The Meridian Gamble (24 page)

The man takes off his hat, and I
can see that his hair is so lustrous it almost glows. It is swooped over from a
part at the side. When the momentary shock of fear fades away, just a bit, I
notice something else about him; he is handsome, almost startlingly so. He has
the most sparkling blue eyes I have ever seen. They almost fix me to my spot,
controlling me so that I cannot move.

And I stun myself. Words tumble
from my mouth, before I even know what I’m saying.

“My, what a beautiful creature you
are …”

And I say them in a daze,
momentarily mesmerized by his image. But I am confused. What have I just said,
and were the words even English? For a moment, I am convinced I have spoken in
another language, perhaps the mock Egyptian I have invented for my story of
Saga.

And I realize that those are the
first words Pharaoh says to her in the story.

The man’s expression changes, to
one of almost anger.

“What did you say? Where did you
hear those words?” he hisses in a low tone, glaring at me.

But I can hardly tell him the
truth, nor explain why these words have come to me now, of all times. Yet, they
are so inappropriate, I owe him something. The breath catches in my throat, and
I am terrified, mostly by the very real possibility that I am about to cry.

“I am sorry to have been so rude, I
…”

But he stares at me for a moment,
analyzing me, and his features soften. The stranger offers me a gentle smile.

“No, no. I am the one who is sorry,
for startling you in your own home,” he says in low tones. “Please forgive me.”

My voice is quiet, almost the
squeak of a mouse, as I try to speak again. It catches in my throat in a
ridiculous way, struggling to get out. And I feel completely foolish.

“You’ll have to excuse me, I should
not be here,” I manage to gurgle. “I was just getting a book from the library
before bed.”

My lie is an absurd one, as I have
no book in my hand, and I immediately regret it. And he already thinks me a
spy. Yet, the man only continues to smile. And I find it comforting, somehow.

“Then I shall leave you to your
reading, as your father might not approve of our meeting like this. But I shall
keep this rendezvous a secret, as well as my hope that we might meet again
under more appropriate circumstances.”

I try to say something, but I
cannot. And the stranger smiles and looks at me so intensely that it might
almost frighten me, were his handsome looks not so appealing. He bows, and
disappears into the bowels of our home so quickly that I wonder if he was
little more than an apparition. Or perhaps a dream. And for a moment, I wonder
if I have even seen him standing there at all.

But this is my opportunity to
escape, before Father spies me. If he catches me traipsing about in a state of
undress, it will scandalize him. Father might disown me, or send me off to
spend the rest of my days in a convent, which would fill Marjorie with glee.

I scurry back to the stairs, and
manage to return to my room undetected, unless you count the handsome stranger.
And for some reason, I lock the door behind me, even though Mother forbids us
to do this. She is worried we might choke in our sleep before Father can break
down the door to save us. But I cannot help but to feel unsafe, knowing there
are strange men wandering about our manor in the middle of the night. And I
cannot help but to wonder again, who the man is that I ran into in the hallway,
the one who spoke of railroads with Father. And I wonder exactly where he was
going, when he disappeared before my eyes.

I return to my canopy bed, and
untie the curtains in the darkness, so they fall around me. Which is
ridiculous, as they are flimsy, and cannot provide much protection. And I
tremble beneath my sheets, worrying more about my family’s fate.

But as much as I am concerned about
the state of our affairs, my mind wanders back to the man who appeared in the
hallway. I wonder if he is a banker or lawyer, who he might be. He is so
different from the other young men my age, who have shyly asked me to dance at
social events, or had the poor manners to beg for a walk in the gardens, where
they would try to steal kisses. He is a man, not a boy, the kind who might
chase after Marjorie’s hand in marriage. He has broad shoulders and strong
arms. And though we met only briefly, I could tell he had a thick, masculine
chest beneath his coat.

And as I think of him, I feel a
strange buzzing in my mind that startles me. It feels electrical, how I imagine
the energy that fuels the light bulbs in our home must feel, and it crackles at
the edges of my consciousness. And though it feels foreign and alarming, it has
the strange effect of making me feel warm and calm at the same time. And in my
relaxed state, I begin to think inappropriate thoughts.

One of my friends had once shown me
a book from her father’s library, while our mothers were having tea. It was
improper, and had drawings of naked men and women, entangled with one another.
And I think back on another time in the country, when our carriage drove past a
lake at a most inopportune moment, and I caught a glimpse of some naked young
men, frolicking in the water undraped.

It was the only time I had ever
seen what a man’s body really looked like, before I had averted my eyes. But I
will never forget the image of the dangling parts I saw, which my friends had
only whispered about before.

I cannot help but to wonder how the
handsome stranger would appear out of his clothes, what it would feel like if
he was in my canopy bed, naked, under the covers, as a husband would be. It is
wrong, but I have sinned so much tonight, it hardly matters anymore. I picture
that he has strong muscles, like a workman, and arms that will make me feel
safe as they wrap around me. And as I do this, I run my hands over my own
flesh, beneath my nightgown, in an unclean way.

My fantasy becomes so real it
almost feels like he is in the bed with me. And I bolt upright, suddenly
scared.

Because someone is indeed in my
bed.

I open my eyes, and look around in
the darkness. And though I can’t see anything at first, I can hear a rustling
sound that scares me to my core. A ghost must be here with me. And in horror, I
watch as something crawls toward me. But before I can cry out, I catch a
tantalizing glimpse of delicious, naked flesh. And familiar blonde hair.

It is not just anyone who shares my
bed. It is the stranger, the man I met in the hallway downstairs.

I am about to scream, but he only
smiles at me, and his silence mesmerizes me.

“What are you doing here? This is
not right! How did you get in?”

It makes no sense. How has he snuck
into my room? How has he crawled into the bed without my hearing the curtains
part for a man as large as he is? But the stranger says nothing, and only
crawls closer. I begin to wonder if he is a specter, and can only determine
that he really is some creation of my overactive imagination, come to life.
Like those moments when I imagine Saga’s life, and I feel it take shape around
me, as strongly as my own world.

And he moves closer still, to the
point where he is over my body, so close that I can feel his breath on my lips.
And it thrills me.

“Are you … are you really here with
me?”

And again, he smiles.

“Because, if you are, the scandal
would …”

“You will be mine,” he whispers.
“Forever.”

The stranger moves to kiss me, and
I close my eyes. But something changes in the room, before our lips can meet. I
open my eyes once more, and he is gone.

Before I can
wonder if it was a dream, my back arches in a spasm, and I am pinned to the bed
in what can only be described as an explosion of pleasure that courses
throughout my body, unlike anything I have felt before. The sensation is so
intense it is almost more than my mind can handle. Yet, as quickly as it comes
over me, I am released, left a shivering mass beneath my covers. And slowly,
without my realizing it, everything turns to black.

The next morning, I awaken with a
start, looking around for the stranger in my bed. But he is gone, just as he
was last night, and I search for some sign that he was even here at all, though
I am not quite sure what I expect to find. A calling card, perhaps. And I’m sad
to think that it all might have been my imagination, or a dream.

I clean myself, and walk downstairs
for our daily breakfast, where I sit distracted, at best. But no one seems to
notice my state. The others are filled with concerns of their own, no doubt
wondering about our family’s fortunes as I once did. But my mind is now
occupied with other matters.

I long to ask Father about the men
who were in our home, but I’m afraid that if I do, he will know about my
midnight wanderings. And he offers up nothing about their presence on his own.
So I am left to mull over the events of the night before in my mind.

I should be unnerved or terrified,
but somehow I am only fascinated by my fleeting moments with the handsome
stranger. My brain lingers on his beauty, his tall frame and the luster of his
hair. And I long to experience the indescribable pleasure he gave me once more.

I pass through the rest of the day
in a daze, and later that night, when I am alone in my bed, I try to conjure up
my secret lover again. I tremble in fear at the thought of it, but I cannot
stop myself, and I think back to what happened, the details of it that I can
remember. I daydream about him being in my bed, just the way that I had, but
nothing happens. Eventually, I peel off my clothes, and lie naked on top of my
sheets, offering myself to whatever handsome ghost might be haunting our home.

“Are you there? Please, come back
to me,” I beg.

But he does not return.

And the next day, I again sit
daydreaming at the breakfast table. But I quickly realize something is amiss.
Mother and Father cast glances at me in an unusual way. My sisters remain
blissfully unaware, but I am suddenly certain that the stares of my parents are
pointed, and relate to my late-night spying. And somehow, I know that the
stranger is real, at least our conversation in the hallway outside Father’s
office was. Perhaps he has lied to me about keeping our chance encounter a
secret, or one of the servants caught sight of me, while looking for things to
steal in the middle of the night. They have told Mother and Father of my
transgressions, hoping to curry favor. And I now know that I am doomed.

Toward the end of our meal, Father
addresses me, and I nearly jump out of my seat.

“Caroline, if you are done with
your porridge, your mother and I would like to have a word with you in the
sitting room.”

I drop my spoon into my bowl,
dramatically, and it hits the china with a loud clatter. My sisters giggle,
especially the Twins, sensing now that I am in trouble. I only wonder why my
parents have waited so long to punish me, perhaps to let me stew in my guilt. I
look to Mother, to try to get a sense of how severe my sentence will be. But
she only looks away.

The damage is done, but at least I
can take heart that they do not know the way I have debased myself in my bed.
Unless they have also somehow discovered that a man snuck into my room. In
which case, I am ruined.

“I’m finished now, Father,” I say,
sadly.

Marjorie alone stares at me with
narrowed eyes, full of suspicion. As I rise, when she thinks our parents’ backs
are turned, she touches my arm.

“What have you done?”

“I …”

But I am too nervous to even reply,
and I leave the room.

We enter Father’s private study,
and I am made to sit in front of his desk, as Mother stands by his side. And it
is ironic to me that they have chosen to dole out my punishment here, as I have
always loved this place. It is exciting to enter Father’s private sanctum,
where we are forbidden to go. The door remains locked at all times, and he has
the only key, as far as we children know. My sisters and I have scoured the
house looking for another copy, and have never found one.

As a child, I would beg Father to
let me come in and visit with him. And on the rare occasion, he has allowed me
to borrow a book from his private library. I have always loved to look at the
tomes that line the shelves, and have tried to memorize the titles whenever I
enter the room, to see if there was anything I might ask to read on a future
visit. But on this day, I don’t even bother to look to see if he has something
new, as I am too nervous to remember anything I might see.

After staring at me for a few
moments, Father finally speaks.

“My daughter, there is no way for
me to say this, other than to be direct. You are to marry.”

My world spins, and I am convinced
that someone has tipped it on its end. His words confuse me. They are so
unreal, I almost cannot comprehend what he is saying.

“Do you mean to say that I will wed
someday? Because I had assumed …”

“No. We mean you are to marry in
the immediate future. We have arranged a husband for you.”

“But … married? To who?”

“‘To whom,’” Mother says. “If you
are to be a lady in high society, you must learn to speak with proper grammar.”

Father sighs in frustration.

“A business associate of mine. Mr.
Roland Bennett. His family is very influential and powerful, and our companies
will be merging. Quite fortuitously, he has taken a fancy to you.”

The name does not register with me
at first. Then, suddenly, it strikes me like a wave, and I panic at my sudden
realization.

The stranger in the night.

It cannot be. Yet, it has to be.
Roland Bennett is the handsome man I met while lurking outside Father’s office.
And beyond my shock, it excites me to finally know his name. And yet, I am
still confused by the strange idea that we are to wed.