Mrs Danvers' Room
Jun 10, 2008 19:15:25 GMT -5
Post by Mrs. Danvers on Jun 10, 2008 19:15:25 GMT -5
There had never been a Mr. Danvers.
Helen had been twenty when she took the job caring for eleven-year-old Rebecca, and she had expected to hear herself introduced by her first name, or at least as a miss. But the Hildreths had introduced her from the very start to her new charge as Mrs Danvers ("It would be improper to let anyone know you were unmarried," Lady Hildreth had sighed, in that same uncaring manner her daughter would develop later on), and it had stuck.
The first thing Helen noticed about Rebecca was that she was beautiful, far more beautiful than Helen ever had been or would be, and still a child. Helen was only twenty herself, and the truth was that she was quite a handsome girl in her own right, but her parents had never let her know that and certainly never allowed her to dress in a manner that could have let her beauty show. Lady Hildreth expected Helen to wear black anyway, to better show off what a beautiful child Rebecca was in her pastels and ribbons as she frolicked around with her cousin Jack, and gradually, she didn't want anyone to notice her anyway. She was Rebecca's prop, her caretaker, her friend, her sister.
When Rebecca was seventeen, Helen was past twenty-five and no longer felt young. She knew that Rebecca didn't need her anymore, but she stayed. She needed to be needed.
She looked at herself and noticed how tight her skin had become, while Rebecca grew ever fresher and lovelier and more self-possessed and vibrant.
When Rebecca was twenty and more than ever the jewelled daughter of high society, Helen was nearly thirty. She was brushing Rebecca's hair one night, listening to the younger woman's happy laughter and teasing shouts of "Danny!", and that was when Helena realized that she was in love with her.
Rebecca saw the look on Mrs Danvers' face, and knew like she always did that she was wanted. So she turned and stood and let Mrs Danvers pull away her nightgown, and she allowed Mrs Danvers to touch her bare body, and to do far more.
And when it was over, Rebecca only laughed and said "Don't be silly, Danny" when Helen said she loved her more than any man ever would, and Helen did not cry, though her heart was broken.
Rebecca was twenty-five when she married Mr de Winter, and she told Helen not to come on the honeymoon in Monte Carlo. "You'll be so happy running the house, Danny," she'd said. "You'll be the undisputed queen while I'm gone."
When Rebecca and Mr de Winter came back from the honeymoon, Helen could see that Mr de Winter no longer loved Rebecca, and that Rebecca was pleased with this situation. Helen felt a moment of pity for Mr de Winter before deciding that he didn't deserve Rebecca anyway.
It was another eleven years of marriage after that. When Rebecca returned from the hairdresser's with her lovely dark hair all cut short in the increasingly popular modern style, Helen ached to have had a chance to save at least some of the silky dark strands for herself.
The night Rebecca died, Helen went into Rebecca's room and held the nightdress to her face. She breathed in Rebecca's sweet orchid perfume, tried to absorb what she could, tried to let Rebecca live in her.
When Mr de Winter's new wife cleared out Rebecca's room, Helen stole everything she could and ferretted it away in her own small room.
But oh, it would all be different now. She could feel Rebecca's hand on hers as she lead her to her room. Her heart was pounding wildly. Yes, it was all going to work this time...
Mrs Danvers opened the door.
"Inside."
Helen had been twenty when she took the job caring for eleven-year-old Rebecca, and she had expected to hear herself introduced by her first name, or at least as a miss. But the Hildreths had introduced her from the very start to her new charge as Mrs Danvers ("It would be improper to let anyone know you were unmarried," Lady Hildreth had sighed, in that same uncaring manner her daughter would develop later on), and it had stuck.
The first thing Helen noticed about Rebecca was that she was beautiful, far more beautiful than Helen ever had been or would be, and still a child. Helen was only twenty herself, and the truth was that she was quite a handsome girl in her own right, but her parents had never let her know that and certainly never allowed her to dress in a manner that could have let her beauty show. Lady Hildreth expected Helen to wear black anyway, to better show off what a beautiful child Rebecca was in her pastels and ribbons as she frolicked around with her cousin Jack, and gradually, she didn't want anyone to notice her anyway. She was Rebecca's prop, her caretaker, her friend, her sister.
When Rebecca was seventeen, Helen was past twenty-five and no longer felt young. She knew that Rebecca didn't need her anymore, but she stayed. She needed to be needed.
She looked at herself and noticed how tight her skin had become, while Rebecca grew ever fresher and lovelier and more self-possessed and vibrant.
When Rebecca was twenty and more than ever the jewelled daughter of high society, Helen was nearly thirty. She was brushing Rebecca's hair one night, listening to the younger woman's happy laughter and teasing shouts of "Danny!", and that was when Helena realized that she was in love with her.
Rebecca saw the look on Mrs Danvers' face, and knew like she always did that she was wanted. So she turned and stood and let Mrs Danvers pull away her nightgown, and she allowed Mrs Danvers to touch her bare body, and to do far more.
And when it was over, Rebecca only laughed and said "Don't be silly, Danny" when Helen said she loved her more than any man ever would, and Helen did not cry, though her heart was broken.
Rebecca was twenty-five when she married Mr de Winter, and she told Helen not to come on the honeymoon in Monte Carlo. "You'll be so happy running the house, Danny," she'd said. "You'll be the undisputed queen while I'm gone."
When Rebecca and Mr de Winter came back from the honeymoon, Helen could see that Mr de Winter no longer loved Rebecca, and that Rebecca was pleased with this situation. Helen felt a moment of pity for Mr de Winter before deciding that he didn't deserve Rebecca anyway.
It was another eleven years of marriage after that. When Rebecca returned from the hairdresser's with her lovely dark hair all cut short in the increasingly popular modern style, Helen ached to have had a chance to save at least some of the silky dark strands for herself.
The night Rebecca died, Helen went into Rebecca's room and held the nightdress to her face. She breathed in Rebecca's sweet orchid perfume, tried to absorb what she could, tried to let Rebecca live in her.
When Mr de Winter's new wife cleared out Rebecca's room, Helen stole everything she could and ferretted it away in her own small room.
But oh, it would all be different now. She could feel Rebecca's hand on hers as she lead her to her room. Her heart was pounding wildly. Yes, it was all going to work this time...
Mrs Danvers opened the door.
"Inside."