Part VIII: Wolf and Woman

The wolf lowered its head, whining and backing away as if in shame.  Isolde felt something in her chest twinge.

              “Poor beast,” she whispered.  Evans applied pressure to her arm.

“We best be going now, Miss Marlowe.  There’s nothing more to see.”

Isolde faced the man, removing his hand.

“If it’s all the same to you, I would like to stay here for a bit.”

Evans shot a questioning look at the wolf.  Haddock-Wolf looked from Evans to Isolde with his golden eyes, then laid down on the floor and thumped his tail.  Evans sniffed. 

              “Very well.”

Isolde would have considered the whole exchange comical if it was happening in a book.  It was different in reality.  The butler left the room and shut the doors behind him with a little too much force than was necessary.  Isolde slowly moved closer to Haddock-Wolf.  He watched her as she seated herself in front of the blazing fireplace and held out a hand to him.  Haddock-Wolf was still softly whining.  Isolde ducked her chin.

              “Don’t be shy,” she said with a smile.  Haddock-Wolf shuffled up to her in only the kind of way that a canine can and gingerly touched his nose to her hand.  Isolde’s smile widened as she felt the wet surface on her palm.  She ran her hand over his head and behind an ear, scratching it.  Haddock-Wolf closed his eyes and pressed his head into her hand, tail slowly thumping.

              “I’ll let you in on my secret,” Isolde said as she scratched the scruff on the side of his head. “I found out you were a werewolf a fortnight after your mother hired me.  She wasn’t feeling well one day so she took a nap and left me to wander the estate.  I wanted to know more about the derelict wings of Haddock Hall, so I led Evans—whom your mother had appointed as my “keeper”—on a wild goose chase and slipped through the boards put in place to discourage people like me after I lost him in that wonderful labyrinth in the garden.  I saw the claw marks and thought that something was inhabiting those abandoned wings until I found an old study and all those parchments and journals.  I know it was horribly rude of me, but I was curious, and mysteries have always intrigued me, so I read them.  I thought it was all nonsense until I began to put the pieces together.  Your mother declining to have me come every full moon only confirmed my suspicions.  Naturally, I assumed you had inherited the “family affliction” too, and by the way you acted towards me at that ball, you only made it more plainly evident.”

              Isolde paused.

“I know you’re wondering why I pursued you so much, hm?  It was mainly because of something your mother had said.  She talked about you so much when you were gone…she still does, but that’s besides the point.  She described a kind young man who loved his mother and did his best to live up to his father’s memory, but it was what she didn’t say that intrigued me the most.  What she didn’t have to say was that you never get close to anyone because you feel like an outcast, so you keep them at arm’s length or just shove them away.  She blamed it on your “affliction,” but I think that’s just one ingredient in the problem.  The other was that woman you refuse to talk about.  I haven’t pried into her out of respect for you; I’m waiting for you to tell me about her, and if you never do, that’s fine with me.  I’ll admit that at first, I thought I could be something more than a friend to you, but I’ve since realized that that was foolish and you need time to heal, so I’ll settle for just being someone there you can share your pains and secrets with without having to worry about trying to hide part of yourself from me…It’s unhealthy to be alone, Mr. Haddock.”

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…?”

Part VI: The Glove

Mrs. Haddock was knitting a blanket for a new baby borne to one of the families who tended the orchards of the estate to go along with a generous basket of food.  Haddock was absorbed in the second act of Hamlet, enjoying the silence.  Mrs. Haddock’s needles had been click-clicking in the background for the past hour when they abruptly ceased.

“Malcolm?”

Haddock looked up over the lip of his book.

“Yes, Mother?”

              “I was just thinking,” she said, cocking her head in a loving manner. “It’s starting to get cool outside again, and you and Miss Marlowe mustn’t let a musty old woman like me keep you two lovebirds locked away in this ancient place while the nice summer weather is waning.”

Haddock lowered his book with a deep sigh.

“We enjoy keeping company with you, Mother.  You’re the one who hired Miss Marlowe as a companion for just that.”

Mrs. Haddock twiddled her knitting needles.

              “Yes, I know, but you two should spend some time together.  Just with each other.  Why don’t you take Miss Marlowe down to the village and have a day to yourselves, hm?”

“But—”

              “I insist, Malcolm.”

Mrs. Haddock was giving her progeny the same look she reserved for him as a youngster when he tucked a family of toads into her bedsheets.

“Fine,” Haddock muttered, hiding behind his book again.  Mrs. Haddock smiled and resumed her knitting.

Miss Marlowe was delighted when Haddock woodenly asked if she would like to go to the village with him to enjoy a day on their own.  If he had been a woman, he would have been turned off by his surly attitude.  Fortunate for Miss Marlowe that she took his bad attitude in stride.  Haddock allowed himself to be led around like a dog on a short leash while Miss Marlowe did a majority of the talking, telling him about her family and the latest happenings in her neighborhood as they made their way to the village.  There, they had passed too much time in a fabric store where Haddock felt a little piece of him die inside.  He had the distinct feeling that Miss Marlowe stretched out their stay in spite.  Afterwards, she was kind enough to suggest they pop into the bookstore.  Haddock ordered a sizable stack that would enrich his collection and bought a small book that Miss Marlowe was eyeing to keep up appearances of their courtship.  She was genuinely surprised by the gesture.

“What was that for?” she asked as he handed her the book following the purchase.

“You wanted it, didn’t you?”

              “I, um…yes.”—she gave him a peculiar look—“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he said as they exited the store.

              They let the sounds of the street fill up the space that could have been devoted to talking, retreating to their thoughts.  Haddock didn’t really know why he had bought the book for Miss Marlowe.  It had been extremely impulsive.  How had he known that she wanted it in the first place?  Because you were watching her in the store.  The revelation of that little inner voice sent a hot jolt throughout his chest.  I was watching her to make sure Sir Drexel wouldn’t happen to try anything, he argued.  The little voice wasn’t convinced.  In a bookstore?  Sure, sure.  Haddock gagged the little voice and tried to think along another tack.  His eyes wandered over to Miss Marlowe with her hand on his arm.  He directed them directly in front of him.  And as if materializing out of his imagination, he saw Sir Drexel striding down the street straight ahead.  Haddock tried to pretend that he hadn’t seen the other, but Sir Drexel had already sighted him and was making a beeline for the couple.

Haddock tightened his grip on his cane, ready to deliver Sir Drexel an almighty wallop should he try to start anything.  Miss Marlowe—that ever-perceptive woman—took notice.

              “Don’t you dare,” she hissed. “You don’t need to be causing a scene in the middle of the marketplace.  The villagers already think you’re a mad hermit as is.  Don’t give them fuel for their fire!”

Haddock had to grudgingly agree with her logic.

              “Fine.”

Sir Drexel drew up to the couple, eyeing them down his gladiator’s nose.  He tipped his hat.

              “Haddock,” he spat.  It sounded like a curse word.  His eyes flicked over to Miss Marlowe’s face and a muscle in his cheek twitched.

“Miss Marlowe.”

The way he said her name had an icy snarl in it that caused Miss Marlowe to dig her trembling fingers into the crook of Haddock’s arm.

              “It’s so nice to see you, Sir Drexel,” Miss Marlowe ejaculated, her chipper tone belying the fear she was telegraphing through Haddock’s appendage.  He could feel some distinct bruises forming.  Sir Drexel smiled at her, but the smile didn’t reach up to his eyes.

              “I beg pardon, Miss Marlowe, but I just came over to deliver a message to your friend here.”

Haddock raised a thick brow at the other man.  What could Sir Drexel possibly have to say to him?  Sir Drexel grinned, and proceeded to slap Haddock in the face with a glove.  People close enough to witness the exchange gasped.

              “I challenge you to a duel,” he said with a wolfish grin.  His eyes slid over to Miss Marlowe. “For stealing the affections of my paramour.”

Having gained the intended attention, Sir Drexel swept away, whistling.