The Edge

I was in one of the loveliest rooms I had ever seen. Its windows, dusty from time, were wide and open, and showed not the drive and carefully ornate gardens of the front of the house but the beautiful pleasure gardens and the trees and rockeries of the back of the house. The gardens became a small wooded area then the mountain rose high behind it. The light coming in was lovely, and made the room bright, despite the dust and the rain.

The room was well proportioned, longer than it was wide and was dominated by the massive four poster bed. This was beautiful, carved from ebony wood, and as I stroked its smooth surface I realised it was genuine ebony. A master craftsman had built this, for the posts and frame were carved all over with vines and roses, and at the corners were winged doves facing outwards. The hangings of the bed were a deep rich blue, a colour that was utterly new to me. It was more indigo than blue, it had undertones of green, its was like seaweed in a rock pool. The covers of the bed were in the same thick rich fabric and when I drew this covering back, the blankets and sheets were a spotless white.

The curtains at the wide window were in the same fabric, a heavy brocade trimmed with gold braid. The window seats were in that colour with gold threads moving through them. The window seat was wide and made a wonderful place to sit. There was a small writing table brought in to the curved arbour and this still held old pens and ink, neatly placed into their respective places, and faded white writing paper. I sat down in the window seat and looked at the rest of the room.

The bedside tables and the dresser were of ebony wood, clearly part of a set for they had the same carvings as the bed. There were fine Persian rugs adorning the hardwood floor, in deep pinks and blues and blacks. There was a large ornate mirror on one wall beside the massive ebony wardrobe. On the dressing table were bushes and combs, and small pots for hair pins. The stool before it was covered again in that wonderful indigo brocade. There was an ornate chest at the foot of the bed, covered with a black and gold cloth. This had placed upon it a bible in a soft leather cover, beside it a set of rosary beads and behind these, dead centre, was a carved cross. There was a cushion placed before it with deep indentures from constant kneeling, it was here that Elizabeth must have prayed each day.

There were no pictures on the walls, there was no need for them. The walls were decoration enough. Three sides of the room were decorated, the one with the window was left white. I got up and went to them and realised that they had been hand painted. The design was blue and deep pink flowers growing from green and gold vines, with exotic birds in similar colours perching upon them. The background was a deep black and it made the room into a beautiful jungle or garden. It was a breathtaking sight.

I sat back down and gazed at it all. Despite the dust, the room was perfect. Ornate and exotic, colourful and beautiful yet God was brought into it by the doves on the bed, the cross and the bible. I touched the rosary beads, they were of mother of pearl, lovely things. I opened the bible, on the frontispiece was written in a ladies hand 'Property of Elizabeth Isabella De Verde'. I picked up the pens and saw how worn they were. I then went to the dressing table, picked up the brush and comb, opened the drawers and looked at the small keepsakes and items inside. There was a bottle of perfume on the dressing table. I opened the bottle and the long stored fragrance of roses emanated from inside. The scent was old but I touched it to my neck and wrists all the same. There were some small pots of creams that smelt like ones my mother had used and it made me feel half a girl again, sitting in her bedroom while she made herself up or attended to her hair.

I heard movement in the craft room. Stephen or someone else? I got up and went to the door. The tread was a light one, not like Sir Robert or Michael. I unlocked and opened the door. Stephen Bruce stood in the corridor!

I beckoned to him. He started at the sight of me but came in and I shut the door after him. Comprehension dawned as he looked around the room. I showed him the entire room. He much admired the carvings on the bed especially. Could he manage to recreate these in miniature? Yes, he supposed he could, it would take more time but certainly he could try! Did I want to have a bedroom for Elizabeth in the doll's house? Yes I said, I did. I wanted a doll to represent her too. I loved this room. It was beautiful. I wished it were my room, it was so lovely. Stephen smiled and drew me into the window seat. We sat close together, his hand on my knee, the other around my shoulders.

“This room seems not to have been touched in years. How did you get in?” I confessed the theft of the key. He laughed and took it from me, weighing it in his hand.

“We will need to put this back today. You never know, Jones might count the keys each evening! I have some potters clay in the other room. I will take an impression and tomorrow I shall go to the village and have a new key cut for you. That way we can study this room in detail.”

He lowered his voice and leant towards me.

“Does it not occur to you that this is a wonderful opportunity in more ways than one? We have a room that is forgotten, that no one except us knows we can get into. A bedroom, no less. It is somewhere we can hide, be totally private and thus totally alone together. Our nights by the fireside are thrilling, my love, but none the less they are risky. And Michael will wish to move back into your bed soon, I am sure.”

I started at that. I had been smiling over the thought of our having a private room but that Michael would want to move back into the bedroom we had shared had not entered my head. Stephen nodded gravely.

“He said as much to me earlier today. I must admit, he is truly sorry for how he has treated you. It is not unexpected that he should wish to lie beside his wife as he has previously done. He told me , probably because he realised I knew the reason for your staying in your room so much, that he wishes to speak with you this evening and possibly lie with you in your marital bed tonight.”

I asked him what his thoughts were on that, on Michael being beside me at night. I said, somewhat hesitantly, that it was likely he would want to reclaim his rights as my husband. Stephen shook his head.

“He is your husband. You stood up in church and said the marriage vows, you wear his ring on your finger. You have a son and will doubtless have more children if life continues as it does. I have no right to ask any favours of you. I have no claim on your affections or your conduct.”

My conduct! I started to my feet in indignation! I felt utterly furious! The passion I felt flooding through my veins and I knew my cheeks must have flushed red!

“How dare you sir! It was you, not me, that took me out alone and insisted on confidences! It was you that kissed me and you that asked for time alone with me, when I was vulnerable and unhappy. You are a worldly man, I am sure you have many exploits you could regale me with! I am a lone woman, without close family or friends near me, as you have remarked before! If I have strayed from my husbands side, it was you that tempted me! And more the fool me for allowing this, if now you reproach me for my conduct!”

I would have gone on, I had raised my voice above the soft tone that had been habitual to me since school but Stephen had also risen and reached for me. I snatched my arm away and turned on my heel, intending to march out of the room but he grasped my shoulder. I turned and struck him across the face! He gasped and grabbed my hands, we struggled and I pulled back, into one of the corners of the room, intending to grasp something to hit him with but my foot caught in the rug and I fall across the bed. Stephen dropped on top of me, we still struggled and then my rage turned to something else, a frenzied kissing that was almost violent. I realised I was crying, tears of rage and misery. Seeing this, Stephen caught me up and held me close in his lap, rocking me like a child.

“My love, my sweet Imogen, what is wrong? Have I hurt you? I never meant any slur on your conduct, I never meant any offence, I only meant to say that I have no right to ask anything from you but what you chose to give. My love, my love, my only love, I am sorry! Oh Imogen, how could you think me capable of thinking you wicked? It makes me wild with jealousy when I think of you with Michael! It makes me angry to think of any man being near you except for me! But I will not force you to break your marriage vows or forbid your husband his rights just for me, if you don't wish it. Oh my dearest girl, please don't cry. I am sorry, I am sorry. I promise....”

but I broke in, keeping my voice lower, for my throat was sore and tight with crying and with the pain in my chest that had suddenly appeared.

“It isn't that. It is just...I am so alone. You said it yourself. I have no caring family nor friend to talk to. I have no one who knows me or who I can share confidences with. Before you came, my life was uniform and lonely and I was content because, like a bird in a cage, I did not know any different. But then you came and it has been like sunshine in a bleak winter! You have shown me a world beyond my cage and now I cannot bare to be so near you, because you have shown me how my life is lacking. And I could not bare you to go away from me, because if you go, I will have no one.”

He held me closer, rocked me and stroked my face with his work roughened hands. I went on.

“I love you Stephen. I love you because you know me in every sense and I do not fear your knowledge. I love you to distraction but I wish I did not, because one day I must lose you and then it will be worse than if you never were! The bird that knows no other world will have seen how sweet freedom is and yet can never taste it again. I once heard a preacher talking of when Eve took the apple from the tree of knowledge. I know now that you are like the apple to me. I wish I had just admired you from afar. Because the taste of that apple is so sweet, I want to taste nothing else ever again!”

I had cried myself out. The storm of passion was past. In his arms I went limp and he lay me back on that beautiful indigo bed. Then he reached for the laces at my back and unfastened my dress. Helping me out of it, he undid my petticoats and removed my small clothes. He stripped me naked and lay me down on that lovely bed. Then he stripped for me. He held out his arms and I reached for him.

He kissed my tear stained face. Hi kissed each stretch mark, each curve of my body. Before he entered me, he whispered “I am yours Imogen. Whatever the future may hold for us, I am here with you now. I love you and only you. I am yours. I swear to you, I am yours. And I am here with you now. This moment is ours.”

So saying he entered me. He filled me and slowly he made love to me, inciting my heart to fill to bursting with joy. As he reached his pleasure, he kept his eyes on mine, our faces were so close together, I held him in my arms and he breathed my name as he came.

Afterwards, he dressed me. He helped me to repair the rumpled bed. After we left the room and locked it, he took me to the work room and showed me his clay. He made an impression of both sides of the key. Tomorrow it would be made into a new key for us.

He held me so close before I went to dress for dinner.

“Remember, my sweet rose, in that forgotten bedroom, we are together. In our hearts we are together. It matters not to me whether your husband comes back to your bed or no. I know that in here, in your heart of hearts, I am the husband that you chose. That is more than enough for me.”