by Yume
7. The Father’s Obsession
Sir Mitchell
“Dorothy!” A croaky voice ordered.
The maid, dressed neatly in a purple uniform, rushed downstairs at once. Cautiously, she poured a cup of tea and served the master.
Following her previous mistress’ death, Dorothy and the butler, Charles, got hired in a distinct wealthy family- the Mitchells. It didn’t seem that life had changed a bit for them. Yet, things in the neighborhood would never be the same again.
Madam Hernandez was found dead at the bottom of the long, wide golden stairs. Her fair hair was stained red by the crimson blood. Her eyes were swollen, with the eyeballs bulging out like fish. Blood went down from the wound on her head and way along the hall. Her last breath was taken as an anguishing groan, just like how her victims used to do. Her death remained a mystery. It was apparently a heart attack from great shock. Yet, what the shock meant was never revealed. Charles only reported part of the truth, about Madam Hernandez claiming that her head was in pain. Another part of the truth was concealed in his heart, the part in which Hernandez cried about seeing a woman in black before she died.
Charles did not see anything, as far as he could recall. He did not deem it was such important evidence either. After all, Madam Hernandez was dead. Dead.
“Dorothy, what did I tell you about the tea?” The master snarled in rage. “There isn’t enough sugar!”
“But…Sir,” Dorothy stuttered as always. “Tea isn’t supposed to be sweet.”
“Shut up!” The master cried. “What do you know about tea? Father! Father!”
A minute later or so, a brawny, stern man walked out from the longue room, wielding his cane.
“What’s all this fuss about, son?” He asked, examining Dorothy from top to bottom. The poor frightened maid was quivering badly.
“This maid is being mean to me!” The young son reported, playing a tantrum, though he had long exceeded the right age to do so.
“Dorothy, why don’t you just give what he wants and let this home be a little quieter?” The noble man accused. Right away, Dorothy was gestured to back away and leave the room.
The man walked up to his son and sat next to him. He patted his back silently and commanded another servant to complete the task.
“Son, add as much sugar as you want.” He said.
The young boy grinned immediately, wiping away his tears.
The boy had a rather round chubby face. Needless to say, with the aforementioned diet of his, he was overweight, obese. He had not the habit of exercising. No one did care for his health either. His father was too much obsessed with this only descendant of the family. He indulged deeply in the young fellow, giving him everything he wanted. In the end, the young boy was badly pampered and spoiled. Possessing no manners and courteousness, he ruled the house with his childish temper.
“I hate Dorothy, father!” The plump boy complained as he took a sip of the sugary tea.
“Oh, my dear son, I am sure she did not do it deliberately.” The father smiled, placing his hands on the son’s shoulder.
“Of course, she was on purpose!” The son claimed. “She never really likes me! I know she’s planning on something. She doesn’t want to give me anything I want!”
“Son, what do you want me to do with her then?” Seeing that his son scowled again, the father could not wait to please him and let silence overtake the house once again.
In fact, he was never the kind to please anyone but his only son. Often, it was the other way round, for people often came to adore and gratify him. He was a man of mid-fifties. Having lost his beloved spouse, his fierce personality grew worse. As the landlord of most farms in the town, he was proud with the supremacy and prosperity he owned. Nevertheless, he invested all his money on his son, permitting him to buy everything he wanted.
“Punish her, father!” The son said. “Or dismiss her!”
“Alright then.” The father grinned and called for the butler.
Charles arrived to answer the master’s call. On hearing that he had to punish Dorothy, his face sank.
In the storage room, sat was Dorothy. Awaiting her was another painful punishment. Nothing had changed since they shifted from Madam Hernandez to work for the Mitchells. The wealthy people were all the same. Mean as could be.
“Dorothy?” Charles’ voice echoed around her ears.
She looked up to face him.
“What did Sir Mitchell say?” Dorothy asked abruptly. “Am I punished?”
Silently, Charles nodded. Tears streamed down her pinky cheek.
“But Dorothy,” Charles lowered his voice. “I won’t let you get hurt.”
“What? Did you beg him?”
“You’re only not allowed to have dinner tonight.” Charles made a faint smile. Behind it was the concealed grief.
“At what cost.”
“A month’s salary.”