You and Him

1. Part I : I am Jude

A/N

I've finally managed to edit and post the first chapter.

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Alcester, 1930

THE GRAMOPHONE CROONS BESSIE SMITH'S Down Hearted Blues.

I let out a satisfied breathe as my eyes explore my bed, taking in the white cotton bedsheet with jaipuri print on the bottom half, my neighbor, Mr. and Mrs. Mulberry, tea merchants, brought for me from Indus, and how lovely it makes my bed look.

My brows pucker when I catch an errant wrinkle on it and quickly gather the sheet in my hand, pull it, tie the corner into a knot and tuck it nicely under the mattress, running my palm over the surface to smooth cotton.

Then I take two corners of the quilt and fling my arms skyward, flapping it out, and folding it in perfect squares one over the other before gently shoving it in the giant chest at the foot of the bed. Straightening up I inspect the perfectly made my bedroom. The dark taupe walls, white ceiling and ornate moldings and dark wooden floors, makes it so warm and cozy.

It has both yours and my touch.

I chose the bed, the two drawer bedside table, with Victrix I style porcelain lamps and the crystal candelabra to match. You chose the day-bed and the draped curtains under the valances framing the floor to ceiling windows at the far side. You also chose the damask wingback chairs and the dark wood coffee table and the light beige carpet. Then I chose the pair of gilded mirrors flanking the bedframe. And it was your idea to have the white fireplace but the blue vases and picture frames on the mantel were mine.

There is also an antique bureau mazarin. I don't know why you purchased it. You never used it. And it also didn't look perfect in the bedroom. It was a big fat wood and gilt thing occupying space.

I've grumbled to you for weeks and I could see it was upsetting you, my useless whining. But like always you came up with a solution and told me to use that damn bureau as my dressing table. Not a perfect solution and I made sure you knew that with my squinty eyed incredulous expression. But somehow that had eased the annoyed crease between your eyebrows. You'd chuckled, pulled me into your chest and kissed my temple, telling me : if there wasn't any option, should I throw the thing? No of course not. I couldn't allow you to throw the damn thing even if it didn't look perfect sitting in front of my oriel window on wall opposite the bed.

So I wasted more money, a whole week of hunting every antique store in Londinium, to which I purposefully dragged you along,
until I found an antique gilded pedestal mirror that I thought would look perfect.

And it did.

It does.

You approved it. I matched it with an upholstered chair and two small lamps to frame the mirror. It has enough drawers for my cosmetics, not that I use much and also a hidden compartment where I keep my monthly allowance and daily valuables I wear, like my heirloom fob watch, earrings, bracelets or gold chain and rings. And the bureau's key, which also looks antique, I keep that in the bedside table. All in all now I'm quite delighted to have the bureau in my possession.

I smile to myself.

The phone downstairs rings out with an annoying cymbal-like clang and distracts me from my musing. I drop my head back on a groan. You have to get a phone in the bedroom too, Logan. It's tiresome and difficult in between work to run down to the hall to receive calls.

Then I hear scrabble of sharp but tiny claws on hardwood and turn my face towards the door just in time to see a blur of snow white fur ball dashes into the room, barking out his tiny-but-mighty lungs.