The boy rested his head against her skirt in a loving gesture and she lay her hand gently on his head, and I began to shift my earlier reservations about her. Maybe she did really love the child. Maybe I had been too judgmental. With the father effectively a hermit, the dynamics in the household had to be bizarre to say the least. My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden coughing fit that gripped the boy.
“What’s the matter, darling?” Mrs. King asked.
Without warning, the boy jerked back and projectile-vomited. All over his mother’s skirt. Her shrill shriek of horror almost made me jump out of my skin, and her instinctive reaction was to push him away from her.
My mouth fell open in shock as the boy fell on the rug and instantly burst into tears. The housekeeper didn't move, and when my disbelieving gaze found hers, she shook her head at me in a way, as if to warn me not to say anything.
“What are you doing standing there gawking at me? Can’t you see that he needs you?” Mrs. King hurled at me.
Instantly, I sprang into action. Putting the set of instructions she’d given me on the table, I went over to him and picked him up. To my surprise, he stretched his arms upwards and went very quietly into my arms. I lifted him off the ground, he stared up at his mother through tear soaked eyes.
She had grabbed paper napkins from the desk behind her and was angrily scrubbing pointlessly at her skirt. “I’m already so late,” she cried, as she gave up the exercise and looked in dismay at the stain. “Ugh … and the smell. I have to change.” She picked up her phone and, presumably began to call whoever she was meeting. Apparently, she had completely forgotten us.
“Come with me,” the housekeeper said in a fierce whisper.
Carrying the boy, I followed her out of the room. His mother’s curses faded in the distance as she led me down a dim corridor.
“I’m Mrs. Blackmore,” she said over the sound of the child sobbing softly.
“And I’m Charlotte.”
“Come this way, dear,” she said, pulling open another door.
We had arrived in a very basic gray and white kitchen. All the luxury was for the mistress. Here only the servants worked.
“Stay with him. I’ll go find a clean towel,” she said and disappeared through another door.
I pulled out my handkerchief, lowered myself to my knees, and wiped the vomit off the side of his chin. I patted the tears off his face trying my best to console him but he wouldn't stop crying.
Chapter 6
Charlotte
When Mrs. Blackmore returned, I looked at her. “Is he ill?’
She shook her head. “He’s not ill, lass.”
I looked at her curiously. “Why did he throw up?”
“He’s just had lunch and got too excited about seeing his mother.”
“Why should he get too excited about seeing his mother?”
“It’s been a few days. Or perhaps he was just anxious.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’s an incredibly timid child. Wouldn’t say boo to a mouse.”
I was irritated because I knew that even though she dropped her voice, he must have heard her critical opinion, so I pulled him into my arms and held him tightly, hoping my warmth would calm him down. A few seconds later he took one last sniff and wriggled in my arms. I let him go. He leaned back and stared into the eyes of the new stranger in his life.
“Hello, Zackary,” I said brightly. “I’m Charlotte, your new nanny.”
He watched me for a few moments as if trying to make up his mind about something, then to my surprise, he stepped away from me and ran back to the housekeeper and hid his face in her skirt. She made a face at me, but she looked down and gave him a sappy smile.
“Give the little lad some time and he’ll get used to you,” she said.
The dynamics of the house seemed very complicated, but I knew I could make the boy trust me. The sooner the better. I rose to my feet. “Perhaps a bit of exercise will do him some good. I’ll take him out to the garden to play for a little while.”
“Nooooo, you definitely can’t do that,” Mrs. Blackmore protested, her head shaking vigorously. She looked positively horrified.
“Why not?”
“You’ll realize once you’ve read Madam’s set of rules.”
I remembered then I’d left my copy back in the drawing room.
Mrs. Blackmore filled me in. “Rule number sixteen. Zackary is not allowed to play outside.”
I stared at her bewildered. That was the strangest thing I’d ever heard and I’d heard some strange things in my life. “Why ever not?”
“He’s always been quite sickly so Madam worries about his health.”
“But that’s not enough reason for a child not to go outside to play. Sunshine and fresh air is a good thing for a growing boy.”
“Madam sets the rules and they are not to be broken,” Mrs. Blackmore said firmly, even though I could tell she secretly agreed with me.
I glanced down at the timid child as he watched me from beneath his curled elbow. Was this poor boy really a prisoner in this dark castle? No wonder he was pale and timid. The adults around him were scaring him half to death over everything. I wondered how I was going to get around this ridiculous rule. Another thought occurred to me. The ‘rules’ that Mrs. King had handed to me were at least eight pages thick. What other rules were there?
“Come on,” Mrs. Blackmore said briskly. “I’ll show you to his room. He needs to be washed and have his clothes changed.” We left the kitchen and went up the narrow wooden stairs meant for servants. As our party ascended, it creaked at various points.
But once we got to the landing we were back in the grand part of the house as we passed another vividly painted portrait of Mrs. King. This time she was depicted as Cleopatra. The boy’s room was the first one in the corridor of one of the wings. It was a room that had been painted as if the walls and ceiling were blue skies filled with fluffy clouds. Cartoon characters sat in their planes flying around us. Together Mrs. Blackmore and I washed Zackary and dressed him from his collection of formal clothes. Right after we had dressed him, he began to suck his thumb.
“That means he wants a nap,” Mrs. Blackmore whispered. She put him to bed, then we tip-toed out. After that she showed me to my room, which was just next door to Zackary’s. There was a single bed and a cupboard in it.
“I had Heidi air it for you yesterday, but let’s open the windows,” she said. As she was showing me how the shower worked, we heard a car roar away.
“I guess that is Mrs. King going out, huh?” I said.
“No doubt.”
“Okay, so just press that level. That’s easy enough. It seems very modern for such an old building.”
“It’s from the fourteenth century, but apparently, the master spent millions updating it. Plumbing, central heating. He even dug up the whole countryside to run high speed fiber cables to this area. He’s some sort of big wig trader so he needs the internet a lot.”
“Have you ever seen him? Mrs. King used the word unsightly to describe him.”
Her face showed her disapproval. “I’ve talked to him on the intercom many times, but seen him only once. It was at night in the corridor. He had just left Zackary’s room and was on his way back to his wing. He wears a mask on his face and there are some scars on his neck, but he is a fine man. Tall and broad with a full head of thick black hair.”
“What happened to him?” I asked, my voice hushed.
Chapter 7
Charlotte
“The poor man was in a car accident about three years ago. I think he was paralyzed for almost a year, but he fought back. He was in a wheelchair for another six months, but he wouldn’t give up.”
“Mrs. King said that if I was to accidentally run into him I was to pretend I had not seen him.”
She sniffed. “You must decide for yourself what you want to do, but I wouldn’t kick a man when he’s down. There’s nothing wrong with a polite greeting. He’s not a monster. In all m
y dealings with him I found him to be fair and honest. And the man who comes in from the village four times a week to clean his wing says, he keeps to himself, but he never has a bad thing to say about anybody.”
“I see,” I said slowly. “What is the boy’s relationship with his father like?”
She frowned. “I don’t think they are ever together. Zackary’s days are filled with activities that don’t include his father.”
“Why not?”
She sighed. “You must ask Madam that. She is the one who decides what happens in this household.”
“What about the boy’s relationship with his mother?”
“Oh, he just adores her. Worships the ground she walks on. You saw what he was like this afternoon.”
“She must be a brilliant mother then,” I said softly.
Mrs. Blackmore couldn’t bring herself to agree. “She has her own life … her own plans … her own lovers …”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
“It’s not for me to gossip or anything, but men come in from London and stay at the village bed and breakfast.” She stopped and sniffed. “She visits them there. Once a month she will go to London herself and when she comes back, the other staff say, she has bruises all over her body. God only knows what she does there.”
“What about Mr. King?”
“I assume he knows. She doesn’t exactly hide it, coming back all hours of the night with slick men. It’s none of my business, but honestly, no man should have to put up with it.” She lowered her voice. “I suppose that is why they live completely separate lives. I have never, not even once, seen him and Madam together, not even to stay and talk in the same room. She occupies the East wing and he never leaves his quarters in the South.”
At her words something heavy struck my heart. I didn’t know who he was or the extent of damage that had been done, but I knew what disfigurement could do. It can completely ruin your life. When I was sixteen my friend had been the victim of an acid attack. Overnight her entire world changed. Her scars were so horrendous her own parents couldn’t recognize her when the bandages came off. After years of surgery she was still a mess.
I used to fly into a rage whenever we went out together. All I wanted to do was confront the staring people and tell them to fucking stop staring, pointing, and whispering, that she was just a normal person with some scars, but I couldn’t because then I would have called attention to and made it even worse for my friend. So I either glared at them, my eyes shooting sparks of fury, or I completely ignored them.
It was through her I learned how shallow and cruel the world can be. She didn’t stand a chance. They rejected her purely on the basis of her looks. The depth of pain and abject despair she felt haunted her eyes and crushed her little heart. Sometimes she told me she wished she had not survived the attack.
In summer we used to go and have breakfast picnics at the park. We’d go so early there would be hardly anyone there. At that time I was still living in my parents’ house. One night she called me and asked me to come really early to her house. She said she had made my favorite double-chocolate cake. I was very greedy in those days so I left my mother’s house at five. When I reached her house it was still in darkness. Surprised, I let myself in through the back door and crept up the stairs to her bedroom. I honestly thought she had overslept.
But Aisha was already stone cold in her bed.
On the bedside table was an empty bottle of pills and my double-chocolate cake and two letters, one for me and the other for her parents. I didn’t shout or scream. I sat on the bed beside her and read my letter. She apologized for the shock, but she knew I was strong, and I could help her parents by easing them into the news of her death.
After Mrs. Blackmore left I quickly went back to the drawing room and retrieved my notes. Taking off my glasses and releasing my hair from its tight bun, I lay on my bed and went through seven pages of closely typed instructions in growing disbelief.
The notes gave detailed instructions on every aspect of the child’s life. From how the practice cards should be used to putting away project materials when projects were over. Even worse every single thing was regimented and tightly regulated.
Breakfast at 8.00, snack at 10.30, lunch at 1.00.
Not 0nly the time of the meals, but what food and snacks could be had were detailed.
Only open the windows in the morning from 8.00am to 11.00am.
Do not allow Zackary to be outside.
Then …
Wear head coverings in the sun.
Which was it to be?”
It was so ridiculous that by the time I reached the end I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
I’m sorry, Mrs. King, but no. Just no.
Chapter 8
Charlotte
I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It concerned me now at how I would be able to navigate my way in a household that was so tightly controlled by what I would have deemed a psychopath. I wanted to help Zackary and perhaps his father too. I still felt a lingering sense of guilt about Aisha. I had not done enough for her. I should have known by her voice what she was planning to do. Maybe this was another opportunity for me to do for the father what I had not done for my friend. A second chance to redeem myself.
Maybe there was a reason I was here. But at the same time, I was not a person to suffer fools gladly. One of these days I was going to blow up and tell Mrs. King exactly what I thought of her and that would be bad, very bad for my resumé.
My phone rang. I got out of bed and accepting the call fell back into bed.
“Hey,” April said. “How’s it going?”
“I’m not sure.” I twirled a piece of hair.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a weird situation.”
“Weird like what?”
“Weird like the mother is a raving lunatic, the father has been in a terrible accident and has become a recluse that no one ever sees. The child vomited because he was too excited to see his mother. I’ve got eight pages of instructions from how to wipe his bum to how many grams of cereal he can get.”
“Oh! My! God!”
I sighed. “That’s what I thought.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. I hate giving up before I even start.”
“Don’t think of it as giving up. You know I need you.”
“Yeah, I know. But I can’t walk away when things are so obviously wrong.”
“You actually think you can help?”
“Yeah, I think I have a shot at the boy. He has spirit. It’s a bit crushed, but I think I know how to make him come out of his shell.”
“What about Godzilla though?”
“Actually, she doesn’t look anything like Godzilla. The woman looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine. She’s very, very beautiful.”
“It sounds like you have a keg of dynamite over there. You think you can handle her?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how much time she actually spends here. It sounds like she spends a good bit of time out enjoying herself and hiring me I would take to mean she wants even more. I think I’ll give it couple of days and see how things go. Now, enough about me, how are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. As a matter of fact, I’m feeling on top of the world.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m in bed.”
I laughed. “I don’t believe it. It’s ten o’clock in the morning and you just had sex, didn’t you? The amount of shaking you put your poor baby through it’s going to think it’s a bloody Martini.”
“Very funny. Actually, we didn’t have sex. Yuri just thought I needed to relax.”
“OMG! He gave you a blowjob.”
“He might have,” she said smugly.
I smiled. “Remember the first day you came back after you met Yuri?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was dreamy.
“Remember when
I said I wanted to watch you guys have sex?”
“Yeah.”
“I take it all back,” I said dryly.
She just laughed shamelessly. There was a knock on my door so I told her I would call her back and went to open the door. Outside was a woman about my age.
She grinned widely at me. “Hi. I’m Melly. I’m Mrs. King’s personal assistant and I just came to see how you are getting on. If you needed anything?”
I smiled back. It was good to see a genuinely friendly face. “I’m great. I haven’t had a chance to look around or get a grip of my duties, but thanks for the offer. I really appreciate it.”
Her grin widened. “Trust me when I tell you there isn’t much going on. This has to be the most boring place on earth. There’s one pizza joint in the village serving rubbery pizza. The library is full of old people smelling like sausages. The tea shop is nice enough. But the real saving grace is the pub. It’s pretty dire most nights,” her eyes twinkle, “but sometimes big brawny farmers come in.”
I laughed.
“We should go for a drink some time. It’ll be a laugh.”
“Yeah, that would be nice.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a few days to get yourself settled in. I’m in the room by the kitchen. If you need anything just pop in and I’ll be glad to help.”
“Thank you, Melly.”
“Right, back to the grindstone for me. I’ll see you at lunch?”
“Yeah, sure. See you downstairs.”
She flounced away, a bundle of joyful energy. I closed my door and leaned against it. Maybe I had been too hasty. If she could put up with Mrs. King and run such a happy ship, maybe I could too.
Chapter 9
Brett
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