Good Housekeeping

GOOD HOUSEKEEPING

by NancyBe

            The woman stood gazing into the antique mirror with its burnished gold braid frame.  The reflection that met her eyes, however, was not the same as the stark reality that the hard, polished glass projected back into the lonely room.  The image her mind had conjured was that of a younger version of herself, a self who had never existed.   This image was adorned in a lovely evening gown, her elegant neck decorated by glittering gems.  The hand that she lovingly brushed across her cheek in a slow, reverent motion was held snugly inside a long, snow-white glove that ended at her elbow.  The gloved hand stroked her cheek over and over, extending down under her chin.  With a dreamy smile, she watched the elegant glove caress her face as only a lover would and remembered the events of the evening.

            He had held this hand, HER hand, tonight.  He had touched it and held it, and she would never forget the feel of his smooth, manicured hand on hers.  She frowned slightly at her image, and the hand’s journey halted for a moment.  She wasn’t given to exaggeration or telling stories.  He hadn’t “held” her hand exactly, but he had touched it, put his own over hers if only for a moment.  And it had been no accident.  He had done it purposely; she wasn’t imagining that.  Her hand resumed its stroking, her smile restored.

            The hand clothed in the imaginary glove showed signs of age and hard work, but it was a strong, competent had that could still do what was required of it.  She kept the nails clipped short, but they were always clean and unpolished as befit her station.  The knuckles were gnarled and rough, sometimes even raw, in spite of the lotion she religiously rubbed into them every time she removed them from water.  She saw none of this in her magic mirror, however; she saw only her dreams as her hand continued its loving worship of her face.

 ~~~

            Roger Collins was dining alone this evening.  The rest of his family was engaged in activities hither and yon, and so he was left to enjoy only his own company.  Sarah Johnson watched him surreptitiously from the doorway as he slowly ate his meal while studying the stock pages.  She studied the line of his aristocratic nose and the furrow in his brow as he concentrated on the numbers before him.  Sarah’s heart ached for him and the loneliness that he hid behind the arrogant façade that he presented to the world.  She had watched him from afar for years, and she knew that he was really a sensitive man who desperately needed to be loved.  So many times, Sarah had wanted to hold him in her arms and tell him that she understood, but it was impossible.  He was lord of the manor and she only the housekeeper.

            So Sarah Johnson found other ways to silently proclaim her love for Roger Collins.  She was often appalled at the way his family treated him, and tonight was no exception – leaving him all alone for the evening!  She took the opportunity to prepare his favorite meal, Lobster Newburgh, and had served it to him with all the flourishes.  He had been pleasantly surprised and had smiled his gentle smile up at her when she had place the fragrant plate before him.  His smile softened and lit up his face, and it unnerved Sarah to the point the she was afraid she would drop the dish right into his lap.  She managed to regain her composure and quickly exited the dining room to calm herself in the familiar confines of the kitchen.

            It had happened when she had brought him his dessert – another favorite- coconut bread pudding.  He had looked up when she entered the room and exclaimed, “Why, Mrs. Johnson, you are positively spoiling me!  All of my favorites in one evening?  Whatever is the occasion, my dear woman?”

            Sarah had blushed a deep crimson at his words and had stumbled for a plausible explanation.  “Well, uh, Mr. Roger, I just thought that, with all of the family away, you might need a little cheering up, is all.”

            “Mrs. Johnson, that is very thoughtful of you.”  She had set his dessert on the table in front of him, and he had lightly placed one of his hands on top of hers as she was drawing away.  “Thank you, Mrs. Johnson.  You practically are one of the family, you know,” he had intoned in his low velvet voice, the voice that made Sarah’s knees turn to jelly.

            Searching for her voice, she had mumbled, “Thank you, Mr. Roger,” before all but flying out of the room.  Back in the kitchen, she had stared at her hand for an endless moment.  It tingled still from his touch, and she brushed it over her cheek ever so slowly.  His touch transferred from her hand to her face.  His touch….

 ~~~

            The woman in the mirror stopped to regard her hand with awe once more.  She lightly kissed it and doing so, it seemed she was able to inhale his very essence.  Her eyes returned to the vision of the might-have-been young woman before her, the woman Roger Collins might have wanted.  Abruptly, the image in the looking glass began to waver and dissolve, and she found herself face-to-face with Sarah Johnson, the good housekeeper, once again.

            Her hand stopped its journey in mid-air, and its mate came up to meet it as she buried her head in them.  Her thin body was wracked by sobs as the practical woman that she was forced her to face the truth: Despite his words, despite his actions, he would never think of her as more than a servant.

            Turning from the mirror, she shook her fist at the unfairness of it.  He had been married to those two good-for-nothings, and she had had to watch as they both had broken his heart.  Oh sure, they were both beautiful, but she knew that inside both of them had beat hearts as cold as ice.  First that Laura, and then that Cassandra.  She had really been a wicked one.  Why was he so taken in by these she-devils, these monsters whose innocent blue eyes spit fire the minute his back was turned?

            Just the thought of Cassandra sent a shiver through Sarah.  She had a suspicion that there had been much more to that one than had met the naked eye.  Sarah was sure that if the surface veneer of Cassandra Blair Collins had been scratched off that her true face would have been revealed, and it would have shown a rotted mask of evil.  Sarah Johnson was afraid that the second Mrs. Roger Collins might have even been a bona fide witch.  She had heard things, she had, coming from Mrs. Collins’ room.  Unnatural sounds, evil voices, cruel laughter, even what had sounded like – incantations.  Sarah hugged herself tightly at the memory.  She tried to banish these unbidden thoughts, but they flooded her mind until a hidden truth revealed itself to her: Cassandra Collins had used witchcraft to get and keep her husband!  She had put spells on him, spells that Sarah had overheard.  Spells that Sarah could repeat because she had a photographic memory.  She not only heard words, she SAW them.  Cassandra had put spells on Roger Collins, spells that Sarah now knew….

            She shook her head violently at the temptation.  You will not do such a thing! she admonished herself sternly.  You are a good, God-fearing woman, and these are words from the devil!  But she made the mistake of looking down at her hand, of remembering his thrilling touch, and she knew then that she was lost.

~~~

            Sarah had finished her bath and had just put on her prettiest dress when the knock came at the door.  She disdained perfume, but she was redolent with the scent of lily of the valley that she liked to put in her bath.  She guiltily glanced at herself in the mirror, recalling the wicked words she had chanted less than an hour before.  Words she had heard Cassandra whisper, words that would bewitch the man she had loved in vain.  Now he was at her door, responding to her beckoning, and she knew he was under her power.  She also knew that the spell would not last beyond morning.  The moment she had begun the incantation, she had become aware of the limited scope of its effectiveness.  But it had been too late, and she was determined to enjoy her one evening with Roger Collins, even if she did have to play the unwanted role of Cinderella.

            “Sarah, oh, Sarah!” his cultured voice cried out as she opened the door wide for him.  “You look so beautiful tonight!”

            The adoration on his face and the enthusiasm in his voice caused her to beam even though she knew none of his feelings were genuine.  It didn’t matter.  He was hers tonight, and she was his.

            Roger Collins’ head felt as if it were full of buzzing bees.  He had felt compelled to come to Mrs. Johnson’s room and seemed helpless to stop himself.  Why on earth would I want to see Mrs. Johnson at this time of night? he wondered, knocking at her door and shaking his head in confusion.  The motion only made the bees buzz louder, and he closed his eyes against the pain.

            When he opened them again, he found himself looking into the eyes of a gorgeous young woman.  She was dressed in a long evening gown of pale yellow, and she wore white gloves which extended halfway up her delicate arms.  She was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen, and he seemed to know her.  Her name was Sarah, and he wanted her as he had wanted no other woman before.

            She invited him in, and they sat together for a very long time, talking, laughing, flirting.  Roger, enamored of the beautiful young Sarah his mind saw, flattered her shamelessly.  Her face flushed furiously at his endless compliments, and it did not take much effort to forget that this was all an illusion.  He regaled her with endless stories and funny little jokes.  Before long, she found her hand held tightly between both of his, and she made no effort to resist this familiarity.

            Roger ached to hold Sarah in his arms and to feel her lithe body pressed close to his.  But she was a proper young lady, and he dared not insult her by taking these liberties.  He spied a small record player in the corner and asked if she would honor him with a dance.  Her eyes lit up at the prospect of being twirled around the room in his strong arms, and she gladly agreed.  Roger pushed the heavy, dark furniture in the middle of the room against the wall while Sarah put a record on to play.  Bowing to her, he took her in his arms for the first of the endless waltzes they would enjoy throughout the night.  Drinking in her scent, he knew that he would never again be able to smell lily of the valley without thinking of his beloved Sarah.

            Sarah felt entirely at home in Roger’s arms.  As waltz followed waltz, he had gradually pulled her closer to him, and she found her head nestled comfortably against his shoulder.  Whirling her gracefully across the floor, he drew back to look into her sparkling eyes and to gently kiss her lips.

            “I love you, Sarah,” he whispered to her.  She blinked at him in surprise.  She had never expected to hear these words from him except in her dreams.

            “Oh, Mist-“ she caught herself, “Oh, Roger!” she said and melted deeply into his embrace.  He kissed her slowly, reverently, and she knew that he wanted her.  Sarah returned his kiss but drew her body back from his.  She was still a proper woman, afterall, and she was not going to have carnal relations with a man who was not her husband.

            Roger understood her gesture, and respecting it, resumed their dancing.  He hoped to enjoy many more evenings with young Sarah and to wait for better things to come.  She smiled to herself at his gentlemanly conduct.  Relaxing in his arms once again, she glanced over his shoulder and sighed deeply to see the beginnings of dawn teasing the horizon.  The ball was about to end in Sarah’s fantasy, and she knew she must send her prince on his way.

            Sarah bid Roger a fond goodnight and thanked him for the lovely evening.  He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a sweet kiss against it.  Closing the door silently behind him, Sarah leaned against the ornate wood and raised her hand to her face, caressing her cheek for a moment with the kiss he had left there.  And then she began to prepare herself for another day of housekeeping at Collinwood.

~~~

Roger Collins sat at the dining room table with his head in his hands.  He had retired early but felt as if he had only slept for a few hours.

            “Good morning, Mr. Roger,” he heard Mrs. Johnson say in an unusually cheery voice.

            “Thank you, Mrs. Johnson,” he managed to grumble as she placed his breakfast in front of him. He noticed that she had again made one of his favorites, this time French toast stuffed with bananas and bacon.  Glancing at her hand, he stared for a moment and then shook his head as if to clear it.  He could have sworn she had been wearing long white gloves but looking again saw only her workwoman’s hands.

            “Is there something wrong, Rog- uh, Mr. Roger?” she asked, hastily correcting herself.

            “Huh? Oh, no, nothing at all, Mrs. Johnson.  I guess I just didn’t sleep very well.  But you seem as if you had a pleasant evening last night.”

            She smiled shyly at him and agreed that she had indeed had a pleasant evening.  She turned to leave, and Roger Collins thought that he smelled lily of the valley in her wake.  He stopped with fork in mid-air with a frown on his face.  Why did this scent evoke such a peculiar feeling inside him?  Unable to re-capture the memory, he shrugged slightly and returned his attention to his breakfast.

            Sarah Johnson’s face was lit by a secret smile as she returned to the kitchen.  Her prince had not placed the glass slipper on her foot this morning, but she smiled because she would always have the memory of their enchanted evening.

            And because she remembered more than one of Cassandra Collins’ spells.

THE END?