A rude knock interrupted my musings which made me turn from the window. I folded my arms and drawled, “Yes? Come in.” I groaned inwardly when Hilda, by far our oldest and grumpiest maid, came in carting my breakfast in front of her. By the looks of her drawn face and limping pace, her arthritis was once again acting up. The old woman perhaps had once been a beauty, but years of hard work had drained the glow of youth from her cheeks and her once thick, dusty bronze hair now was mostly grey.

            “Master?” The old woman squinted past the steaming pot of tea. She bobbed her head as she saw me, “Master, I’ve come to break your fast.” Her voice sounded tighter and more strained than it usually did. I frowned and loosened my arms from the crossed position.

            “Hilda? What ails you? Is it your joints again?”

            “No, no my dear. Oh, pshhaw do sit and eat.” She added as I strode forward to take the cart she had pushed in.

            “But-”

            “No ‘buts’. Eat while I talk,” she said sternly. She and her daughter, Rhona, were really the only ones that could talk to me in such a manner. Not that I minded…much. It was nice to be treated like a human and not like some fragile porcelain. I smiled to myself as I thought of Rhona, the strong-willed Irish woman that I had fallen in love with and whom I planned to take as my wife ere long. Even though, like her mother, she was a servant, and I was the son of a baron, I knew my father wouldn’t care. He cared so very little about my goings-on. So, with that happy thought, I sat down at the small table and tucked in to the breakfast of eggs, bacon, and fresh baked bread.

#

            Finally, when Hilda deemed that I had had a proper meal, she shared what had been distressing her. She began to help me into my suit jacket.

            “It’s your poor father. Ee’s not doing well. Ee’s sorely ill.” She said in her blunt, staccato way.

I waved a dismissive hand and laughed, “Hilda, my father is always sick. He has been for the past ten years.”

            “Mr. John Douglas Baldwin!” she said with severity. “That is not how you speak of your own father. You should be ashamed of that light tone you used. Your father is near his death of sick, and ‘ere you are laughing at his death bed.” The elderly maid pulled hard on the cravat, almost choking me.

With an effort I restrained from shoving the old woman away. She was, after all, soon to be my mother-in-law. “I’m sorry. You truly believe father nears his time?” I tried to keep the hopefulness out of my voice. The next yank of the suit jacket told me I had not been entirely successful.

“Aye, ‘ats what the doctor said. Ee says that the master has a few weeks at most.”

            “Truly? How unfortunate,” I murmured with false contriteness.  But really, I felt a thrill. At long last my father’s presence would no longer haunt these halls, and I could bring all those who suffered from my father’s frequent rages some well-deserved peace. And, at last, I could take my proper role as baron without my father’s hand upon me. Hilda must have noticed my brooding as, with a final swipe at me, she cleaned up the remains of my breakfast and, with one last disproving glance, left the room.

#

            Nearly the instant my foot was out the door, our liver-spotted butler, Mr. William Boss, accosted me.

            “Master Baldwin,” he started with his painfully officious voice, “I have come to advise thee to come to thy father’s bedside. Thou must speak with him, sir.”

I tried to keep the high ground, which is hard to do when your own servant is nearly a head taller than you. “Oh? I must?” I tilted my head up to sneer at him, “And why must I hurry to my sire’s bedside when the man has never cared a twopence about me? Come and fetch me when the bastard has died

The elderly servant flinched but continued his pursuit, “Master Baldwin, with all due respect, please reconsider. Baron Baldwin wishes to speak to thee. Don’t let thy dislike of the baron cloud thy reason.”

I sighed, “Very well, William. You will have your way. Take me to my father.”

#

William led me into a richer part of the mansion where richly sewn tapestries depicting brave and shocking events that had never happened in my father’s life adorned the walls. Often between the tapestries a cleverly painted self-portrait of my father or a member of his favored second family posed with false smiles and impressive physiques.

There was my step-mother and half-brother beaming with too-straight teeth, my father draping his arm around the blonde woman’s shoulders with a proud hand upon the shoulder of his son. The boy was well filled out and his cleverly tailored suit highlighted the dark blue of his eyes and perfectly done blonde hair.

A glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror wrought a horrible contrast.

The twenty-one-year-old man that strode past had close-set, mildly annoyed brown eyes above a protruding jaw and obstinate frown that, despite his lanky frame, had given him the undesirable nickname, “The Bulldog”.  The suit pinched horribly in frankly all the wrong places and sagged where it oughtn’t. It made the already thin arms look even more stick-like. It certainly did not help that the stature of the man was already below the normal. There wasn’t a single redeeming factor for the man in the mirror - not even the mousy brown hair that refused to glisten or lie straight even with the most careful of care.

My maids did what they could with my disheveled wardrobe, but they could only do so much when my dear father controlled the inflow and outflow of all wealth here, and I was most certainly not allowed any of it

No wonder one would never find a family portrait of Baron Baldwin’s first family. No, he wouldn’t want reminding that his first son was an “unsightly whelp” – as he had on more than one occasion called me – nor would he want reminding of the stunning yet incredibly sharp, intellectual woman he had first married. Baron Baldwin much preferred the beautiful but dumb variety. According to Hilda, having grown weary of my mother’s constant complaints about his conduct, the baron shuttled her off to some far away property of his where she died of an unknown illness shortly afterwards.

I had been two at the time.

I haven’t forgiven my father for that - nor will I.

I grinned grimly. How it must gall my father to give his inheritance to the undesirable son and not to the apple of his eye, his second son. Nevertheless, my father was bound by laws as old as time. I need not scrape and bow to him when my inheritance was secure.

Finally, we came to the huge double doors, and William paused in front of the door. He turned to me.

             “Master Baldwin? I think…,” he cleared his throat as if he was trying to think of a tactful way to say what was on his mind. “I think thou shouldst use thy words wisely, Master.”

“Thank you, again, for your unsolicited advice, William.” I said cooly.

He bobbed his head in a nervous fashion, then knocked.

            “Yes? Is it Master Baldwin? Good, come in,” came the voice of the resident doctor.

The servant opened the door for me and then stepped aside, his anxious eyes fastened on me. With a straightening of my spine and a hard setting of my face, I stepped into the room.

#

            The stench of the room was the first thing that assaulted me. The smell of a dying man. There was the acrid smell of bile and human waste. The second odor seeped from the vomitous mass of flesh that was my father. I had known the man was unwell, but I hadn’t realized the extent of it. What had once been rolls of fat sadly sagged, and the man’s face looked haggard and hungry. The doctor pulled off a writhing leech and dabbed at the blood splotches. The doctor’s eyes met mine, and his eyebrows crunched down sympathetically.

            “Well, Master Baldwin I’ve done all of what I can do for Baron Baldwin. It’s only a matter of time, I’m afraid. Now, good day.” He tipped his hat and grabbed his equipment before slipping out the door.

I didn’t think the creature on the soiled bed could move, let alone speak, but it defied my expectations and lolled its ponderous head to look at me. The eyes were bloodshot but here, at least, I could find some scrap of human intelligence. There was still the cunning gleam of devilry that I knew all too well.

“Son?” It spoke in a scratchy, ill-used voice

“Oh, now you deign to call me son? Not just some vagrant that causes you pain?” I said cooly. There was an awful silence following my words, and as I watched my father’s eyes, I saw them grow dark with anger. But the next words surprised me.

“Come. My eyes don’t work like they used to. I want to see my son.”  

I seriously debated flat out refusing the request. However, I suppose I felt some small pity for the dying man. Perhaps it was some ingrained, albeit deeply so, desire to please the request of a dying father that drove me to step stiffly to his death bed. I glared down at the creature on the bed, willing it to release me and allow me to leave this stinking room of death.

My father’s cold and swollen hands grasped mine, and it took all my nerve not to jerk out of their hold. Then it laughed. A wheezing, rattling laugh. “Thou hateth me, son. It galls me that my empire falls upon such a worthless and cowardly man, but in character, thou art thy father’s child.” His bulging, blood-shot eyes locked gazes with mine, “Thou art me.”

“Never!” I tore my hands out of his unresisting ones, “I will never be you. You are a monster and a hypocrite.” I spun on my heels and fled the room.

“Thou art me.”

#

I felt sick. I felt impure. Even after dunking my head into the water of the small, neatly carved fountain in the garden, there is an acrid taste my mouth.

How could that man – no, BEAST, dare to implicate me in such a way?

I wasn’t my father.

No!

How could -

A hand tenderly lit on my shaking shoulder.

“John? Are ye alright?” said a feminine voice behind me - one I knew well.

“Rhona!” I turned swiftly, my voice choking out of me. I reached out my hands to grasp hers, clinging to her.

She chuckled as my wet hair sprinkled her. She raised an eyebrow in concern but also to prompt me to answer her question.

“Oh…yes, I- sorry. Baron Baldwin demanded my presence. He – he desired to see me.” I loosened my hands from Rhona’s, my body trembling with anger, “He wanted one last opportunity to insult me to my face.”

Rhona pursed her lips as she combed my hair back into place with tender fingers, “What did he say to insult ye, my love?”

I sat down angrily on the lip of the fountain. “He compared me to him, the bastard.”

She flinched slightly and immediately I felt contrite, for in my anger I had forgotten that she still felt uncomfortable with me profaning my father’s character. “I’m sorry, lovelett.”

She shook her head, and with that motion her beautiful auburn hair swished. “Don’t apologize, John. The – the man is…awful.” Even as she said it her tanned face flushed.

I smiled at her discomfort. “You look quite beautiful when you blush,” I murmured as I took her hands in mine, which of course only caused her face to glow more.

#

            Days passed and my father stubbornly refused to die. Anxious and impatient, I found myself unable to settle in any one place. A feeling only exacerbated by the sympathetic and strangely worried side-eyes I was receiving from the servants. Unable to stand another moment of hearing footsteps approach and thinking it was a servant coming to announce my father’s death, only to have my hopes dashed as the steps carried on past my door, I vaulted out of bed in search of Rhona, who was undoubtedly working in the kitchens for our evening meal at this very moment. With a heart much lightened at the prospect of seeing my love, I dashed out the door and made my way to where the servants labored over the meal.

#

            A brisk walk got me to the shabby downstairs door to the kitchens. Already I could smell all sorts of pleasant smells wafting from behind it. With an eager grin, I opened the door to the clattering sounds of pots and pans.

It did not take me long to spot Rhona, the only red head in a whirl of browns and blondes, bent over a young girl. Already a significant head taller than the rest of the adults, Rhona looked even stockier next to the slight girl she was teaching. The servants who had turned their heads to see who had opened the door had already returned to their work, some of them with slight smiles. Some with frowns.

As I slid through bustle, another serving girl limped near me carrying a tray of treats which, I assumed, was for me. I took it hastily from her, but as I did, I could see a moment of frustration pass across her features – though she quickly masked it with an emotionless expression. I didn’t think much of it and hurried to Rhona who had just noticed me. The girl shrugged and slumped away with an air of resignation.

            “A treat for my sweet?” I said as I proffered a spongy cake.

            “Don’t cut like that, love. Ye’ll nick off one of yer fingers that way!” She chided the bent figure of a young girl. She turned to me “…what? Oh, yes, thank you.” Distractedly took the cake and nibbled an edge. “What are ye doing here? Shouldn’t ye be…” she waved vaguely around, “getting the funeral agreements done and such?”

            Slightly non-plussed with her less-than-welcome tone and the fact that she made a very good point, I answered waspishly, “William is seeing to that. As is Baroness Baldwin. Anyway, I just thought we could go on a walk through the woods.  Get out of here for a few hours. What say you?”

            Looking flustered, she turned once more to correct the cutting technique of the girl who was gaping at me now, “Well I- I would love to, but dear…”

            I cut her off with a wave of my hand, “I’ll just tell Mary that you’re coming with me,” I pronounced, referring to the old maid that commanded the kitchen like a captain at war. “Surely you want to come, my love?”

            With a grin, Rhona untied her apron, “Well, if ye will brave Mary, of course I’ll come.”

#

I inhaled deeply, enjoying the crispness of the air. Glancing over at my love, I noticed her abnormal silence.

“Dearest? Something ails you. What is it?”

She jerked at my question.  Then her worried hazel eyes met mine. “It’s the servants. Well, ya know how they’ve suffered under yer father’s hand. And how all who have to live by his laws have suffered. They’re worried…well, they’re worried about you. They’re worried that yer’ll abuse them like ya father did.”

            “Don’t be silly, love.” I grabbed her by her broad shoulders and swept her around – she was considerably taller than I was. “I’m nothing like my father. I’ll bring peace back to this place. Why, in a few years the place won’t know a frown, and my father’s legacy will be no more. His presence will no longer profane the air we breathe. Tell the servants they need not worry about how I will govern the household.” 

There was more on her mind. I could see by the way she chewed on her lower lip. I murmured, “What else is troubling you, my dear?”

            “It’s just…I know ye’ve been trying and ye’ve been getting better but…the servants mutter about ya behind ya back. Ya hurt the servants sometimes – not physically,” she added swiftly, responding to the expression on my face.

I could feel my blood warm, and my mind went immediately to the question of who those servants were – who would dare to talk about me behind my back? But one look at Rhona cooled my blood. I knew what she was referring to. “It’s the way I talk to them, isn’t it?” I sighed, “I can’t – won’t - harm them physically, so I do battle with my words.”

Rhona nodded as she put her arms around me, “Yes. That is exactly it.” She smiled teasingly at me then, “Ya know, before ya met me, the servants were afraid ye’d turn out just like ya father. Now you’re turning into a right gentleman.”

            “Ah, yes. My lovely doctor, you’ll make sure my ugly disease is completely wiped out.” I whispered as I leaned into her embrace.

            “I aim to.”

#

            The relaxing afternoon I had planned turned foul as a brisk wind picked up and pushed in a rolling mass of dark clouds.  It forced us to pull our hoods up to spare our ears from freezing. With shouts of laughter as we tried to outrun the incoming storm, we retraced our steps to the safety of the mansion.

With huffs and pants, we slowed as we reached a bend in the path. The stitch in my side was becoming unbearable, and as such I had to bend over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. I called to Rhona to wait a moment, since she had kept on jogging without realizing that I lagged behind. She stopped and turned in the path. With a roll of her eyes, she glanced at the darkened skies as she waited. Suddenly around the bend, I saw a heavily cloaked figure striding at her with a purpose, a hand already sliding out a gleaming knife. Rhona turned, and I could see her eyes widen in fear.

Too late.

I was too late.

It’s strange how the brain works in time of crisis. Everything seemed to slow down, as if some cruel fate had tinkered with the workings of the universe. I watched as the assassin realized his folly. I saw his horror as he realized that he couldn’t halt his blade. I saw the blade stab deep into Rhona’s body when it had surely been intended for me. The awful red stain. The small gasp of pain. Rhona staggered back as I rushed forward. Not to her. Oh, no. My focus was on the man like a rabid dog to meat.

#

            He didn’t stand a chance, and I think he knew it. Fully immersed in blind animal hatred as I was, I don’t know if he even tried to run, nor do I know if he begged for mercy. I heard nothing. Saw nothing. Felt only the roaring pulse in my ears. I hit him again and again until he moved no more, and even then, I continued to hit him. I only stopped when I had no more energy to continue. With ragged breath, I crawled away from the bloody and lifeless assassin.

I seemed to come back to myself some then.  Then I saw Rhona. She must have passed sometime during my frantic battle with the assassin. She had fallen over to her side, one hand clutched around the knife that still protruded from her stomach. The other stretched out in pitiful supplication to where I had been. Her hair that once had looked so bright seemed dull - waxy, as if death had stolen its vibrance. The sky rumbled as I staggered over to her, then stopped. Rhona’s eyes were still wide open, blankly staring at where the other body lay. Why hadn’t I gathered her into my arms? Why hadn’t I comforted her as her life drained away? Her eyes were full of fear. What exactly had she feared the most? Death? Or what she had surely witnessed her lover do?

#

            They buried Rhona and my father on the same day. Cruel that the one I loved most and the one I hated most were interred within a few hours of each other.

#

            The mist like snakes, slithered across the window that I stared out of. I paid no attention, but instead stared at two graves. One was marked with a simple wooden cross, the other a hastily erected stone. It was the stone that held my attention. Soon after the death of my father, official papers of inheritance had arrived upon my father’s – that is my - old desk. In among the papers, I had found a shakily written note in my father’s hand. It was this note that lay scattered across the floor behind me.

            So, thou survived, didst thee, thou little rat? Or should I call you Bulldog as the servants call thee? Amusing. I hear thy little wretch took the knife intended for thee. In this, I have no doubt that thou gavest me some pride. Thou killed my assassin, and thou enjoyed it. Thou canst deny it. Thou spilled blood for spilled blood. Out of revenge. Thou art my son; I will now claim thee. Well done.”

 My immediate reaction had been to tear the paper to shreds before sitting down and cradling my head in my hands. The worst part was, he wasn’t wrong. I had taken some perverse pleasure in killing the man, and for some reason I couldn’t tell myself that what I had done was wrong. I couldn’t shake the glow of pride every time I thought of how I had taken revenge.

Now, as I gazed at the inheritance that for all my life I had desired above all things, I found I couldn’t take it. With it I would inherit something far worse - my father’s blessing and perhaps his nature.

I would take some of the money. Then I would strike off to make my own name. Create my own empire - just far away from here. Away from what I had done. Though, wherever I go I know my father’s words will always came back to haunt me.  Thou art me. Well done.

THE END