Moonlight (5 page)

After only a minute or so of walking, Thaddeus stopped again.

Winnie heard him slip a key into a lock, then another, and then the sound of him pushing a door wide open. He disappeared for a moment, and then there was light. Winnie found herself standing before a large house. She guessed the building had to be very old from the little she could see by the light which spilled from within. She passed through the
open doorway, leaving the cold and the night behind her. Thaddeus had disappeared. Winnie looked about the vast hallway she now found herself in. The walls were panelled in a rich, deep oak. Doors to rooms led off the hallway. A wide double staircase grew from the centre of the hall and spiralled upwards into the dark like an ancient spine. Thick patterned rugs covered the polished wooden floor. Portraits adorned the walls. She was no artist, and knew very little of history, but she could tell that the pictures had been beautifully painted, and were very old. She looked about for Thaddeus
as she clutched the carrier bag
to her chest.

"
Thaddeus,
are you there?" she called out. As the last of her words trailed off into the depths of the enormous house, lights flickered on from the landing above her. Looking up, Winnie saw Thaddeus standing at the top of the stairs.

"Welcome to my home, Winnie. Come up and I shall show you to your room."

She moved across the hallway and climbed the stairs. At the top, Thaddeus led her down a long narrow corridor, stopping outside a door at the far end. Winnie stepped into the room and looked about in wonder. The room was finely furnished with a four-poster bed at its centre. White drawers and cabinets trailed away in either direction from the bed. A beautifully ornate dressing table stood in the far corner with a small, plush velvet-seated stool before it. A bay window, fringed with lace curtains and silk drapes, faced the bed on the opposite side of the room and added to its size. Walk-in wardrobes, carved in the same fashion as
the other furniture, followed the line of the wall to the door where Winnie and Thaddeus now stood. Thaddeus stepped into the room and gazed about.

"This is your room, Winnie." He crossed to the far side and swung open an adjoining door. Gesturing into the room, he said, "This is your bathroom."

My own bathroom?
Winnie wondered in awe, as she joined Thaddeus. A thick blue carpet covered the floor, and she could
tell it was deep and soft
as her boots
sank into it. A round-shaped bath lay to one side, slightly sunk into the floor. There was also a shower and toilet. More white cabinets and drawers lined the walls. Crisp white towels hung from a rail fixed to the wall.

"Oh, my god, I can’t believe this is going to be my room, it beats the Embankment any day."

Thaddeus caught her gaze and grinned, "Well don't say anything, just enjoy."

Winnie went back into the bedroom and Thaddeus followed.

"It's just that I get the feeling...” Winnie started.

"That it's all too good to be true,” he cut in
.
“That
I must have an ulterior motive for having you here?" He looked straight at her, his face b
lank, not giving anything away. Then, turning,
Thaddeus
went
to the bedroom
door. He stopped and faced her again.
"I've given you my reasons and you decided to come. If you want to stay, do so, but if you feel you must leave, then go. It’s e
ntirely up to you, Winnie. T
he hour is
late and I must work in my room before I rest. So I bid you goodnight. If you decide to stay, I’ll be getting up at dusk tomorrow evening. Do as you please until then, but do not disturb me, whatever the reason." He then turned in the doorway and disappeared into the shadows
,
which were cast along the landing.

Winnie stood looking at the empty space where he had been. After several moments, she went to the door and shut it tight. There was no lock,
she noticed. Taking a
chair
, Winnie
wedged it against the door. She knew that it wouldn’t keep anyone out, but the movement of it would wake her. It was better than sleeping with one eye open like she had on so many nights beneath the Embankment.  

Winnie went to the bed, lay on it, and spent her first restless night in Thaddeus’s house.

Winnie awoke at a little past nine to the sound of heavy rain beating against her bedroom window. A strong wind nagged and tore about the eaves with an icy fury. She laid spread across the bed, fully dressed. She hadn't felt s
ecure or comfortable enough last night
to strip herself bare and climb between the sheets. She had felt vulnerable in the dark, and
a certain
distrust for Thaddeus still remained. He had been right. The house, the bedroom, the new clothes, the chance to escape her life on the streets, and Thaddeus himself, all s
eemed too good to be true. S
he had spent her life distrusting people, because most had hurt her
, or let her down in some way. T
he distrust she felt for her new surroundings and Thaddeus didn’t surprise her.

She pulled herself up onto her elbows and gazed sleepily about her new room. It truly was beautiful with its apple white walls and lavish furnishings. It was the kind of room that she had only dared to dream about as a child, as she lay at night and tried to escape the drab surroundings of the care homes she was passed around. Winnie really didn't know what to make of Thaddeus, but so far, he had been nothing but generous, kind, and true to his word. If she left, what did she have to go back to? She had no money, no clothes, or a place to live. Who would employ her? She had been on that merry-go-round before.  No one would give you a job if you didn’t have a bank account. You couldn’t get a bank account without an address, an
d around and around it went. I
f she
stayed, saved the money that Thaddeus had promised to pay her, then perhaps she could afford to start a new life for herself. She could at last break that vicious circle which she had been trapped in for so many years.

Winnie swung her legs over the side of the bed. She pulled off her boots and wiggled her feet. Standing beside the bed, she let the soft carpet seep between her toes. Winnie headed for the bathroom, undoing the blood-stained top she still wore. She let it slide smoothly off her arms where it fluttered to the floor. Standing naked beside the sunken bath in just her panties, she bent over and loosened the taps. A torrent of hot water cascaded over the shining enamel of the bath. Winnie stepped out of her panties, then climbed into the bath and let the water rise about her. She stopped the flow of water nearly at brimming point and lay back in its warmth. The water soothed her body and she relished the feel of it against her skin. She had forgotten how long it had been
since she had had a proper bath or shaved her legs.
The strip washes she had managed to have in public bathrooms was nothing compared to this. Even though she had only washed her hair the night before at the station, she needed to wash it again. Winnie needed to wash every part of her past life from her hair, skin, from beneath her fingernails, and between her toes. Taking a nailbrush from the side of the bath, she covered it in soap and raked it up and down her arms, over the flat of her stomach, and down her thighs, until her skin
glowed
an angry red.
She then shaved her legs and armpits.

The water had almost turned cold before she finally reached up for one of the pure white towels, which hung from the rail beside the bath.
Standing, she hugged the towel about her frame and slowly began to dry herself.  She fixed her hair, and with a new toothbrush she found in one
of
the bathroom cupboards, she brushed her teeth. It felt so good, that she brushed them twice. Once she was ready, Winnie stepped gingerly from her room at about eleven, dressed in one of the violet tops and short, neat black skirts that Thaddeus had chosen for her. She had pulled her hair back and fastened it in place with a black scarf she had found in one of the many drawers in her room. In fact, the closets and drawers had all been filled to the brim with expensive dresses, trousers, tops, skirts, shoes, hats, handbags, coats, and lingerie, but she had feared to touch any of these without the permission of Thaddeus. After all, she thought, they could’ve belonged to his dead wife.

She slipped down the lengthy landing, passing closed doors on either side of her. Winnie figured that Thaddeus must be sleeping
behind one of them, and not knowing which one, she dared not to enter any of them. He had asked her not to disturb him for any reason. After tiptoeing down the wide staircase, Winnie found herself once again in the vast hall she had stood in the night before. The light was better now, and she crossed to the portraits which hung on the walls. The wall before her was decorated with oil paintings of men. She couldn’t be sure, but they appeared to be very old, if
not hundreds of years old. T
he last picture hanging from the wall
didn’t look so dated
. It was a beautifully crafted painting of Thaddeus himself. He stared out of the picture with its silver frame. His dark eyes, scruffy dark hair enclosing his pale face, and his
broad mouth set in a nonchalant pose reminded Winnie of how strangely attractive Thaddeus was. He wasn’t the typical good-looking guy, but there was something about him, she thought. Something different, but she hadn’t quite figured out what.

Winnie passed back along the row, and two things puzzled her. None of the paintings had been signed by the artists, and the men in each painting bore a striking resemblance to Thaddeus himself. Their faces had subtle differences in shape, their hair fashioned in different styles to suit the particular period in time, but all of them had those dark, powerful eyes. Studying the paintings, Winnie decided that they must be his ancestors. She turned on the balls of her feet and crossed to the paintings hanging on the opposite wall. These were paintings of women. Again, all of which app
eared to be extremely old. A
s in the male portraits, the women all bore a striking resemblance to each other. All had a fountain of
fiery auburn hair, pale
skin, the softest of pink mouths, and green eyes that shone out of the paintings like blazing emeralds. Again, these hadn't been signed.

Winnie crossed to the centre of the hall and looked from one set of paintings to the other. As she passed between them, she noticed that they sat exactly opposite each other, so that their eyes
were
locked on one another’s. She stood in the vast hall, looking up at the paintings. Then when her neck began to ache, she clasped the handle of one of the doors which led from the hallway and eased it open. Peering around the edge of the door, she stepped inside. Winn
ie found herself in a large
din
ing room. Hazy subdued light spilled in through tall bay windows that stood at the far end of the room and lightened her surroundings. There was a long mahogany table which could have seated at least twenty people comfortably down each side. Bookcases lined the remaining walls from floor to ceiling, with a ladder on wheels propped against the shelves at the far end. She noticed that each book was leather-bound in blues, greens, and deep reds. Their spines were adorned with impressive gold binding, as were the edges of the pages.
Winnie closed the door behind her and crossed the hall to the door set into the opposite wall. She pushed it open and stepped into the lounge.

There was another bay window spilling more grey light into the room. Dust moats danced in the slices of grey light.  The rain continued to hurl itself against the windows and she wrapped her arms about her shoulders, shivering, and glad to be in the warmth. Squat, leather-backed armchairs and two-seater sofas furnished the room. There was an open fireplace, and Winnie could only imagine how beautiful it would look ablaze on a cold winter’s night. In the far corner was the biggest television set she had ever seen, and she went over and switched it on. Sinking down into one of the luxuriant sofas, the TV screen flickered to life.

The midday news was just beginning, and she was surprised that it had gotten so late. She sat before the television more bemused by its size than the World events that were being read by the newscaster. The first story was about the failing economy, and how many more months the
country was going to be in a double-dip recession. Winnie had never before concerned herself with such troubles, the life she had led on the streets of London were where her own survival
had been her main concern. T
he second story did grab her attention, as the newsreader began to recount the details of the brutal murder of a student in London. The body had been found in a bedsit, not too far from King’s Cross Railway Station. She remembered too well the bitter nights she had spent huddled up there, begging for money so that she could buy food. Winnie listened to how the police were appealing for witnesses. The story cut to a police press conference, where a balding police officer sat behind a large table crammed with microphones. The shoulders of his smart black tunic were covered in crowns, Winnie noticed. He didn’t look like the average copper who would hassle her to move on or arrest her for begging; he looked way more important than that.