Chapter Two #2
‘I thought it was Benny who had the beard,’ I said, thinking that the conversation was becoming completely surreal. I wasn’t an Abba fan, and the comparison was hardly flattering.
‘Well, whichever one, I do think our waiter looks a bit like him, even if his hair and eyes are not quite the right colour. He looks hippyish, but very ‘with it’, I daresay.’
Fortunately I didn’t need to reply to these observations, as the bearded one reappeared with a tiered glass stand filled with sandwiches, scones and cake.
‘There’s lots to do in Bath besides dancing,’ he continued, putting a plate before me. ‘Do you like the theatre or cinema?’
‘Yes, I like both,’ I said, then instantly regretted answering so positively, and for an awful moment thought he might suggest taking me. All I could think about was sitting next to him in the dark with that devilish beard scratching my face as he attempted to kiss me.
‘There’s a horror film on at the Little Theatre,’ he went on, ‘I’m going with my friends next weekend.’
I was sure my sigh of relief was not only audible, but also very visual, though I didn’t care. I kept my eyes on my plate, and when I looked up he’d finally gone.
‘I think he’s rather sweet on you,’ said Ellen, ‘not that I’d encourage you to go out with him. I’m not sure your mother would approve of you going around Bath with a waiter.’
‘I don’t think my mother cares about things like that,’ I said, knowing Ellen would probably be shocked. ‘But, have no fear, he’s not my type, and I’m sure if I was his, he’d have asked me on the spot. He’s just that sort of guy.’
Ellen didn’t say any more. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was, and soon we’d eaten everything.
The éclairs were delicious, just as he’d said they’d be, and I was almost disappointed that I couldn’t tell him.
Another waiter came to clear our table, and when Ellen asked where our bearded friend had gone, he said he’d finished his shift and left to go home.
***
Something strange happened in the night, and I don’t quite know what to think about it.
We had an uneventful evening after a light supper left on a tray by Mrs Partridge who will be coming in every day to do the cooking and cleaning - though I really wasn’t hungry after the enormous tea we’d eaten.
I was feeling tired after such a busy day, and so went off to bed early.
I read my ancient copy of Northanger Abbey for a chapter or two until I felt I was dozing off, and managed to put out the light before settling down under the covers.
I’m not sure if it was a noise that woke me or the strange dream I was having about being chased down an alley by a bearded man, but I woke with a start, instantly wide awake.
I lay in the dark for a moment or two thinking I might nod off again, but I just tossed and turned before deciding I might settle down better after a visit to the bathroom.
Though I tried not to make a sound, the old cistern made such an angry roar as the water flushed, I thought I must have woken the whole household.
I crept along in the dark, feeling my way back along the walls because I thought putting the light on would certainly wake the Applebys, though I could hear them both snoring quite loudly in their beds as I passed their room.
It was when I opened the door to my bedroom that I was completely surprised, and even now as I write it down, I can’t quite believe it.
I was shocked, firstly, by the fact that it was broad daylight and sunny instead of being night time and pitch black, though it didn’t look like my room at all.
Thinking about it now, the windows looking out onto Pulteney Street appeared to be just the same, but there was a large four poster bed dominating the space, hung with curtains - I remember how light and airy they looked, palest ivory with sprigs of flowers, swaying slightly in the breeze coming through the open window - very feminine.
A pile of leather-bound books looked carelessly flung over the unmade bed, as if they were all being read at once, ribbon bookmarks dividing the pages, some left open.
There was a dressing table draped in the same fabric, which had an oval mahogany mirror on a stand with drawers, and was swathed in beautiful lace.
I saw several silver-topped crystal boxes winking in the sunshine, a decorated fan, and two porcelain boxes painted with roses - open, as if in use.
A chair was covered entirely with clothes tumbling to the floor, and a chest of drawers under the window had all of its drawers pulled out with pretty accessories falling out of them - what looked to be several sheer shawls or veils, pale pink stockings, and petticoats in the sheerest silk I ever saw.
It looked like a scene from a Georgian museum, only more realistically displayed - I’d never seen anything look so authentic.
And then the door, which normally houses my little basin opened as I stared, and through it walked a girl who looked about fourteen.
Dressed in her underclothes, a white shift almost to the floor, she looked just like pictures I’ve seen in history of costume books.
She had a lively look about her, and when she noticed I was standing there, she looked straight at me with her bright, hazel eyes, and said, ‘Have you come to help me dress?’