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deathbyvalentine · 4 years ago

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Regency Werewolves, Chapter One

The first matter was, of course, finding a property with a plot of land large enough to meet their not insignificant needs. Simple acres of meadow and field would not do, nor would the carefully manicured gardens that so many of their station opted for. No, there needed to be an air of wilderness about the place, a whisper of nature overtaking, civilisation needing cultivation rather than the other way around.

Therefore Basil Hall was perfect. It had once belonged to a great aunt and when she had died, the bank had held it until the complex matter of inheritance had been settled. In truth, many of them had forgotten about the old place until their solicitor called, his voice every inch the brisk professional. Everything else had happened rather quickly - the signing of deeds, the appraisal and a letter or two to the parish church, informing them of their new congregation members. And so, just as spring was creeping over the fields, the Williamsons moved in.

If a gossip column had published an official profile of them, it might have went like this;

Lord Gordon Williamson - the patriarch of the family. Man with many affairs and many interests, though previous to the move, they had mainly been rooted in Scotland. He is known for a somewhat stern manner. However,the centering of his family was admirable and one many more husbands could stand to learn from. He liked cigars, port and hunting, all good strong masculine pursuits.

Lady Elise Williamson - the wife of Lord Gordon. While she could not be described as a great beauty, there was something attractive about her nevertheless, be it in a smile or in her conversation. She was a keen naturist and often took long trips to the Lakes or even into the Yorkshire Moors. As such, she was stout and of fine disposition, never taking to a sick bed a day in her life.

The Widow Selene Daviton - the sister of Lady Elise. Once married, once widowed, she relied on the company of her darling sister to keep her in society. They were inseparable and Selene ended up bringing up the children as much as her sister and indeed, her sister’s nursemaid.

Master Kingsley Williamson - the eldest son of Lady Elise and Lord Gordon. A scholar at heart, much to the pride of his parents. He showed little interest in the follies and pursuits of other boys his age, generally preferring to learn of his father’s business matters and responsibilities. He took the burden of heirship gracefully and without complaint.

Miss Alice Williamson - the eldest daughter of his Lord and Ladyship. While her brother was retiring, Miss Alice tended towards the wild. There was no new scientific endeavour she didn’t want to witness, no novel she didn’t insist on reading. Her chief joy in life however was riding. She would come home drenched in sweat and whatever weather was currently occurring outside, smile wide and body aching.

Miss Sybil, the youngest daughter of the family took great strides to distance herself from such unladylike behaviour. As Kingsley learnt from their father, she learnt from their mother. She knew the order of every utensil at a dinner table, how to make a wonderful bouquet and how to shoot a rifle perfectly without getting a smidge of ash on one’s dress.

Now, of course other cousins, aunts, uncles, godfathers, godmothers, long lost grandparents, very recently lost grandparents, devoted nannies, nephews and nieces appeared often (to speak nothing of the servants) but it is this five that kept a permanent residence at Basil Hall and so it is this five with which we will occupy ourselves.

On the day the pack arrived at Basil Hall the servants had already done an exceptional job. Paintings and statues had been uncovered, the dust sheets put away until the next season, beauty restored. The main bedrooms had been aired out and furnished with aplomb, fires set in each to chase away the spring chill. The bags had been sent on ahead and unpacked so every wardrobe hung heavy with fabric and all the small trinkets that provided comfort were laid out, ready to be used once more. There was still much to do - the guest rooms were still coated in a fine layer of dust and many of the bathtubs needed a good scrub with some iron wool, but it was more than enough to be starting with.

The only discontentment came from the groundskeepers. They had been instructed not to trim, chop or uproot a single plant until the family had arrived and given their appraisal. They had been given specific permission to pull ivy from the windows and algae from the boating lake, but no more. They were not pleased at the rather scruffy look this left the manor in, but what could they do? Perhaps back in Scotland, they liked their gardens resembling jungles. There was no accounting for taste, that was for sure.

The society surrounding --shire wasted no time in speculating about the Williamson family and what exactly their fortunes were. It seemed there was no haberdashery that wasn’t alight with whispers, no coffee house where there was a low grumble of voices. This was, of course, spurred on furiously by the fact that for the first month of their occupancy, they were entirely invisible. They left no calling cards, visited no homes and did not attend a single social event. If it wasn’t for the fact the manor had a chapel on its grounds, it might have been assumed they did not go to church. Their servants were extraordinarily tight lipped and seemed to be very occupied by errands which were always done in a rush. All in all, it was deeply unsatisfying.

But to everything a time. A few days into the new month and a rumour spread like fire through --shire. A rumour was soon confirmed as fact by a scullery maid talking to a stable lad who had paused to exchange words as she had ducked into the bakery. The Williamsons had finally made themselves comfortable, had finally moved in completely and so it followed that they would be attending their first function the following week. All but Sybil would be attending, who was deemed rather too young to attend such an event. The event in question was the Lady Robins’s ball. She tried to pass off her excitement at the accepted invitation with a cool demeanour but a certain glitter in her eyes betrayed her. There would not be no missing invitees, no pointed denials. Everyone would be there.

In the manor, the family had no idea of the effect they had caused. They had been occupied by rather more pleasurable occupations than gossip. Alice had spent a great deal of time in the gardens, inspecting wild flowers, daydreaming with the clouds and following butterflies. There was something of the bohemian about her as she wandered through long grass, and what’s more, she knew it and it pleased her. Kingsley had principally been occupied with the library and irritating one of the butlers by being completely unable to settle on a organising system for the books. Only Sybil was restless, eager to meet the new neighbours and size them up - after all, if they were to remain here for a little while, would a new pack member be amongst these new faces? Alice had to marry some time and Sybil fully intended to vet and nose about in the affairs of every eligible man who so much as blinked in her direction. Accordingly, pestering her parents about when they were to take the bold new steps into society was her chief pleasure.

Her lady mother had held firm - there would be no parties, dinners or tea until after the first full moon. After all, they had to see if the grounds were indeed suitable. If they weren’t, well, they wouldn’t be staying. Plus, she added, it was better to meet the neighbours on a full stomach. Just in case. Nobody wanted a repeat of the Bristol incident, especially not the residents of Bristol. Sybil took to not only pestering her parents, but looking meaningfully at calendars and the date of the newspaper that was delivered every morning. Her mother ignored her. Just as meaningfully.

The day came with an air of expectation, even more so than usual. It was no longer just the day they changed, it was the day that once done with, would open all the doors of polite society to them of which they had been deprived for some time. The servants were sent home to visit their mothers or into the village to spend some of their generous wages. The gate to the long, winding drive was locked tight. The moon rose as gloriously as the sun, silver rays reflecting off the lake until it looked like a path one could walk up to meet her. Everything, even the most familiar things became unreal and strange in this light. Like one had stepped through into a book. In the cultivated gardens, the moon flowers bloomed, their pollen giving the air a perfume no apothecary had ever been able to replicate.

The family gathered on the steps. The girls wore nothing but their shifts, bare feet squirming against the cool stone of the stairs. The son wore his undergarments too, the parents opting for housecoats that could easily be shrugged off the shoulders. All was quiet. Birds called to one another, occasionally there would be the rippling noise as one moved upon the water. Only Selene spoke, the sharp edge of her accent softening here, as if the moon was a lover who could only be whispered to. Perhaps Selene, like her namesake, had a little more to say to the night sky. The moon crested, clearing the dark silhouette of the trees. For a moment it hung there, nothing moving, nothing breathing.

Then the first howl ripped through the night.

Selene had started shifting first, as usual. It was not a beautiful process. It was not fluid or gentle. It was claws and fur and the sound of bones breaking, reforming. Claws scraped across stone, fabric ripped and where there once was a woman, there was a monstrous wolf. It didn’t just sit, it hulked, dominating every gaze that caught it. Bright, intelligent yellow eyes sat above a mouth that seemed to be all teeth. It was not long before more wolf-language joined the first, the girls following Selene’s example, then the boy. The lady and lord of the house were looking at each other fondly, playing their usual game of who could hold out the longest. As always, Mrs Williamson won. When she did allow herself to change, it was with a sigh of relief as well as a cry of pain.

Before the moon had moved another inch in the sky, a wolf pack sat beneath it. Their colours were primarily shades of grey with splashes of white, except for Sibyl and Selene who were white with splashes of grey, just to be contrary. The smallest, if the brain could comprehend one of these beasts being the smallest, was Kingsley. There was something of the scout about him, his fur the darkest so he may dash in and out of the night almost entirely unseen. Alice was the strongest, her youth and wildness barely being able to be contained within the human flourished here, blooming along with the moon flowers. She had often lamented the fact she had to be a human at all and Mrs Williamson woke up frequently in the night, plagued by nightmares where her daughter finally abandoned the trappings of society and ran into a forest, never to return. She would have to check on her sleeping child to make sure that the dream hadn’t come true.

It was Alice that first broke, nipping at Kingsley’s tail so he turned around with a snarl. She immediately sprinted off, challenging him to a race. He would win, as he always did, but the point was the running, not the winning. The feeling of joy too big to name, the joy of having four paws and being a part of nature rather than just an observer of it. The joy of muscles burning and breath catching and the hundreds of scents that made up a tapestry of the grounds. So many things to see, bite, taste, fight.

Sibyl did not partake in the race, her snout pointed up slightly in the air as if implying that all of this was below her. But even she was not immune to the intoxicating magic that transformed them all. All the poetry she wrote at her desk, painfully slowly, trying to capture the beauty of the natural world like her much admired famous poets, she did not realise it but it was here, now, where the inspiration came from. Where the love of beauty and art came from, like a spring flowing into a river. She investigated flowers, lakes, gardens with inhuman eyes and found the experience almost revelatory. When you were a wolf, everything was more.

Selene wasted no time in hunting. She had been starving all month and here was her opportunity to satisfy the hunger that went beyond a mere need for food. She needed to taste the copper tang of blood, to shake off the shackles that constrained her for thirty days a month. No lacing, no dresses, no polite tinkling laughter in a ball room. Her mind would clear and her instincts would rush in to fill the gap, like the sea refilling tidal pools. The poor hare did not stand a chance, but it died well.

As for the Lord and Lady? Here their bodies did not ache or creak. They had no schedule, no work to be done. They could focus on feeling the ties that bound their family to one another, the subtle lines that shimmered like spiders gossamer in the mind's eye. There were no manners, no script on how to act. Usually a distance was constructed between them all. There was no such distance now. So they nipped and howled and nuzzled, keeping their pack together and keeping their pride deep in their canine hearts. Tomorrow, they would have to be people again. But here, they were just a family.

#werewolves #regency era #regency #prose #fiction

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