Edmond Collier’s Women

by Mara Gerson

Mrs. Collier smoothed out the corners of the doily over the mahogany table and edged her fingertips around the delicate lace. She down at the glinting silver of the bracelets around her wrist, and sighed heavily through her chest. A sense of longing washed over her, but she caught herself and shook her head back and forth. Any more reminiscing would do Mrs. Collier no good at this point. Any more longing and she might as well give up and grow into an old bag lady and live in the sewer. No, no, she was still Gabrielle Alden Collier, regardless of what they might think. And no, oh no, she had no excuses not to maintain her composure.

So Mrs. Collier sat and waited, periodically scanning the large room to make sure everything was in place. Suddenly the door in front of her swished open and a familiar head poked out from behind the crack of the open door.

“Madame? They have arrived,” squeaked the teenager as her gaze darted over the vast room. Mrs. Collier cringed to see her apron tied so sloppily, but she chose not to comment.

“Yes, Velma, I gathered as much,” replied Mrs. Collier as she pursed her sticky lips. “And what do you plan to do with them? Leave them standing alone in the foyer?”

“Oh, right, my apologies Madame,” Velma muttered as she tried to retreat away from the door.

“And Velma? You have prepared the tea, as I requested?”

“Oh gosh, I do apologize,” she gasped, “I will boil the water immediately. I am truly sorry.” Velma ducked her head and she turned to leave the room.

Mrs. Collier nodded as the girl left the room. It had been such a hassle to deal with Velma lately. No, she had really been trouble from the start. Velma was so dim that even after six months of working for the Colliers, she still hadn’t picked up on how to tend to their needs properly. Maybe their lifestyles were to foreign for her – after all, she had come from a measly background. Why, if Mrs. Collier hadn’t done Velma’s desperate mother such an enormous favor, the girl would be living like a rodent on the street! She should have been bending down on her knees, eager to cater to Mrs. Collier’s every demand. And Mrs. Collier really asked so little of her. The least Velma could have done was to have at least a tiny fragment of loyalty to the woman of the household. But no; the girl was an “independent soul,” a “rare ingénue,” as Edmond always said. Well, Mrs. Collier didn’t know when it would happen, but Velma was bound to falter soon. It was inevitable that sooner or later, she would mess up. And that would be the final straw. No matter what Edmond said.

She heard two new sets of footsteps following recognizable Velma’s trudging. As she patted the coiffed knot atop her head, she couldn’t help but glance once again at the bracelets. They had surely impressed before, and now they would serve their duty yet again.

“Madame, Mr. Bristol and Mrs. Winslow are here to see you,” Velma announced in a falsetto tone. As they entered, Mrs. Collier watched their shoes move onto the intricate rug that Mr. Collier had brought her from Morocco years ago.

“Ah, why hello there. Good afternoon, both of you,” smiled Mrs. Collier at her visitors. She was happy to see both of them glance around the room at all of the things that she had so scrupulously arranged.

“Good day, Mrs. Collier,” bellowed Mr. Bristol, a tall, broad man whom Mrs. Collier had always found quite handsome. “Why yes, marvelous day. And how have you been, Eleanor?”

“Just grand, thank you Gabrielle,” she responded. “Your house looks immaculate, as usual. Now I must know where you found this beautiful rug!”

“Oh that?” said Mrs. Collier as she gestured for the couple to sit. “I… I’m sorry it has slipped my mind. As a matter of fact I am considering replacing for something that is more my taste. Yes, I ought to do it soon.”

“Edmond wouldn’t dare allow it,” laughed Mr. Bristol. “Nothing in this house has changed since the first day I saw it. He hates change.”

Mrs. Collier nonchalantly folded her hands in her lap and turned to the woman. “Anyhow, how was your trip Eleanor? Was the party as grand as usual?”

“Oh, once again Madame Forester outdid herself. There were eight different types of imported chocolates, and the musicians were simply lovely. And you would have adored her dress, Gabrielle. Too bad you couldn’t make it.”

“Well, you know how I wish we could have. But I caught that terrible flu, and it just didn’t seem right for me to infect others.”

Mrs. Winslow nodded. “Now, I just finished reading the latest issue of The Enquirer on the train ride home. Have either of you seen it? There is a piece covering the situation at the preparatory school in Oxford. It’s all so tragic, don’t you agree?”

“Yes indeed!” nodded Mrs. Collier, “To think that a professor of such dignity would – oh, I just cannot bear to imagine it. It is simply despicable.”

“What I find much more despicable,” Mr. Bristol added as he shook a finger at the two women, “Is the amount of attention that has been brought to the incident. My wife has been constantly ranting about it, as well, and I feel that it is unnecessary to –”

“There is nothing unnecessary about it. He should be exposed. He bloody well deserves it,” Mrs. Winslow interrupted.

“But there was a child involved,” insisted Mr. Bristol. “An innocent child! Does she deserve this all of this crude attention?”

“Mark, he ought to be put to justice,” Mrs. Winslow asserted, “I don’t even like to think about how long this could have gone on before it got out. And they say that there were other girls in the past as well!”

“I would hardly call them girls,” said Mrs. Collier softly. “They are young ladies, and they are clearly old enough to make their own decisions. By age fifteen, one should understand what type of behavior is appropriate.”

“You cannot blame the girls. It is the fault of the entire institution, for turning a blind eye,” said Mr. Bristol.

“And the nerve of the man, to keep such a secret, added Mrs. Forester. “Who does the man he think he is, assuming that no one would find out. These things always get exposed.”

“They always get exposed? What a silly thing to say!” burst Mrs. Collier. The guests stared at her, shocked by her sudden rudeness. Mrs. Collier’s cheeks began to flush, yet she continued, “Many scandals can remain successfully unexposed. You just wouldn’t have heard –”

A loud clang broke through the chatter and Mrs. Collier clutched her heart. “Oh my lord,” she gasped, and whipped her head around to see what had caused the interruption. Velma stood sheepishly in the doorway with the tea tray quavering in her hands. The ground below her was covered in white powder, and the remnants of the sugar jar were scattered in pieces across the floor.

Velma opened her mouth and seemed to try to speak, but her mortification must have silenced her. Mrs. Collier watched her, and as the girl brought her head up, their eyes met. Mrs. Collier felt her own gaze burn straight into Velma, who’s eyes began to quiver. Suddenly, she dropped the entire tray and swept around and away through the door. The second clatter made Mrs. Collier’s heart tense up painfully, and her body tensed up. This was it. She could do it now. Throw Velma back into the dust where she truly belonged. Yet it would be rude to abandon her guests, so she would deal with the matter later. Soon enough.

“I… I deeply apologize,” she stammered. “She has no idea what she’s doing. She’s a but dull and I ought… I ought to fire her. I apologize.”

“Oh, no. I have seen worse,” said Mrs. Winslow. “And if she cannot understand how to be a proper maid, there are others that can take her place.”

“And she’s very nervous, indeed. She wouldn’t stop shaking,” said Mrs. Winslow.

“My goodness, what do you do to her in this house?” asked Mr. Bristol. “Are you a witch to your maid, Mrs. Collier?”

“I am perfectly normal,” Mrs. Collier said coolly. “And it is not worth anyone’s time to discuss her natural incompetence any further.” She felt Mrs. Winslow’s gaze fixed on her, but Mr. Bristol simply shrugged.

“So, Mrs. Winslow, how is your son doing in Paris? It’s such a wonderful city,” he said. Mrs. Collier and her guests continued to chat for the remainder of the afternoon. When they heard Velma quietly sulk inside to clean up the mess and later bring the tea in successfully, the three of them ignored her as they would any other maid. Mrs. Winslow talked a lot of her children, and Mr. Bristol mentioned the success of his work in publishing. Mrs. Collier barely listened to the others, and only spoke to answer questions and to break pauses in the discussion. Her mind was stuck on the spilled sugar, the piano, and her husband Edmond.

After a few more hours, the guests both thanked their host for the lovely tea and biscuits, and Mrs. Winslow complemented her once again on the immaculate house. As Mrs. Collier watched them don their coats and head out into the bright daylight on the street, she let out a heavy sigh of relief. Everything had gone by quite smoothly, even despite the circumstances. And thankfully, neither guest seemed to have picked up on anything out of the ordinary.

Mrs. Collier walked back into her house, through the grand foyer and back into the living room. She stood under the doorway, in the very place where Velma had been trembling hours earlier. Scanning the wide room once again, she saw everything still as immaculate as it had been before her guests arrived. Yet this time her possessions did not fill her with richness and assurance. In fact, the room seemed immensely empty and translucent to her. Maybe it was because her guests had left. But no, she had barely been aware of them after their first conversation. It bothered her a great deal, and she wanted to know what to do to make it seem lively again.

She looked down at the floor, and saw the rug beneath her feet. One would think that everything was normal, except for a few remaining glints of sugar still embedded in the weaving. As she stood, eyes glued to the floor, a tear rolled down her face and dropped quietly down and into the candied rug. Velma had to clean this up. It couldn’t stay this way. She would clean and then Mrs. Collier would sack her for good.

Mrs. Collier headed down the stairs and approached Velma’s room in the basement of the house. It was cramped and smelled of moldy fruit, but Mrs. Collier nevertheless found it generous of herself to offer someone a space to stay in her own home. She came to the cracked wooden door, and paused when she heard a soft whimper in the room. Washing away any sympathies towards the wretched girl, she turned the knob and stepped inside.

Velma was curled up on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees and tears rolling down her cheeks. Her face was splotchy, and she looked up at Mrs. Collier with an expression of shame and terror. Mrs. Collier cleared her throat,

“Velma, you… you have no right to behave in this manner.” The coolness of her own voice shocked Mrs. Collier, yet she continued, “You have a duty to this household, and I am afraid to say that lately you have not been fulfilling it.”

“I – Madame, I am deeply sorry,” Velma squeaked, her voice slow and shaky. “The tea, I know, I was not good, not good, and as I said yesterday I apologize for the piano – ”

“We both know that this is not about forgetting to polish the piano.” Velma bowed her head back down to her knees. “I am afraid it has come time to let you go.” The girl looked up with a gasp.

“No, no miss,” she managed to croak. “You don’t understand.”

“Excuse me? I do not understand?” Mrs. Collier repeated in shock. “I am sorry, but I believe it is you who do not understand, missy. Ignorant girl, I want you out of this house at once!”

“No, I cannot just leave now – ”

“Well that is not my problem anymore. You have no idea what I sacrifice for this household. I will not allow a piece of scum come in and tarnish my silver or stain my rug, and ruin all of that,” Mrs. Collier spat out in fury. “You may think you can weasel your way in, and take over what I have worked to obtain for years with one swish of your hair. But you know nothing. You know nothing of what it truly means to support a man.”

“I don’t want to support a man! But I do know how to support a family – a baby brother, a sick mother! This is the only way I know how…” Velma breathed in, still avoiding Mrs. Collier’s searing gaze. “The bread I can buy with the few extra coins he gives me each week… well that’s as valuable to me as those silver and artwork and rugs are to you.”

The two women paused, breathing hard. Neither looked at the other. Then, Mrs. Collier grabbed her wrist and peeled of her delicate silver bracelets as if they were scabbed skin, and tossed them onto the bed next to Velma. She sank heavily into the floor, and buried her chest on her knees.

“Take them,” Mrs. Collier sighed. “And take the rug. Get it out of here. And whatever else you want. Take it.”

“Madame, I can’t – ”

“TAKE THEM!” She yelled. “Just take the goddamn things and get out of my sight. Now! It is the last order I am giving you, Velma. Just get the bloody hell out of my house.”

Velma took thirty seconds to grab the bracelets and all of her personal possessions from the room. She reached for the door to leave, but first took one last look at her former employer. Mrs. Collier’s skirt was bunched around her thighs so that her vainy calves were clearly visible. As Velma looked at the strands of hair stuck to the sticky tears on her cheek, the two locked eyes one last time. Mrs. Collier’s stare was no longer piercing. Now, it seemed hollow to Velma, who had an urge to go comfort the woman. But she turned away and out of the room. Velma figured she needed to provide Mrs. Collier with a good reason to get rid of her. So she disobeyed the instructions, and left everything – the rugs, the paintings, the jewelry, exactly in place.