How Can I Keep Dancing? [ON HOLD]

How Can I Keep Dancing? ~~~ Chapter 2 ~~~

Please Comment and Vote...tell me what you think

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~CHAPTER TWO~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trying to get back into the house was the hard part. A large part of my subconscious was telling me not to run into my mother. I had no idea how I was ever going to explain my wet state to her. Neither my being shoeless. I really should have thought this through earlier before making the daft decision of going for a skinny dip.

I creep around the side of the house where I know the kitchen would be. Despite knowing my mother would never set foot in there unless it was absolutely and positively necessary, I still inch open the door and sneak a look around the room. I knew the servants would be in there, they would be getting dinner ready for us, of course, yet my hopes of not being seen were abandoned. At least my mother was no where to be seen.

“Why are you all wet, Miss Charlotte?” The head cook asks me. She was a big lady, plump and round with the rosiest cheeks I’d ever seen and a stack of graying hair on her head, but she was without a doubt one of the loveliest servants – or maybe even person – in this house.

“Just felt like a swim, that’s all, Brenda,” I explain, “Think you can keep it a secret from my mother, though?”

She gives me a warm grin, “Sure, love. Your mother’s gone into town for a few hours, anyway. Here take this towel, and quickly run up to your room. I’ll have Karen take those wet clothes from you when you change.”

 I smile back, “Thank you, Brenda!” I whisper loudly as I slip past her and the curious eyes of the other two servants.

Brenda has been with us since I was born, and was always there to give me ice cream late at night. I’d often sit with her in the kitchen while she made our meals and chat with her about the ridiculous things that happened at school or the recent fashion in society. We used to read the newest magazines and examine the beautiful new dresses that women were wearing theses days. Brenda was harsh sometimes on the other servants, but it was only because she knew that my mother would be harsher. But nevertheless, most of the servants respected her. Yet, she was like a best friend in a way, always someone I could run to when I have a problem.

I make it up the stairs and to my room without any unwanted run-ins, and manage to change out of my wet attire, and into a knee-length peach fitted dress.

I settle down in the drawing room, the afternoon sun beaming through the large windows and onto my writing table and begin to write my letter to Father, telling him of how I terribly miss him and how ballet practice is just the same dreadful torture it has always been. I just begin to tell him that summer is no fun so far without him when I hear the front doorbell ring. I pounce out of my chair to get there, not sure who would be visiting us. I assume it would be the mailman delivering a letter, possibly from father, to which my heart races at. Father has always had a wit about him, a sparkle in his eye as he tells a story of his travels, but he was always special when it came to me, buying me gifts and teaching me new things of the world. As I near the door, I spot the head butler, James, head for the door as well.

“I’ll get it, James,” I tell him, smiling.

He nods his head at me uncertainly, but returns from where he came. I pull open the door gently, not wanting to startle the mailman. Only to my disappointment, it’s not the mailman.

Elijah Mackenzie stands at the door step holding my new sky blue shoes, with a smug glint in his eye.

“I believe you forgot these.” He explains innocently.