Wilderwood Ch. 11

The paintings show a man and a woman of similar appearance. There's not much in the way of recurring facial features in the Wilderwoods -- neither Emma or I look much like our parents -- but seen side by side like this there's enough of a resemblance between these two that it's easy to believe they're related.

They're both fairly young. He might be in his thirties but she's only in her twenties I'd guess, though it's hard to tell from the style of that time. They're both dressed in what looks like very old style riding clothes, with dark coats and decorated waistcoats, along with scarfs knotted around their necks, though those are black rather than the usual white. His hair is dark, fairly long and tied at the back. Hers is jet black and much longer. His eyes are dark grey. Hers are bright green.

The alcove in between is one of the ones with an engraved panel at the back. The design is simply two interlocking letters, 'J' and 'E', and hanging crossed in front of it are two very old fencing swords.

* * * * *

I'd love to be able to believe that the paintings are fakes and that is all some weird game our great-uncle is playing. Maybe Dr. Dunning isn't the only one who gets off on mind-screws and that's the real reason for the 'arrangement' they have.

Except the paintings look old and so do the frames, and whatever else Uncle Nathan has been doing up here for the last fifty years I'm pretty sure he hasn't spent any of that time reading romance novels.

"James and Emma..." says my sister softly.

"Holy shit, they're actually real," I say, a lot less softly.

Emma grins. "Told you."

"Ha fucking ha."

As we stand staring at the two portraits and our old weapons Emma slips her arm around my waist and pulls herself closer to me. "Maybe we were them in a past life. Now we've been reincarnated after three hundred years by the power of our forbidden love."

I put my arm around my sister's waist and give her a light squeeze. "I really hope you're kidding, Sis."

"This would be the place for it..."

"Emma..."

"... and I bet there's a riding crop around here somewhere too."

I let my hand slide down from her waist and give my sister's leather-clad ass a light pat. "You're not freaked out by any of this?"

Emma leans her head against my shoulder. "I'm freaked out by all of it, Jamie," she says in a much more serious tone.

"You're not the only one."

We straighten up and step apart from each other at the sound of footsteps behind us. Uncle Nathan may know about our relationship, but we still don't know what he thinks of it, and until we do I don't think either of us wants to be too obvious about it.

"Lord and Lady Wilderwood," our great-uncle says as he walks over to us. "The story I told at dinner the other night was quite true, though I did leave out certain details."

"Was that for our benefit?"

"No, for Miss Shaw's. I knew she'd been researching the history of the town as part of the Magic of Wilderwood project, and wanted to know what she might have learned before she gave her presentation to the entire room. The mention of Lady Wilderwood was a test of sorts, to see if Miss Shaw had come upon anything of that period. Clearly she had not, which speaks very poorly of her research skills."

"Probably just did a quick search on Google."

He nods. "According to Felix the ubiquity of the Wilderwood name in relation to the town itself is so great that more obscure information is hard to find, unless the searcher already knows exactly what they are looking for."

"Convenient, huh?"

"Very." He tilts his stick toward the door of the library. "Let's go in. Before we address the here and now of your relationship there are other matters to discuss, starting with your namesakes of three centuries ago."

We follow him into the library, and now I'm absolutely certain he's planned every part of this. There's no way these two portraits just happened to be the ones hung on the wall directly next to the room he sent us to. This is a set up. I just wish I knew for what.

* * * * *

The downstairs library is very grand, with row upon row of heavy looking books with leather bindings and gold lettering on the spines. It's all very orderly, because it's really a room designed to impress, not to read in. The upstairs library is smaller, an L shaped room that occupies the west corner of the upper floor, with tall, narrow windows looking out onto the valley. The books up here aren't so neatly arranged -- I'm not sure they're arranged at all -- but they look like they might actually get read.

There's a couple of reading lamps in here with green glass shades, but the light they give off doesn't go very far and most of the light comes from the fire burning in the fireplace, a warm glow that casts flickering shadows over us. It's a comfy room really, with its big, high backed leather chairs, and was always one of our favorite places to escape to when we were up here.

I take a seat in one of the chairs, but Emma perches on the edge of a nearby table, letting her legs dangle. She used to do that a lot in here, though her feet are closer to the floor now than the were then. Uncle Nathan rests his cane against the wall by the fireplace and takes the chair closest to the fire.

Ocassionally, when it was just the two of us coming up to the Hall in the Big Cat, in the evenings we'd sit with Uncle Nathan in this room and he'd tell us stories. That was in the first few years, and me and my sister would both squeeze into one of the big leather chairs and listen to our great-uncle's low, comforting voice.

They were spooky stories, about the ghosts that were said to haunt the Hall and the valley below, about witches and warlocks and the Wilderwood Devil. Emma loved those stories even more than I did, and would grab onto my arm and hide her face against my shoulder during the scary parts. The Uncle Nathan would reassure us that we had nothing to fear, because we were Wilderwoods, and even witches and warlocks feared the Wilderwood Devil, our family fiend.

He only rarely looked directly at us when he was telling his stories, but would sit with his gaze on the fireplace and let his voice drift out into the shadows of the library. I don't know if they were stories he made up or ones he had read but he never had to pause to think of the right word to use. It was like it was all written in the fire, or on the back of his eyelids, and he was simply reading it out like he would from a book.

That's how he tells this story now.

"Thomas Wilderwood founded our town in 1649 -- co-founder really, but it was our name that went on the map. He was a solid, respectable citizen and prospered, and his sons, John and Nicholas, built on what he left behind. John and Nicholas made their money in trading ventures, and were as often in Boston as they were here. Eventually the brothers fell out and John returned to Wilderwood. It was John that began the construction of the Hall, though it would be his son who completed it. His eldest son, Simon.

"Simon WIlderwood finished the work on the Hall, but he was reclusive and secretive and Wilderwood Hall became a gathering place for curious individuals and the subject of many unpleasant stories -- some of which were very likely true. This was around 1692, the time of the witch trials in Salem, and it was said of Simon that he trafficked with devils and evil spirits and did dreadful things in the dark places of the valley. Many of the stories of monsters in the Wilderwood have their origins in tales that were told of Simon, though he himself is almost entirely forgotten now, at least by name. Of all of our black sheep he was by far the blackest.

"Simon's younger brother, James, was of a very different sort. He was a roisterer, fond of horses and drink and very fond of women. He did not live at the Hall but in Wilderwood House, a smaller property in the town, built by Thomas Wilderwood. I daresay that sturdy Puritan would not have approved of his grandson's lifestyle. James was by no means as notorious as his elder brother, but he had his own less than glowing reputation, and had fought several duels to settle matters relating to certain of his amorous adventures."

Emma grins at me. I'm really starting to think that those romance novels she used to read left a bigger impression on her than she admits to, but I'll be damned (as they'd probably say) if I'm signing up for fencing lessons.

"The brothers did not get along," Uncle Nathan continues. "That is something of a recurring theme in our family history, but even by the standards of the Wilderwoods the enmity that existed between Simon and James was exceptional, and since Simon was alleged to dabble in dark arts and James was a rake and a duellist it was perhaps inevitable that it would end in violence. The cause of their final confrontation was a young woman who had come to Wilderwood from Boston, and who Simon took as his mistress. Her name, as you've likely guessed, was Emma.

"Neither brother was well liked, as I said, albeit for very different reasons, and rumors began to circulate almost immediately about Emma. Some said that she was a succubus, conjured up by Simon in some dark rite in the Wilderwood, and others said that she was their sister, and had been raised in Boston in an effort to shield her from the evil influence of her brothers. Since that was the blackest version of the story it naturally became the most widely told."

Uncle Nathan pauses and looks over at us both. "The sources for much of what I am telling you are vague and often contradictory. The portraits of James and Emma are consistent with the time in which they lived but I have been unable to confirm whether or not they were painted from life, so any familial resemblance shown in them must be considered highly speculative. There is no surviving portrait of Simon. There are also several versions of what follows.

"According to the most reliable sources -- for a certain very loose definition of reliable -- James fell in love with Emma, which was remarked upon even by those who did not heed the stories, since James had until then been a a man of fierce but fleeting passions. He won Emma away from his brother - "

"Good," says Emma. We're both starting to relax a bit as this goes on, because it really does sound like one of those books she used to read. My sister is definitely getting into it, and is definitely on Team James.

Our great-uncle raises an eyebrow at her interjection. "After that the brothers were open enemies which had the curious effect of improving James's reputation, even among some of those who believed the stories about Emma. Better the devil you know. There were even stories told later of James and Emma riding out at night, dashing adventurers in black masks and flowing cloaks who descended into the Wilderwood to cross swords with the wicked things conjured up by their brother."

My sister laughs. "This is so good."

I've got to smile too. "Uncle Nathan, how is this not in every book of local history and legend every written about this town? I mean the Wilderwood Devil is one thing, but you're basically telling us that we're descended from Zorro and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and nobody knows it?"

Uncle Nathan looks perplexed for a moment. I guess he's never watched Buffy and doesn't get the reference. He probably knows who Zorro is though.

"These are very old stories and have been overshadowed by the legends of the Wilderwood Devil for at least the last century. Prior to that Lord and Lady Wilderwood were occasionally the subject of low and sensational literature -- pulp adventure stories and gothic romances. In some of these they were portrayed as brother in sister, in others lovers. A few of the more daring may even have hinted at both, but they are very obscure works now and, I daresay, deservedly so."

Uncle Nathan turns his gaze back to the fireplace, so he misses the look that passes between Emma and I.

"The incident I recounted at dinner the other night is one of the few verifiable parts of the story. Emma, Lady Wilderwood, did shoot a man dead on the steps of Trinity Cross after he accused her of witchcraft. I did not add that as the gentleman in question was a known associate of Simon Wilderwood his own claims to godliness were dubious, to say the least.

"Some time after that -- only days perhaps -- James and Emma were seen riding north one evening in the direction of Wilderwood Hall. According to several accounts a massive storm broke over the town that night, and others spoke of strange lights in the sky and inhuman howls in the Wilderwood."

Uncle Nathan glances our way. He's got our attention now, that's for sure.

"It was days before the townsfolk finally summoned up the courage to send men up to the Hall to investigate, and when they did they found it deserted. There were signs of violence -- rooms in disarray, mirrors smashed -- and one wing had been severely damaged by fire. So severely that it was a wonder the entire house had not burned to the ground. Two bloody swords were found at the bottom of the stairs in the main hall, but that was all. There was no trace of any of Simon's strange retinue, or of any of the Wilderwoods. None of them were ever seen again."

Silence.

A long silence.

"You," says Emma at last, "have got to be fucking kidding."

* * * * *

As if to prove the night can still get weirder now Felix shows up with the tea and coffee and, I have to look twice to believe it, a plate of cookies. I'm struck suddenly by the thought that maybe they're both insane and think we're still ten years old, and Uncle Nathan has just finished telling us another one of his ghost stories rather than something that (kind of) actually happened.

He doesn't continue while Felix is in the room, so I wait until he leaves again before I ask, "Is any of this true? I don't mean the final boss battle, but the rest of it. Was Emma actually their sister?"

Uncle Nathan lifts a hand in a slight shrug. "Who can say? There are very few official records of that era in any of the town's archives, and those I have seen may well have been altered not long after the events in question. It is possible that there may be more to learn of Emma's true antecedents in Boston, but that branch of the family are unhelpful, and it is not necessarily in their interest to disprove such a story, even if they could."

Oh for fuck's sake. "Is there anyone in this family who doesn't hate everyone else in this family?"

"Most of the other branches of the family are descended from members of the direct line who left Wilderwood after falling out with other members of their family, usually a sibling. Rivalry is in our blood."

I'm wondering what else is in our blood, but I guess we'll get to that.

"So," says Emma, "if James and Emma disappeared then who are the Wilderwoods actually descended from?"

Uncle Nathan nods. "It's a valid question. After these events the Hall lay empty for a long time. In theory it had passed to the Boston Wilderwoods, but none of them ever lived here, though their names appear in the official records. In 1715, around two decades later, a young man named Jason Wilderwood arrived in the town and, having established his identity to the satisfaction of the town authorities and the Boston branch of the family, took up residence at the Hall.

"Jason's own antecedents were also obscure. He was known to the Boston Wilderwoods, but was not one of them. One diarist of the time, old enough to remember both Simon and James, wrote that he thought the new lord of the manor's features bore a close resemblance to those of Simon, but since no portrait survives of Simon that must remain a matter of conjecture."

Emma scowls. "But Simon was killed by James and Emma."

"Was he? That was one story, certainly, but another suggested that it was James who was killed by Simon and Emma. It would be another generation before any daughter was born to the Wilderwoods, and only then would the one recurring physical trait of the line be seen again. Lady Wilderwood had very striking green eyes and this continues to be seen all through the next three hundred years, not in all female members of the line, but in many. We may not know for sure of which of the brothers' blood flows in our veins, but the blood of Emma Wilderwood most certainly does."

Emma stares at him.

"It's a wild story, Uncle," she says, "and maybe it was incest, with James, or with Simon. Maybe Emma was passed back and forth between both of her brothers until one of them decided he wanted her all to himself..."

The way she says that I'm not totally sure my sister is against the idea. Uncle Nathan looks up with a frown.

"...but you've said yourself you don't know if any of it is true," Emma finishes.

Uncle Nathan keeps his eyes on hers just long enough for it to get uncomfortable, then turns his gaze back to the fire again.

"At a distance of three hundred years it hardly matters if it is true or not," he says, "because the story has been repeated so often that in the absence of evidence to the contrary it may as well be the truth. The rumor alone is enough, and feeding on the other mysteries that surround the Wilderwoods it is the rumor has followed us down through the generations - rarely said aloud but often whispered, and assuredly never forgotten. I don't say that it is all true, but I know that there is truth in it. Your relationship is proof enough of that, and you are not the first to walk the same path."

It's quiet in here, just the sound of our great-uncle's voice against the crackle of the fire, and the fainter sound of rain against the windows. I hear a soft creak of leather on leather as Emma shifts uncomfortably and then slides of the edge of the table she's been sitting on and walks over to stare out the window. The mood has shifted, and the tension we felt earlier is coming back to both of us.

"At some point in the late '20s or early 30s," Uncle Nathan tells us, "my father's sister, Jane, started an affair with their brother, Joseph. It was an open secret in the society circles of the day, nothing being written but much being said. Said quietly, I might add, for my father -- the head of the family at this time -- was a powerful man, not only influential but also feared.

"Jane herself did nothing to discourage the talk. At best she was indifferent to the risk of scandal, at worst she invited it by her reckless conduct. Joseph was of a more retiring disposition -- a studious young man who lived in Wilderwood House and rarely attended the lavish parties his older brother held up here at the Hall. Jane also travelled a great deal, but Joseph never left Wilderwood.

"The affair then was punctuated by Jane's excursions, to Europe and elsewhere. Whenever she returned to the town she would divide her time equally between Wilderwood House and Wilderwood Hall, and you may draw whatever inference you wish from that. Society certainly did."

Emma, still standing at the window, turns and looks over to me, raising a dark eyebrow and letting a slight, teasing smile play over her lips as she leans back against the wall of the recess in which the window is set. It's not hard to know what inference she's drawing, that's for sure. All the same, the smile doesn't last long and she soon looks away again.

"As is often the case in our family's history this story ends badly. In the summer of 1932 a series of murders took place in the valley, and an enterprising newspaper reporter from Boston wrote a story which claimed that the killings were the work of the legendary Wilderwood Devil. The Devil has been part of this region's folklore since the 1600s, but these latest events captured the imagination of the country, and for a short time we were a sensation, read about from New York to Los Angeles.