Title: Bluebells and roses.
Chapter 10.
This is the next part of an AU/AU, a tribute to a great short story and a marvellous film.
Timeline: before the introduction chapter, we're swimming between end of 19th and beginning of 20th century.
Thanks as usual to all of you who read and posted a review. It is so important for me.
Disclaimer: intellectual property of Ms. Proulx, no commercial use, no copyright infringment.
Special thanks as always time goes to my dear Beta Sam, her help is very precious and deeply treasured.
The war was a real nightmare, Kenneth wrote to Ennis after his first month in Southern Africa. He asked himself every night why they should fight, kill and die for a piece of land so far away from home. But he was a soldier, now, and his duty was to fight an unwanted war.
Ennis and Kenneth had hugged for a long time when Kenneth had to leave for Africa, and they exchanged two gold medallions with their respective miniature portraits.
The words in Kenneth's letter were kept hidden from Lord Delmar, who had done his duty as a soldier years ago and was not inclined to have a coward for a son. Ennis believed a lot in his older brother and prayed for a fast ending to the war; the idea of being the second Delmar in the same generation to become a soldier wasn't so appealing. His father took pride in the other letters, the ones Kenneth sent that glorified the British army.
The letters usually arrived every two weeks. Ennis wondered how it was possibile to cross the whole distance of Africa in such a short time; it was proof of the power of the Empire, that was for sure.
When a single letter arrived for Lord Delmar one day, written in elaborate calligraphy, the butler placed it on a silver tray then handed it to Jack, who knew without further instructions that he was to deliver it to his lordship. Jack found his master in the library, sipping a glass of sherry with a London newspaper in his lap.
"Put it here and refill," he was ordered.
"Sir, I'll bring another bottle," he said, looking at the low level of liquor in the decanter.
He left the room, closing the doors behind him. Lord Delmar was still reading his newspaper and paid any attention to the letter yet.
Jack returned five minutes later with a bottle Mr. Evans gave him from the small shelf in the store room.
He knocked once with no answer, then twice, turning his head to hear better. Then a sudden strong cry from the inside made him open the door without further hesitation.
Lord Delmar was bent over a carved table near his favourite chair, frantically clutching a piece of paper, his sherry glass broken in small pieces at his feet.
Shocked, Jack remained immobile for a second, then entered the room with the idea of helping his lordship back into his chair. Surely he was not feeling well. On his way past, Jack reached for the bell on the wall to call Mr. Evans.
Lord Delmar heard footsteps and turned; his face like a ghost, pale and drained of every drop of blood. But his demeanour changed very quickly.
He charged like a lion chasing a gazelle, using all his strength to grab Jack by the neck and throw him to the ground. Lord Delmar started babbling unintelligible words, the volume of his voice rising higher and higher until he was screaming. He grabbed his whip from his boots and used it on Jack's defenseless body – for how could a servant escape the fury of his master, let alone fight against him?
All Jack could do was cover his face with both hands while Lord Delmar whipped and kicked him with the force of two men. Jack felt the pain of skin being torn and small bones breaking, and his vision went red when blood started seeping through the fingers that were protecting his face. He felt the pain of a strong boot in his right side, then another and another. Jack curled up like a ball, trying to avoid being further injured. He didn't hear footsteps coming from the great hall, didn't see Mr. Evans blocking his master's arm and taking away the whip, throwing its bloodied leather on the floor.
He felt somebody help him to stand up, but he refused to move his hands away from his face, just stood there, terrified and trembling. Never in his life had he received an attack like this.
Mr. Evans was talking with Lord Delmar while Louis, the first underbutler, led Jack out of the library.
They reached the servants' quarters and Louis opened the door of the butler's parlour, taking a chair from the table and telling Jack to sit down in front of the fireplace. He grabbed Jack's hand, but the boy refused to follow his lead. Mrs. Evans was called and arrived quickly, using her soothing voice to calm the still shaking Jack.
"Poor boy, poor Jack," she repeated, hugging the boy's trembling frame.
Mrs. Evans was a woman and a skilled mother, and Jack relaxed a bit because she smelled of soap and lavender, like his own mother.
"Let me see your face." Mrs. Evans asked, touching Jack's hands. He slowly removed them, revealing his face. "There aren't scars, don't be afraid, you won't have a mark."
The touch on his injured hands was like fire and Jack cursed under his breath; the woman released him and took her medical box, cleaning Jack's scars with something that burned.
Mr. Evans arrived shortly after, and his expression, usually unreadable – the mask of the professional butler – was very troubled.
His wife asked immediately for an explanation. He waved a hand. "Terrible news," he said in a whisper, "a tragedy for the house."
Mr. Evans looked at Jack like he wanted to inspect him. "Do you think anything is broken?"
"No, sir, I don't think so."
"Dr. Stoutamire will be here for his lordship, after that he'll see you too. Louis."
He called the first underbutler, who was still standing in the corridor.)
"Yes, Mr Evans."
"Help Jack to his room, then meet me in the kitchen in five minutes with all the others. Jack, now rest, I'll see you later."
Jack lay in his bed, following Mr. Evans' instructions, but he couldn't sleep because his mind was playing over and over the violent assault he had received at the hands of his own master. He well knew Lord Delmar's strange attitude and that his behaviour was ruled by pride and – sometimes – cruelty, but no servant was ever treated that way.
Jack tried to think about something else, focusing on the silver cutlery in the large closet, counting the pieces, recalling their exact disposition, the way Mr Evans had taught him to do with the purpose of remembering every detail when he had to set the dinner table.
He was concentrating so hard that he didn't hear Mr. Evans' soft knocks at the door.
"Jack?" he called from the outside.
"Come in, Mr Evans." Jack quickly answered.
"How are you feeling?" The butler asked, letting Dr. Stoutamire in.
"Better now, thanks."
The doctor voiced his appreciation of Mrs Evans' first aid skills when she cleaned the wounds and applied an oily cream before putting on bandages.
The butler remained silent until the doctor finished; when he and Jack remained alone he finally spoke.
"I'm afraid there is tragic news. Mister Kenneth's regiment was in a bloody battle. He's been reported missing, probably dead. His Lordship was reading the letter when you came back into the library. He was in shock...That's why he...treated you that way."
Jack was speechless. It was one of the worst possible things that could have happened to the whole house. Jack wanted to be near Ennis to so he could comfort him, wanted to hug Ennis and erase his pain, but he wasn't even allowed to tell him the news himself. His pain seemed to disappear
compared to Ennis'.
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Jack still had the scars, at least the remaining traces of the deeper ones, shortly before Christmas. Ennis had to mourn Kenneth alone, in the absence of the body his father forgave him to come home sooner than expected and refused a funeral to be held. He still believed his son was alive.
But only Kenneth's medallion returned to England. It was the only thing that had been recovered of him from the battlefield, leading him to be declared missing and presumed dead. At first, Ennis wanted to bury his matching medallion in an empty grave, somewhere in their estate, but then decided to keep it as a memory of his brother.
Jack used a special cream from Mrs Evans to help his skin heal as fast as possible.
He knew what the sight of whipping meant for Ennis so he never wrote about it in his infrequent letters. He busied himself with various tasks in the guests' wing the day Ennis returned, hoping to see him only in the evening, with the soft light of candles around them.
He was sure Lord Delmar would surely talk with his remaining son for the whole afternoon, pretending that he wanted a detailed report of the school results.
Jack was sorry for his lover, but nobody would dare to contradict the master of the house.
Jack was also lucky at the evening meal, thanks to the white gloves he wore that worked to lengthen the sleeves of his jacket.
Ennis' face was sad, but when he saw Jack for the first time after four months a sparkle brightened his eyes.
Dinner was faster than usual - less people at the master table, since Lureen remained in her room as she often had that winter - and Ennis was allowed to retire early. Jack waited to be dismissed and spent another hour lying dressed on top of the covers of his bed before knocking at Ennis' door.
It opened quickly, and Ennis dragged him in, closing the door immediately after him. They embraced and kissed with the desperate fury of a love denied.
Ennis tugged at Jack's shirt and started freeing the buttons.
"Please don't ruin the shirt."
"I'll buy you a new one."
"Please Ennis, I cannot leave your room with a hole in my shirt."
"I know, I know. I'll give you one of mine, it won't be the first time." Ennis was using his tongue all over Jack's chest, elicing a soft moan from the boy. He pushed the shirt over shoulders and arms and took Jack's hands to kiss them. Then he saw.
Traces of red on a skin so white.
He lifted his gaze and Jack closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them Ennis' face was like stone, shocked and drained of all emotion.
Jack freed one hand and touched his lover's cheek, trying to give warmth. "Ennis, look at me," he asked.
Ennis from his trance and felt his legs tremble a little. Jack took hold of his biceps and without questioning led him towards the bed. When Ennis was settled on the edge, Jack tried again.
"Ennis talk to me."
"He did...he did it to you!"
"It doesn't matter any more."
"But when did it happen?"
"Some days ago." Jack knew it was too soon for such wounds to heal.
"When, Jack? I need to know."
Jack inhaled deeply. He thought of telling a pitiful lie, but knew that Ennis could easily discover the truth from other people.
"The day of the letter, when he read about your brother. It wasn't his fault, he was in shock and went mad for a few minutes. I was the only one around him at the time, unfortunately.
"I hate him!"
TBC