Swedish princess used to having her own way. You wouldnât know how to wipe your own ass if you didnât have a maid to do it for you.â
She was stung by his sudden bitterness. âYou plan to employ a valet.â
âYes, 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.â With his hand holding the brandy glass he pointed at the door. âNow you go dismiss her right now. Right this minute .â
An acerbic reply swam to Anineâs lips. Your older brother was killed fighting for the Union , she wanted to say. He died for that womanâs freedom, and you wonât even employ her as a maid? But she held her tongue. She unclasped her hands, then walked to the doorway of the Red Parlorâit was closed off by a set of mahogany pocket doorsâslid them open and stepped out into the hall.
She found Miss Wicks standing there, carpetbag in hand. She didnât look offended or disappointed. Indeed her face was as blank and stony as ever. âIâll be leaving now,â she said. âYou donât need to pay me for today. Letâs just forget about it.â
Anine stopped in front of her. âDonât be ridiculous. Iâd like to change my dress before dinner. Thereâs a white tea gown in the closet. Would you lay it out for me, please?â
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, itâll mean another night here in this house, alone with Julian . If she stays at least someone else might hear the creaks in the night .
âYes, maâam,â 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 isnât over and Iâll take care of her in the morning , but Anine wondered if she hadnât already won the dispute over Clea Wicks. Theyâd had minor disagreements before but this was the first time sheâd driven him to open shouting and recriminations. The unpleasantness of the affair hung over her like a pall as she prepared for bed. Miss Wicksâs presence was comforting. The maid brought a pitcher of water and a glass on a silver tray and laid out Anineâs dress for the morning.
âIâll be turning out the gas,â said Wicks as she left the bedroom for the last time. A small oil lamp still burned on Anineâs dressing table. âYou need anything else, maâam?â
âNo, Miss Wicks. Thank you, and good night.â
âThank you , maâam.â 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 Scottâs 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 Wicksâs 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 wasnât sure which was worse.
Tickâ¦tickâ¦tickâ¦tickâ¦
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
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley