Shadows Part 1 by Lady Persephone

Shadows

Shadows were etched by limpid candlelight upon the heavily velvet draped room. Silence was broken only by the crack and splutter of the fire in the hearth and the scratch of pen on paper. Ancient aged ancestors peered down from deep flocked walls; forever framed in antiquated clothing long since discarded on rag yard heaps, sold for a few farthings.

A heart felt sigh echoed in the tranquility as she replenished the ink, blotting the paper energetically to prevent a dark bead scarring the neat script which almost blanketed the page. The whole evening had passed in contemplation and writing this manuscript; the late Winter night whistling it’s lament under doors and rapping at the sashed windows.

She could have had the gaslights lit to fill the room with an imitation of daylight but the soft archaic candlelight seemed more in keeping with the task in hand; an old friend who would conceal the secrets from prying eyes.

The bell of St. Mary’s church tolled the hour of 11 o’ clock; a log shifted in the grate sending a myriad of sparks flying into the darkened recesses of the room.
 A small movement at her feet drew her attention, she spoke without looking,
“tend the fire boy”
The only sound heard as he crawled to obey was the click of a knee joint, worn dry by years of devoted service. His body rejoicing at the reminder of his station in life; her life.
She was scarcely  aware of his movements as he ministered to the fire, or his return to her feet where he curled dog-like and content. A smile curled her lip delicately; some people pitied her the spinsterhood that labeled her existence, some women suspected that the manservant she had employed for so many years was something more than a paid employee.

She pressed her slippered toes into the boy’s soft underbelly. For years he had kept it taut and firm , muscles finely honed perfect horseflesh for the connoisseur of the male body. He wasn’t as old as her, he’d seen some 68 summers, she a handful more; of those years over 2 score  had been spent together.

The pen stopped moving as she recalled placing the advert in The Pall Mall Gazette all those years ago, how it had stipulated the qualities necessary in her future employee.
Wanted Male General Servant

Wanted by refined lady in the shire county of Northamptonshire a male servant who needs to be of good character and able to undertake indoor and outdoor duties including: gardening, cooking, daily household chores, maintenance, and stable work. Rate of pay is 10/6 per week with two days off each calendar month. Room and board is included.

His reply had caught her attention at once, it’s whole tone had stirred something deep inside her. Something akin to a lone howling wolf receiving a response from an unexpected compass point. His letter, even after so many years, nestled between the pages of her never read bedside Bible. The page appeared before her eyes, the words engraved in her memory,
“May I be granted the honour and privilege of becoming your servant, I will endeavor with every fiber of my being to follow each and everyone of your instructions to the best of my ability.”

His references were exemplary as if he had been created magically to match her advert. She had advertised several times before but had found not one of the respondents suitable.

The connection between them had  proved immediate; he blossomed under her control and she, for the first time in her life, could breathe freely and revel in the way she had been born. Tongues in the village had wagged but there was nothing to see, he always walked two steps behind her, eyes lowered, obedient, polite . When visitors arrived he was always the perfect servant, unobtrusive yet available at the click of a finger or ring of the bell. The relationship had evolved  almost nonchalantly from the touch of her hand on his arm to a permanent place next to her, under her, beneath her, until the perfect symmetry had been attained.

Her eyes returned to the boy at her feet, the hair once chestnut brown now greyed  and thin, she knew every pore on that neck; the way his head dipped in a permanent position of submission, her heart ached with love and memories of  endless passions shared.

 The candle was burning low, she was close to completing the missive; this one she would deliver herself. She signed it with a flourish, read it through, happy with the result.

The night deprived her of sleep, she held him close; another memory danced before her sleepless eyes. The first time he had been invited into HER bed, the look of fear in his eyes as if he would be consumed by some unseen force, and the passions that had forced sleep to flee.
She laughed, all those deliciously devious things they had done, in parlour, kitchen, stairs and stable before reaching the bed. Memories piled one upon the other
until Dawns golden fingers threaded through the chink in the curtains.