The dark room at the back of the manor smelled of sickness. As the tiny window had northern exposure, sunlight barely slanted across the space before the shadows returned, and it was hard to tell morning from night. In the previous winter, during Great-Aunt Margaret's convalescence, the scent of stale flesh had seeped into the walls and furnishings, so that an airing only helped a bit. Others claimed not to notice, but it permeated Wilhelmina's nose until she gagged. She kept a towel soaked in lavender against her cheek and prayed for leaving.
After the incident with the wolf, she laid in the bed for weeks. The first passed in a fog of feverish thoughts and opiates. She remembered the rough changing of bed linens, cold water and itchy bandages, the salty taste of broth, the embarrassment of her open nightgown and a stethoscope between her breasts. She nudged the physician's hands away.
Her father read aloud from adventure books. When the stories wove into her dreams, they got hopelessly muddled. The ship captain grew yellow teeth and his beard was made of animal fur. The war hero's steed had claws instead of hooves, and it pawed the road like a Spanish bull.
Her mother washed and brushed her hair. At first she kept quiet, her mouth drawn so tight that on one horrible morning, Willa thought it had been sewn shut. Later, as Willa's arms and legs healed and she could be propped against the pillows to feed herself, her mother babbled happily about going home to London. Her relief at her daughter's recovery made her pretty again.
On the first night of the full moon, cries of confusion and pain startled the family from their evening meal. Two men, a wardrobe, and an overturned table kept the girl from breaking down the door. The howling caused the women to wring their hands, the men to steal drinks when they thought no one would notice. In the kitchen, a cook and a maid whispered of silver bullets.
It was hinted that returning to the family home in London might divest Willa of primal instincts and, though no one spoke it aloud, keep her away from what bit her. Closer to the truth, the Hughes family had worn out their welcome at their cousins' country home. In April they returned to the city and began to spread an intricate lie amongst their social circuit to explain why Willa Hughes was no longer a marriageable girl.