by Bella Bryce
Brayden turned from the window and put his handkerchief back into his pocket after dabbing his eyes. He glanced in the mirror above the mantelpiece and double-checked his already-perfect tie just to satisfy his curiosity. He didn’t like an untidy suit and although it never happened, he often feared his tie wasn’t straight. Brayden was also satisfied that his face showed no indication of upset.
“Come in,” he said, moments later when a knock sounded on his study door.
Wellesley entered and then closed the door behind him before approaching Brayden.
“Wellesley,” Brayden said, with a bit of a relieved sigh. “I should have asked if you were all right as soon as she left.”
“With all due respect, Sir, your father would have thrashed you for being too concerned for me. I should have asked after you, Sir,” Wellesley, the loyal and trusted butler, told his young employer in a humble tone.
Brayden gave him a sympathetic smile, looked at the ground, put his hands in his pressed trouser pockets, and then met eyes with Wellesley again. “He would have,” he told his butler. “I was concerned; Sally was completely out of order.”
“Is Miss Alice all right?” the butler inquired.
Brayden nodded. “She will be. Celia’s seen her into a warm bath.”
Wellesley was a man of the utmost decorum; his concern and loyalty to Waldorf Manor and every person who lived and worked there was unmistakeable.
“Has Jude returned in one piece?” Brayden asked.
Wellesley deeply regretted his next words. “Not yet, Sir,” he started.
Brayden’s face got more serious.
“Miss Oliver managed to slash the back tyre as Jude held the car door open for her.”
Brayden’s eyes widened and he turned his head slightly. “Pardon? Is he all right?”
“Yes, Sir. It’s your Rolls Royce that received the brunt of her misbehaviour.” Wellesley cleared his throat at the end of his sentence.
“I’m not bothered about my car; I’m concerned about my staff,” Brayden said, looking across the study at his closed door. Wellesley knew Brayden wanted to leave that moment and have a word with Jude.
“Jude is perfectly all right, Sir. He changed the tyre and drove away on the spare.”
“Where is he now?” Brayden asked, starting for the door.
“He’s in town at the garage getting a replacement tyre, Sir.”
Brayden stopped walking and turned to Wellesley, his hands on his hips. He let out an unbelieving chuckle. “Mark my words, Wellesley, this is the last time Sally Oliver steps foot onto Waldorf Manor property. Tell the guardhouse at once. Her right to get through the gates is revoked indefinitely.”
“Yes, Sir,” Wellesley replied, although he didn’t move from where he stood.
Brayden shook his head and turned back to his butler.
“The staff are all right, Sir. It’s you and Miss Alice we worried after,” Wellesley politely volunteered.
“Thank you, Wellesley,” Brayden said, meeting his eyes. He stared at his butler for a moment before taking a few steps toward him. “You remember the night of the interviews and I asked if you thought I was making the right decision by moving Alice to Waldorf.”
Wellesley listened; he knew Brayden James was just like his late father, Oliver James, who shared personal information with the butler infrequently, but deeply.
“You told me that I should think on the good I was going to bring to her life and the difference I might make.”
“Yes, Sir,” Wellesley agreed.
“I shan’t like to think of the outcome if I were foolish and had ignored you,” Brayden said solemnly.
Wellesley didn’t get personal with Brayden, although he was a confidant and impeccable listener for his employer. He didn’t smile or thank Brayden; he simply offered a small nod of his head in acknowledgement. “You are quite wise without my opinion, Sir,” Wellesley told him.
Brayden raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have taken her in without your approval.”
“Thank you, Sir,” he replied, politely, although the compliment ran much deeper than Brayden could know.
“I want to see Jude the moment he returns. He might never forgive me for having to put up with someone like Sally Oliver,” Brayden said, as he picked his blazer up from the wing chair.
Wellesley immediately walked toward him.
“Alice is never to learn of this.”
“Yes, Sir,” Wellesley said, as Brayden slipped his arms into the blazer. Wellesley straightened his collar at the back and stepped away when he finished.
“Thank you,” Brayden said. “We will be down for luncheon on time, I’m just going to check on her.”
“I will walk with you, Sir. The girls are preparing Miss Elisabeth’s bedroom.”
With his blazer on and buttoned, Brayden left the study with Wellesley. They walked down the long corridor, crossed the landing and balcony, which overlooked the grand foyer below, and headed toward the opposite wing of Waldorf where Alice’s bedroom was. Wellesley continued on beyond Alice’s closed door to Elisabeth’s further down the corridor on the same side.
Brayden knocked twice on Alice’s door before entering. She would either still be in the bath or behind the twelve-foot high, six-foot long Victorian changing screen, so it didn’t require but two knocks on her bedroom door at any given time. It was a rule that Alice remained behind the screen for changing so that Brayden had the freedom of walking in to speak with her even if she was behind it for whatever reason.
“I’m here, Father,” Alice called, when she heard the door open.
Brayden could hear Celia draining the bathtub in the connected en-suite bathroom on the opposite side of the grand bedroom.
“Are you dressing?” he asked, stopping halfway across the room, facing a scene of a Victorian lady reading beneath an umbrella in the middle of a park on the large screen in front of him. Branches and leaves climbed across the wooden folding doors with Victorian men, women and children dotted throughout the rest of the scene.
“I’m here, Father. I’ve just finished,” Alice replied, as she stepped out from behind the screen wearing a black and white houndstooth-patterned high-waist pleated skirt with braces and a white peter pan collared shirt beneath. She was barefoot and her hair was dry in a messy bun on top of her head. Alice had clearly decided she didn’t want to wash her hair and Celia had not made her. It was meant to have been a relaxing bath anyway, not a proper one.
“You’ve changed,” he said, putting his hands in his pressed trouser pockets.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t bear to stay in my dress from earlier, I felt like she was all over it,” Alice said, as she crossed the large room. Brayden watched his daughter open the wardrobe, revealing ten drawers running from the bottom up to beyond where Alice could reach.
Black knee socks and tights were in the third from the bottom. After taking a pair of knee socks from the meticulously arranged drawer, Alice opened the next wardrobe door over and quickly looked over uncountable pairs of beautifully organised shoes on various bits of shelving. There were Mary Janes, t-straps and brogues. She reached for the slate grey, patent shoes with three straps and buckles before closing the door. Alice took her black knee socks and shoes over to the bed and climbed up onto it. The king-sized bed had been built so it was quite high off the ground and Alice always had to plant one of her knees into the side in order to get on it. She turned around and let her legs dangle over the side and then pulled one knee up to her chest and began to slip on the first sock. Brayden walked over, picked up a shoe and began unbuckling the straps.
“I can understand that. I don’t mind this time,” Brayden said, glancing down at her as she pulled her other leg up toward her chest and slipped on the second black knee sock. Alice ensured she lined up the cable-knit design so it was straight. Brayden would straighten them for her otherwise.
He bent down and slipped her foot into the shoe and held it against his thigh as he buckled the fir
st strap. Alice sat back, supporting herself with her palms down on the bed behind her as she watched Brayden. She knew the only reason he would ever put those shoes on his trousers whilst he buckled them was because he’d bought them the week before, and they hadn’t yet been worn. Otherwise, he’d have made her put her feet on the floor. Brayden was very particular about his wardrobe and being untidy was something he thought about most of his day, every day.
He began to unbuckle the second shoe when Alice stopped holding herself up and lay down on the bed with her legs dangling over the side, well above the ground, as she rubbed her eyes. She really wasn’t in the mood to be charming and adorable for luncheon. Brayden glanced down at Alice as she lay there.
“Darling,” he started.
“Hmm?” Alice asked, through both hands as they rested on her face in an ungraceful heap.
“Answer me properly, please,” he said, as he reached down, put the shoe on her other foot, and then propped it up on his thigh as he began buckling.
“Yes, Father Dearest?”
“I’m being serious, young lady, sit up please.” Brayden took her hand and pulled her to a sitting position. He bent down in front of her and met her eyes. “Please don’t pretend you’re unaffected by this morning,” he told her gently.
Alice looked away. “I’m fine.”
Brayden turned her chin to face him. “What happened with your mother is not fine. Her behaviour is forgivable, but it most certainly is not fine.”
Alice swallowed the lump in her throat and the look in her eyes surrendered to his words. She was still thinking about it. “How do I forget what she said to me?” Alice asked quietly. “I want to forget.”
Brayden gently sat on the edge of the exquisite bed beside her. “You must believe me when I told you that the words she spoke over you were lies. Then, it will be very easy to forget,” Brayden said, holding one of her hands.
Alice didn’t seem completely convinced and stared back at him. “Did your parents tell you the same thing?”
Brayden let go of Alice’s chin. “I was sent to boarding school when I was eight years old. I was very quiet and very polite. Too polite. I climbed into cupboards so the seniors could lock me in because I didn’t want to offend anyone by arguing,” Brayden started to tell Alice. Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to imagine the scene and found it difficult without becoming angry. The idea of her father being bullied at school made her blood boil.
“They always used to talk to me through the gap in the cupboard doors, warning me that if I tried to call out for help, the Headmaster would expel me or that my parents would be shamed because I couldn’t handle being away at school. They said all kinds of things that made me stay there for hours on the weekends or make me late for lessons.”
Alice’s mouth dropped open and she wanted to comment, but Brayden carried on.
“It wasn’t until I told my father in the school holidays half a year later that he set me straight. He punished me for not telling him or my mother or my housemaster and then he pointed at me and said, ‘Son, if you believe the lies of hateful people, it will destroy you.’”
Alice stared back at Brayden, gulping another small lump out of her throat. “Are you going to punish me?” she asked, quietly.
Brayden’s expression softened into a small smile and he shook his head. “No, darling, I’m not going to punish you. But I’m going to tell you the same thing.”
She looked down. “But how do I know those things aren’t true?”
Brayden put his hand over Alice’s. “It’s very easy to believe lies. It’s harder to believe the truth. One tends to believe criticism quicker than compliments.”
Alice looked up at Brayden.
“So it was quite silly of me to remain locked in a cupboard with three senior boys saying all sorts of things to me that were not true. Fear kept me there listening to them. There is no harm in discounting another person’s angry words, Alice. But there is harm in believing them.”
She shook her head. “I don’t even care about my Mum now. I’m sad that you were bullied in school.”
“No, you’ve missed the point, darling. I was using it as an example.”
Alice shook her head and looked up at him. “I’m okay, Father. Honest.”
“You must tell me if that changes,” he said seriously.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl. Are you wanting to come down for luncheon or would you like a bit more time to yourself?” Brayden asked.
“Crying makes me hungry,” Alice said, sliding off the bed.
Brayden smiled affectionately at her. “Very well, then. Celia, can you make something of this pile of hair on top of her head? It looks a little too bath-time elegance for my liking,” Brayden said, before planting a kiss on Alice’s forehead.
Chapter Four
The chilly November evening was tucked away by the time the clock approached six o’clock. England was frigid and void of enthusiastic life once the evenings drew in and the wind picked up in October. There was little to protect the vulnerable mass of rolling countryside and even nearer bustling town centres. People tended to take to their homes, their cups of tea and their televisions to stay cosy, and most would continue to do so until springtime.
It happened that Alice James, who was indeed feeling a chill as she paced calmly across the vast marble floor of Waldorf’s foyer, tucked her dainty fingers inside of her smart mustard coloured cashmere cardigan with gold buttons. She pinched the insides closed and folded her arms across her chest as she walked along an invisible line. Her black knee socks had been exchanged for black fleece-lined tights. Waldorf may have had more than twenty fireplaces burning throughout but it didn’t take away the general feel of winter throughout the mansion, especially in the marbled foyer.
Alice glanced up at the grandfather clock near to the tall, imposing wooden double-doors. With the grand staircase behind her, Alice didn’t notice Brayden descending them. Unlike the only female in the house, Brayden hadn’t changed out of his charcoal grey pressed trousers, smart white shirt with impeccable collar, green and gold striped silk tie, hunter green waistcoat and charcoal grey tailored suit coat buttoned over the top. He looked at Alice and then down at his watch beneath his starched cuff.
“They won’t be here for another twenty minutes, darling. Come into the sitting room,” Brayden said.
“Father, snowstorms account for 43% of early arrivals and Wellesley is nowhere to be found. No doubt he’s polishing the silver.”
Brayden gave Alice a polite but sceptical look. “I’m quite sure you stole that line from a film, darling,” Brayden replied, putting a hand on her shoulder and directing her to walk with him.
“No, seriously, he’s polishing the silver. I saw him,” Alice reported.
“As he should do. Now come along and let the staff do their job. Wellesley wears an earpiece, darling, he’ll know when they arrive,” Brayden reassured her.
Alice already knew quite thoroughly the security of Waldorf Manor and that Wellesley wore an earpiece. “Yes, but Elisabeth will be here any moment and her room is beside mine so I should show her where it is. She’ll want to settle in first and she won’t know where to put anything,” Alice replied, stopping her path to the sitting room. “You’re not a girl, Father. You don’t understand.”
Brayden put one hand in his trouser pocket. “I certainly appreciate the differences in gender with regard to personal comfort, priority and psyche, my little hostess, but let’s not forget our place shall we? You’re my daughter and that means you do not answer the door. Celia will ensure Elisabeth is settled. Come along and sit with your father near the fire. You’re chilly,” Brayden said, leading her into the sitting room.
“I’m not chilly,” Alice replied factually, as she shivered beneath her cardigan and tucked her hands inside.
“I imagine you would have denied many such things when you were rather a little girl,” Brayden said, amused at the idea of a very, very young Alice de
nying she was hungry or tired despite very obviously displaying symptoms of all of the above.
They sat side by side on one of the many sofas arranged throughout the vast sitting room, (which should have really been called The Massive Room in Alice’s opinion), near to one of several blazing fires. Alice’s back was naturally sitting up straight, as she’d been taught, and she folded her hands in her lap. Brayden saw her glance at the carriage clock on the table nearby.
“Are you nervous, darling?” Brayden asked, resting his arm behind Alice along the top of the wooden framed, elegant sofa. He noticed Alice’s feet were flat on the floor, but her legs were pumping up and down as though she couldn’t sit still.
“No,” she replied, giving Brayden a look of incredulity. “I just think I’m best placed to help Elisabeth understand how she should behave and there are several things I want to tell her straightaway. She doesn’t know how to live with us, Father. I must help her.”
Brayden turned inward on the sofa beside Alice, masking his amusement at her directive attitude. “Darling, I’m pleased you wish to help Elisabeth settle in and that you’re so enthusiastic, but there are a few things you must remember, like that I am the head of this household and it is my concern how she comes to understand the rules,” he replied, raising his eyebrows at her. “You can demonstrate how Waldorf operates simply by behaving as I expect you to; that will be the best way you can help Elisabeth settle in,” Brayden said, rubbing her back gently.
“Yes, Sir,” Alice replied reluctantly.
“Good girl,” he said.
“Why couldn’t we have at least shared my bedroom?” Alice asked.
Brayden chuckled. “Elisabeth will have a slightly later bedtime than you, darling. And I don’t think she will be with us terribly long.”
“How long?”
“Long enough for her and Uncle Bennett to learn about each other,” he replied, stroking her long hair.
“Why can’t you adopt her? She needs a proper father. I heard she hasn’t one.”