Shattered (Watty Awards 2011!)

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Good evening, Miss Butler. I trust you enjoyed your weekend?" Darla ushered me inside sharply, not an ounce of sincerity in her "good evening." She tugged on her mobcap, straining her eyes towards the mirror on the wall some feet away, and then marched straight out, leaving me alone in the hall.

Slightly confused (and possibly annoyed), I lifted my bag and climbed the stairs as I leaned on the polished bannister. I could see the sun slowly slipping down as evening crept in through the staircase window and paused for a moment to look at it. The golden glow silhouetted the lush rose garden that resided several feet from the window, casting their shadows to the wall behind me. I had always dreamed of having a rose garden - something to care for and love and watch grow. Maybe someday I would buy one - just a miniature plant - and place it outside the apartment.

I bent down and lifted up my suitcase, not noticing the other sharing my view and subsequently slamming into them. I had the strangest sense of Deja vu as my bags slipped from my fingers and I lost my balance, grasping hold of whoever it was in an effort to stay upright.

"For goodness sake, does nobody here look where they're going?"

Oh no. I felt a puddle of dismay dampen my heart and slowly rise to my throat. I blinked slowly, not wanting to open my eyes to what I knew was right in front of them.

Dark blue eyes.

"It's you again." He raised one eyebrow in disbelief. "What are the odds?" He wasn't in his uniform anymore, but rather a navy blue suit, the top button undone on his white collared shirt.

"I work here." I felt him loosen his grip on my arm. "I didn't plan it. And I certainly didn't plan to bump into you on the staircase!"

"I didn't even realize it was you. I'm sorry," he exaggerated the "sorry" before continuing, "but you really are rather absent minded. And why would a maid carry luggage upstairs anyway?"

"I am not a maid," I said stiffly, feeling that puddle of dismay boil and sizzle and steam into one of anger.

"You don't look like the type of guest the Dinsmoore house usually entertains."

"You are rude. And I am a housekeeper for Mr Dinsmoore. I have my own room on the floor above, thank you very much. Now let me go please."

He retained his hold on my arm. I tried to shake him off when I realized that he was laughing. Laughing. Really? I wrenched my elbows down, leaving his arms in the air shaking from his withheld laughter.

"Why on earth are you laughing?"

He waved his hand slightly, sputtering as he tried to speak. His attempt was unsuccessful.

"For goodness sake. I am not here to be laughed at by a stranger!!" I hoped I sounded angry. I felt angry, that was for certain. I turned on my heel and took quick, sharp steps up to the second floor.

I could still hear him guffawing below. What an idiot. I refused to be wasting any more of my precious minutes in his ridiculous presence.

I had a nagging sense of leaving something behind. You know that feeling at the back of your mind that sort of sits there - it's a blank thought but you are certain it's important. Well, I had that feeling right then.

"My luggage," I breathed to myself. I stopped on the step. I coaxed myself to turn around, wishing I weren't such a fool, only to see the man in the suit standing five or six steps away, my bags in his hands. He was smirking.

Of course he was smirking. I was an idiot, and he was enjoying the fact because he was also an idiot.

"Shall we go to your room?"

I glared furiously, wishing I had the fantastical power of shooting flames - or bullets - from my eyes. I knew better than to argue again, so I walked slowly, stiffly up to the next floor, allowing him to catch up with me rather than waiting.

He took the stairs two at a time, beside me in seconds.

"So you're the one that works on the third floor. How do you find the old chap?"

"Mr Dinsmoore? He's polite and easy to work for."

"Really? Polite and easy? You can tell me the truth, you know. I'm very trustworthy."

"If you are as trustworthy as you are pleasant, I am certain that I won't be telling you any secrets." I was still mad at him.

"Calm down there, Madame. What's your name?"

"I shan't tell you."

"Oh that's alright. I already know, see."

"You do not." I wished the staircase was shorter.

"I do. It's Emma. Peter told me."

"You're his cousin aren't you? From the navy." I pointed to the hallway where my room was, letting him go first since he had my things.

"Yeah, I'm Harry. He told you about me?"

I pushed open my door and stood back as he stepped in, planting my luggage at his feet.

"Yes. A little. He spoke of you at least."

"Ah. Well I am quite sure that you and I," he winked, "shall be marvelous friends. I must drop by sometime."

"You will do no such thing. I don't think you realize that I have no interest in becoming friends-"

"You're right. We could do so much better together than just friends." He winked again.

"Good evening, sir." I grabbed the door handle and nodded towards the hallway.

"Nighty night, Emma." He stepped outside my room.

"You are much too forward. Good night."

"Why Emma," he turned in mock surprise, "it's my best quality!"

I closed the door and walked to the closet to change into something work-worthy. My mind was turning the entire time I was changing. Harry and Peter seemed as different as two cousins could be. Harry was forward and loud, and dreadfully confident and obnoxious. Peter was quiet and polite, although very withdrawn and somewhat emotionally-devoid. Harry was quite handsome as well. Tanned, with his light brown hair. Peter was more refined, although his pale and drawn features, as well as dark hair made him seem a little odd-looking. And of course, his immobility...

Oh well. Time to go upstairs. I could feel myself getting almost nervous at the thought of seeing Mr Dinsmoore - Peter - again. I wondered how he felt having his cousin here?

~

Knock knock knock.

"Come in."

"Hello, Peter. How are you this evening?" He was reading at his desk, as usual.

"I'm fine, Emma. How are you?"

"Disheveled," I laughed.

"Well, you don't look it," he smiled. "Did you enjoy your weekend?"

I felt a slight blush tint my cheeks. His smile lit his eyes up beautifully. "It was very average, but mostly restful. Did you?"

"Yes. I suppose. My cousin is here."

"Yes, I met him earlier. He... helped me carry my bags in."

Something like a shadow drifted in Mr Dinsmoore's eyes for a moment. "I'll bet he did."

I felt my blush return, so I quickly picked up some loose papers sitting on the coffee table and began to tidy up. "How is your mother, Mr Dinsmoore?"

"She is quite well. Glad to see her nephew again, of course."

"Oh, yes. I'm sure she is."

"Mmmm." He had turned back to his reading. I decided to leave him alone for now. Although there was nothing I thought I ought to say, I was enjoying the small conversation so much that I hardly wanted to stop.

Quite the opposite to my actions towards Harry, I'd say.

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