The Haunting of Hill House

Chapter 4

Eleanor awakened to find the blue room gray and colorless in the morning rain. She found that she had thrown the quilt off during the night and had finished sleeping in her usual manner, with her head on the pillow: It was a surprise to find that she had slept until after eight, and she thought that it was ironic that the first good night's sleep she had had in years had come to her in Hill House. Lying in the blue bed, looking up into the dim ceiling with its remote carved pattern, she asked herself, half asleep still, What did I do; did I make a fool of myself? Were they laughing at me?

Thinking quickly over the evening before, she could remember only that she had—must have—seemed foolishly, childishly contented, almost happy; had the others been amused to see that she was so simple? I said silly things, she told herself, and of course they noticed. Today I will be more reserved, less openly grateful to all of them for having me.

Then, awakening completely, she shook her head and sighed. You are a very silly baby, Eleanor, she told herself, as she did every morning.

The room came clearly alive around her; she was in the blue room at Hill House, the dimity curtains were moving slightly at the window, and the wild splashing in the bathroom must be Theodora, awake, sure to be dressed and ready first, certain to be hungry. "Good morning," Eleanor called, and Theodora answering, gasping, "Good morning-through in a minute—I'll leave the tub filled for you—are you starving? Because I am." Does she think I wouldn't bathe unless she left a full tub for me? Eleanor wondered, and then was ashamed; I came here to stop thinking things like that, she told herself sternly and rolled out of bed and went to the window. She looked out across the veranda roof to the wide lawn below, with its bushes and little clumps of trees wound around with mist. Far down at the end of the lawn was the line of trees which marked the path to the creek, although the prospect of a jolly picnic on the grass was not, this morning, so appealing. It was clearly going to be wet all day, but it was a summer rain, deepening the green of the grass and the trees, sweetening and cleaning the air. It's charming, Eleanor thought, surprised at herself; she wondered if she was the first person ever to find Hill House charming and then thought, chilled, Or do they all think so, the first morning? She shivered, and found herself at the same time unable to account for the excitement she felt, which made it difficult to remember why it was so odd to wake up happy in Hill House.

"I'll starve to death." Theodora pounded on the bathroom door, and Eleanor snatched at her robe and hurried. "Try to look like a stray sunbeam," Theodora called out from her room. "It's such a dark day we've got to be a little brighter than usual."

Sing before breakfast you'll cry 'before night, Eleanor told herself, because she had been singing softly, "In delay there lies no plenty..

"I thought I was the lazy one," Theodora said complacently through the door, "but you're much, much worse. Lazy hardly begins to describe you. You must be clean enough now to come and have breakfast."

"Mrs. Dudley sets out breakfast at nine. What will she think when we show up bright and smiling?"

"She will sob with disappointment. Did anyone scream for her in the night, do you suppose?"

Eleanor regarded a soapy leg critically. "I slept like a log," she said.

"So did I. If you are not ready in three minutes I will come in and drown you. I want my breakfast."

Eleanor was thinking that it had been a very long time since she had dressed to look like a stray sunbeam, or been so hungry for breakfast, or arisen so aware, so conscious of herself, so deliberate and tender in her attentions; she even brushed her teeth with a niceness she could not remember ever feeling before. It is all the result of a good night's sleep, she thought; since Mother died I must have been sleeping even more 'poorly than I realized.