Dear readers: Sorry for the prior strangeness with the paragraphs; some weird word processing gremlin. It's all fixed. (A - O, let's go!)
Erik had brought Gabrielle back to his manor house in the French countryside for the night.
Ch. 4—Domestic Goddess
Morning greeted me with a sliver of bright sunlight through an opening in one of the heavy draperies. Momentarily disoriented, I thought I must be in Manhattan a hotel room, and then lucidity returned.
Nope, looks like my unscheduled stopover in 1876 may last a wee bit longer.
The familiar morning pressure rose in my lower abdomen. I have got to use the water closet; how quaint. I hope they have hot water here, I thought.
Peeking around the door, I saw no one in the hall and tiptoed toward the facility reaching it successfully without discovery. Upon my return, I heard voices and scurried back to my little haven. Bouncing back on the bed, I contemplated what I would wear. Maybe Erik could handle my curious mode of dress, but I doubted that his servants would take to it very well.
I scanned the pile of dresses from the Opera house and decided on a soft dove gray frock.--the least ostentatious of the bunch. The garment fit fairly well, if not a bit too long. Were all the ladies flaunting their bosoms as these dresses décolletage would suggest or had M. DuPuis simply chosen the most reveling outfits? Just like a man, doesn't matter what century he's from.
I took the uninterrupted time to unpack. Believing we would spend extra time enjoying New York, Tony and I had brought enough clothing for five days, There was an assortment of shoes, both sensible and extravagant; numerous outfits for the evening hours, plus an assortment of shorts, tops and jeans for summer sightseeing in the city.
Wrapped in tissue at the bottom of my suitcase lay a carefully chosen selection of "special occasion" lingerie from Victoria's Secret. I had hoped to salvage what little was left of my relationship with my unreliable fiancé.
Make-up and other sundry items were set on the vanity. I considered that I could be spirited back to the 21st century as quickly as I had entered this one making my current activities irreverent. But then what difference did it make? I could replace all this stuff when I returned.
I turned to Tony's carry-on bag.
The man suffered from a mild form of hypochondria and had packed enough prescriptions and over the counter meds to fill a "mom and pop" pharmacy. I saw none of the usual holiday gear in his bag—no novels or MP3 player. What I did discover shook me. Digging into the bags inside pocket, I drew out a new box of condoms, something that we had never used. It looked like two separate rendezvous had anticipated.
A rap on my door broke through my daze.
"Gabrielle, may I come in?" Erik's opulent voice wafted through from the other side of the door.
"I have navigated the torture devices that you so generously provided for me, it is now safe to enter Monsieur that is unless the hooks on this dreadful corset pop off."
Erik stepped carefully into the room. He looked puzzled. "Torture devices, Mademoiselle? There are no such devices in these rooms?"
Laughing, I said, "I'm kidding Erik; we don't wear corsets where I come from. They're most uncomfortable and confining. I feel certain that if I breathe, the hooks will break and the velocity would cause them to fly with such a force it could put out an eye."
He exhaled a sigh of relief and laughed with understanding. "I do not think they are necessary around the house, unless of course you chose to wear them."
The last part he said while eyeing my bosom, which was pushed out and propped up for display like a holiday turkey. Abruptly he caught himself and regained his composure.
"May I?" he motioned at a chair. Last night, I gave substantial thought to your plight. It is my observation that you will not do well on your own until you have been taught the customs of our day—not to mention a sound polishing of your mediocre attempt at the French language. Since there appears to be no way to assess how long you will be staying within the confines of our time period, I have devised a satisfactory solution."
I perched on the edge of the bed and affected a stoic pose while he continued.
"Until you revert back to your century, you are free to say here at my manor. Keeping a single young woman is not an acceptable practice for a bachelor ...not that I give a whit about the opinions of the world, but I will do what I can to protect your honor; therefore, you will become the widowed Niece-in-law of my partner, Eugene Fitzgerald. Eugene lives in London where I often travel for my work; you see I am not only a musician but also an architect.
Eugene's Nephew Morris lived in America, New York City I think. He died only last year of consumption. Although he was not married, no one in these parts is aware of that. You are his widow, left destitute by your dead husband and I am a dear friend of the family assisting in a most unfortunate matter. You will help with the domestic work here and I will provide room, board and an allowance for your work. Oh, yes, because you are a widow Gabrielle, you are no longer a Mademoiselle. When in mixed company, I will address you as Madam—what is your last name, dear?"
"Thomassen," I replied feeling rather stunned by this whole charade.
"Thomassen will do then. Now we shall go to meet Madame Roux. She is the person you will obtain your instruction from. Do you have any questions for me Gabrielle?"
More than you could answer dude, I thought. "No, not at the moment Monsieur."
"Very well, let's go downstairs to meet Marie."
Later the same day
There was never a more austere creature than Marie Roux when it came to work, which I took to be the humorless matrons' only joy. She bristled at Erik's suggestion that she take me on as a helper. "Are you insinuating Monsieur that I cannot handle the care of your estate?"
"Dear Marie," Erik patronized the woman, "You know how big this house is, I was only thinking of your welfare. Besides, wouldn't you like more freedom to visit your sons and daughter?"
"Pfffssst," she harrumphed." But then it would be nice to see my son and his wife's little boy. I have not been able to get to know my grandson as much as I would like to. As you know, Warren will be returning to University this fall. Spending time with him before he returns would please Henri and me very much."
"Then there you go. It is settled. Madam Thomassen will assist you in whatever daily chores you deem right. Be kind Marie, the girl has been through enough without your biting tongue lashing her," Erik implored her.
Marie scowled at her employer indignantly. "I only expect people to do their job Monsieur."
"Of course Marie, in that manner you are so much like your dear sister Antoinette."
Now finished with their conversation, Erik headed toward the music room with an amused twitch on his lips, chuckling about how he'd best remember to write Eugene about his widowed niece-in-law.
-o-
And so I met Erik's household staff, which consisted exclusively of Marie and Henri Roux.
My assumption that the Roux's would be a nice old French couple proved to be half right;
Monsieur Roux was a jolly fellow with a hearty laugh. His wit and wisdom combined with a deep affection for animals made him an amiable companion. Marie Roux was a spindly bit of a woman with tiny steel blue eyes. Harsh and humorless, she expected nothing less than perfection from those around her. Marie disapproved of me immediately. To Madam Roux, having a young widow living under the same roof as a bachelor was a most improper situation. It mattered little that Erik was helping out a dear friend's unfortunate relative get back on her feet.
Under the impression that I was the niece-in-law of Erik's wealthy business partner, she believed me to be a spoiled brat; therefore, I was too inept to be trusted with serious housework.
I should have thanked my lucky stars all that was required of me was some light dusting and sweeping. After a month without incident, she must have decided that I could handle the tough stuff—changing the linens.
Egyptian cotton is luxurious, but must be ironed, with a hand iron, and there are no fitted sheets to be found in 1876. Changing the sheets on Erik's gigantic bed was a daunting task. In order to insure a proper fit, one had to fold the ends in hospital corners.
One afternoon as I was struggling with Monsieur Dupuis' bed linens, Marie walked into the bedroom.
"Child," she shrieked, whatever are you doing to the Master's bed? That is not the proper way to dress a bed." She roughly yanked the bottom sheet from my hands. "Pay attention," she barked while schooling me on how to make flawless hospital corners.
For this I went to college, I silently fumed? "Beds the size of a football field aren't my speciality. Please allow me a do-over, Madam. Roux," I pled.
She grudgingly acquiesced. Mimicking her motions, I painstakingly tucked the side and ends under and over. I wasn't even finished with the last tuck when I a bony hand smacked me on my right shoulder.
"No, no, no you useless child! Can you not do anything right?" The woman shrieked again.
I stumbled back from the bed slightly dazed. For a moment, I thought the ghost of my evil maternal grandmother, Marion Bousard, had inhabited the body of this vile woman.
"Hey, are you demented? You don't go hitting grown woman for making beds incorrectly!" I yowled.
"If you would conduct yourself in an acceptable manner then perhaps I would not be inclined to treat you as an incompetent little princess. You are hopelessly inept Madam!"
My former years as a news reporter had schooled me to control extreme emotion. At the moment, class was in session, because I was a hair's breath from taking this old hag to the schoolyard for a lesson. Gabrielle, you are better than this, you are not accustomed to these people and their ways, just chill, I told myself.
"You realize dear that I shall have to inform Monsieur Dupuis of your indecorous behavior. I am certain he will not be pleased."
I turned and walked to the window. Blowing out a great stream of air and throwing up my hands I mumbled, "whatever you old bag."
"How dare you!"
Oops ...she actually heard me. A frosty silence settled over the room turned. I turned to look at Marie. Her hands were bunched into tight fists and her face was ashen and stern--way past the anger stage. For the first time I experienced real fear under this woman's gaze.
"Leave this instant so I can finish taking care of Monsieur's room properly!" She ordered.
I was gone before you could say bad dog. Feeling guilty for being rude to the old woman, (not to mention a bit fearful) I begged off supper and stayed in my room. I feigned illness, female trouble. That always frightens men enough that they seldom question you about the particulars.
Later that evening, I snuck into the kitchen and scrounged up some cheese and an apple and smuggled it up to my room.
I could hear Erik somewhere in the house playing his music. I did not wish to run into him anytime sooner than necessary. No doubt Madam. Roux had tripped over herself in her haste to report my insubordinate to him and confronation was the last thing I wanted tonight.
Lounging on a lovely bed of goose down, surrounded by soft lamplight and antiques while leisurely reading a great novel was sublime. Reading Steinbeck in my favorite nutty squirrel T-shirt, I was the out of place element in the lovely Victorian room.
Aron was about to discover that his mother was not only alive, but the town whore, when the sharp knock on my door startled me from my story. There were only four other people in this house and three of them were in the servant's cottage. Perhaps it was time for my spanking.
Gracefully, the tall dark man moved across the room, toward the chaise where I sat contemplating how I would enter into my day at the manor.
"You've been a very naughty young woman Gabrielle. Madam Roux is quite upset with your behavior." He cocked his head toward me quizzically. "What do you suppose would be a fitting punishment for your insolence?"
His smooth voice held a note of mock foreboding. I bowed my head submissively.
"Forgive me master, I am in need of firm discipline for my offense. You could send me to my room—oh, but I'm already here. Hum, how about some sort of medieval torture?"
Was that a tiny smile curling on his lips?
"Perhaps a spanking Madam? Is that how insolent servants are corrected in your century; sounds most interesting."
I laughed out loud, "In my century spanking would land you in jail for criminal abuse, unless it was consensual of course."
Fiery eyes bore into me generating a feeling of nakedness. I became serious. "Look Erik, It was not my intent to insult Madam. Roux. I was doing my best to follow her instructions, but a domestic goddess I am not. The woman is mean. I try to get along with her but she acts as if I am an imbecile."
He shook his head, Marie is not known for her tact, but she feels threatened with you here. I can only imagine it comes from the insecurity of age—a fear that she will be replaced, which of course I would never do. She is the sister of a friend for whom I owe my life. Give her time Gabrielle."
"Erik, please forgive me for disrupting your orderly house hold. I will apologize to Madam. Roux first thing today—promise.
He shook his head dismissively, "Think nothing of it. I simply reminded her that you had recently become a widow and have no one to look after you. She should be patient—perhaps treat you as she would a daughter. This is my home and she is to be civil to my guests regardless of their station."
I was grateful for his benevolence.
"Thank you Monsieur," I blushed. Lifting my head in a show of faux pride, I assured him that proper Victorian housecleaning was probably not something I would excel in, "A domestic goddess I am not, however, I can cook up a mean coq au vin or crème brulee."
Erik appeared to pass over my comment, but his posture relaxed as he gestured toward a chair. "May I?"
I nodded in consent and he took the chair opposite the chaise. He leaned back while lacing his long fingers together, allowing them to rest in his lap. Such fine fingers, artist's fingers, I thought admiring their grace.
"Gabrielle, how have you been faring? Are you comfortable here?"
I shrugged, "I suppose so. You have provided me with whatever I need, a lovely room, meals and good books to read. There is not much more I would ask you for M. DuPuis."
"I would guess that a woman such as you would be used to considerable conversation and companionship. Life at the manor can be exceedingly dull. You may have noticed that I am rather reclusive."
"You're an artist ...I can only assume that you are ensconced in the creative process."
"An astute observation Mademoiselle Thomassen. My mind is endlessly occupied with inspired ideas. Music and art are my oxygen. Without it I would drown in the insipidness of my existence."
Immeasurable sorrow radiated from Erik. I did not know much about the man's life other than what he had told me about his dual professions and from what few historical references I'd read, but I had a notion there was a enormous scar tissue insulating his heart.
"Information is what I crave; a newspaper or any sort of recent periodical would be appreciated. I am so lost and out of my element here, if I could read something of substance, perhaps I could begin to get my bearings in this world."
"Monsieur Roux brings a copy of Le Figaro back from town when he goes for my mail. I will make sure it gets to your hands, Gabrielle. But, surely you desire more Mademoiselle? As a woman from a highly evolved century you must be used to more intellectual stimulation than what you have been exposed to here. I know well what damage an idle mind can do to a person's psyche. If there is an activity you wish to engage in, any particular food, libation, toiletries, anything I can acquire for you, do not hesitate to tell me."
I was genuinely touched by Erik's show of consideration for me. During my stay at the manor, Monsieur DuPuis had been a man of little emotion and even fewer words.
My eyes lit up as I recalled seeing the stables. "Monsieur, I noticed your stable of excellent horses, I used to ride back home. Do you think I could go for a ride sometime? I love to ride. Why, when I was growing up in Central IL, I was the only girl who could beat the boys while racing on bareback. I even had my own horse until we moved to Chicago. My father used to remind me, Gabriel love, it's not easy keeping a pony happy in a townhome."
"So you take pleasure in equestrian pursuits? A simple provision Mademoiselle. Providing the weather remains agreeable, we can ride tomorrow if you like."
"Yes!" I bounced up in my chair and clapped my hands together. This garnered me another one of those curious eyebrow rising looks from Erik. I keep forgetting gentlewomen of his day were demure and restrained. I settled back in my chair. "Oh thank you Monsieur, your kindness toward me is extraordinary and unexpected."
He dismissed my words with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense Gabrielle, I relish the intelligent and intriguing conversation your company affords me."
He shot an unexpected smile my way and dipped his head. "Might you grant me the pleasure of your company at supper tonight? There is no real reason for you to dine in the kitchen; even the Roux's have an open invitation to do although they seldom partake. I suspect it is a privilege that they are not accustomed to. Your company would serve to enhance my dining pleasure."
"Are you sure you want my company? I can only imagine how my decorum seems crude to one as cultured as you, Erik. I don't want to offend you ...or Madam. Roux."
This amused my host even further. "If you become too unruly, I'll have to set you out to dine with the horses in the barn."
"I might like that you know, I am often more fond of horses than humans." I teased.
"I find no fault with that argument. I shall join you in two hours for supper my dear." He rose from the chair and headed off to the music room.
Supper was pleasant if not somewhat stilted. Erik and I were not yet used to one another and the nasty looks from Madam. Roux did nothing to quite my butterflies. At one point, Erik considered her and remarked that her bunions must be bothering her again. I nearly snorted by vichyssoise out of my nose at his snarky comment.
I mentioned how much I enjoyed cooking and French cuisine. Along with music, animals, and the arts, gourmet cooking was a passion of mine. He suggested that perhaps I would be happier preparing meals rather than fighting with linens. From that night on, I never dusted another artifact. Cooking for the household was simple since there were only four of us. The oven was gas and the cooking implements were not modern, but they were adequate. Marie actually appeared to be content that she was free from kitchen drudgery.
Erik Gabrielle encounters are on the way, hang in there you lovers. And thank all of you for your support. You rock!
Leesainthesky