Chapter seven:
Jack was restless. Completely and utterly restless. The rickety bed in which he slept tonight seemed to be unable to contain the weight of his mind. It's wrought iron headboard seemed to be too close to his head. The mattress beneath his body seemed to complain bitterly about his endless tossing and turning. Its creaks prevented him from settling. It was far too warm to sleep. He was flustered, and had removed his nightshirt at some point, or maybe he never had put one on. He couldn't actually recall anything beyond the thoughts which rattled about in his banging head.
It wasn't the bed. Or the heat. Or even the fact that the full moon was shining its brightness directly into his bedroom through the flimsy curtains.
It was her.
Rose Hockley. A married woman. A mother to a child which he had delivered a month ago. And tonight, she had danced within his arms and had come alive as she should be each and every single day. She was beautifully vibrant and he, the mere footman was aching to speak to her again. To see her for a few second.
With a heavy head, he slipped out of his bed. It wasn't even remotely welcoming tonight. Usually, the fluffy pillow would welcome him and the blanket would envelope his aching body and he would sleep right through until dawn. Now though, he was sure that dawn would be approaching in two or three hours and he hadn't even closed his eyes just yet. He fumbled about for the shirt that he was sure would be discarded upon the floor of his room and as he rubbed away the blurriness from his eyes, he found it and pulled it across his shoulders. He would fasten it as he went. No one else would be downstairs at this hour. Many times, he had snuck out the back door for a smoke, or a glass of milk. Approaching the door of his room, he was enveloped by the absolute darkness of the corridor and he then realised he was barefoot. Perhaps it was best, sneaking about without the heels of his shoes tapping across wood in the middle of the night would ensure that he could travel about incognito without waking others and having to answering to Mrs. Ball's shrill voice which would kill his head right off.
Jack fiddled with the buttons of his shirt, and blinked his eyes to adjust them to the night. He navigated his way past the other footman's rooms, then the corridor wound left to a small circular, winding staircase which led to the corridor which diverted off to either the servant's kitchen or the main house. The women slept separate from the men and the rooms were separated by a locked door which only the head housekeeper had access to. Mrs. Ball had the entire servants in the palm of her hand. Sometimes, Jack had heard that the maids tried to cop off with one of the men guests staying in the servant's quarters and once, the key which unlocked the door had been stolen. It was all part of the gossip served each day downstairs.
Quickly, Jack ascended the staircase downward and felt the coolness of the servants' quarters envelope him as he went. Felt the roughness of the wood against his bare feet. Felt the way his head was somewhat clearer as he freely moved towards the fractured moonlight as it shone through the un-curtained windows in the hallway and then he spotted something almost glowing in the dim light and it was moving, silently, quickly. Towards him. He blinked, once or twice and then--
--he collided with something so frail that it almost collapsed in one piece. It was white. Completely covered in frills. He would have believed it to be an apparition if he wasn't grasping whoever it was within his hands. Two delicate and cold palms within his own and he knew, instantly who it was. Had he fallen asleep and now was dreaming? No, of course not!
''Rose?''
In return, she squeezed his hands as her breathing quickened. Before they could glance at the other, or even register who it truly was, a clattering from the kitchen disturbed them both and on instinct, Jack placed his arms about her shoulders and twisted her quickly so that they quickly fell into the closest door, which was located just beside the staircase. It was a storage place for the cleaner's products and accessories and so as the lemon fragrance came across them both, they were enveloped by darkness and the clattering continued. Someone must be making a drink in the kitchen.
Turning his attention back to Rose, he felt how she was quivering within his arms, pressed so tightly against him in the cramped storage space and he slowly went to let her go until her freezing fingers connecting with his bare chest and it was only then that he recalled not buttoning his shirt. He heard her gasp. Felt her move back, but she didn't recoil. It felt more polite. An unspoken apology for touching him in a place where no woman had in long time. An intimate place by some standards. Skin to skin contact was saved only for those who were married.
''Rose?''
''I'm sorry--'' she whispered, almost inaudibly. ''I came downstairs for a glass of water and then, I was lost...''
''Lost in your own house?''
She was silent. Her breathing was uneven. And the clattering seemed to have stopped.
''You could have at least put the light on.'' Jack laughed, whispering into her hair almost. It was free and unrestrained, just as it had had been the night she had given birth and the scent of it overwhelmed him more than the cleaning soaps. It was intoxicating and the single thing which he recalled most from that night. The scent of her hair.
''I didn't wish to wake anyone.''
''I was already awake.''
''I haven't slept at all, either.''
Jack couldn't see her. Only feel her close to him. Not touching. But the heat from her radiated against his bare chest and he started to feel his heart give out more.
''I hope Adeline hasn't kept you awake.''
''Oh, no.'' Rose seemed hesitant. ''Something else...'' she trailed off, as footsteps, heavily clogged past the door outside in the corridor back towards the stairs and he felt Rose stiffen against him, as though she was scared of been caught. In truth, if she was, it would be devastating. Lord Hockley would certainly be made aware and a great deal would be made out of something so innocent. Or—lightly innocent. Jack pressed his index finger to where he believed her lip would be, to silence her in order to prevent them being caught and he caught her right on the mouth. Her lips were damp against his skin and her breathing stalled for a second, before it started again. It was warm. Tingling.
''Shh,'' he urged, ''just for a moment.''
Rose's palms came to rest right upon his chest both there tickling as they went and one landed right across his heart. It took a moment for him to realise that she was steadying herself. He placed his own hands atop hers and it was as though he was keeping her anchored to reality.
''It's all right, now.''
''I feel light headed, that is all, I can only apologise for my presence down here. I never intended to cause you a fright.''
''You didn't frighten me.''
It was as though both of their eyes had adjusted to the darkness and in addition to the lumps and bumps of the cleaner products on shelves and on tables behind them, Jack could just make out her eyes sparkling with moisture in the dim light.
''Well, I never intended to make a fuss.''
Jack didn't move her hand. He was scared to. And he was sure she would be able to feel how hard his heart was pumping blood around his body. Feel how hard it was racing. Feel how uneven his breathes were coming out. It was all for her; simply from speaking to her and been in such a close proximity.
''No, I was wondering more why you didn't just call the bell for a glass of water, rather than coming all the way down here--'' he adjusted his footing to find that she too, wasn't wearing any slippers, ''--barefoot.''
Rose's eyes were lighter in the unlit room and she moved both of her hands from beneath his. ''Actually, I had a thought. A far stranger thought that ever has occurred to me, but tonight at dinner, I offered to show you my collection of Monet's and recalled how you left before we had the chance.''
Jack furrowed his brow. ''There is always another time. Adeline had to be fed and I am sure that my welcome would have been outstayed.''
''Actually, no.'' Rose whispered. ''I couldn't settle because all I could see in my mind was Monet's landscapes.''
Jack silently laughed. ''Have you been drinking more wine than I have at dinner? Or taken a pill of some kind?''
''No,'' she exhaled, with a hint of frustration. ''I feel fine, well, aside from my inability to sleep.''
''Because of Monet?''
''Because of you.''
As the words were whispered, Jack's heart sank down deep to the very bottom of his stomach and then, she quickly fumbled to correct herself.
''Well, b-because of my promise. I hadn't shown you the paintings and they are dear to me.'' Rose stammered. ''And I had hoped for you to enjoy them, too. I had ceased your work today, and this evening and Mrs. Ball is none too pleased at that. You shall be paid in the full sum for today, and I shall not wish to interrupt your work another day so I was, somehow certain that you could have still been awake. Polishing your boots. Or eating bread. With cheese.''
Jack smiled as she finished, clearly, she recalled what he had stated his nightly routine had been. ''I tried to sleep right away but I couldn't sleep, either.''
''Oh?''
''It was hard to.''
''I see.''
Jack tried to breath but somehow it was getting stuffier in the small and cramped space. He was warm. Her hands felt cold still. Her freezing toes wiggled about, touching his every now and again, causing a deepening urge to take her back to his tiny bed, cram in beside her and wrap and huge blanket about them to keep her warm even though he was on fire himself. It was always about wishing to protect her from something, even the coldness of the floor. He would do whatever he could to prevent her from feeling anything but pure joy.
''I am a deep thinker at night,'' he told her quickly, ''I hardly ever sleep these days,''
Slowly, he reached down for her hand and without even querying, she allowed her fingers to curl within his, rubbing against the callouses. ''Aren't all artists?''
''Yes, so I hear.'' Jack smiled. ''I am going to guide us out, I will go first and check the corridor is clear. Just wait here, one moment.''
As quiet as he could, with her hand still within his, he pushed open the door and it fell open silently and the moonlight from the hallway lit up the area and illuminated Rose's face in a way which made her appear even more radiant than ever before. A quick glance about and there was no one downstairs. He turned back to her, using his hand to guide her out and then close the cleaning closet door behind them, she stood a few strides in front of it.
''Are you all right?''
Rose nodded, her endless red curls cascading down her back and in the white, voluminous nightdress, she had never appeared more angelic. His heart ached. His throat throbbed. His hands twitched. All for her. To touch her. To just hold her in the closest embrace and never let her go. When he had to, it would be hard.
''Yes, thank you.''
''Are your toes as cold as mine?''
Glancing downwards, they both saw how their feet were bare. She laughed, softly. ''Perhaps.''
''Next time you decide to go for a crazy midnight walk, at least wear slippers, huh?''
''Yes, and you should button your shirt.''
''Well, I never expected to see her ladyship down here.'' Jack mocked her title, and she laughed, lightly but his hands went to his buttons and quickly, he pulled it together to close the parts that he could in the dim light. The moon cast an eerie glow across them both dressed in white, and he made out her eyes watching his hands work to dress himself and it made his entire body tingle beyond any reason. It caused him to feel as though he had been plunged into frigid ice and then straight into the deepest fires of Hell and then back.
''I shall endeavour to put a light on the next time.''
''Do you often come down here?''
''No,'' she stopped, sharp, ''no this is only the second time, unless I have a need to speak with Mrs. Ball or Mr. Lovejoy but usually, I tend to stay upstairs.'' Rose seemed to glance about. ''It feels less lonely down here though.''
''That is because everyone sleeps wall to wall, cramped inside and we can hear every movement the other person makes.''
''Is it lonely?''
Jack considered her for a moment. ''No. Not until tonight.''
Rose's breathing turning shallow seemed to startle him and it was apparent that he had perhaps given away his reason for not being able to sleep; Rose damned Hockley. She smoothed it over, quickly. ''I'm sorry to hear, but I know how you feel, sometimes a little more than most realise.''
There was an affinity between them. Something strong. Something binding them together. Even a small thing such as been unable to sleep was now a cause for them to understand the other. How was it that something which was so greatly divided by the greatest of barriers could also be the most similar at the same time? It was another one of life's unfair mysteries.
''Is that why we are stood here, in the middle of the morning, chatting as though we are old ladies about town?''
Rose broke into laughter, and he shuffled about on his feet to keep himself from touching her cheeks. He knew how she felt beneath the pads of his fingers and he ached to feel that again but on the softest parts of her face, her fingers and her hair.
''Yes, perhaps we are both crazy.''
''With all due respect, your ladyship, I was not the one creeping about because I was seeing Monet paintings in my mind.''
''Are you saying that you do not admire his work?''
''Of course. His use of colour in his work is amazing.'' Jack's voice turned then, quieter but laced with a small bit of the same passion of which he had spoken of art and Paris earlier in the day.
''It is extraordinary. What do you make of Degas? I do adore his paintings of dancers. The way that he portrays them, so beautifully...''
''I have never seen anything much of his. Even in Paris.''
''I hear he lives alone and believes that artists must always reside alone. He portrays human isolation in his work more than anything.''
Jack felt the odd urge within his to speak about art endlessly. He felt the urge to take her, right there away from this village in the middle of nowhere to Paris to truly examine the work of real artists. To consume themselves with it. To show Adeline, as a child, just how to live so freely and carelessly but then, he was shot through the heart when he realised that it would ever be a dream and he must be truly exhausted beyond his own knowing to even think such a thing. Gazing back at her, she was swaying, as well.
Jack had to have been drained, but somehow, he felt he had as much electricity running through him as the brilliant lights in the main house.
''Do you contest to how he feels?'' Rose asked.
''Yes, I do. I have felt tired. Lonely. Depressed, sometimes. Starving. Thirsty. Dirty. But, I also have never felt more alive.''
Rose blinked in the dark, as though she was trying to dissect his thoughts. She would never guess them, he hoped.
''Why settle here then?''
Jack didn't know. Truly, he didn't. ''Because it felt right.''
''Does it no longer?''
''No, Rose, it feels more right now than before.''
Rose's swaying seemed to cease and she stepped forward towards him. The move frightened him, and there was a sincerity within her face.
''You must rest.'' Jack whispered, softly, knowing that he must sleep soon too, or at least will for it to come to him.
''I can't.''
''You need to, with Adeline nursing and --'' he trailed off, completely beneath a spell of tranquillity as the moonlight bathed her in a beautiful transcendent glow and her eyes appeared to be watering below. He almost knew what she was thinking. Why did he care so damned much? He didn't know.
Well, he did but...
''Come with me,'' Rose whispered, inviting him to an unknown place and his heart stalled. He was almost willing to go to Hell and back with her if it kept her happy.
''What?''
''Upstairs.''
Jack blinked, felt his stomach break free with nerves and then, he was expecting laughter but she was so very serious.
''What?''
''Come with me. To the gallery.''
Jack had to say no. It was inappropriate. It was a great risk. It was a wonderful opportunity and also one of the worst. But as the moonlight bounced off the walls creating beautiful shadows, and basking her in a wonderful light, he saw how she smiled. Extended her hand toward him.
All Jack could do was take it.