Household

by Stevenson, Florence

  “Fine.” He turned over and smiled at her lazily. “What may I do for you?”

  “You can rub my feet,” she said.

  “At your service, madame.” He winked at her, and placing her feet across his legs, he began to rub them gently.

  “Oh, that is so relaxing,” she said gratefully. She glanced around the room and spotted Septimus talking with Charlotte. Much to her delight, he caught her eye and smiled at her warmly. Senses deep within her stirred. Her body throbbed, and she wished it was he who was lying beside her.

  Another man joined the little group just as Charles stopped rubbing Livia’s feet. The new arrival’s name was Christopher, and he was almost as dark as Septimus. In addition to the dark curling hair on his head, his chest and belly and the heavy growth on his arms and legs, there was even some on his feet. He was still breathing hard, she noticed.

  “The dancing is very tiring, do you not agree?” Livia said to him.

  “Yes.” His dark eyes roved over her body. “But it does raise the energy.”

  “They talk so much about energy,” Livia commented, “but I don’t understand why it is needed.”

  “You will.” He edged closer to her. “You have exquisite breasts, my dear,” he observed.

  “That’s what Septimus said, but I don’t see anything unusual about them.”

  “They’re so firm and round. Eve’s apples, my dear. I should like a taste of them.” He leaned forward.

  “Christopher, darling,” Vivienne drawled.

  To Livia’s surprise, he rose immediately and strode away. “Why did he leave so suddenly?” she asked.

  “Christopher’s a relatively new member. Sometimes he forgets why he is here.”

  “Oh, I see.” Livia did not understand Vivienne’s explanation and that troubled her. She had always prided herself on her acumen, however it would not do to question Vivenne further. A trained reporter could not sound as if she were unsure of herself.

  Charlotte said, “We must go and get cleansed.”

  “Cleansed?” Livia inquired.

  “Yes, dear, as we did last week.”

  “Oh, yes, now I remember.” Livia followed them into the chamber that contained the sunken tub, notunlike those that were known to be in Roman villas. This one was square and fashioned from white marble. The water was very blue and filled with rose petals. Stepping down the three steps that led into the tub, Livia was immersed up to her shoulders. As it had been last week, the water was warm. She could swim, and she paddled back and forth until Vienne slipped into the pool and soaped her all over. Beckoning Livia to come out, Charlotte turned a fine spray of water on her, washing off the suds. Afterwards she spread a towel on the floor and, as she had the previous week, Livia lay down on it. Charlotte used another towel to dry her hair while Vienne began to massage her, and Livia, feeling pleasantly drowsy, soon dropped off to sleep.

  ❖

  “Miss Blake, wake up. You’re home.”

  Livia awoke with a start and found she had been resting her head on Mr. Grenfall’s shoulder. She tensed and regarded him in horror. “I... I didn’t fall asleep again!” she cried. “I am afraid you did,” he said gently.

  “What is happening to me?” she demanded fearfully. His dark eyes, illuminated by the carriage lantern, burned into her eyes. “There’s nothing the matter save that you work very hard and it’s May.”

  “What does May have to do with it?” Amazingly, she was feeling a little better about this second lapse, as if he had somehow removed her troubles from her mind, an odd supposition certainly.

  “May is before June, and in June you will be closing your office for a well-earned rest. You’re not made of iron, Miss Blake, you know. You are only flesh and blood.”

  His mention of flesh and blood brought a flush to her cheek, but she did not know why. His reasoning seemed extremely logical though. “I expect I have been working too hard this year. We’re short-staffed. Emily’s away so much of the time.”

  “Perhaps you should hire another reporter to shoulder some of your load.”

  “I could not do that though Emily would take it very much to heart. And, as you have pointed out, we are very nearly through the season.”

  “You are a very nice person, Miss Blake.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied, feeling hurt and disappointed. She had been experiencing a closeness with him that his last observation had obviated. “I had best go in,” she added.

  “I will see you to your door,” he said. “Might we hope that you will come again next Friday? I am really determined that you see our play, whether or not you report on it.”

  She expelled a short, embarrassed breath. “I’ll come and see it, and I will report on it. And if I fall asleep this time, you must stick pins into me.”

  “I would never want to hurt you in any way,” he said with a seriousness that surprised her. Helping her down from the trap, he accompanied her to the porch. Standing in front of the door, he said softly, “I’ll come for you next Friday, Miss Blake.” Taking her hand in his warm grasp, he brought it to his lips.

  This unexpected gesture startled her, and the feel of his lips against her hand sent an odd shiver through her body. She suddenly was amazed and startled by the specificness of what she wanted from him. “Next Friday,” she said shakily, embarrassed because she sounded like a schoolgirl.

  “Goodbye, then.” He released her hand and went swiftly down the steps and climbed into the trap.

  Livia stood at the door, watching until he drove away. Waiting until the last sounds of its wheels coupled with those of the horse’s hooves were out of her ears, she went inside and up the stairs to bed.

  ❖

  Towards morning, Livia wakened with fragments of another strange, embarrassing dream floating through her mind. It was not quite as vivid as it had been the previous week, but there were enough images to shock and terrify her. She could not understand why she should be visited by this nightmare. It had left her feeling all churned up inside. She did not want to think about the dream. Her thoughts turned to Mr. Grenfall, who had been so impersonal the previous night.

  “And why not?” she muttered. “I hardly know him.” Sitting up in bed and clutching her knees, she stared into the darkness wondering why the truth should be so unsettling. She had met him only four times—twice at the paper, twice at the meeting—and still she felt she knew him so much better than that. She didn’t. He had every right to be impersonal and even annoyed. She had slept through two meetings she, a trained reporter who had managed to stay awake through one of President Garfield’s campaign speeches. Yet she could not keep her eyes open in that house! Possibly it was the incense that made her so sleepy. She wished she might ask Mr. Grenfall to refrain from burning it next Friday, but she could not presume on so brief an acquaintance. Still, he did want her to view his playlet, and the poor actors must be quite frustrated by now.

  She turned over on her stomach and tried to go back to sleep and fragments floating through her head, she had an image of him naked!

  Finally, defensively, she slept only to have another nightmare, not as horridly embarrassing as her other two, but she had not liked it either. In it a horrid old woman screamed and screamed. She had a cat with her that screeched like the toms that stalked the fence tops on hot summer nights. Her ears rang with the sound as if she had actually heard rather than dreamt it.

  She glanced out of her window. The sky was paling. She winced. She did not feel at all rested and it was almost daylight. She closed her eyes again, and this time her sleep was mercifully untroubled.

  ❖

  On her way back from her third and equally disastrous visit to The Seventh Circle, Livia blinked against tears. She hated the sobs that were welling up in her throat. She had always been so strong-minded and capable, but this Friday’s meeting seemed to be the culmination of all the confusion she had experienced this past week.

  She had fallen asleep again!

  And the people
in the group were so understanding and so forgiving that it hurt her. She liked them all so much, what she had seen of them, but she could not return a fourth time. The situation was totally out of hand, not only her curious habit of falling asleep almost the moment she set foot in that house but the distracting dreams that were beginning to haunt her every night of the week. Not only did she dream, but during her working hours she entertained memories of those dreams that shocked and horrified her. These frayed her temper, and she took it out on the girls. On Wednesday, Marian had threatened to quit, and Emily, castigated for an abominable piece of writing, Acquit. She had returned, but both girls were eyeing her askance. She had the feeling that they held whispered conferences in the other room. She had come out of her office twice to find them very close together and looking extremely self-conscious as they moved away from each other.

  Then there was the matter of Elias P. Martin, the famous philanthropist, who had been running for congress until a heart attack had sent him to the hospital. According to Emily, who had hastened to the hospital to see if she could get some information on his condition for an item in the Marblehead Mercury, he was near death.

  On receiving this news, Livia had had difficulty concealing a smile of pure pleasure. There even had been an incredible moment when she had been actually glad the man was dying. Why? He was the soul of integrity, at least according to her father, who was seldom wrong about politicians. His opponent in the race was totally corrupt, and yet she had felt not only pleased at the idea of Martin’s possible passing, she had muttered under her breath, “Die, Elias, die!” Then, immediately afterwards, she had turned cold with terror, remembering that in her dreams, she had singularly wished him ill, she and all the other people at Mr. Grenfall’s literary society. And no one could understand why he had had a heart attack. He had been in singularly good health, his doctor had declared to the assembled reporters.

  It was such a strange coincidence—her dream and his attack!

  Her father, who seemed to be growing weaker by the day to the point where he rarely left his bedroom, had noticed her distraction. “Dearest,” he had said only last night, “you seem very preoccupied of late.”

  “Not really, Papa,” she had assured him hastily. “It’s just that so much of the work at the paper is falling on my shoulders. I will be glad when we shut down.”

  “Yes, you do need a rest, and perhaps you should not rise so early. You do need more sleep.”

  Sleep!

  Livia was beginning to dread the thought of sleeping. She wished she could tell her father exactly what was troubling her, but of course that was out of the question. She could never let anyone know about the dreams, or rather visions—vile visions that tormented her and at the same time were beginning to fill her mind with impure thoughts and desires to match them!

  It was terrible to remember those dreams so clearly and how Mr. Grenfall had appeared to her, his beautiful body naked. She shuddered. They were nearing her house and her horrid thoughts had distracted her attention from the man himself. And this was to be the last time they would see each other. The idea filled her with a new agony, one that was physical as well as mental. She wished... but she could not consciously entertain the wish that had just flashed into her mind, bringing with it embarrassing bodily reactions.

  If only she could get away. Unfortunately her father’s worsening health precluded that. She dared not leave him, but at any rate she soon might be taken away to a madhouse!

  Mr. Grenfall had halted the trap, and now she would have to bid him a long goodbye. As he helped her down, a gust of wind caught her hat and she clutched the brim. It was a stormy night with a hint of rain in the air, more than a hint, she reaped, as a drop splattered against her cheek.

  “Come.” Mr. Grenfall hurried her up on the porch. “Will we see you next Friday?”

  “Np!” she cried. “I... I cannot come. I do not see why you would want me to catch up on my sleep as I have been doing,” she said, managing a light laugh.

  “Sleeping or waking, I want you there,” he said insistently.

  “Come, Mr. Grenfall, that does not make sense,” she reproved, glad that she could sound so calm. What she had told him was no more than the truth. Why would he want her there? She had yet to see his playlet, and she had not give his society so much as a mention in the paper.

  “Perhaps next week you’ll not feel like sleeping.”

  “I never feel like sleeping but I do. I do not understand myself.” Inadvertently she added, “I do not understand anything of what is happening to me. My dreams...” She paused, staring at him in consternation, wondering what had made her blurt out her fears.

  “Your dreams,” he asked. “What sort of dreams?”

  “They... they’re rather disturbing,” she said, striving to remain calm.

  “Would it help you to tell me what they are about?”

  She blanched, wondering what he would say if she were to reveal their content. She said hesitantly, “There’s this old woman with tangled white hair. She screams very loudly. She has a cat that seems to be on fire and it also screams.”

  “For a very good reason if he is on fire,” he commented with a half-smile which vanished quickly. “The old woman sounds as if she might be a witch. Perhaps there’s the ghost of a witch in your house. Several were hanged for witchcraft in Marblehead, you know.”

  “Mr, Grenfall, I hope that an intelligent man like yourself does not believe in witches,” Livia said tartly.

  “But I do,” he replied, “having met you, my dear Livia.” She regarded him with an astonishment mingled with shock. “You are becoming extremely familiar on very short acquaintance, sir.”

  “I do apologize,” he said hastily. “Please forgive me, Miss Blake.”

  “Very well,” she replied, well-aware that she should never have countenanced his surprising employment of her Christian name, but on this, their last meeting, she did not want to order him to leave, as she should have done. She did not want him to leave it all. Tears she could not blink away filled her eyes. Fortunately, the porch light was too dim for him to see them.

  “Miss Blake,” he said solicitously, “I feel that you are deeply troubled over something. Can you not tell me what is worrying you?”

  His perspicacity startled her. “It is nothing,” she said with a brusqueness she had not intended. “I... my dreams...” She clicked her teeth together in a palpable effort to keep any further confidences from escaping. What was the matter with her?

  “More dreams,” he said. “I know a little something about dreams. Maybe I could help you.”

  “I doubt that anyone could help me,” she said, immediately regretting this second confidence.

  “I could help,” he insisted, “and...” He paused as a wind-borne gust of rain splattered them.

  “Oh!” Livia exclaimed. “You’d best come inside.” She opened the door and motioned him to follow her into the hall. “Do be quiet,” she whispered. “My father sleeps downstairs in the room across from the library.”

  “I will be very quiet,” he murmured.

  “We can sit here,” she said, pointing to a settee. Her nervousness increased. She should not have brought him inside. What could he tell her about her dreams? What could she tell him? She ought to ask him to go, but the rain was becoming heavier. He would be drenched. Probably it was a cloudburst and would be over shortly. Then, she could ask him to... She stiffened. There were footsteps coming across the floor.

  “Livia, dear,” her father called from somewhere down the passageway.

  She cast a nervous glance at Mr. Grenfall. “Best go up to the first landing,” she instructed. “Yes, Papa,” she added in a louder tone of voice. Her tension increased as she watched Mr. Grenfall start up the stairs, but he moved very quietly.

  “Did you just get in, dear?” Swithin, clad in a long brocade dressing robe, came into the hall. “You are rather late, are you not?”

  “The weather...” she explained.<
br />
  “Yes, it’s bad, isn’t it? I am glad you’re home, my love.”

  “So am I, Papa, inn why are you out of bed?”

  “I’ve had trouble sleeping. I’ve been in the library reading.”

  “The library’s damp.”

  “I have a fire going. Should you like to join me?”

  “I am very tired, Papa. I must go to bed, and so should you.”

  “I will presently.” He kissed her. “Good night, my dear.”

  “Good night, Papa. Please don’t stay up too long.”

  “You mustn’t worry about me so much, my dear.” He moved back toward the passageway.

  Livia stood on the stairs waiting until she heard the library door open and close. She joined Mr. Grenfall on the first landing and started as she heard a violent clap of thunder. “Oh, dear, it is coming down,” she whispered. “We’d best talk in my room. Papa would hear us if we remained in the hall.” Immediately after this statement, she wondered if she had gone mad, inviting a veritable stranger into her bedroom. Yet it would give her a little more time with Mr. Grenfall before they parted for good. “Follow me,” she muttered.

  “Very well. I have something I must tell you, too.” he whispered.

  Her shutters were banging back and forth as she ushered Mr. Grenfall into her bedroom. As always, she had left the oil lamp on the nightstand burning. Its soft glow afforded a dim view of her fourposter canopied bed with its red and white cretonne hangings matching the curtains at the window, her dresser, the highboy and the two cosy armchairs facing each other on either side of the fireplace. The light was further reflected in the mirrors over the mantel and the dressing table. Also reflected in the mirror was the door to her bathroom, an innovation added by her father several years ago. It had delighted Anna, her maid, she remembered inconsequentially, and she was glad that her views on the working woman had caused her to insist that Anna go home after she helped her dress. Neither their cook nor maid lived in their house.