The Bath

The darkness melted over the tall, stone house. It stood alone, far away from any other house for miles on end. The house had belonged to many masters and a few mistresses. It had hidden many a master and his mistress within its walls. It had watched moments pass, heard conversations echoed down corridors and stifled by walls. The house grounds were vast. They rolled on for miles, dotted with trees and shrubs until they drew up in front of a lake. The lake was even older than the house. It was an insipid grey colour and as the moon began to caress its oil-like coat, the surface hinted at something deeper and unspoken. The house looked out onto the lake and they spoke to each other, in unheard waves, as if each was assuring the other of her secret.

An elderly lady moved through the rooms of the old empty house. Darkness had fallen and the shadows had moved into their well-nested haunts. But the lady knew this house like she knew herself. It belonged to her. It held the deepest part of her. A person could never truly fear what belonged to them. She was old now, but still quite pretty. There was something in her face that hinted at the youthful beauty she had once possessed. The storm threw a tantrum outside. The trees on the grounds swung, the grass rippled, the lake ruptured and tore against itself and lashed up at the wind that whipped around the house.

Had an onlooker been standing in the garden, looking into the house, they would have seen the form of that elegant elderly lady gliding past each of the many, many

windows. She wore a white nightdress, old fashioned, trimmed with lace at the collar and at the cuffs. Her white curls hung about her shoulders and lightly bounced as she moved. Had the hypothetical onlooker cared to follow her a little longer, they would have seen her enter the bathroom. They would have also seen another figure a few windows back, walking determinedly and defiantly after her before disappearing into a patch of shadow.

She turned on the taps. The steamy hot water seemed to anger the cold rain outside and the wind rattled the bathroom window. She glanced at the window. It had been left open. She stretched up on her toes and clasped the pane. Her shoulders heaved and trembling, she pulled it down. As the window shut and clicked in place she suddenly heard it. Her head flicked round sharply. It couldnt be! No one lived in the house except her. She was alone here. It had been many years since anyone shared this house with her. The old lady held her breath, trying to hear it again. That sound. She had not heard that sound for many years. It was the sound of the kitchen door being opened. Her aged heart jumped inside her chest and it was as if someone was slowly tipping a bucket of warm water over her. Leaving the tap running, she walked quickly out into the corridor.

Her already creased face crumpling into a frown, she hastened towards the kitchen. Passing the windows that looked out onto the grounds, her peripheral vision caught something. She stopped and craned her neck to look out into the night. Old eyes strained to see past the storm. The woman put her hand up to squeeze her neck. It was an ancient habit. Perhaps it had developed out of the need for comfort. The darkness outside broke with the lightening. Then she saw it. A gust of wind crashed against one of the smaller windows, and it flew open, the cold air pouring in and wrapping itself around her neck. He stood there. Out on the grounds. A young man facing the house, watching her. The rain enveloped him, soaking his clothes right to the skin. But he did not move. He just stood. Looking at her. Then the lightening struck. The boy was gone.

The bath had nearly run over when she got back. She turned off the tap and sat, lifting her hand to her neck, looking into the water, remembering.

I will never allow it Rachel. Mr Morgan looked in his daughters eyes and she knew he meant it. Now promise me you will never speak to him again. The words tore into her flesh, her muscles rendering her helpless. She could not speak. Promise me. Father made each word drop like a stone. Make this promise and he will keep his job. She had no choice.

Outside the rain seemed like it would never stop. The bath was ready. The old lady stood up and unbuttoned her gown. Her body was fine, still shapely but carried the lines of time. She stood naked for a moment on the stone floor. In her motionless instant she almost looked like a young woman, the shadows and light from the storm playing over her body. Her movement broke the notion as she carefully eased herself into the bath. The warm water made her muscles realise how tired they were. She closed her eyes and remembered footsteps down the corridor.

Assistance! We need immediate assistance! Servants running down the corridors. Her sisters crying. Fathers voice. Rachel was in front of the bathroom mirror. She stopped brushing her auburn curls. Hurry! Come on man, hurry! Rachel opened the bathroom door and ran out into the corridor. Whats wrong? she shouted, trying to be heard above the panic. Servants seemed to be everywhere. Whats happened? No one appeared to be able to hear her. She continued, straining to look for the cause of the commotion. Somebody answer me! Tell me what has happened! She hurried down the corridor, following the servants and voices. People seemed to be moving out onto the grounds. She could still hear her father, his deep voice strained somewhere outside. Rachel turned and saw her sisters green dress ahead of the voices. Alices green form was motionless Alice! Why is everyone shouting? Alice turned, her face tear streaked, her eyes red. I found him. In the lake. She was so still. It was uncanny. Unnatural. Alice had seen something that filled her with fear. Yet for some reason, Rachel felt that it was she who was the victim. It was as it was as if someone was slowly tipping a bucket of

warm water over her. The panic trickled down her. She grabbed Alice by the shoulders and shook her hard. Who is in the lake? Who did you find? Alice began to weep. Unable to speak she just stood and looked out, unseeing into the gardens. Rachel shook her harder and harder, as if with each shake the answer rooted more firmly in her own breast. Tell me, Alice! She began to scream. Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!

Rachel opened her eyes. The bath water was cold. There was someone there with her. Like a thicker part of the atmosphere. A familiar presence. Her heart quickened. Suddenly she stood out of the water, with such force that she sent waves gushing over the bathtub. At the same time she threw open her arms to the air. Suddenly he was there in her arms, his breath on hers, his arms around her, his brown jacket against her wet skin. She could smell the rain on his clothes, his hair. They stood there, silent, locked in embrace, breathing together. I told you Id wait till you were old he smiled into her neck. How long? she whispered. How long do we have? She jerked back. She was alone in the room. Water dripped from her hair to the floor. The rain continued to fall. No, she said, her voice cracking. Jonathan? Jonathan! She grabbed her gown. It had fallen to the floor and was wet. She dragged it over her head as she ran out into the corridor. Jonathan wait! Come back!

The kitchen door stuck but she threw herself against it and it flew open, exposing her to the full fury of the storm. Rachel didnt care. Her white hair plastered to her head she ran, ran out into the grounds and down towards the lake. Her eyes strained for a glimpse of a brown jacket. She started to walk. Slowly. She could feel her bare feet sinking into the wet grass. At the edge of the water she stopped. Jonathan, she said. She stood there, rain pounding at her body, beating against her thin, heavy gown. Then her feet began to move, taking her towards the lake. She knew she would not stop.