THE BEAST OF BLACKBIRCH MANOR

By

Penelope Marzec

© copyright May 2007, Penelope Marzec

Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright May 2007

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

For Billy

 

 

Chapter One

Southwestern Pennsylvania,

September 1895

Victoria’s steps faltered as she rounded the bend in the road that would bring her to Blackbirch Manor. Shoving away the remnants of the old horror from her mind, she knew she must not delay any longer. Married to Tadeusz Hermanowski by proxy six weeks ago, she had insisted she needed time to settle her affairs in New York before she could journey to Taylor’s Grove, Pennsylvania. However, Tadeusz had grown impatient and her cousin, Paul’s, desperate letters convinced her to put aside her misgivings and make haste.

Despite the stifling heat of the day, an icy shiver wound its way around Victoria’s heart as she trudged onward up the hill to what had been her childhood home. Nine years ago, she had left under a cloud of suspicion, intending never to return. Now the manor no longer belonged to her family. Tadeusz Hermanowski owned the estate.

Paul had insisted upon the marriage. Officially in mourning for the death of her first husband, Giles Billingsford III, Victoria objected to her cousin’s plan. However, Giles had departed this world leaving behind a mountain of debt and Hermanowski had offered to settle all the outstanding accounts--an amazingly munificent offer.

She felt as if she had been purchased.

Still, Paul had given the man glowing praise, informing her that Tadeusz was a wealthy brewer with genteel manners who loved music and horses.

The horrible black crepe stuck to her skin while perspiration trickled down between her breasts as she toiled up the incline. With the long mourning veil, she felt nearly suffocated. The day had started off with a September chill in the air, but the afternoon had grown warmer despite the lack of sunshine. She should have waited in town for the carriage which would have been sent to fetch her, but she had longed for exercise and fresh air after sitting so long in the train.

She came over the rise and saw the lake on her right while above her the sight of the very tops of the great, gray turrets, sent her emotions into a dark tumult. Even now--after all the intervening years--her courage nearly failed her. It took all her willpower not to turn around and run back down the hill.

She stiffened her spine, threw her shoulders back, and stared out at the lake, which the close-set birches left in perpetual gloom. Her mouth grew dry and her heart thundered, but she reasoned with herself. She had to be sensible. She had no money and nowhere else to go.

The rumble of thunder in the distance shook her from her dismal musing. Glancing upward, she noticed the billowing thunderheads blackening the sky in the west. If she did not hurry, she would be at the mercy of the approaching storm. But the oppressive heat could very well have her falling into a swoon. Stopping to remove the veil, she found she could barely breathe in the saturated, humid air. Drawing out the Marcelaine silk fan from her reticule, she tried to cool the flush on her cheeks but her efforts proved fruitless.

She clenched her teeth. She certainly would not melt and she had dawdled long enough. She buoyed herself onward with the knowledge that she would soon see her cousin again after all these long years away--and she would see Ipsy, as well, the dear cook who had been closer to her than her own tortured mother.

Finally reaching the gate of the manor with its massive columns and intricate ironwork arch, she was appalled by the condition of the once imposing structure. Much of the lacy ironwork had been swallowed up by vines and the gate was unlatched. It swung slowly on rusty hinges, emitting a high squeal that set her nerves on end.

A violent clap of thunder startled her as huge drops of rain splattered around her. Within seconds, she could see nothing but gray water falling all around her. Pelted by the heavy downpour, she hiked up her skirts and ran, blinded by the deluge. Then, above the sound of the storm, she heard the hoof beats of a horse coming up quickly behind her.

“Stop!” The voice of the rider boomed out above the sound of the storm. “Who are you?”

Whirling around, she held her hand above her eyes and saw the horse--a huge, fearsome black creature nearly upon her, but worse was the beast she saw atop the saddle! Though wearing a proper riding outfit, the monster’s head was covered with the thick fur of an animal. Terrified by the sight, she screamed and the horse reared up. Trying to escape the deadly flying hooves, she stumbled backward--not realizing that she had reached the front entrance of the mansion. Losing her balance, she fell. Her head hit the granite steps.

She tried to rise but dizziness overtook her. Turning her head ever so slightly so that the world would not spin, she glanced up from her lowly position. She could see the huge belly of the horse and a pair of shiny boots but the pain in her head intensified until the entire world faded away as she collapsed into black oblivion.

* * * *

Tadeusz Hermanowski stared down at the motionless body of his new wife as she lay unconscious on the settee in the library, her face as pale as fresh cream save for the blood oozing from the wound on her head. At first, he had seen only a black blur against the gray wall of water pouring down from the sky and thought he was about to catch one of the trespassers who had been vandalizing the manor.

He should have known fate was against him--again. He should have known he could not escape his wretched doom--no matter how hard he tried.

He turned away and glared at the flames in the fireplace. Clenching his hand into a fist, he pounded the mantle. How could he have known she would walk up the hill from Taylor’s Grove? She should have waited for a carriage to be sent for her use!

He spun around again to study her face. He felt his pulse race as he noticed the delicately arched brows, the wide forehead, and the small, pert nose. Even in repose, she looked like an angel. He put his hands to his temples, closed his eyes, and tried to rub away the ache in his head.

Paul had tricked him! The wretched man had insisted there were no pictures of her. Paul’s father and Victoria’s father were brothers, so he claimed Victoria bore a strong resemblance to him--and Paul had been an ungainly man with a large bulbous nose and sizeable ears that stuck out like wings from his balding head.

Tadeusz’s gut churned. He knew he was damned. When he had been cursed, the witch had pronounced that if he had found no woman to love him by his thirty-third birthday, he would be transformed into a wolf--forever.

In only four days, he would turn thirty-three. He knew without a doubt that this beautiful woman could never love him! He felt the chill of bitter ice encasing his heart.

Opening his eyes, he gazed down at Victoria once more. Her nearly translucent skin lent her an ethereal quality while her flaxen hair reminded him of the purest gold. Her tresses had come undone and trailed across her bosom. His heart gave an ominous thud.

Guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders as he watched the cook press clean cloths to his new wife’s wound to staunch the bleeding.

What if she did not come around? Tortured by the thought, he turned, crossed the room, and stood by the window to stare out at the land he had won in a poker game with Paul. He had thought his luck had changed that day. He had truly believed then that he had a chance.

Now he knew he did not.

Exactly one month after he and Victoria were married by proxy, Paul had been found dead--and it seemed the citizens of Taylor’s Grove believed Tadeusz to be responsible. Because he was half beast already. A freak. Someone they did not trust.

A chill went through him as he remembered seeing what remained of Paul, but his temper quickly flared again as he thought of the foolish chance Victoria had taken by walking to Blackbirch Manor alone. Unable to suppress his wrath, he let out a vigorous string of curses in Polish. Slamming his fist on the windowsill caused a resounding thud that rattled the glass panes, but it made him feel no better than when he pounded the mantle.

His exquisite wife was lying unconscious on the sofa with a gash on her head--because she had seen a monster.

The smell of the ammonia wafting through the air stung his nostrils as Mrs. Difford, the old cook, continued her efforts to revive Victoria by diligently waving smelling salts beneath her nose. He had already sent William to fetch the doctor. Would the doctor be able to get to the house in this wretched weather? The main road to town undoubtedly looked like a swamp after the cloudburst.

He clenched his jaw tightly and stalked back across the room to see if Mrs. Difford had made any progress.

“There, there my sweet Miss Vicky! Open your eyes, love.” The cook patted the pallid cheeks and hands.

“Some whiskey perhaps …, ” he began.

“She’s quite insensible. You would drown her.” Mrs. Difford spoke softly and pursed her lips when she finished, but she did not look up at him. Whenever she did, he saw the fear in her eyes. Or was it loathing? He was never quite sure.

He paced back and forth, raking his hand through his miserable mane. “Perhaps, sir, if the settee was closer to the fire ….”

Tadeusz frowned. “Yes, yes. That is a good idea. She is soaked to the skin.”

Mrs. Difford dabbed at the moisture on her own face with the corner of her apron. “She is as cold as a winter’s day.”

Tadeusz felt his heart sink. Was there nothing else they could do? His chest felt weighted with lead. Gently, he pushed the settee right up to the edge of the hearth--closer than was prudent. He placed more logs on the fire, as well, until he thought he would singe the hair off his hands--not that it would matter. It always grew back thicker than ever.

“I see a bit of pink coming to her cheeks, sir.” Mrs. Difford sniffed and dashed away a lone tear.

He bent to run his hand along Victoria’s cheek. Her skin had the softness of silk and he found that gliding his rough calluses along the smooth surface sent a surge of heat pumping through his veins. He pulled away. Surely, it was only the warmth of the fire that caused such a reaction.

Mrs. Difford renewed her efforts with more enthusiasm. The smell of the ammonia had him stepping back several paces.

Then he heard a soft murmur from the woman’s throat and his heart skipped a beat.

“Miss Vicky! That’s the spirit, my love! Open those lovely blue eyes of yours,” Mrs. Difford encouraged.

Victoria’s hand reached out and shoved the smelling salts away. Relief washed through Tadeusz.

* * * *

Victoria did not want to open her eyes. Her head ached and a strange lethargy seemed to have taken over her limbs. Even the smallest movements felt too great an effort. But she did want to see Ipsy. It had been nine long years since she had seen the dear cook’s face.

She could hear the crackling of the fire in the grate though the familiar chill of the old mansion seeped into her. It had always been a gloomy place--dark and forbidding with too few windows. Someone must have carried her inside--which meant she was safe. She struggled to open her eyes, blinking several times because the room appeared to be spinning. Finally, she tried using only one eye and succeeded in focusing. She saw Ispy and the glowing halo surrounding her.

Victoria shut her eye. She had been seeing auras now for nearly a year, but she still could not get used to the phenomenon. She tried to talk, but her voice was a mere whisper.

“I-ipsy … I cannot seem to focus ….”

“You hit your noggin and have a nasty gash. Shouldn’t be giving me such an awful fright, Miss Vicky. My nerves aren’t what they used to be.”

Victoria heard the indulgent note in Ipsy’s voice and an ache started in her heart. All the years, all the miles, as well as their sorrowful parting melted away in an instant.

“I am a bit dizzy ....”

“ ’Tis no doubt due to your fall,” Ipsy interrupted.

“Please, help me to get up.” The weakness in her limbs and the ache in her head debilitated her.

“Don’t you get up just yet, Miss Vicky,” Ipsy warned. “The doctor is coming to check out ….”

“There’s no need to bother the doctor.”

“You’ll be needing the doctor this time. That cut bled more than it should have--though you can be sure that as soon as I put one of my poultices on it, it will heal up faster than you can say Jack Rabbit.”

Strangely, Victoria felt herself drifting off. The lure of slumber became increasingly strong. She did not think it was evening as yet though the only light in the library came from the fireplace. She cleared her throat and tried to force herself to stay alert. “Please send for my trunk. I left it in town, but I will need dry clothing.”

“William was going to fetch it when he called for the doctor.”

“If I rest a bit ….” Victoria could barely breathe the words.

“No!” Ipsy sounded stern. “Don’t go back to sleep. Miss Vicky, open those eyes again!”

Victoria’s lids felt heavy and she kept her eyes closed. Besides, the glow around Ipsy’s form troubled her. She had nurtured a hope that coming home would put an end to the strange malady--that perhaps it was only caused by the unhealthy air in the city--or indeed the stress of living there. Of course, she knew of those forward thinking people who preferred to think of her problem as an ability. But Victoria herself had never been quite sure about the phosphorescent clouds she saw surrounding everyone. She doubted she could explain auras to Ipsy. She could barely explain it to herself and few people understood. When she confided in friends they shied away from her afterwards.

“Oh, Ipsy.” She sighed. “Do not worry about me. Truly, I will be fine.” Victoria did not want to cause the dear cook any grief. “Would you please send for Paul?”

The only reply she got was a choked gulp--and that was rather odd. Victoria forced herself to steal another look from one eye at the cook. She felt a cold stab at her heart as she watched Ipsy bite her lip and wring her hands. Victoria’s apprehension mounted. “Whatever is the matter?”

“You must have received my telegram!” Another voice boomed out--one with a thick accent. She had heard that voice before … before she fell.

Her breath hitched up in her throat. On the verge of panic, she tried to turn so she could see who was speaking, but a shaft of agony spiked through her head with the movement and she clenched her teeth. It took her a moment to recover enough to retort. “Sir, in addition to the fact that you have not introduced yourself to me, I am very certain that I have not received any telegram from you.”

“I am your husband--Tadeusz Hermanowski.”

Husband! Victoria fought to contain the cry welling in her throat. She kept her voice as steady as she could, but she knew it sounded far more shrill than usual.

“Please stand where I can see you.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Ipsy broke in. “She has had a bad fall. We should wait until the doctor checks her over. She is probably in shock as it is.”

“She is warm enough by the fire.”

“B-but, sir, we do not know if any bones have been broken.”

“Stop babbling, Mrs. Difford! I have already checked her limbs!” the man insisted with impatience.

Victoria let out a scandalized gasp. Had he touched her after she had fainted?

He stepped into view. The firelight illuminated his tall figure, casting a bright orange glow on one side and the deepest of shadows on the other. She would have screamed but her mouth turned so dry she could not utter a sound. He was the Beast who had come up behind her on that massive horse! He glared at her from the end of the settee like an animal ready to pounce. While he wore a crisp, tailored riding outfit, his face was completely covered with hair. She felt the blood seep away from her face.

“I see panic has taken away your voice, madam.” Was there a note of derision in his tone, or merely resignation? “Did you expect your new husband would be just as handsome as he is rich? I can see I am a disappointment.”

Icy tentacles of horror wrapped around her. Tadeusz Hermanowski looked to be more animal than man. His features--his nose, his eyes, his ears and his mouth--appeared to be human in form as well as pleasing in proportion. But his fur was much like that of a bear--or a wolf.

Victoria blinked, hoping that perhaps the blow to her head was causing her to have a strange dream from which she would awake in but a moment. Her heart seemed frozen in her chest.

The radiant light of the Beast’s aura flowed out just as the light from a candle, but Victoria closed her eyes again. She did not have the strength to deal with it right now. She prayed that she would soon awaken from this terrible nightmare.

“Mrs. Difford, go watch by the door. The doctor should be here soon.” The cultured inflection in the Beast’s voice would have been quite pleasing to listen to if he were not so horrid to look at.

“Yes, sir.” Ipsy gave Victoria’s hand a squeeze before she shuffled off toward the great entrance hall.

Victoria felt a shiver of fear course through her. She was alone with this man-beast! Why had Paul wheedled her into this marriage? She had always assumed Paul had her well-being at heart. How could he betray her? Daring to open her eyes again, she cast another sharp glance at the Beast and watched the colored radiance clinging to his form as he moved. His wide shoulders bespoke barely restrained power. She shuddered.

“You should have sent for the carriage, madam.” His eyes appeared as dull a gray as the stones of the manor’s walls in contrast to the soft shimmering colors that suffused his body.

“I felt the need of exercise and fresh air.” Despite her distress, she noted his hair appeared as black as the coal dug from deep beneath the Pennsylvania hills.

He began pacing restlessly--his dominant presence filling the room with energy. “These are dangerous times.”

Fear knotted inside her, but she did not wish to show it and shot back at him, “The only danger to me was being trampled by your horse!”

“Madam, you should refrain from frightening horses with your ungodly screeching.” Though his focused gaze bore down upon her, a small measure of the abject terror she felt earlier dissipated. His eyes appeared soulful--quite human, in fact. Conscious of his vitality, she found his nearness set her pulse pounding, which was altogether very disturbing. She saw him staring at her lips. Then his gaze wandered down to her breasts. No doubt, the Beast had lust on his mind.

Worse, she felt herself responding to his blatant appraisal. As her cheeks grew hot, she pressed her lips together. It was absurd. She had no intention of being intimate with such a creature! She had been tricked into marrying him. It was altogether despicable and unfair! Something must be done!

“You do not favor your cousin,” he said as the silence began to lengthen uncomfortably. “You have blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a prominent--though most delicate--chin. You do not resemble Paul in any way. You are quite … beautiful.”

There was the hint of a catch in his voice … but not the least indication of flattery. He had made a mere statement of fact.

For her part, Victoria had always found her beauty more of a curse than a gift. Her first husband, Giles Billingsford III, had been so insanely jealous of her that he had made her a virtual prisoner. In truth, she grieved his passing very little. She had been glad to be free of his oppression.

Unfortunately, now she was married to Tadeusz Hermanowski. She shuddered.

“Our fathers were brothers, but I take after my mother.” Her voice wavered at the mention of her mother and the familiar dread tightened in her chest.

“Pity.” He spat out the word.

Confused by his vehemence, she did not know what to say.

He spun around to face the fire. The flames seemed to intensify the gleam that outlined his form. “When I first saw you today, I thought you were either a burglar or an adventuress.”

The chill in her veins vanished as angry heat fired through her. If she had had all her strength, she would have slapped him. “Is that why you felt compelled to test my limbs?” She did not hide the acid in her query.

“There are an abundance of women who would willingly allow me to stroke their limbs. I have no need to do it on the sly.”

She swallowed hard as she glanced at the way his tight riding breeches molded to his muscled thighs. He swung back to face her and she forced herself to look upward, but her gaze faltered. Few men had the sinews of this man-beast. When at last her eyes slid to meet his again, she glimpsed a hint of amusement in the quirk of his generous lips.

“Are you tempted to test my limbs too, madam?”

Her mouth grew as parched as grass in a drought. With difficulty, she cleared her throat. “I should like to speak with my cousin.”

His lips formed a grim line as he glared at her. “I regret to inform you that your cousin Paul is dead.”

Victoria gave a strangled cry as her mind reeled. “No! I cannot believe that! I was not informed of it!” Despite her proximity to the hearth, her entire body became encased in a glacial chill.

A change came over the Beast as if a shadow passed over him, darkening the emanation shining out from his body. The subtle alteration of shade heightened her distress. She had not seen such an odd shadow on anyone until now. Did it indicate the true nature of the monster that lurked inside the Beast?

“Obviously, you did not receive my telegram. Paul did not die a natural death.” Shock ripped through her. “Was he murdered?” She could barely fathom what she had heard. Though she lay comfortably on the settee, she felt her entire world crumble.

“He was found on the road to Taylor’s Grove.” He cleared his throat. “Some say he was attacked by animals. I am very sorry for your loss, madam.”

Victoria felt her throat close up. Sorrow pressed down upon her. Paul had been unfailingly kind to her--even at the worst of times. Especially after her mother’s death.

“Know that your cousin thought you a worthy prize, madam. When he lost this estate to me in a poker game, he thought to win it back by offering you as his next bid. It is a pity that I am quite good at the game and though your cousin had a fair amount of skill, he made some grave mistakes.” His steely eyes sliced into her, but again that curious shimmer about him subtly changed once more.

She struggled to conquer the well of grief that threatened to undo her. The ice in her veins combined with her swirling emotions caused the ache in her head to become an unbearable misery, but meeting her new husband and learning of Paul’s death had given her a violent fright. She found once again that strange lethargy returning to her, coaxing her to close her eyes and rest.

The hopelessness of her situation had the darkness closing in on her and she found she could not escape the lure of slumber. In fact, she found herself welcoming it, which was most unusual. However, in sleep there lay an emptiness where the pain could not go.