The Wayward Muse by Elizabeth Hickey

Author:Elizabeth Hickey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2007-09-27T04:00:00+00:00

Dinner was simple and abundant: roast pork with plum sauce, potatoes dauphinois, peas and carrots, rye bread and sheep cheese, served on the modest Staffordshire blue and white they all loved. There was plenty of red wine. Morris had hoped the enormous oak table that seated twenty would be ready for the party, but it was still being made in London, so half of the party ate in the dining room and half ate out in the hall. The fireplace was heaped with fragrant apple logs that radiated warmth and a gentle light.

Afterward, at Rossetti’s suggestion, they played hide-and-seek. At first it seemed absurd to Jane that grown men and women should play games, but Rossetti would not hear of her sitting out.

“Did you never play games as a child?” he asked.

“Not much,” she replied.

“Then think of it as a second chance to be a child for an evening. Give it a try.”

The first game Georgie quickly found her crouching behind a long bench in the dining room. Jane shrieked with dismay when she was caught, but discovered that she liked to be “it” more than she liked to hide. She enjoyed quietly sneaking up on people who thought their hiding places were safe. Emma Brown got quite a fright when Jane pounced on her in the cellar.

Now Emma was “it” and Jane had crawled into the potato bin to hide. She didn’t think timid Emma would venture so far in the dark, so she was surprised to hear the door open. She tried not to shift her position. She heard someone trip over a bag of sugar and mutter a curse.

“Jane,” a voice whispered. “Are you there?”

It was Rossetti.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Do you need a place to hide?”

“Yes,” he said. “Is there room in there with you?”

“Not really. Try over there with the apples,” she said.

Instead he came closer. He knelt down and she felt his hand grope her sleeve. Then his breath on her neck. Then he was kissing her, passionately, pawing through her hair and tearing at her clothes.

“Oh, Guinevere,” he breathed.

She did not like to admit to herself how wonderful it felt. She pushed him away.

“Gabriel, no,” she said. He tried to kiss her again, but he was off balance and fell backward into the canned fruits. Several jars smashed. For a moment they sat there, listening to their own breath.

“I think I have cherry jam on my trousers,” Rossetti finally said.

Jane laughed, a little hysterically. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” she said, “and clean you up.”

They didn’t speak as Jane blotted his pants with a wet rag. What was there to say? When they emerged they discovered that the game had been over for five minutes and everyone was wondering where they were. Rossetti made everyone laugh with the story of his clumsiness.

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