Chapter Seventeen
SEVENTEEN
“Is this creepy?” Julius whispers.
We’re in our quarters, and we’re meeting in the sitting room, where the “pages” have already laid out a small feast of coffee and tea and breads and cheeses and cold meats.
They’ve retreated, and Rufus has done the rounds, ensuring we are indeed alone in our quarters with no one listening in.
I also cast a ward in the hall, which will alert me to anyone’s approach.
But Julius still keeps his voice down as we stand at the far side of the room, away from the doors and narrow windows.
“Creepy as fuck,” Rufus says.
“It’s different from the Albion Pack,” I murmur, and Rufus sputters a laugh at that.
I hold up a hand. “I’m new to Pack life, and I am trying to not judge.”
“I know a wolf from the Hibernian Pack,” Rufus says, “and there was an American who worked for Bishop’s father, who talked about that Pack. There are differences but not like this.” He looks around. “It’s unnatural.”
Everyone turns to Kenric, who only stands there, listening and saying nothing until Julius prods with “Is this what you remember?”
“I haven’t been here since I was a boy.”
I think he’s going to stop there, but after a moment of silence, he continues.
“Perhaps, because I was a boy on holiday with my father, it was like…” Kenric shrugs. “Going anywhere on holiday. You don’t expect it to be the same as home.”
Another pause, and then he adds, “This feels very different than I remember, but it might be because I’m here with an envoy and not as a visiting child.”
“Is your cousin happy here?” I ask.
“We haven’t spoken in years. Our fathers were close, and I like my cousin well enough, but there was no need to stay in touch.”
Bishop clears his throat. “Every Pack operates their own way, and every Alpha guides that. The Albion Pack didn’t expect wolves to work daily, like common laborers, and we would never have kept the house for the inner circle only, but since we’re looking for an alliance—rather than a Pack to join—these differences are none of our business. ”
“I don’t like the fact Hamish isn’t even greeting us until dinner,” Julius says.
“Nor do I. It tells me that he is being very clear on our relative positions. He has been polite and respectful—sending all three sons—but to him, I am still a supplicant.”
“About the sons,” I say. “When I heard he hadn’t chosen an heir, we pictured a King Lear situation, all the children vying for position, but I don’t get that impression. Did you?”
“Dennis made his comment about taking power,” Julius says. “But it didn’t seem a snide jab at the other brothers. Excellent point, Cordelia. They are not in obvious competition, and yet they are also clearly unhappy with the situation.”
“Especially if they aren’t allowed to have sons,” I say. “I noticed how Edwin worded it. That Hamish decided they can’t. Edwin doesn’t like that.”
“He does not, and I don’t blame him. Whether one wants children or not, no one wants to be forbidden to have them. Edwin must be at least forty, and his window is quickly closing if he hopes to be a young father enjoying rambunctious sons.”
“It’s fucking cruel,” Rufus says.
Julius claps his hands. “All right. So don’t try to play the sons against each other. They’re presenting a united front.”
“Against their father,” I say. “Discreetly in Edwin’s case, less so in Angus’s, and not at all in Dennis’s.
They’re restless and dissatisfied with a situation that they don’t see ending soon.
My father wanted grandsons to secure his legacy.
That was our value to him. Hamish’s three sons are in a similar position.
They’re stuck waiting in the wings until Hamish picks one to succeed him. ”
“He’s playing games,” Julius says, “and his sons are sick of it.”
“Useful,” Bishop murmurs. “Let me think this through. The next step will be touring the grounds. I suggest we split up for that. Cordelia will go with me, Julius will go with Rufus. Kenric? You seem happier on your own. See what you can find out.”
“Do we split the territory?” Julius asks. “For the tours?”
“No, that might seem odd. As if we are more interested in snooping than touring. Go wherever they wish to take us. Feel free to ask about other places of interest, but if they balk, only note it.”
“Because that’s where they’re keeping the bodies?” Julius lifts a hand. “I jest. If they kept the bodies in the keep, we’d smell them.”
Bishop rolls his eyes. “I don’t suspect them of anything nefarious. I simply think this is a very different Pack, and all that matters is how we can use that. Either to our advantage or to avoid making a faux pas.” He waves to the food. “Eat, and then we ring for the pages.”
Bishop is right, of course. The Caledonian Pack is only “creepy” because it’s so far removed from what the Albions are accustomed to.
The castle might seem empty, but on our tour, we meet the controller, who is hard at work in an office, and then we meet five wolves taking the place of domestic staff.
Three are in the kitchen, preparing meals, and two are cleaning.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man wielding a dustcloth, and the fact that it seems so odd gives me pause.
I’ve seen women doing traditionally male tasks, and I do notice that, but only in passing.
My reaction to seeing men as housemaids makes me realize just how strictly some jobs are “women’s work” and, as such, they’re actually seen as demeaning, in a way one would never consider for women doing men’s work.
I personally don’t see a problem with men dusting.
It’s certainly far better than the current practice of the Albion Pack, which Bishop plans to abolish.
The Pack hired supernatural women—mostly former brothel workers—who performed the household tasks and, if they chose, slept with the wolves.
Under my father, the women had become indentured servants, unable to leave and also forbidden to use their powers.
So when Edwin sneered about the Albion Pack and their “whores,” he wasn’t wrong. What they have here is better except …
Well, except for the fact that the wolves are embarrassed to be found doing women’s work.
They duck out of the rooms as we enter. They’re so quick to dodge Bishop’s attention that they never even seem to notice me.
One kitchen worker pauses, but only to study Bishop, his head tilting this way and that, as if trying to figure out how a wolf of his own age could be an Alpha.
Once we head outside, Bishop asks our guide about the staffing situation.
He explains that he wants to institute reforms with the Albions, and this model seems interesting.
Do the wolves volunteer for the positions?
While Bishop’s tone is perfectly even, I can pick up enough to know he’s sure “volunteer” isn’t the answer. And he’s right.
“Ha!” says our guide. “I can’t imagine any man would volunteer for women’s work.”
He’s a jovial older man, and when he says that, he tosses a smile my way, as if expecting I’ll agree that some chores are only suitable to the “weaker” sex.
The guide continues, “Everyone here is assigned their tasks. It’s a matter of hierarchy. You have your Alpha and then your betas and so on, down to your omegas. Just like in a wolf pack.”
“Ah,” Bishop says, and I bite back a smile. More than once we’ve discussed this aspect of werewolf life, and his theories—which I agree with—that werewolves have patterned themselves after conceptions of wolf behavior, rather than actual wolf behavior.
“Is that not how the Albion Pack works?” the guide asks.
“We allot outside jobs based on skill, and of course, a wolf—a Pack member—can prove himself worthy of an easier or more influential position. Those jobs don’t always align with their position in the Pack.
One might have an enviable job but not enjoy any particular status within the Pack.
And status within the Pack—once beyond the inner circle—isn’t clearly defined. ”
“It should be,” the guide says. “That’s what keeps everything in order.
It’s all about where you come from. You’re a Danvers, and even I know that name.
If you came to the Caledonian Pack, you’d automatically have status.
It’s like the human world. You have your kings and then your princes and your dukes and your lords, right down to your serfs and peasants. ”
“The omega wolves,” Bishop says. “Those are the ones who work in the castle here, cooking and cleaning.”
“And in the fields, doing the worst of the jobs,” the guide says cheerfully.
“So they are hoping to prove themselves and earn better jobs?” I ask.
The guide frowns at me. “No, miss. Their job is their job. You can’t start as a serf and become a duke.”
“Is that how the Caledonian Pack has always operated?” Bishop asks.
“There used to be some room for moving up, but Hamish got rid of that nonsense. He likes structure and discipline, and look at how we’ve thrived.
” He throws open his arms as we pass through the courtyard.
“Full to bursting. Werewolves are pack animals. They understand structure and discipline. They crave it.”
“I’m guessing you come from an old and established family?”
The man’s chest puffs. “I’m a Campbell, miss. Second cousin to Hamish himself.”
Which certainly explains why he sees no problem with such a strictly family-based hierarchy.
“Your Pack is enviably large,” Bishop says. “A testament to your Alpha’s excellent management.”
The guide beams, as if Bishop is complimenting him personally.
“And everyone’s happy with that?” I ask.
Bishop gives me a hard look, but I know it’s for show. He’s established himself as the young and admiring Alpha, so it falls to me to ask less comfortable questions. Being a mere woman, I am expected to say silly things.
“Oh, you can’t please everyone,” the guide says breezily.
“There are omegas who leave. The young ones mostly. I know Hamish worries about that—the Cambrian Pack is a thorn in his paw. But I say let them go. Good riddance.” He winks over at us.
“Even if it means some of the gammas need to work in the fields. They’ve had it easy. Time to get their hands dirty.”
“Gammas being above omegas,” I say. “Do they complain about working the fields?”
“If they do, we throw them in there.” He waves at a windowless stone building. “Give them time to realize how good they’ve got it.”
“Indeed,” Bishop says. “Might we take a look inside?”
The guide grimaces. “Best not, with the lady. There isn’t anything to see. Just a bunch of malcontents learning a valuable lesson. Now, over here is the main dining hall, where the men take their meals…”
The Caledonian Pack wolves are not lying dead in a ditch somewhere.
They are exactly where we were told—at work.
Yet even when they return, the keep doesn’t get much livelier.
In late afternoon, the higher-ranking wolves return in coaches and on horseback, dressed in a way that says they do not toil in the fields.
Bishop is helping me dress for dinner when the field laborers return, and the volume increases somewhat, but it’s mostly voices, with very few whoops of laughter and certainly no pounding boots or joyful hoots and hollers.
I open the window and gaze out to see dirt-streaked men trudging to the smallest cottages, the ones I’d presumed were individual homes and I learned on our tour were more like army barracks, filled with bunks.
When I lived in Cornwall with my mother, we’d sometimes see men returning from the mines, and my mother always sighed and lamented the hard lives they had to lead to survive. That’s what these wolves look like. Marching along with dirty faces and empty expressions.
When one wolf stops to look up at me, he stares and then shakes his head sharply, as if clearly seeing a mirage and not a woman in a fancy gown. I step away and close my curtain.
Bishop motions me to a chair, where he sits with my hairbrush and pins.
I smile at him. “I can do that myself. You were sweet to offer this morning, but I do not expect you to keep doing my hair for me.”
His brows rise. “Because it’s women’s work? Or because I’m not very good at it? Because I assure you, I do not mind in the least, and the more I do it, the better I will get.”
My smile widens, and I take the chair and let him remove pins to redo my waist-length hair for dinner.
“As for ‘women’s work,’” I say, “I find it odd that the Caledonians employ such a structure and then belittle the wolves who work those positions. Would there not be men who’d happily wield a duster instead of a hoe?
If the indoor jobs were held in equal regard, I would think there would be volunteers. Or perhaps I’m missing some nuance.”
He brushes out a coil of my hair. “Then I am as well. It is entirely a matter of how they would be treated, which seems to be ‘not well.’ I’d happily choose a duster over a hoe myself. I will say, I find the entire structure…”
“Distasteful?”
“Yes, but also a recipe for dissatisfaction. They can say they’re basing it off the British system of class and birthright, but are we not seeing the dismantling of that very system?” He shakes his head. “I certainly wouldn’t stay.”
“Even if your family name confers status?”
“Especially then. I wish to earn my status, not have it handed to me.”
I tilt my head back to grin at him. “How very American of you.”
“Having met Americans, I can safely say they have abandoned the worship of nobility to pray at the altar of money instead. They have their princes and dukes and lords—who own vast businesses, with factory workers as their serfs.”
“So why is this Pack so successful? Is that really what wolves want? Structure and discipline?”
He runs the brush through my hair. “Why do tenant farmers work for lords? Or factory workers for wealthy bosses? Because the alternatives are grimmer. They don’t want structure and discipline.
They want safety and stability. A roof over their heads.
Food on the table. Clothes on their backs.
A few shillings in their pockets for a night on the town.
It’s why the Albion wolves put up with Silas.
And this Pack, for all its uncomfortable regimentation, isn’t led by a tyrant likely to murder them on a whim. ”
“But, as you said earlier, the fact they may be less than completely happy is good for us, yes?”
In the mirror, I catch his smile, all teeth. He twirls up a lock of my hair and bends to kiss my temple.
“Very good. Hamish’s Pack is too big. He has dissatisfied elements, even more than I’d expected.”
“And an alliance with him would allow him to transfer some of those elements to the Albion Pack, bolstering our ranks while not losing face.”
“Precisely. I might not like what I see here, but I believe it will help our cause.”