The door was looked and the window barred. No furniture was in the room, but rugs and cushions lay strewn across the floor. Hanging from a hook was what seemed to be half a cow fresh and dripping blood. A young lady sat buried among the cushions, fiddling with the hem of her nightgown. A clock with a broken face ticked loudly, now placed high upon the wall out of harms way.
"Have you got everything you need my Lady?" Mrs Hughes asked cautiously, her head only half peeking into the ghastly, blood stained room.
"Yes, thank you," Lady Edith whispered, carefully not looking at the hunk of meat that dripped lazily.
Mrs Hughes left and Edith watched her go silently. Gone were the days when she would scream and beg and whine, desperate to be allowed out and back in her own room with its warm fire and pretty pictures. Gone were the days when her papa and Mr Carson had to manhandle her up the stairs of the tower and throw her to the ground. Now Edith would simply wait until the sun began to set and make the way to the room alone.
Only faint beams of the setting sun shone through the wooden planks that blocked the window. A cold, silent panic would grasp Edith and refuse to let go. But even as her fear grew, Edith never screamed or fought and wept. She had learnt by now that crying would do nothing.
The family were all at dinner. As she wasn't with them, she had no idea how they behaved at this time. If they were a bit quieter or a bit more somber. They would; Edith had decided by now, put up a front of forced carelessness. They would never talk of it. They certainly never did once the night had passed, at least not in front of her.
But Tom and Matthew would. At least until they were told to hush. Matthew and Isabel had been told when Matthew had married Mary, and Tom after Sybbie was born.
"They had taken it well," Edith thought bitterly, "Why couldn't her own husband?"
Well, she knew why. Or, at least she knew why her family thought so. They felt that even if she was normal, no man would ever love her. But now she was not so sure. Her parents had been careful initially, but had become so confident in Edith's own lack of charms to do the job for them they no longer felt the need to drive off any potential suitors.
But the soldiers seemed to like her well enough, as did Strallan. Well, that was until Mary drove him away in retaliation for the letter. Edith could not help but feel there was injustice at hand here. Mary's actions lead to her dark secret, but Edith had done nothing to be cursed except for being born. And were their secrets really so different? One was a bloodthirsty monster and the other had relations out of wedlock. Society would probably not see a difference. Yet it was only Edith who was looked away in this awful room.
The light from the window had dimmed. It was time. Slowly, another light shone. Colder and fainter.
Each time, Edith hoped that she could avoid the moonlight touching her. But she could already feel her skin sting as hairs sprang out like needles. Her muscles ached as they stretched and grew. The pain increased but before she could scream, it stopped. For a moment the world stopped and there was calm. But then she smelt the blood.
The wolf lunged forward and sunk its teeth into the flesh. She viciously ripped chunks of meat off and greedily lapped up the blood. She chewed and bit and ripped until there was nothing but scraps left. She panted, blooded bits of cow stuck between her teeth.
She anxiously padded around the room. Everywhere she looked she was trapped. Her frustration built and she clawed furiously at the door. She wanted to run. She needed to stretch her muscles and feel the cool night air whip through her fur. She leaped at the window, her jaws open and claws spread. But her captors knew her strength and even the wolf's strength could not break through her barriers.
She clawed the rugs and tore apart the cushions before collapsing to the ground in exhaustion.
The next morning, Edith awoke. The sun shone through and Edith blinked. She sat up, her muscles aching and hair mussed. She was covered in blood. Her ears pricked up as Edith heard a quiet voice from the other side of the door.
"Edith darling," mama whispered, "Come out quickly, your bath has been run,"
A chain rattled and the door opened.
Edith stumbled out the door and into the robe her mother held out for her. They walked in silence until Cora spoke in a falsely bright voice.
"We have guests coming this afternoon, Lord Hexham and his cousin,"
"Hmm," Edith murmured.
"Perhaps you should have a rest so you will be ready to meet them later,"
"Alright," Edith said in a small voice. She paused. "Weren't they meant to come yesterday?"
Edith remembered some talk of telling Lord Hexham that she was in bed with a headache.
"That was when we invited them, but they insisted they could not come until today,"
Edith did not give the matter much thought, tired as she was. But that afternoon as the car pulled up and the staff and family assembled to greet their guests, Edith could not help but notice the dark rings under the Hexhams' cousins eyes.
Mr Bertie Pelham, third cousin and heir to Lord Hexham, stifled a yawn and gave a polite smile to the family. His eyes rested on a wan looking young lady with strawberry blonde hair. He doffed his hat to each of the Ladies in turn and shook the gentlemen by the hand (as opposed to the head).
As they fell in line and walked back into the house, he and Lady Edith exchanged a shy grin.
Edith couldn't help sniffing, despite having been rebuked in the past for doing so. Something about Mr Pelham... she looked again at his tired face. Could he be...? Maybe? Of course he may be tired simply because of the journey, but Lord Hexham seemed alert enough. She gave him another grin.
Yes, he just could be. Just maybe... he could.
If he was, then surely he would understand.
They both shook their heads slightly, smiling at their own foolishness. They were obviously getting their hopes up.