Steam

Chapter 8

On the corridor out of Thomas' study, there was a large mirror and he stopped mid-stride to check himself out. He peered close at his face; he licked his thumb and rubbed away a mud streak on his right cheek. He ran his hands briskly back and forth over his shaven head to rid it of any dust then brushed his shirt and trousers down. He stood back and took a deep breath; taking himself in, then continued on.

As he crossed through the main hall, he saw one of the maids pass through the far archway to the sitting room with a large tray in hand. He began to ascend the grand staircase and he ran his weathered hands up the beautifully polished mahogany banister. As he did so, he wondered if Victoria had ever ran her hand over the same bit; the thought made him grin to himself.

When he reached the top he decided to check her dressing room first and therefore took a right down the hallway. Between each oak door was a gold-framed portrait of someone in the Crowley family tree, many were distant relatives who had either died many years ago or moved far away. Each of them stared blankly out of their canvas prison as he stalked past them.

Though he had been working here for a year now, he still felt uncomfortable walking through such a grand establishment when he was simply a scruffy orphan boy. He felt out of place and his stomach would curl nervously whenever he stepped on the intricately designed carpets or pass through the magnificent rooms by himself. Not so many weeks earlier, Alexander had assured him that he had rightfully earned his place here and that he was a fine young man whom he highly regarded. Nevertheless he still tread carefully and was ever mindful to treat the house and residents with the utmost respect and was most often given the same in return.

The 11th door on the right of the corridor was Victoria's dressing room and he approached meekly. Seeing her door was ajar, he assumed that she must be in the library; her door was always tightly shut whenever she was inside. A few feet from the door, he almost turned to leave when he was abruptly stopped in his stride when he heard what sounded to be the song of an angel coming from within.

Her voice, to Pip, was unmistakeable. It was soft and dreamy and cradled him like sunset clouds against a peach sky. It flowed in his ears and poured inside him; warming him pleasantly. It reminded him of warm milk and the soft fur of a kitten. His mouth was dry and he had to take a minute to remind himself how to breathe again. Absolutely silently, he tip-toed to the edge of her door and listened him. The familiar twinge of pure love tugged increasingly harder at his heart strings as he listened in. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, as well as his hard breathing.

Taking what could be a hugely regrettable chance, he noiselessly turned and pressed his face against the crack in the door. His glasses protruded into his face and irritated him; he didn't care. He would care even less when he saw what lay within the recesses of her dressing room...

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