Free Doppelgänger by Sean Munger Page A

Swedish princess used to having her own way. You wouldn’t know how to wipe your own ass if you didn’t have a maid to do it for you.”
    She was stung by his sudden bitterness. “You plan to employ a valet.”
    â€œYes, I do. A white valet. Just as you are going to have a white maid. Everyone in this goddamned house is going to be white.” With his hand holding the brandy glass he pointed at the door. “Now you go dismiss her right now. Right this minute .”
    An acerbic reply swam to Anine’s lips. Your older brother was killed fighting for the Union , she wanted to say. He died for that woman’s freedom, and you won’t even employ her as a maid? But she held her tongue. She unclasped her hands, then walked to the doorway of the Red Parlor—it was closed off by a set of mahogany pocket doors—slid them open and stepped out into the hall.
    She found Miss Wicks standing there, carpetbag in hand. She didn’t look offended or disappointed. Indeed her face was as blank and stony as ever. “I’ll be leaving now,” she said. “You don’t need to pay me for today. Let’s just forget about it.”
    Anine stopped in front of her. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d like to change my dress before dinner. There’s a white tea gown in the closet. Would you lay it out for me, please?”
    Wicks studied her. Anine felt herself very much on the spot, not a place she found comfortable, but she knew that if she showed the slightest hint that Julian had intimidated her Wicks would never respect her. That was part of it, but there was more. If she goes, it’ll mean another night here in this house, alone with Julian . If she stays at least someone else might hear the creaks in the night .
    â€œYes, ma’am,” answered the maid. She turned and started up the stairs.
    Julian was so furious with her that he slept in one of the guest rooms on the third floor that night. In his rage he grumbled things like this isn’t over and I’ll take care of her in the morning , but Anine wondered if she hadn’t already won the dispute over Clea Wicks. They’d had minor disagreements before but this was the first time she’d driven him to open shouting and recriminations. The unpleasantness of the affair hung over her like a pall as she prepared for bed. Miss Wicks’s presence was comforting. The maid brought a pitcher of water and a glass on a silver tray and laid out Anine’s dress for the morning.
    â€œI’ll be turning out the gas,” said Wicks as she left the bedroom for the last time. A small oil lamp still burned on Anine’s dressing table. “You need anything else, ma’am?”
    â€œNo, Miss Wicks. Thank you, and good night.”
    â€œThank you , ma’am.” This was as close as Wicks got to mentioning the incident. A moment later she turned down the gas and the bedroom became a den of leaping orange shadows.
    Anine read Walter Scott’s The Bride of Lammermoor for another half hour before she closed the book and reached over to blow out the lamp. It was strange being in the bedroom without Julian. Even though she was glad of Wicks’s presence in the house she felt dreadfully alone. Nighttime brought terrors. When she slept she had the nightmare of Ola; when she was awake she thought she heard the creaking and muffled laughter behind the door. Lately she wasn’t sure which was worse.
    Tick…tick…tick…tick…
    To keep her mind off the fear she tried to take a trip in her head. She thought of Gamla stan, the old city of Stockholm. It existed as a physical place in her mind and she tried to envision every building as she last saw it. She pictured herself standing at one end of Prästgatan, one of the crooked streets that lurched and wound around between the ancient brick and stucco-faced buildings. She recalled particularly an orange-colored house that she