Freud's Mistress by Karen Mack

brushed her knee. Or was it an accident? Whatever it was, Minna felt a charge in her gut that was definitely unseemly. And the wine didn’t help.
    â€œIt’s getting late,” she said, standing up, the flush of alcohol staining her cheeks.
    Their eyes met for a moment and she wondered briefly when things had changed between them. She had expected when she came here that their relationship would remain as it had always been, uncomplicated and intellectual. But it was as if the Freud she had known for years had transformed into someone else. This felt like a new beginning. But
that
wasn’t what she wanted. The thought that kept creeping into her mind was, would she have behaved this way in front of her sister? Would he?

9
    M inna, are you awake?” Martha called. “Come in here, dear, will you? Minna?”
    Minna awoke with a dull roar behind her ears and dry, cakey lips. The space above her eyes ached and the light made it worse. She rolled over and sat up abruptly, increasing her discomfort. “I’m up. I’m up . . . I’m getting dressed.”
    She threw the sheets aside, and padded barefoot across the cold, buckled-wood floor. Narrow shafts of sunlight streamed through the cracks of the closed shutters and she could hear noises from the busy street below. She opened the window and a waft of clean, fresh air hit her face as she took a deep breath. My God, she thought, I haven’t slept this late in years. Too much wine. She knew it before she went to bed last night. That had been the problem . . . too much wine for all of them. She would not do
that
again.
    Normally Minna would put on a day costume, a crisp white blouse and tight-waisted skirt falling smoothly over the hips. But today she couldn’t face the thought of hooking all those buttons on her blouse. She fumbled through her wardrobe and chose a simple blue serge dress with far less business. This will be fine, she thought.
    The master bedroom was located directly next door, and last night Minna could hear Martha snoring through the walls as she undressed and got into bed. Right before she fell asleep, she was vaguely aware of heavy footsteps in the hall.
    Minna found her sister sitting in bed, surrounded by her needlework and two popular magazines,
La
Vie Parisienne
and
Illustrated News
. Freud’s side of the bed was smooth and cold, as if no one had been there all night. The shutters were closed, effecting an almost total absence of sunlight. As Minna stepped into the room she heard the downstairs door slam shut. He was leaving. At the same time, the insistent wail of an infant carried through the halls. Martha pulled the brass-handled bell rope by her bed, and a jingle traveled to the kitchen. A few moments later, Edna, the upstairs maid, could be heard outside the door.
    â€œYes, madam?” Edna asked, straightening Martha’s bed linens and plumping the pillow on Freud’s side of the bed. Edna was a large, raw-boned figure, about a head taller than most women, and she reminded Minna of Mrs. Squeers, a minor but memorable character in
Nicholas Nickleby
. Unlike Dickens’s character, however, Edna was not at all cruel. She was breathless from climbing the stairs and a bit out of sorts.
    This morning she had already lit the fires, cleaned the grates, brought water to every room, awakened the children, and flushed the water closets.
    â€œDoes Nanny know the baby’s crying?” Martha asked.
    â€œMost certainly,” Edna said, pushing a strand of hair under her white starched cap.
    â€œAnd the other children?”
    â€œMartin’s throat still has the infection.”
    â€œSophie and Oliver?”
    â€œTheir throats are now seedy, too.”
    â€œWell, keep them away from my husband.”
    As Minna listened, Martha proceeded to review methodically the children’s activities and ailments, organizing and coordinating all the errands and tasks of the