Read Online Sons of the Wolf by Barbara Michaels - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Michaels
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and today was full of both. Long after Ada lay breathing deeply-one can hardly use the word "snoring" of such a gentle girl-I lay flat on my back, staring up at the canopy of my bed.
Finally I got up and walked about the room trying to tire myself. It didn't help; I was already tired. After what seemed like hours, I was aching with fatigue and no nearer to sleep, so I went into Ada's room to look for her sleeping drops. She bought the laudanum months ago, just because it was fashionable and because Grandmother would have disapproved. She, of all healthy souls, has no need for such aids to sleep.
Ada's is one of the large front rooms overlooking the entrance to the house, whereas my own windows face the courtyard and stables. She is a creature of light and air; her curtains were flung wide apart and the moonlight spilled in like water overflowing a bowl. I went to the window and looked out.
The moon was full-small at this season, but perfect as a polished silver shilling. Under its light the landscape was an etching in black and white; the shadows of the trees, the tiny branches of shrubs, were as sharp as if they had been outlined by the finest pointed pen. At first nothing stirred to break the illusion of a drawing. Then something walked out from behind a tree toward the steps of the manor.
It was one of the dogs-I can't tell them apart, even now. Its gray coat seemed shaggier than usual; with its pointed nose and pricked ears it looked like nothing on earth except a wolf, but it was as big as a yearling calf. As I watched, scarcely breathing, it stopped and lifted its head toward the window, almost as if it could see me. That was nonsense and I knew it, but I shrank back behind the draperies, clutching them with damp hands. By some trick of the light the beast's eyes looked luminously green-the only spots of color in that gray-hued landscape. Another shadow moved; the second dog came out to join the first. For a long time they both stood staring fixedly at the window where I crouched. Then they wheeled together, like sentries, and walked slowly in step across the front of the house, disappearing behind the far wing.
Of course the poor creatures must get exercise somehow. Many great houses have such watchdogs; they come of a breed which is famous for its devotion to mankind. ... I cannot imagine why I am so afraid of them!
I will not take the laudanum after all. They say it causes fantastic dreams and visions; heaven knows mine are wild enough already!
May 21
Imagine my surprise when I found on Ada's dressing table this morning a sprig of the same dried plant which Dodds had given me in Middleham! At least I think it was the same plant; it was dried and brown, but the little withered flowers might once have been yellow.
When I asked Ada where it had come from, she looked bewildered.
"Ah, I remember," she said at last. "Elspeth gave it to me."
Elspeth is our maid-a hearty, pretty girl who seems constantly in danger of bursting her stays. She is really a parlormaid of sorts, but she makes up in willingness and good humor what she lacks in the finer skills of the boudoir. Since she overcame her first shyness, she talks constantly; but I confess with shame that, since I can't understand her easily, I simply don't listen.
Ada, her brow puckered, had returned to her sewing. She was trying to mend a rent in a cashmere shawl. Of course this was properly Elspeth's work, but Elspeth's sewing is of the coarse-hemming variety. Not that Ada and I are any more skilled. I have consistently and ostentatiously ignored dear Grandmother's ebony workbox; if I had had any inclination toward needlework, that hateful gift would have destroyed it forever.
"Why did Elspeth give it to you?" I persisted.
"Oh-I don't know. She said it was for good luck or good health or some such thing."
"For goodness' sake, Ada, do listen to me! When did she give it to you?"
Ada gave a little shriek.
"Now I've stuck myself," she said reproachfully.
Finally I got up and walked about the room trying to tire myself. It didn't help; I was already tired. After what seemed like hours, I was aching with fatigue and no nearer to sleep, so I went into Ada's room to look for her sleeping drops. She bought the laudanum months ago, just because it was fashionable and because Grandmother would have disapproved. She, of all healthy souls, has no need for such aids to sleep.
Ada's is one of the large front rooms overlooking the entrance to the house, whereas my own windows face the courtyard and stables. She is a creature of light and air; her curtains were flung wide apart and the moonlight spilled in like water overflowing a bowl. I went to the window and looked out.
The moon was full-small at this season, but perfect as a polished silver shilling. Under its light the landscape was an etching in black and white; the shadows of the trees, the tiny branches of shrubs, were as sharp as if they had been outlined by the finest pointed pen. At first nothing stirred to break the illusion of a drawing. Then something walked out from behind a tree toward the steps of the manor.
It was one of the dogs-I can't tell them apart, even now. Its gray coat seemed shaggier than usual; with its pointed nose and pricked ears it looked like nothing on earth except a wolf, but it was as big as a yearling calf. As I watched, scarcely breathing, it stopped and lifted its head toward the window, almost as if it could see me. That was nonsense and I knew it, but I shrank back behind the draperies, clutching them with damp hands. By some trick of the light the beast's eyes looked luminously green-the only spots of color in that gray-hued landscape. Another shadow moved; the second dog came out to join the first. For a long time they both stood staring fixedly at the window where I crouched. Then they wheeled together, like sentries, and walked slowly in step across the front of the house, disappearing behind the far wing.
Of course the poor creatures must get exercise somehow. Many great houses have such watchdogs; they come of a breed which is famous for its devotion to mankind. ... I cannot imagine why I am so afraid of them!
I will not take the laudanum after all. They say it causes fantastic dreams and visions; heaven knows mine are wild enough already!
May 21
Imagine my surprise when I found on Ada's dressing table this morning a sprig of the same dried plant which Dodds had given me in Middleham! At least I think it was the same plant; it was dried and brown, but the little withered flowers might once have been yellow.
When I asked Ada where it had come from, she looked bewildered.
"Ah, I remember," she said at last. "Elspeth gave it to me."
Elspeth is our maid-a hearty, pretty girl who seems constantly in danger of bursting her stays. She is really a parlormaid of sorts, but she makes up in willingness and good humor what she lacks in the finer skills of the boudoir. Since she overcame her first shyness, she talks constantly; but I confess with shame that, since I can't understand her easily, I simply don't listen.
Ada, her brow puckered, had returned to her sewing. She was trying to mend a rent in a cashmere shawl. Of course this was properly Elspeth's work, but Elspeth's sewing is of the coarse-hemming variety. Not that Ada and I are any more skilled. I have consistently and ostentatiously ignored dear Grandmother's ebony workbox; if I had had any inclination toward needlework, that hateful gift would have destroyed it forever.
"Why did Elspeth give it to you?" I persisted.
"Oh-I don't know. She said it was for good luck or good health or some such thing."
"For goodness' sake, Ada, do listen to me! When did she give it to you?"
Ada gave a little shriek.
"Now I've stuck myself," she said reproachfully.
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