Prologue #2
Opening the door, he stepped inside, closing it behind him.
He went and stood in front of the desk, his father’s eyes on the newspaper he read.
Hugo stood a good quarter-hour, watching his father methodically turn the pages.
His gut told him that the earl wasn’t reading the newspaper at all.
That he was merely toying with his son, making him wait.
Finally, his father put the newspaper down and acknowledged his son’s presence.
“The headmaster wrote me a most interesting letter,” the earl began.
Panic shot through him. He had not known of this. He supposed the letter had been given to the footman who had escorted him home. Knowing not to speak, he simply waited for his father to tell him what he wished him to know.
The earl reached for the letter, which sat on his desk, and held it up. “He writes that you actually have a brain inside that head of yours. That your command of writing Latin and Greek is strong. He also praises your ability regarding mathematics.”
He couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased that his father had received good news about him, especially since everything else Hugo did seemed to disappoint the earl.
Frowning, his father continued. “However, he tells me that you made absolutely no friends and that your physical abilities and skills on the playing field are abysmal.”
When teams had been chosen, the captains aways argued over who would take Hugo, who was always the last boy left.
He never understood why they spent time doing so because he never got in to play in a single game.
He knew he was smaller than most other boys his age, but his stutter did not affect him physically.
Apparently, though, all the other boys believed that it did.
“The headmaster also writes that your oratory skills are nonexistent.” His father snorted.
“I would have expected as much.” Tossing the letter aside, his father’s gaze met his.
“Do you understand how great an embarrassment you are to me? Why, I will never be able to show my face at my club in town because all my peers will have heard from their own boys what a waste of humanity you are.”
When Hugo stood mutely, the earl slammed a fist upon the desk. “Answer me, damn you!”
“Y-y-y-yes, Fa-fa-father. I kn-kn-kn-know th-that I embar . . . embar . . . embarrass you.”
Rage filled the earl’s face, turning it bright red, and he stood quickly, knocking over the chair he’d sat in.
“It is humiliating having a son such as you. Humiliating! My peers judge me because of your deficiencies. Your faults.”
Hugo knew what was coming. He had known all along, but there was no way he could ever prepare himself for what took place next.
“This is the second time I have had to live through this,” his father muttered, glowering at him.
Confusion filled him. “Wh-wh-what?”
“I spent my entire life being humiliated by my younger brother. He, too, sounded exactly like you did. Couldn’t get a word out without mucking it up.
I was a laughingstock. I did everything I could to separate myself from him, even begging my own father to send us to different schools to spare me the shame. Thankfully, Papa did so.”
Hugo knew his father never would have defended his own flesh and blood. He was glad this unknown uncle had escaped being near the man before him, one who was cruel and heartless and had no love for his only son.
“And I have heard gossip that says his son is exactly as worthless as you are. An embarrassment to the Drake family name.”
It was interesting to learn that he had both an uncle and a cousin and that they both suffered from the curse of stammering.
He had not known that it ran in families.
It made him never want to have children of his own, simply because he would hate for them to go through the pain he already had—and would continue to endure.
“My father tried to beat the flaws out of my brother, and he proved to be unsuccessful.” An evil gleam lit the earl’s eyes. “I intend to meet with success, however.”
The next minutes were ones Hugo endured. The curses that came with each blow. The sting and then pain of the cane, which tore into his flesh. He did equations in his head, trying to escape from the reality as his father beat him bloody.
Finally, he collapsed on the floor, falling to his hands and knees, doubting he could stand on his own two feet without help. He imagined crawling from the study, through the house, and up several flights of stairs, thinking it beyond him, wishing he could die, here and now, and end his suffering.
He heard the cane being dropped into the stand where his father kept it. He knew a servant would need to be summoned to take him back to his room and wondered if his father would ring for one or let him lie on the carpet. He struggled to retain consciousness and then felt himself drifting away.
Eventually, the door opened. By then, Hugo was aware of his surroundings. He looked up to see his father motion to him on the floor.
“Get him out of my sight.” It amazed him that the earl’s tone was so cavalier, as if he were asking teacups to be cleared.
The footman lifted him at the neck, dragging him across the carpeted room. Once they were on the other side of the door and it was closed, however, strong arms scooped him up.
Tears blinded him as the footman carried him all the way to his bedchamber, the first time that had ever happened. Surprisingly, he was gently placed upon the bed.
Looking up at the servant, he saw it was not someone he recognized. And what surprised him most was that he saw sympathy in the man’s eyes.
“I will be back soon, my lord. Do not try to undress without my help. I will bring ointment and bandages and see to your wounds.”
He lay on the bed, crying because of the kindness in the stranger’s voice.
Deliberately, he caused his mind to go blank, something he had much practice at doing.
He did not think of the ordeal he had just undergone.
Instead, he drifted, thinking of summer days walking through the woods at Merrifield.
Wading in the stream, the breeze ruffling his hair.
When the footman returned, he began ministering to Hugo in a gentle manner. No servant had ever shown him such compassion. Only Dilly had ever been this gentle with him. Even his own mother had been too afraid of her domineering, rage-filled husband to behave in such a fashion.
“Wh-wh-what is y-y-your name?” he asked.
“Alfie,” the footman replied.
“Alfie,” he repeated, glad of the softness of the name. He had difficulty with hard consonants at the beginning of words, such as Bs and Ps, but Alfie seemed to roll from his tongue.
“W-w-w-will you g-g-get in tr-trouble? He-he-helping m-me?”
“If I do and am dismissed, so be it,” Alfie declared.
He paused, studying Hugo for a moment. “I have heard the servants mention you, my lord. They said such terrible things. No one should be spoken of as they do you, especially those who should be serving you. They should be grateful to hold the position they do. I am here to let you know that I am not only your faithful servant. I also hope to be your friend.”
Hugo didn’t know it at the time, but Alfie would be his only friend for many years to come. What he did know was when he became the Earl of Merriman, he would make Alfie his butler. He knew this servant would help him be respected in his own household.
As the footman peeled away the bloody clothes and washed and dressed the raw, ferocious wounds, he thanked Alfie from the bottom of his heart, even as he vowed to someday conquer both his tormentors and the speech impediment which haunted him.