By Tim W. Burke
We were in our places, Olivia at the door and I in the wicker basket. The windows were concealed with heavy curtains to keep out the afternoon sun, but oil lamps pushed back the gloom.
The lady who entered our study first was the old friend of Olivia’s family, who embraced Olivia, then introduced her guests. The other matron wore black; she was the hopeful patron. The men were both young, one balding and mustached and the other dark and intense. They were surprised by her frank smile, by her firm handclasp, and they smirked.
The basket that hid me was a cubit square. Within it, I sat naked on a thin cotton mat, waiting for my cue.
For the preceding installment in this story, please check out “The Garden And The Mirror”
For the next installment, proceed to “Nourished By Chaff, We Believe The Glamor”, part of the Trio of Terror.