Household (36 page)

“I see. I’m glad. I think you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“I am sure I will.”

Though she had been dreading this evening, dreading to see him again, Livia did not experience the embarrassment she had expected upon greeting him. In fact, before the reality of his presence, the dream faded away, and any qualms she had entertained were based on her foolishness in allowing what was no more than a nightmare to distract her as much as it had. Certainly she could not dread Mr. Grenfall. She truthfully could no longer deny that she was attracted to him, and she felt unhappy about that. There were so many lovely young women in the group. She could not imagine that he would single her out. He had given her a most admiring glance tonight. Probably he approved her new gown, bought, if truth must be told, because of what he had said about the ancient Greek costumes. It resembled a Grecian tunic and its yellow hue was flattering to her dark complexion, also bringing out the lights in her eyes. She had often wondered how she happened to have what Orin Hawley had called “yellow eyes.” She much preferred the adjective “golden” used by her father. He did not have much of an explanation for her unique coloring, save to say that she took after one of her mother’s relatives. Livia had learned long ago that he did not like to discuss his wife’s family.

“Here we are, Miss Blake.” Mr. Grenfall brought his horse to a stop at the porte-cochere of the old house.

“Oh, so soon,” she said. “I was not sleeping,” she added quickly. “I was thinking.”

“May I offer a penny for them?”

“What?”

“Your thoughts.”

“They weren’t very interesting, I fear.”

“Anything that you would think must be interesting, I am sure.” The groom had come forward to hold his horse, and climbing nimbly out of the trap, Mr. Grenfall came around to lift her down.

He was very strong, and for a moment she felt quite hepless in his grasp, a most unusual sensation. Even more unusual was the fact that she enjoyed it. And that, Mr. Grenfall, is one thought I would never share with you, she silently assured him.

A short time later Livia, setting down her third cup of aromatic tea, actually scanned the bottom of the cup in search of another sip. She wondered whether it was China or Indian but that did not matter. She would have to ask Vivienne or Charlotte where she might buy it. Looking around, she saw Vivienne coming toward her. She was wearing a blue gown that night, not as complimentary to her vivid coloring as the green she had worn at the previous meeting. It, too, was plunging, showing a great deal of her bosom. Her arms were bare, and Livia envied her. She felt uncommonly warm in her tunic.

“Good evening, my dear,” Vivienne said cordially. “Are you ready to join in the dancing?”

“Quite ready,” Livia assented eagerly.

“Come, then.” Vivienne beckoned, and Livia hurried after her into the cloakroom, stripping off her garments gladly. She felt so much freer without them. The cloak was not heavy, but she would be pleased when she could discard it. She slipped it off and threw it over a chair a second after returning to the meeting room. It was easier going through the motions of the dancing, and this time there was a different chant—a name was spoken, one she knew. It was that of Judge Elias P. Martin, a wealthy man and head of several philanthropic organizations. He was also running for congress on a reform ticket.

“Elias, Elias, Elias P. Martin,” Livia chanted with the rest of them and knew that she hated him, had always hated him and wanted him dead.

“Die, die, die, Elias,” she chanted. And there were other words she did not recognize but knew they would spell the end of this holier-than-thou-do-gooder, who had sworn to abolish corruption in Boston’s police force, something none of them wanted, least of all herself.

“Die, die, die Elias!” she screamed, leaping and whirling until her body was slippery with sweat and she was weak with the effort. Finally the older woman appeared and lifted her swords. The air was heavy with incense and with it was mingled another odor which, Charlotte explained, was burning salt.

They drank from various vessels. Livia remembered that from the previous week, and she also recalled the names of her companions: Charles, Mabel, Robert, Joyce, George, Myrna, Christopher, Anna, Eliza, Vivenne and Charlotte—and, of course, their leader, their High Priest, Septimus, Septimus, Septimus, so beautiful in his nakedness. With the exception of Eliza, the older woman, they were all such attractive people. She wondered why she had never met any of them in Marblehead, but of course they hailed from Salem.

She remembered something Septimus had told her. He had mentioned that a thirteenth member of the group was going to be initiated. Later, when she lay beside Vivienne catching her breath from the rigorous dancing, she mentioned that initiation, wondering when it would take place and whom they had chosen.

“You will be our thirteenth member, my dear,” Vivienne said.

Livia regarded her in startled surprise. “I thought I was only here to observe.”

“Oh, no, we need you. You will observe and then you will be initiated.”

“I am really to be a member!” Livia exclaimed.

“Our thirteenth member, yes. We have tested you and found that you will be a most welcome addition to our group,” Charles, a handsome young man who lay beside her, corroborated.

“Oh, I am delighted!” she exclaimed happily.

“So are we all.” Charles ran his finger down her back.

Livia giggled. “That tickles.”

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I wish someone would scratch my back.”

“Turn over and I will,” Livia said readily. He had a beautiful back, she thought, as she began to run her nails across it very lightly. His skin was smooth and there was no hair on it. Some of the men were very hairy, front and back. She had noticed that when they danced. However Septimus was also free of hair save between his legs. “There,” she said lifting her hands from Charles’ back. “Is that enough?”

“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.