exactly make it look very cheerful.”
Their
surroundings suddenly lit up with a bright flash, followed by a low rumble from
the horizon. Haddock and Miss Claymore
threw their heads back in unison when the swollen clouds decided to let forth
their vaults of rain. Haddock caught a
glimpse of Miss Claymore’s expression of shock, mouth gaping and eyes squeezed
shut as she was hit full in the face by the droplets. Haddock clasped her hand and made for an old
doorway where they ducked inside and flattened themselves against a wall where
there was still a roof keeping their heads dry.
The water came down in thick droves that made it near to impossible to
see anything clearly.
Another lighting flash threw the outside into bright, white relief. Haddock found that he was laughing from the
exhilaration of the dash and absurdity of their predicament. Miss Claymore was giggling as she gazed down
at her soaked dress that clung to her legs.
Her bonnet had fallen onto her back, her white-blonde hair damp and
plastered against her forehead and wind-lashed cheeks. Her laughter ebbed as she met Haddock’s eyes.
“I think I’m falling into our own trap, Mr. Haddock,” she said softly.
Haddock
felt, and probably looked, like he had been smacked over the head with a heavy
book. Miss Claymore leaned closer to his
face, eyes closing, and lips parted. A
little voice in his head screamed Stop! No!
Don’t! but Haddock was finding it very hard to heed the voice’s
protestations. He closed the distance
between Miss Claymore and was met with a gush of euphoria as their lips
touched. Her arms snaked over his neck
and pulled him closer in a grip that belied her small physique as Haddock
wrapped his arms around her waist, still wet from the downpour. The sounds of the storm seemed to phase out
and the cold was replaced by a stifling hotness while the two of them remained
conjoined. Haddock moved to Miss
Claymore’s pale neck and she went nearly limp, eyelids flickering. He disengaged when a particularly loud
thunderclap brought them back to reality, gold eyes staring at one
another. A tendril of something dark and
sickening was curling around Haddock’s insides.
He couldn’t make out exactly what it was, but he didn’t like it.
“Miss Claymore—”
Miss
Claymore placed a finger on Haddock’s lips, taking another step forward. This was neither the Miss Claymore he had
come to know, or the Miss Claymore the Flirt act. This was someone completely different.
“Shhhh,” she purred. “Let’s not talk now, Love.”
She kissed
him again, but the initial feeling was tainted.
He stepped backwards. Miss
Claymore emitted a strangled, angry noise, and before Haddock knew what was
happening, her fingernails had slashed at his neck. Haddock grunted at the sudden warm wetness
and shot a hand up at his neck, pulling it away to see fresh blood on his
fingers. His eyes flashed at Miss
Claymore and she drew back, hands at her sides, chest heaving, looking feral. For a few seconds, Haddock thought that he
might actually have to fight a woman from Miss Claymore’s appearance. Her expression shifted instantly to one of stun
and that Other Miss Claymore fled. She
brought her hand up to stare blankly at the blood, then at Haddock.
“I—I’m—I don’t—"
“We can
discuss this later,” Haddock bit out.
Miss Claymore withdrew until she backed into the wall. She slid down and crossed her arms over her
knees, forehead resting on them. Haddock
remained standing where he was, not sure if this was a ploy on her part. He kept a hand at his neck until he felt that
the blood had congealed, making sure to keep his eyes on Miss Claymore. He wasn’t sure what had snapped in her, but
he was not interested in seeing it resurface again.
The rain began to slow down and
faded to a trickle about a half an hour later.
Haddock stepped up to the doorway and saw that the storm was moving
on. He half turned in the door to look
at Miss Claymore. She had brought her
head up at his movement, eyes red, looking paler than usual.
“The storm is over. We should get back to the carriage,” Haddock
told her stiffly. She nodded, wiping her
eyes, and got to her feet. Their walk
back to the carriage was silent. Haddock
caught Miss Claymore looking at him out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t
acknowledge or meet her gaze. The carriage
driver was relieved to see them, and when he made a startled remark about the
blood at Haddock’s neck, Haddock told him that there had been an accident. That seemed to satisfy the man’s curiosity. Haddock directed him to convey them back to
the Wilsons’ residence and helped Miss Claymore into the carriage before
joining her. They sat on opposite
ends. Haddock directed his eyes out the
window. Miss Claymore didn’t attempt to
talk to him.
*
When they
reached the Wilsons’ abode, Miss Claymore wordlessly and rapidly departed to
her room. Haddock went to his own room
to clean up the wound on his neck and change out of his sopping clothes. Before tying up his cravat, he inspected Miss
Claymore’s handiwork in the looking glass.
Her fingernails had cut deep. Her
movement had been fast and unplanned, which accounted for the lighter scratch
from her pinkie and the lack of any mark from her thumb. He could easily cover up the marks with a
turned-up collar and cravat, but that wouldn’t stop the throbbing, or the
accompanying shame. He leaned heavily on
the table, staring at his thick-browed murky reflection in the washbasin. What in God’s name had compelled him to
behave so wantonly? And who was this
Other Miss Claymore who had broken out and revealed herself? Haddock squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe
it would be for the best if I leave.
*
Miss Claymore
did not show up at the ball that evening, claiming that she was feeling under
the weather. Haddock suspected this was
a ruse to avoid him, but he was fine with it.
They needed some time to sort out what had happened. He made it a point to confront Miss Claymore
about what had taken place the following morning, running over what he would
say in his head during the festivities, and afterwards as he lay in bed. He had a fitful sleep, the remorse having
taken a hold in his subconscious and manifesting itself as a betrayed Isolde
who took off like a bullet when he tried to apologize and explain himself. When he tried to run after her, his feet
mired themselves into the ground that had suddenly become a bog that sucked him
into its depths. Numerous other similar
nightmares followed until he fell into a dreamless sleep.
He woke up in the morning still feeling tired as a manservant pulled back
the curtains to his room to allow for overcast white light to spill in.
“There’s a bath drawn for you, Sir,” the man said as Haddock rubbed the
sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm.
“Thank you. That will be all,”
Haddock replied. The man bowed and left. Haddock thought that the bath might wake him
up, but he still felt tired. The added
reminder that he had to confront Miss Claymore today only made him want to
prolong his toilette. Making sure to
cover up the scratches with his collar, he headed downstairs towards the dining
room. Both Lord and Lady Wilson were
seated at the table, a rarity in the days that Haddock had spent with
them. He immediately took notice that
Miss Claymore was nowhere to be seen.
He bowed at his hosts and took a
seat at the place set for him. Lord Wilson
set aside his newspaper on a vacant chair when Lady Wilson prodded him to say
grace. After Lord Wilson’s mumbled
prayer, Haddock caught Lady Wilson’s eye.
“Is Miss Claymore still not
feeling well?”
Lady Wilson bit
her lip and tried to wordlessly get her husband’s attention, but he had his
nose buried in his newspaper.
“Oh, well. You see, Miss Claymore left for a family emergency
early this morning. She said she received
a letter from her mother about a brother being injured in a carriage accident
and had to leave right away.”
The feeling that he had been kneed
in the gut returned to Haddock.
“Oh,” he
said in an exhale. “Did she by chance leave a note?”
“She was quite flustered, and the
news came as such a shock—it was all very sudden,” Lady Wilson said
apologetically with a little dent in her brow.
Haddock nodded.
“I see.”
“I’m sorry,”
Lady Wilson said, then, “best eat up before the vittles get cold.”
*
Haddock
decided during that breakfast that he would do the same as Miss Claymore and
leave. He thanked the Wilsons’ for their
generosity and allowing him to stay for so long and was on his way to a ship
that would carry him back to Britain late that afternoon. He mailed off two letters at the post before leaving,
one to his mother, the other to Isolde.
He didn’t put any of the details about Miss Claymore in either, not even
sure if he would be comfortable telling the tale to his mother, but knowing
that there would be no better way to explain the whole ordeal to Isolde than in
person. He would have to make a clean
breast of his actions, and hope that she wouldn’t hate him for behaving like a
fool yet again.
---
If this chapter made you uncomfortable, then GOOD. That was my intention! We'll be switching over to Isolde and her adventures in the next few updates, which hopefully will start next Friday if I can find the time to write!
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