Ramsey was moved by her insight and care, but was also practical enough to understand it was impossible for anyone to combat the powerful influence of his father’s will, let alone for a servant even to try. He appreciated her heart, however, and felt it necessary to mention as much. “You did what you could, and I appreciate every effort. My father was not a man to be challenged, and in your way, you assisted more than you can ever know.”
The housekeeper, clearly relaxing as she hitched a shoulder, continued. “We tried ever so hard, my lord. We took extra caution not to excite the master or stir his wrath in any way. We kept quiet, moving about the house as ghosts, we did. It seemed the smoother things ran at the estate, the less anxious and . . . exacting he would be to you.” She sighed. “But I’m afraid all our efforts only amounted to a small help, and for that I have deep regret, my lord.”
Ramsey considered her words, mulled them about in his mind as he looked at their hidden meaning.
The silence.
The walking on eggshells.
The blending in.
The ghosting of the servants . . . was all for him.
For his benefit.
To ease the wrath of a tyrannical father on his only son, an entire household of servants had mobilized to do anything they could to provide whatever protection they could offer him.
It was humbling.
It was startling.
It was . . . healing.
“Mrs. White. I don’t know what to say,” he answered inarticulately. “I had no idea that you had all taken such great pains.”
“It was happily done sir. You always were such a kind, good boy,” she answered.
And of all the things she had said, that was the most profound. Good? Kind? Never once had he used those words to identify himself, let alone his childhood.
Inadequate.
Imperfect.
Lazy.
Those were the words that bore his name as a child. Yet in a swift turn, he wondered if maybe Mrs. White spoke the truth.
“I can see you don’t believe me, my lord. And after all the times your father spoke such opposite things over you, I can comprehend why.” She paused, as if just stopping herself from going further. Her eyes sharpened, and some sort of resolution was fixed. She gave a slight shake of her head, then continued. “But it’s the truth. Never once can I remember anyone having a harsh word from you. Rather, remember the time you took a beating because you said thank you to the butler for finding your lost boot? I can’t tell you how Salberry was tortured for feeling he aided in such a cruel treatment of you. And then the time you found cook’s little one above stairs, nearly toddling into your father’s library. Good Lord, I can’t even imagine what would have happened had you not scooped up the little boy and carried him to the kitchens. Cook is convinced you saved her position in the household. My lord, I could name time and time again.” She paused, considering him.
It was too much.
It was one thing to think that your father could be wrong in all the horrible things spoken over you, and your future as a child. But to have someone who lived in the same hell, who knew the man behind the title, and confirm those same helpless feelings.... He scarcely knew how to fathom such a thing.
And rather than feel alone, he felt all the weight of an entire staff supporting him, pulling for him, supplying him with assistance whenever in their power to give it. In a five-minute stretch, so much of what he had known as a child had turned on its ear, in the most helpful way.
“Will there be anything else, my lord?” Mrs. White asked.
Ramsey didn’t trust his voice, so he simply shook his head. The housekeeper curtsied, and then quit the room.
Leaving him with his spinning thoughts, though, this time he wasn’t as haunted by them. Like looking through the backside of a mirror, he reflected on his childhood, and saw things differently. He wouldn’t put it past Mrs. White to embellish the truth about his character as a boy, but he certainly didn’t believe her to be dishonest about such a thing. That being the case, what she said had to carry some weight, had to be built upon truth.
Why was it that one could go throughout life knowing that they were more than what they’d been told they were, but it never fully took root till someone else, someone who had walked that similar road, came alongside to affirm it? How long had he tried to convince himself that he was worthy, honorable in spite of the many failures and especially the sham that was his marriage? Yet all his efforts were to no avail.
A simply violent, desperate attempt to validate himself, only to fall short time and time again.
Only to prove his father right, again and again.
It was a whirlpool, pulling him lower and lower without any aid to rise above the torrent.
