by Cameron May
He seemed preoccupied, but when she explained having been to the doctor’s office and what Collins said, that Lance was sleepwalking, he was suddenly all attention.
“Sleepwalking, you say?”
“Yes. There have been other occasions when you’ve been walking about the house while the rest of us were abed. Howard Collins thinks it might be because of the war, of your experiences, of the noise and madness of fighting, as you yourself have sometimes said.”
“What did I do? Did I frighten you, Winnie?”
“You did, that first time when I didn’t know what was happening.”
“Why, when was this?”
“I don’t remember exactly, but about two weeks after your coming home.”
“But, what did I do? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, no.” Winnie sucked in her breath, and looked down at the floor, deciding not to tell him what all occurred during those times. She brought up troubled blue eyes. “You petted my hair, were quite gentle, and I guided you back into bed.”
“That’s all, then?” Lance asked, relieved.
Winnie bit her lip. “No, I’m sorry to say. It happened with Isabelle, too.”
“Isabelle, too?” Lance looked all at once distraught.
“Only once, at first. She said she didn’t mind at all. But there were no other occasions after the first time with her. I think in the beginning you might have been disoriented…”
“Collins said that?”
“No, no. It’s what I think. When all is calm and placid, there are no incidents.”
Looking upset, Lance flung himself on the back of his chair in the dining room. He’d just finished breakfast which suddenly wasn’t settling easy on his stomach. And guests would be arriving today. “Oh, why did I ever throw myself into this program of mine? I suppose I only wanted to get it out of the way, the Blackwater thing. I wish I’d taken it slower, Winnie.”
“As do I, Lance, but it’s too late for that. For the days we have this new company, it might be wise to station Jem outside your door, just in case. He could come fetch me…”
Lance looked at Winnie, his eyes searching. “Does anyone else in the household know about this, Winnie?” She shook her head. “Not even Barnaby?” Winnie shook her head again, and Lance looked relieved. “Couldn’t you do it, Winnie? It would keep this between the two of us. Jem might let it slip somehow. Good Lord, to think that something like it might happen with the Blackwaters and the others coming. People might believe me mad, or worse. Please, Winnie.”
She tried not to look shocked. How on earth could she do it? The idea was making her insides squirm. Winnie’s face flaming, she tried to think of some way to accommodate him without compromising herself. “How?”
His head in his hands, he shook it before taking his hands away and looking at her. “Could you, would you, sleep on a pallet? You might lock the door and keep the key on your person.” Just then, Isabelle brought in more coffee with braised apples, the scent of cinnamon reaching both their noses.
Winnie forced a smile. “Thank you, Isabelle.” She waited until the girl left with the used dishes. “It might work, I suppose,” Winnie said hesitantly.
Lance was relieved. “Would you, Winnie? I’d be grateful. It would only be for a few days. And when morning came, you’re always such an early riser anyway, we could put the pallet under my bed during the day, that kind of thing. No one would be the wiser.”
Winnie took a deep breath before expelling it. “Alright, then.”
“You’re such a good sport, Winnie. Thank you.” Easy, relieved, he suddenly smiled. “It was a happy three days, wasn’t it, Winnie? Everyone seemed to be having a splendid time. It was a good mix of people, though I’m wondering why Howard Collins winked at you as he left.”
Winnie smiled. “He’s ready to settle down, wants to get married. I think he liked one of the young ladies he was introduced to, that’s all.”
“I pity the poor, young thing who has to take on his housekeeper. I’ve seen her, you know, heard a comment or two; you know what I mean.”
Winnie chuckled. “Yes, she likes to think she’s in charge. But, if I know the good doctor, he’ll choose a woman who won’t be put in second place in his household.”
“Yes, of course,” Lance said, happily tucking into his plate of the warm apples. Winnie, smothering the unhappy sigh that threatened, the smile wiped from her face, slowly pierced one of the apple slices, lifted it to her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
“I just had a horrible thought,” Winnie said. “Supposing this next company comes only to be drifted in. I’m not sure I could manage more than a few days of entertaining them.”
Lance shuddered. “I hope not, too. My own thought is, however, that you could handle anything put to you,” he said.
“Is that a compliment?” she asked, surprised.
“Why yes, it is. I hold you entirely responsible for the success of the first. I’m sure this latest will go as well.”
“Let us hope so,” she said, gathering Lance’s and her own dishes to return to the kitchen. Well, that wasn’t so awful, she said to herself along the way. He seemed very calm at the end, and I’ve no need to tell him more.
Lance sat glued in his chair, staring at the doorway to the corridor leading to the kitchen. It hadn’t gone badly, had it? Winnie hadn’t brought up that interval when they’d been intimate, or at least he had been. Perhaps Winnie, too, though it was possible she preferred to forget it. Or didn’t want to embarrass him, or her. Apparently, she thought he was walking in his sleep when it occurred. And, bringing it up would muddy the waters for their situation here and was best left alone. If Winnie didn’t mention it, neither would he.
Much later, Lance was forced to rise from his seat in his office when he heard guests arriving and went to welcome them, stopping at the bottom of the stairway to wait on Winnie just coming down. Jem and Barnaby took care of the carriages and horses, and in came the guests after stamping their feet on the space beneath the front portico, their wraps and hats taken by a maid as directed by Mr. Stevens, a footman and another maid taking their valises, with another footman showing them to the sitting room to warm their hands and feet. Winnie looked very pretty, Lance thought, in a brown velvet skirt beneath a lined white lawn top with full sleeves. Over the top was a fitted weskit like a man’s vest, of brown velvet, unusual for a woman but looking very smart on Winnie.
The new group, more settled and sedate than the last, peeked about the house as Isabelle and Jem brought refreshments to the sitting room. After an hour of casual conversation, guests were shown to their rooms if they wished to rest. Those who went found their rooms charming and well-disposed, with small tables, lamps, a comfortable chair or two, and an empty bureau for their clothing. The ladies’ maids who came along were given Winnie’s old room for the stay, Winnie’s clothing having been moved to Lance’s room, the pallet and its covers under his bed, one of his drawers cleaned out for Winnie and her dresses hung alongside his attire in the armoire. Absently he ran his hand along them, stroking the soft and warm dresses lightly. The dresses and Winnie’s comb, hairbrush, and pins on top of his bureau gave him an odd feeling. He hadn’t seen the outrageous nightwear, absent from the wall in her own room, and wondered, where were the pieces? He looked, and they weren’t among her dresses, nor were they in the single drawer allotted. He had pictured Winnie in them more than once, her hair loose and curling around her small shoulders, bright blue eyes wide, the sheer fabric turning pink like her skin underneath, mouth moist with invitation, the firm, moderate breasts lifting the fabric as she breathed, nipples tightening under his gaze, and the triangle of her mound a darker shadow below. Forcing himself away from the vision, he deliberately distracted himself with work outside, the account books, and lately, helping to organize the house in the proper order. It was almost perfect now, his house, as good as it had ever been, perhaps less ornate, but warm and cozy with the new draperies and bedcovers, and rugs on
the floors. Someday, Winnie had said, it would be pleasant to have paintings on the walls, and when income permitted, Lance decided they would be the last thing to complete the house.
For supper and afterward, Winnie turned the brown velvet weskit inside out to reveal the white satin lining sprinkled with sparkling sequins. Isabelle had piled Winnie’s curls on top of her head and pinned them in place. Lance thought she looked regal, fresh and young, even with the incomparable Lady Caroline at table dressed in a black moiré gown, displaying the tops of white breasts, her black hair bound in a sleek chignon.
“That’s a very different sort of dress you’re wearing,” she said for Winnie’s ears only.
“It is, isn’t it? I designed it, in fact,” Winnie said quietly.
“Really. I wonder if it shouldn’t become all the rage soon,” Lady Caroline said, her lips curling up at the ends in a smile.
“Oh, I hope not,” Winnie said, “though Mistress Goodwill thought it might.”
Lady Caroline frowned. “Mistress Goodwill?”
“Yes. You know, the dressmaker?”
“Ah! Yes, of course.” A faint pink flushed briefly on Lady Caroline’s cheeks.
Winston Trueblood had been watching and listening “It’s quite clever, Winnie, If I may call you that, since everyone else seems to. A vest, turned in on itself, to make you sparkle like a star.” His hazel eyes shone warmly on Winnie.
“Thank you, Wins,” she said, pronouncing the name with light emphasis and hearing his answering chuckle. Lance looked up from his plate to stare at first Winnie, then Trueblood. Lady Caroline took note of the exchange, too, and frowned, her head turning from one to the other as Lance’s had, an unreadable expression on her face.
Lady Windermere laughed. “Ah, young people.” Her eyebrows rose. “Are we to be graced later with another of your musicales, Lady Brevard?”
“Yes, I should be most happy to play for you. In fact, I’ve been practicing some new pieces, and Mister Jones, our caretaker, has taught me some quite bawdy tavern songs as well, though perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Lady Windermere said impishly. “My late husband was quite fond of ‘bawdy tavern songs’.”
“And then there are the songs of the troops. Have you any in your, er, what is the word, repertoire?” Lord Blackwater asked.
“I know a few,” Winnie said. “At another gathering there was a sampling, several very moving pieces, and others quite audacious.”
“Oh, it sounds splendid,” Lady Windermere said. “Someone mentioned readings. Are we to have readings during our stay?”
“Yes,” Winnie said. “For one game, we’ve written familiar readings, short ones, on paper, put them in a hat, and when one is drawn, the first to guess the source wins a prize.”
“Oh, it sounds like fun!” enthused Lady Ellen, Lady Windermere’s very attractive niece, one of the handful of young people who came.
“And we’ll have other games and dancing.”
“But that means you won’t be joining in the dancing,” Winston said, his mouth turning down at the ends before smiling again.
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind playing,” Lady Ellen said quickly. “I’d be happy to spell you, Lady Brevard.”
“She’s quite good,” Lady Windermere said, nodding and beaming with pride.
“Wonderful,” Winnie said. She hadn’t been able to dance at the last event, and her feet itched to. “Ah, here come the deserts,” she said as Jem walked in a with the tray of perfect lemon tarts from Frances’ kitchen.
The next days were nearly as perfect as those tarts, smooth, pleasant to the eyes, and with a bit of piquancy. When the older men tired of watching the young people at their entertainments, they drifted to the smoking room for cards and Lance was forced to leave. Lady Blackwater and Lady Windermere enjoyed watching the young people dancing and flirting, and the games were new and not too hard to try. After the first steps, Winnie’s dancing picked up and she was much sought out, especially, Lance noted before he left for the smoking room, by Winston Trueblood.
Mistress Goodwill was right, Winnie decided. ‘Wins’ was a charmer, one who made her feel as if she were the ony woman in the room, that he had eyes only for her when they were dancing. Though she had no experience with courting, Winnie figured it might be like what she experienced with Winston. He was an excellent dancer, light on his feet, turning her with grace and ease, holding her hand just so, his other warm on the back of her waist. A girl could easily get lost in the forest of his eyes. She had to remind herself that he was the same with the other young women, Lady Ellen, Lady Caroline, and the other two who’d come.
Lance danced with Winnie once, a most strange experience. Each of them was careful of the other as if holding their breaths. There was something else, too, that Winnie felt, likely not shared by Lance: a delicate tracery, a frisson that wound through Winnie’s body unexpectedly with the feeling of Lance’s hand on her aback, the way his eyes held hers for those brief moments. Once, his searching gaze fell to her mouth, and it was as if she’d been kissed, lightly at first, then more deeply as he stared at the open, parted lips before his chin clenched and he pulled his glance away. Later, standing on the outside watching Winnie dance with Winston or another, Lance seemed uncomfortable and stiff. Did it mean anything? What with the history between them, could it mean something? Winnie tried to put it out of her mind, but still….
Once the dancing was done and the other games played out, it was time for the tavern songs, some of which made the young ladies blush as they were played and sung. Slowly, men from the smoking room came out to join in. Winnie caught her breath, hearing the voices all blending in splendid fashion. Even in the Alexander household, never had she been a part of a lovelier holiday.
With the last night of company, Winnie, almost ready to expel a breath of relief, was dressed for bed in a nightshift and warm robe. When Lance came, she stepped outside a moment for him to change into his nightclothes. Back in the room, her pallet was already pulled from under the bed with the pillow and coverings on top. Lance’s eyes were closed, and he was breathing evenly when she lay down and slowly drifted off.
Something awakened Winnie, a noise, an odd feeling, something. Hard to pull away from sleep, she blinked her eyes quickly then felt for the room key that had been on a ribbon around her wrist, and it was gone! Hurriedly, she stood and checked Lance’s bed. Panic gripped her, because he wasn’t there. With shaking hands, she managed to light a candle and looked about the room holding the light aloft. Yes, Lance was gone! All the worst fears assailing her, Winnie flew to the door, praying its wasn’t locked from the outside, but it opened with ease, thank goodness. Outside the room, she slipped down the corridor one way, then the other, seeing nothing amiss. She listened at the doors, but no one was astir, the only noises heard were the usual sounds of people sleeping. Hurrying back, Winnie descended the stairway. Never afraid of the dark, it and the eerie silence now frightened her as she hurried to search all the rooms one by one. Winnie found the double doors to the sitting room closed. Then the sounds came that made her hair stand on end, her heart skip a beat. Oh, what to do, what to do? What was happening couldn’t be mistaken. There was whispering, soft moans, and deeper sounds that struck Winnie dumb, her eyebrows dipped in pain, one hand across her mouth to keep her from crying out. Supposing it were Lance and another woman. Winnie pictured the woman. Lady Caroline had rather openly flirted with Lance and, of course, what man wouldn’t respond? But what if it were Lady Ellen and a young man? There had been glances passing between the young woman and a fellow, whose name Winnie couldn’t recall she was so distraught. What ought she to do? What could she do? The choices were simply awful. No matter what Winnie did, the outcome would be ruinous for someone. She left on quiet feet and went to the kitchen, the stove warm in the chilled house. Winnie went to stand by it, teeth chattering and limbs trembling as she tried to think of an answer. Closing eyes tight, she firmed her mouth and
reached for one of the clean pots put on the back of the stove to dry out. Already too much time had passed since she’d stood in front of those doors. Winnie lifted the pot and brought it down sharply on the stone floor. The loud noise hurt the ears; surely it would be heard by those in the sitting room. Heart thumping, she waited. But waiting, what good was it? What would happen, would happen. Winnie left the kitchen and walked slowly to the dining room, opening the door. “Lance!” She called his name softly, and he turned in the middle of the room. The expression she recognized, had seen the empty, staring look before. And around his neck was the ribbon with the room key. He seemed to be looking straight at Winnie. He became rigid when Winnie touched his arm. “Are you alright, Lance,” she asked quietly. “Come along, dear. Let’s go back to sleep,” she said. “Perhaps I startled you. Did I? I didn’t mean to. I only dropped a pan onto the floor of the kitchen. It made a frightful noise, didn’t it?” Talking to him quietly, Winnie felt his slow relaxation. She led him slowly through the house, passing the sitting room with its doors now open. Winnie peeked in and couldn’t see anything amiss, though the glance was too spare to take anything in and she couldn’t take time to look thoroughly. It was imperative to get Lance to bed before the two of them were discovered wandering around in the middle of the night. She could imagine the questions. The human mind was endlessly inventive, and the possibility of at least a handful of scandals ran through her mind with variations on those present. However, Winnie could only move so fast with Lance’s slow dreamlike plodding. It was necessary to coax him every inch of the way and up each step of the stairway, finally ending in Lance’s room. Winnie let out a grateful breath.
Closing the door firmly, she took the key from lance’s neck and locked the door again. She turned and Lance stood in the middle of the room, looking like a lost little boy. Her heart grew soft at the picture. He must be freezing, standing like that with no robe, no shoes on his feet, walking through the house in the dead of winter. “You poor thing,” she said, going to him, taking his hand to lead him to the bed with covers already turned down. Standing before him to try to ease him back to the bed, suddenly his arms were around her. Impulsively she returned the gesture, and they stood locked together for some minutes before Winnie tried to disengage. But his arms wouldn’t loosen.