watched as her narrow casket was being lowered into the ground and his father walking away, leaving a six-year-old Robert to be comforted by only a much younger Stephens.
The grass was overgrown now and the trimmings around the markers were no longer maintained. In fact, if a stranger were to stumble into this graveyard he would not see it for what it was.
Robert could not take a step over the threshold for this place was the beginning of his descent…and would one day be his end.
The kitchen was alive with laughter when Robert came in from the morning cold. Ruth and Sprout were sitting around the table, enjoying their morning bowl of cream and oats. The scene was all too familiar for Robert.
Sprout was a ray of sunshine with bright eyes. He had put aside Robert’s dress cast-offs and was clothed again in oversized britches and shirt, no doubt something that Ruth had found from his boyhood things. Standing beside his chair, the boy bid his father good morning and invited him to join them. Hiding his chuckle from the boy’s formal invite, the Lord thanked his son and took a seat beside him.
“Ruth tells me you used to join her in here as well?” The boy began. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, eager to learn about his wayward father.
“Yes. Back then my father forbade me to eat this far back in the manor, but I managed to escape during the morning to have my breakfast here with Ruth, Stephens, and Sarah.” He watched the boy, studying his eyes, mouth, and brow, everything that gave him a flash to his boyhood portrait that hung in the gallery upstairs. “My father was a traditional kind of man.”
The boy looked down into his steaming bowl. “I don’t remember much of him, it has been a couple of years since he passed and I was very little then, but I remember that he never left his rooms. I always hated my daily visits to his room. He smelled bad and cried a lot.” Looking at Ruth’s stern face, the boy looked back at his father. “I feel bad now for thinking such things. Mother says life is too short not to spend time with the ones we love.”
His father cried? Never had Robert recalled his father showing so much emotion. Even when his mother lay dying his eyes never glistened. It had never occurred to Robert that this boy…his boy would have been there with his father in his place, but here his young son had been privileged to see a vulnerable side of his father that he had always been denied. If only his father had showed him a shred of that paternal love perhaps things would have been different? Perhaps he would not have sailed off not just in search of wealth, but independence from his father’s rule? Perhaps?
It wasn’t until he was aware of the sudden silence that had fallen over the room that Robert realized his son had asked a question.
“Pardon?” he asked, turning his focus back down to the young Viscount in training.
“I only wondered…would you be interested—”
“Young man, I am confident that your father has much more pressing issues to address than running off to London just to look at a building full of ‘nick knacks’.” Ruth jumped in, removing the boy’s empty dishes.
“But…” The boy pestered, his shoulder slumped, his lower lip beginning its telltale quiver.
She leaned in close to the boy, but her voice carried over the table. “Now, you know that with current expenses such extravagance is not possible and I would appreciate it if you would let this die out before your mother hears any of this. She is in no condition to face these things at present.”
“What building?” Robert inquired.
“It’s the Tower Sub-train…sub-rout…” Ruth waved her hand, dismissing the importance of remembering the proper name.
“Subway.” The young master corrected her with a huff. Turning to his father, his young face lit up like a torch, and Robert was intrigued by what could bring so much excitement to the boy. Sprout’s eyes sparkled just as his mother’s had the
The grass was overgrown now and the trimmings around the markers were no longer maintained. In fact, if a stranger were to stumble into this graveyard he would not see it for what it was.
Robert could not take a step over the threshold for this place was the beginning of his descent…and would one day be his end.
The kitchen was alive with laughter when Robert came in from the morning cold. Ruth and Sprout were sitting around the table, enjoying their morning bowl of cream and oats. The scene was all too familiar for Robert.
Sprout was a ray of sunshine with bright eyes. He had put aside Robert’s dress cast-offs and was clothed again in oversized britches and shirt, no doubt something that Ruth had found from his boyhood things. Standing beside his chair, the boy bid his father good morning and invited him to join them. Hiding his chuckle from the boy’s formal invite, the Lord thanked his son and took a seat beside him.
“Ruth tells me you used to join her in here as well?” The boy began. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, eager to learn about his wayward father.
“Yes. Back then my father forbade me to eat this far back in the manor, but I managed to escape during the morning to have my breakfast here with Ruth, Stephens, and Sarah.” He watched the boy, studying his eyes, mouth, and brow, everything that gave him a flash to his boyhood portrait that hung in the gallery upstairs. “My father was a traditional kind of man.”
The boy looked down into his steaming bowl. “I don’t remember much of him, it has been a couple of years since he passed and I was very little then, but I remember that he never left his rooms. I always hated my daily visits to his room. He smelled bad and cried a lot.” Looking at Ruth’s stern face, the boy looked back at his father. “I feel bad now for thinking such things. Mother says life is too short not to spend time with the ones we love.”
His father cried? Never had Robert recalled his father showing so much emotion. Even when his mother lay dying his eyes never glistened. It had never occurred to Robert that this boy…his boy would have been there with his father in his place, but here his young son had been privileged to see a vulnerable side of his father that he had always been denied. If only his father had showed him a shred of that paternal love perhaps things would have been different? Perhaps he would not have sailed off not just in search of wealth, but independence from his father’s rule? Perhaps?
It wasn’t until he was aware of the sudden silence that had fallen over the room that Robert realized his son had asked a question.
“Pardon?” he asked, turning his focus back down to the young Viscount in training.
“I only wondered…would you be interested—”
“Young man, I am confident that your father has much more pressing issues to address than running off to London just to look at a building full of ‘nick knacks’.” Ruth jumped in, removing the boy’s empty dishes.
“But…” The boy pestered, his shoulder slumped, his lower lip beginning its telltale quiver.
She leaned in close to the boy, but her voice carried over the table. “Now, you know that with current expenses such extravagance is not possible and I would appreciate it if you would let this die out before your mother hears any of this. She is in no condition to face these things at present.”
“What building?” Robert inquired.
“It’s the Tower Sub-train…sub-rout…” Ruth waved her hand, dismissing the importance of remembering the proper name.
“Subway.” The young master corrected her with a huff. Turning to his father, his young face lit up like a torch, and Robert was intrigued by what could bring so much excitement to the boy. Sprout’s eyes sparkled just as his mother’s had the
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