Moon Garden. V. J. Banis

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СКАЧАТЬ it was locked,” Ellen insisted, but she added, less firmly, “I thought it was.” More than that, she had been sure that it was. It had not been locked in the morning, however, and Aunt Minna knew nothing about it, and Ellen was sure those dark eyes were not concealing a lie.

      So unless she accepted the idea that one of the servants, or Dawson Elliott, had stolen along the hall in the night to lock her in, and again later to unlock the door, the only conclusion was that she must somehow have been mistaken. And considering what the past year had been like for her, that was not a very pleasant idea to contemplate.

      “What has happened,” Minna said, apparently dismissing the matter as of no consequence, “is that you had a bad dream and you’re having a little difficulty this morning remembering that it was a dream. I assure you, my child, locking people in their rooms is not my style. And even if it were, what possible reason do you think I could have?”

      She looked at her niece and because Helen looked so miserable, she suddenly understood.

      “I assure you,” Minna said with a tenderness quite uncommon to her, “I had put that matter completely out of my thoughts. And now I think it’s time you did the same. Come, dry those tears, and let’s put things in order here, shall we?”

      It was Saturday, and Aunt Minna had decided Ellen’s room must be rearranged, and she must personally supervise the work. Ellen, relieved to know that she hadn’t been locked in like a dangerous animal (although it was a bit frightening to think she was having trouble separating reality from dreams) stood by and watched in awe.

      Minna seemed set on dispelling any gloom by the practice of much busy-ness. Every few minutes she would think of something more that was needed to make the room comfortable.

      She had Mrs. Bondage, and Bertha, and a frail looking elderly gentleman who turned out to be Pomfret, flying up and down the stairs in a whirlwind of activity.

      In the process, Ellen learned that these three made up the servants staff, and that the two women came days, while Pomfret lived in a room in the basement. She learned a good deal too of Minna’s attitudes regarding servants.

      “You must see that they take care of things,” Aunt Minna warned her. “See that they do what you ask them. Servants get some strange ideas these days. Pomfret talked to me once about days off. Can you imagine? Days off! And you must see that they have things to do for you, even if it’s unnecessary. Otherwise they don’t respect you, and then they become impossible.”

      She would interrupt these monologues at frequent intervals to flay the servants with her tongue. These scoldings seemed to disturb Ellen more than the staff, and after a time she began to realize that the servants were quite accustomed to these harangues and attached little if any importance to them.

      Ellen must have a tea caddy and a silver service, in case she wanted tea in her room. The dressing table was placed wrong for the light, and it must be moved. The new position was equally bad, but satisfied the older woman. There must be a writing table, and paper, and an ink stand.

      It was clear that Aunt Minna was enjoying herself. For Ellen it was such a welcome change, all this purposeful bustle, and no one giving a hoot if her feelings were hurt over something, or watching what they said to be sure they did not offend. Aunt Minna had no hesitation in calling someone crazy. She apparently considered all but a handful of Savannah’s residents to be in that condition.

      She was also, Ellen decided, the most tireless stander ever known. When Ellen suggested she supervise the work from a chair, Minna waved the suggestion away.

      So they both stood, because Ellen did not want to admit to greater weakness, and if her aunt thought of her niece’s comfort in this respect, she did not once mention it. As Minna’s dresses came almost to the ground, Ellen speculated whether the woman might be solid from the waist down and thereby less vulnerable to fatigue than ordinary persons. She nearly asked to see her ankles, and had a giggling fit at the thought of the reaction this might provoke, so earning herself a look from Aunt Minna, who apparently had no high opinion of unexplained giggling either.

      At last Minna seemed to think the room satisfactory, and retired to her own sitting room. Not, Ellen felt sure, to lie down. It seemed impossible for her to imagine her aunt voluntarily assuming a horizontal position.

      She herself was exhausted by such tireless energy. She sat at the writing table, remembering that she must write a note to her mother to tell her she had arrived and was safely installed in the house. She found at once that the ink in the massive chased silver and glass ink stand had long since dried to dust. She got a ballpoint pen from her purse and wrote her note with that instead.

      She made it succinct. She could not, without alarming her mother, say, “You were right, Aunt Minna is as crazy as a loon, and I love her.”

      No good telling her mother about the mix-up in dates, as that would only worry her. She knew the house, so it needn’t be described, and she would not take well to the idea that it was crumbling into dust. And if she knew that Aunt Minna had another house guest, a single man who was young and good looking, and a writer, well....

      What she told her mother was that she had arrived safely, she found house and aunt both charming, and was feeling very much at peace already. That, she felt confident, was what her mother would need to hear.

      She addressed the envelope and, sealing it, took it downstairs with her. Her aunt was not about, but Bondage was scurrying along the hall on one of her errands, and Ellen asked her what to do about mailing the letter.

      “Just leave it with me miss,” Bondage said. “I’ll see Pomfret takes it down to the station with the other mail.”

      “Does he go regularly?” Ellen asked, thinking she ought to know if there was a schedule, so that she could suit her letter writing to it.

      “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Elliott does a lot of mailing, to do with his book, I suppose. Pomfret goes just after lunch every day.”

      “I’ll remember, and thank you,” Ellen said, handing the letter over.

      “You’re welcome, I’m sure.” Bondage bobbed her head and smiling cheerfully, went on her way.

      It was not yet lunchtime. Ellen felt very much on her own. She wandered through a few of the downstairs rooms. They were very grand and spoke of a life that was much more elegant than todays. In her mind’s eye, she saw these rooms filled with ladies in crinoline. An army of servants would post and speed, while outside, the Terrace would be lined solid with fine carriages.

      She laughed at her reveries. Someone, she forgot who, had said that one’s reverence for the past was just in proportion to one’s ignorance of it. It was probably quite true. If she had really been here in such a scene as she had been imagining, it would probably have been quite different, and far less romantic.

      And what of her aunt? She lived in the past, although she could hardly be said to be ignorant of it. She dwelt in this old house as if under glass. What if that fragile shell were to be shattered?

      Well, she herself knew all about fragile shells. She hid within one herself, knowing that it was scant armor, yet still seeking refuge within it.

      Was she so different from other people, though? What of all those others, all the vast multitudes that made up the race of men, each wearing his own delicate armor, walking about carefully, trying to avoid bumping into one another, lest the glass shatter? And, yes, sometimes one got too close

      She СКАЧАТЬ