Free The Willows by Mathew Sperle Page A

yourself.” Edith retort
bordered on rudeness.
    “ Undress myself?” When
turned with surprise. “You must be joking. I cannot possibly remove
this gown without help.”
    Edith shrugged. “You better learn how,
and soon. there is no one to help you.”
    “ Oh?” Gwen had been prepared
to be brave, to grin and bear all these unpleasant surprises, but
enough was enough. “I hope you don’t expect me to believe the
service are busy cleaning. There’s enough dust in the front hallway
to lay a carpet.”
    She had the satisfaction of seeing her
cousin lush before Edith squared her shoulders. “What I hope you to
believe,” she tossed out as she marched off, “is that your days of
playing princess are over.”
    Furious, Gwen stared at her cousins
retreating back. Who did they think they were, she and uncle
Jervis, deciding what should or should not be done in her father’s
house? If Gwen wanted the services of one-hundred servants, they
had no right to deny her.
    Flouncing her skirt-no easy thing and
its wilted condition-she went straight for the bell pull. As she
yanked it, she decided this room wasn’t adequate at all. The heavy
oak furniture was far from what she’d have chosen, and Edith knew
it. From the bulky armoire, to the battered keyhole desk, these
were clearly pieces rescued from a long and well deserved exile in
the attic.
    When several minutes went by and no
servant answered her summons, she decided it was high time someone
front of her daddy. He should know what was happening in his own
household, how his own daughter cannot get a servants to help her
undress.
    She was downstairs and at his study
door, and a poised to knock, before she remembered his cold
reception. Bad mood or not, what would she do… How would she cope…?
If he snarled at her and ordered her off?
    Hearing voices in the library, she
remembered how uncle Jervis and Lance had retired therefore a chat.
Perhaps she might better talk to her uncle; with a guest to
overhear, he might prove more amenable to her needs. If worse came
to worst, she could always appeal to Lance. Surely heard charming
Lancelot would not fail to come to her rescue.
    As she entered the library, both men
stood abruptly, their expressions startled. “Why, Gwen, we thought
you were resting.” For all goals gaze slid from her to his guest.
“Didn’t we, Lance?”
    Lance was too busy stomping out his
cigarette and setting down his bourbon to answer. Did he hope to
hide that he’d been smoking and drinking? As if women didn’t know
what men did when they indulged in their chats.
    “ I would love to rest,” she
told uncle Jervis, “but I fail to see how that’s possible in this
heavy dress. I need help removing it. What’s happened to all my
father’s household that this mistress can’t get help from her
servants?”
    An awkward silence ensued, during which
the men again exchanged glances.
    “ I will tell you another
thing,” she went on in a bid to gain Lance’s sympathy. “Edith has
moved me out of my bedroom. She claims my pretty furnishings are
gone, sold by daddy, but I think it’s an excuse to stick me with
all the hideous stuff from the attic.”
    Where he should be outraged, or at the
least, defensive, her article seemed merely uneasy. “What is it?”
She asked, glancing from him to Lance. “Why do you to keep looking
at each other?”
    Uncle Jervis stared at his glass, then
downed the bourbon and one drink. “I suppose you should know. The
truth is, I’m afraid we have all been reduced to cast offs from the
attic. We’ve been forced to practice, er, certain
economies.”
    Gwen focused on the word is least
understood. “Economies?”
    “ Edith could not send any
servants to help you. There are none to spare. Lavinia as all she
can handle with the cooking and cleaning. As for Homer, well, he is
getting on in years.”
    “ But what of Lilah and
Delfie and-“
    “ Sold, like the
furniture.”
    With dismay, he thought of Delfie,