A short pre-film, pre-suicide scene between Ramsley and Mr. Gracey. Rated M for somewhat squicky slash situations.
This is a work of fanfiction based on the Disney film "The Haunted Mansion."
Edward crouched in the corner of his chambers, drowning himself in grief. He rocked back and forth, grinding his teeth as he attempted to control his emotions. His thoughts raced. Elizabeth he whispered over and over. Elizabeth. A brisk knock at the door interrupted him. Ramsley, his trusted butler, glided into the room. "There, there, sir," he hissed. His sunken eyes glittered. He helped Edward up from the floor and led him to a chair.
Ramsley unbuttoned Edward's outer waistcoat. His seniority among the house staff gave him the privilege of attending personally to the Master. He lowered himself to his knees and began to unlace his master's boots. He ran his gloved fingers over them, brushing off nonexistent specks of dust. He gently, almost lovingly removed the boots, murmuring comforting phrases in his low, hoarse voice. He then deftly unfastened the breeches. Edward continued to whimper and shake his head, distraught. Ramsley sat back on his heels and slowly removed one of his spotless white gloves. "Master, you are unwell. Here, allow your faithful servant to take care of you," he whispered. "By your leave, sir…" He leaned forward, steadying himself against the sides of Edward's chair. "Take comfort, Master," he purred. "This was surely for the best, the Heaven's will."
Edward moaned as Ramsley worked on him. He looked down blearily as Ramsley's bald pate bobbed beneath him. He was disgusted with himself for allowing this to happen, but his weakened emotional state left him powerless to protest. Ramsley paused briefly for air. "Now sir," he croaked indulgently, "Surely, you knew that she would have made an unsuitable match. Your station-" "Damn my station," Edward gasped. Ramsley merely tsked and returned to his work. A few minutes later, Edward was as limp as a rag doll. He caught his breath with difficulty while Ramsley pulled out a handkerchief with the gloved hand to clean him off. He was now more miserable than ever. Ramsley, however, looked positively ecstatic. His stern face was expressionless, but his normally pale cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were dark. "That will do, Ramsley," Edward whispered tremulously. "Now, leave me in peace." Knowing he had been dismissed, Ramsley rose creakily, bowed, and turned to leave. Pausing at the door, he whispered, "My condolences, sir. " He then turned and walked purposefully down the hall. Edward sighed noiselessly, too exhausted to weep. He felt so empty. He knew at that moment that he would have to hang himself. Life was not worth living without Elizabeth, despite what Ramsley might say. The dear, well-meaning old man. How distraught he would be when he found his beloved master hanged like a slaughtered hog.
Ramsley strode down the hall. He hadn't bothered to make himself presentable, knowing he was unlikely to encounter any of his subordinates in the dark. He descended the three flights of stairs with a spryness that belied his age, and went to his personal chambers. He knelt on his bed and took care of his own needs, feeling more vigorous than he had in years. All would be well. The whore was dead, courtesy of arsenic, and his master would choose another, more suited to his station. Social advancement was the purpose of all matches, after all, not this sentimental "love" nonsense. For once, he did not curse his own lowly station, which he had secretly found stifling for years. Master Gracey would make a fine match with a lady, and they would be a handsome, proper pair. Ramsley, for his part, could take pride in the knowledge that he had restored the honor of the house and of his young master. That was what mattered. He slept peacefully for the rest of the night, content in the knowledge that he would be the one to wake Master Gracey the next morning.