The Path Between the Trees (A Short Story)

This story originally appeared on https://tabathawood.com 

“M’lady, if it pleases you, your carriage awaits.” Philip flung the heavy manor doors wide open and let the evening air inside. A bitter wind whistled an angry tune and a flurry of snow danced in the courtyard. Lady Emily set her book aside, furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. 

“Oh, Philip, it doesn’t bloody please me at all, but needs must I suppose.” Lady Emily was a striking woman in her early forties, bestowed with handsome features; hazel eyes, a tight jaw, plump lips and a matching bosom. Since her late husband, Lord Edmund Sellick, had passed away in tragic circumstances — an accident while out hunting — she had found herself the subject of many social invites and dinner dates, many from older men her husband had previously known. She was not often enamoured by their company, but the free food and wine were always welcome.  

Edmund had been irresponsible with money, often spending well outside his means. She had sold as many of their assets that she could spare, had found ways to make ends meet. Yet despite all her ingenuity and frugality, it was her femininity that earned her a wage, of sorts. She could stomach the pawing and salacious comments if it meant she could keep the manor. 

She rose from her seat and smoothed her skirts, then swung her thick, woollen cloak around her shoulders. She secured it with a silver brooch shaped like three interlinked swirls, and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “Come along then. Let’s get this blasted seasonal obligation over with.” 

Philip nodded and followed her to the doorway. The cold tried to bite her as she stepped outside, and she covered her face with her hands to avoid the blizzard’s icy sting. She didn’t wait around for Philip to open the carriage for her, following protocol had never been her strong point. She bundled inside and slammed the door, then slid the side window open.  

“Come on, Philip,” she urged. “We have a Christmas supper to attend, and as much as I despise the man, the Prime Minister will be most vexed if I am noted absent.” She shivered and pulled the cloak a little tighter. “Besides, he does at least put on a decent spread. Perhaps I can smuggle out a leg of ham under my skirts? We could both eat quite well for a week.” She laughed and settled back into the carriage. 

Philip climbed onto the step and swung himself into the driver’s seat, pausing only to light the wicks of the oil lamps clamped to the sides of the carriage. A layer of snow was already starting to settle on the brim of his hat as he got comfortable and took the reins. The horse snickered and shook its mane, stamping impatiently on the frozen cobbles. 

“Through the woods, m’lady?” Philip called out to her, his voice carrying on the wind. Emily sighed. 

“It is a quicker route, I suppose. How are the reports?”

“Nothing since Friday, m’lady.” 

She pulled at her lip absentmindedly. Thinking. 

“Do it. The trees will offer some protection from this wretched weather if nothing else.” 

Philip nodded and urged the horse to start walking on. Its hooves skittered briefly on the slippery stones, finding better purchase as they left the courtyard and took the path between the trees. The snow was not quite as deep here, yet what had fallen had settled and was undisturbed. Horse and cart crunched their way through the relentless cold. 

Lady Emily was right, the trees did offer some small comfort, the leaves of the evergreens a ballast against the storm. But the moonlight strained to reach between the branches, and the woods wrapped around them like a wet blanket. The light from the lamps did very little to pierce the gloom and the carriage wheels grumbled as they were smothered by white flakes.  

A sudden noise up ahead in the undergrowth spooked the horse. It pulled up short and stamped at the ground. It shook its neck and kicked out with its back legs, straining at the leather tack that tethered it to the carriage, snorting plumes of hot air from its nose. Philip held tightly to the reins, wary that the beast might try to bolt. Emily stuck her head through the open carriage window and peered outside. 

“What’s the matter, Philip? Why have we stopped?”

“M’lady, I do not wish to alarm you, but I fear there may be trouble up ahead.” 

“Ruffians, Philip?”

“Very likely, m’lady.” 

Emily grunted and disappeared. Moments later she stepped out of the carriage.

“M’lady?” Philip began, confused. 

“Quiet now, Philip. It’s all in hand.” She moved to the front of the carriage and placed an open palm on the horse’s shoulder, shushing it and stroking it gently. She stared into the blackness and raised her voice. “Out with you! Come on. What are you waiting for?” The trees rustled. The wind blustered. “Come out!” she demanded. “Right now!”

A shape stepped out from the shadows. It moved slowly, deliberately, one arm outstretched and holding a silver pistol. Emily laughed. 

“Look, Philip, it’s a highwayman. How delightful! How quaint!” 

Philip chuckled awkwardly in reply. Emily turned to the stranger, one hand resting on her hip. 

“Well then, Mister Highwayman, what can we do for you?” 

The man laughed nastily and cleared his throat. “You know what, missy. Your money and your jewels. Give them to me.” 

“I think not. Besides, what makes you think I have any of either?”

“You’re in a fancy carriage, ain’t ya? Only rich people have a fancy carriage.” 

Emily scoffed. “A bold assumption, Mister Highwayman. However, a sadly misinformed one. And besides, even if I were to have such items, you surely would not be party to them. Now, if you don’t mind, bugger off.” 

“You what?”

“You heard me. Bugger off. Get out of the way. Shoo! I have a Christmas party to attend and I’m already late.”

The man stepped a little closer and shook his weapon. 

“I’d watch your mouth, little lady, if I were you. I’ve got a pistol right here.”

“So you have. And?”

“I’ll shoot you! I’ll shoot the both of yous!”

“Well, yes, I suppose you could, but it wouldn’t do you much good. Not unless your little pistol is loaded with silver bullets?”

“What?”

“Silver bullets. It’s the only thing that can kill me, you see. Oh, and Philip here.” Philip tapped two fingers to his hat and nodded. “So, are you?”

The robber floundered. “Silver bullets?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

Emily laughed again. “You do know what a werewolf is, don’t you?” 

“A… What? You’re bloody kidding me!” 

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m clearly not afraid of you, am I? Are you sure you want to take the risk? Look up, Mister Highwayman, tell me what you see.” 

Instinctively, the man looked up. Through the woven, wind-wrought branches flickered a faint, silver light. A broad moon pinned to a black sky. 

“You see it?”

The highwayman gasped. “Full moon?” The man did his best to keep the shake out of his voice, but he couldn’t hide the one in his hand.

Emily grinned and flashed her teeth. “Indeed. By my reckoning you have, oh... maybe three or four minutes before we rip your thieving bastard throat out and tear you limb from ragged limb. How does that sound?” 

She took a single step towards him. The man turned quickly, and broke into a run, skidding and sliding in the snow. Emily put a cupped hand to her lips and called out to his retreating form. 

“And a very Merry Christmas to you, you lily-livered scoundrel!” The branches knit together in a curtain of leaves as he disappeared into the woods. She chuckled and patted the horse’s flank then strolled back to the carriage. Philip coughed politely as she passed him. She looked up. 

“Werewolves, m’lady?” She gave him a half-smile. “Wherever did you get that idea?” 

“Full credit to Mister Alexandre Dumas and his wonderful imagination, Philip. What a blessing I was reading him just before we left. Never doubt the brilliance of a damn good book.” 

Emily eased herself back into the carriage and closed the door. Philip tugged at the reins and the horse moved on. She sank back into the cushions, breathing as slowly and as deeply as she could. She explored her teeth with the tip of her tongue. Ran her hands down the length of her arms. The moon had been wonderfully welcoming this evening. It had been very hard to resist. Her incisors had grown a little, she noticed, along with some stray, black hairs on her wrists. It was nothing too terrible, she was still in control. 

She wondered if one day she would have to tell Philip how her drunken, violent and adulterous late husband had really met his end. After she’d uncovered his despicable plan to dispose of her, and replace her with a mistress. He had been killed in a hunting accident, indeed. Except he had been the defenceless prey, and she the cunning predator. 

Philip was a good man. He had stayed with her, not simply in his official role as a steward and coachman, but also as a trusted and loyal friend. As a lover when the wine had been too strong. But even good men had their limits. She wondered if he would stay if he knew the truth. Love her still, if he knew what she was.

She closed her eyes and felt the carriage sway as it rumbled onwards through the freezing dark. 

Story by Tabitha Wood