Chapter V - Back to Ravenshead

I found out the truth about my mother on my last visit to Ravenshead. Mrs Grateley had summoned me back for a big family gathering. Apparently, she was to deliver some bad news to my stepsisters and me. There had been no other kind for the longest time in my life. Frankly, I was surprised to even be included. At the time, Beatrice and Lucinda were in the midst of their preparations to present the new clothing line from their newly founded designer label Gloss. While I had been off studying at Highcliffe University, for which I had received a full scholarship thanks to coming top of my class at Littlewood, my stepsisters had spent a year gallivanting abroad in the south of France where they had come up with the idea of creating their own designer label. After a failed attempt at studying Fashion Design in Knightwood, they decided all they really needed was to hire a professional whose designs they could criticise and amend at their own leisure. Funding such a start-up company was not an issue for them either, as Mrs Grateley was, of course, willing to fulfil their every wish. She always doted on them as if they were the most precious gifts sent from the heavens.

When I arrived at Ravenshead that rainy Friday afternoon, after having undertaken a long and tedious journey by train, all my old childhood memories I had locked away in the darkest corners of my brain, came rushing back. As I beheld this giant fortress where I had spent most of my childhood, I remembered how trapped I had felt. Like in a fairy tale, I was figuratively locked in a tower from which there was no escape. The only difference is, I was cast out against my will after my last living relative, my dear old dad, passed away. I say this humorously. However, I still think about him every day. Even on good days, the memory of him creeps up on me. It is the little things that remind me of him. Now that I have moved back to Blackfield into our old home, I feel his presence more than ever. I like to think that he is watching over me. When we moved out of our cottage, we only rented it out, so we could still go back whenever we pleased. As I was not able to afford to live there on my own, not having a real job yet, I asked my good old friend Amelia to move in with me. She had ended up studying in a town close to Highcliffe, where I spent four years working on my degree, so we were able to meet up on the occasional weekend and keep in touch. My real companion at Highcliffe was my friend Ava whom I had met at Littlewood Boarding School. She stood by my side at the most difficult time of my life, but more on her later.

XXX

Ravenshead Manor was still the daunting place I remembered it to be. The spiral staircase leading to the top floor reminded me of how I had been dragged up them many a time to be locked in the attic. The stairs wound their way upwards like a large, bulging, lethal snake wriggling its way up a hill. To my mind, the atmosphere of this house was somehow toxic. It only harboured dark memories for me. Later on that evening, I headed downstairs for our family gathering. The news Mrs Grateley had in store for us was indeed a little unnerving. She informed us that her doctor had discovered one of her moles was cancerous. It would have to be removed within the week. The danger posed by the potentially cancer-inducing mole made Mrs Grateley fret for her life. I would not wish any illness, terminal or not, upon anyone - even someone as foul in nature as Mrs Grateley - but I did think she was behaving overly alarmist, acting as if she were already on her deathbed. Once the mole was removed, she would be able to get on with her life and probably outlive us all. Mrs Grateley, however, was so guilt-ridden that she decided this would be as good a chance as any to reveal her long-kept secret about my mother's whereabouts.

Yes, indeed! Her whereabouts.

You will understand, reader, that I was quite taken aback and confused by this news. All the nights I had cried myself to sleep at Ravenshead Manor, believing I had lost both my parents, the thought had never occurred to my stepmother to finally reveal the truth to me. Granted, she had promised my father to keep this secret; for he had thought it better I was left in the knowledge of an unexpected death in childbirth having left me motherless as opposed to my mother having made a conscious choice to abandon me. Either way, I grew up without a mother, something which my father had always attempted to amend by taking on the role of both parents and then remarrying. I would have been happy with my father being my sole guardian, but I realise that he must have been lonely without my mother around and at some point it was inevitable he would meet someone new. He did wait nine years until he took this step after all.

It was on this eve of my arrival at Ravenshead Manor, after I had been coldy received by my so-called "family" – for I do not view them as such – that Mrs Grateley attempted to redeem herself for having treated me like an interloper my entire life. Sending the maid to fetch me into her study later on that evening, Mrs Grateley began her confession:

"My dear girl, how you have grown!"

"Thank you. I believe it has been a few years since we last saw each other." I replied formally.

"Yes, but you still seem quite the same inobedient child you once were," she smirked.

"With all do respect, that is your opinion. Please keep it to yourself," I retorted. "There is absolutely no reason for you to be so hostile towards me. As you so elegantly put it when you sent me away, 'I am no longer your problem now.' Can we get on with it?"

"Well, bookworm's got teeth, I see!" Mrs Grateley said turning away to face the window, her hands folded neatly behind her back. "What I had you summoned here for is quite a serious matter, Ruby. I hope you will not hold it against me."

Yeah, right! She couldn't hold me to that.

"You see," Mrs Grateley continued, "your father had only one dying wish." She kept her gaze focused on the botanic gardens below. "I was meant to hide the truth about your mother from you, to protect you."

"What do you mean?" I blurted out.

Mrs Grateley turned around slowly. "Well, the truth is, your mother is alive-"

I was stunned into silence for a moment. Was I caught in a nightmare without realising it? I wondered why my father would have wanted such a big secret to be kept from me.

"Why did dad never tell me? Why did he lie?" I asked Mrs Grateley, my eyes growing hot with the onslaught of tears that were now forming in the corners of my eyes.

"Trust me," she said, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder, "even though I know that is hard for you." A faint smile crossed her lips. "Believe me when I tell you that he only meant to protect you. Knowing she was alive would not have made a great difference, as your father did not know where she was. Your mother left when you were only a year old. Bernard thought you would be spared from pain by lying to you."

Bernard? I hated her using my father's first name so off-handedly.

"Hmpf!" I scoffed, taking a step back and roughly brushing Mrs Grateley's hand off my shoulder. "And what about all those times I thought I was responsible for my mother dying? And all the times your children practically accused me of murder?"

"They were young!" Mrs Grateley said in exasperation, making me feel like I was a little girl again. Always in the wrong. "In any case," she went on, "I never knew how badly they treated you."

She never knew? Ha! How laughable her feeble attemps at defending herself were. Was I just supposed to suck it up, then? It was impossible for me to forget the agony I had gone through in this house and I resented Mrs Grateley for acting as if it had all simply been child's play.

I stood up straight, facing Mrs Grateley like a soldier preparing for battle. "Oh, really? You didn't know?" I asked mockingly. "You were in the room half the time they bullied me. You knew, alright!" My fists clenched involuntarily.

After a moment's silence, Mrs Grateley finally admitted: "OK, I did know, but -" she paused briefly, weighing her words. "I didn't know how to make things better. The girls felt my resentment towards you. I never saw you as part of our family, but I know now that I have wronged you. I was never meant to be a mother. My own mother was a monster, a violent woman, to whom I had no relationship at all, except maybe one of fear. I treated my children like they were special because of that. I know I spoilt them, but what can I do? They are what they are."

I felt angry now, heat rising to my cheeks.

As if! They are what they are? Really? That's all she could give me?

She made them what they are. She spoiled them rotten. And even now, after all these years, she didn't seem to see her actions as worthy of an apology. I would have welcomed even the faintest hint of recognition of her mistakes, but this family had harboured ill-will towards me from the moment I had first stepped foot into their house; and not once had they treated my kindly. Was I now to 'get over it', as if nothing had happened?

My past was still very much present, it seemed; my frustration remaining unresolved. All I was doing was trudging up my painful memories.

I decided to openly show my contempt this time. I was no longer the victim. I knew how to defend myself.

"Well, you know what you could do?" I hinted unwaveringly, "You could stop indorsing your children's ridiculous projects for one thing!"

I tried to contain my mirthless laughter. Mrs Grateley was dumbfounded. She had never witnessed me talk back before. I decided that her reaction was enough of a victory for one day.

"But, you know," I conceded, "the way you bring up your children is your business. I don't want to start an argument with you. Let's leave the past behind us...for now." And with that, I stormed out of the room without once looking back.

XXX

I was appalled at the way she had brushed aside all the pain her children had caused me, but I knew that was all in the past now and it could not be changed. I had made new friends along the way, some of them I would never have met without having been sent away.

The next few days at Ravenshead, I pondered on this life-changing piece of information which had been thrust upon me. Tragedy seemed to have been a part of my life for a long time. After I was left fatherless, bad luck appeared to be inescapable, sticking to me like glue. I was suddenly down on my luck or perhaps I had never been blessed enough to have any to begin with.

When my father was no longer there to protect me, I was left to fend for myself, entirely alone in the world; or so I thought. For the longest time, I truly believed the lie my father had fed me - of my mother having died in childbirth - only to find out now how she had actually abandoned my father and me when I was only one year old. Was I too much to handle for her or too big of a burden, perhaps? I know my father hid her leaving from me to spare me unnecessary pain, but his mission had not been accomplished.

Growing up in the hateful environment that was Ravenshead, I was constantly reminded of my mother's passing. The guilt of her dying in childbirth had haunted me. Maybe it should have been me, instead, I had sometimes thought. Now the truth had finally been unravelled. Yet, somehow I felt even worse beholding my newfound knowledge.

I felt saddened and disappointed at the thought of my mother abandoning me. What drives a mother to leave her own flesh and blood behind? It was impossible for me to wrap my head around that mind-set. I could not fathom why she had felt the need to run off. Whether she had died in childbirth or whether she had abandoned me, does it not essentially amount to the same thing? She is no longer in my life. She is dead to me for all intents and purposes. If she had wanted to get to know me, she would have contacted me by now, wouldn't she?

XXX

Unfortunately, or I should say fortunately, it turned out my mother had been trying to reach me all these years. What Mrs Grateley had refrained from telling me that first evening, was that my mother had written me several letters every year, including on my birthdays and at Christmas. Mrs Grateley had kept the letters well hidden from me and was too ashamed to admit this at first. The day I was to leave for Blackfield, she called me to her again.

"Ruby," she began, "there is something I have not told you yet. I meant to tell you when you first arrived, but I did not know how. The atmosphere between us was so hostile already."

After these words, I dreaded what was to come, but it all turned out for the best.

Mrs Grateley explained how my mother had begun writing letters after my father had died. I was overwhelmed by a mix of emotions, ranging from confusion to happiness. Now I had to question everything I had ever thought about my mother. Frowning, I took the pile of letters Mrs Grateley was handing to me; finding no words to express my resentment towards her. Just when I thought she might be redeemable, I found out that not only had she known my mother was alive, but she had also kept me from finding her. I did not start another argument at that point, leaving the room simply shaking my head.

I went back to my old bedroom then, opening one letter at a time. Each one was more beautifully written than the last. My mother apologised a thousand fold, attempting to explain why she had left. She wrote how she had not felt fit to be a mother and of being engulfed by fear of harming me. She told me that the symptoms of postnatal depression had led to her decision to leave - something which she had never even told my father - causing her to feel like a terrible mother later. She wrote how she had felt no connection to me when I was born and how listless she had been.

In later letters she went into detailed descriptions of why this illness had changed her personality and eaten her up inside. She promised me that she only left because she did not feel she deserved me, pleading for my forgiveness. I was not to carry any guilt with me, for it had all been her fault. In her last letter she seemed at her most desperate, telling me she wanted to give up her free-spirited lifestyle, finally settling down instead of moving from place to place. It was the only letter she had added an address to. The letter was sent from France. I would now be able to visit her, but I didn't know if I felt ready. I needed time to mull everything over first. The letter ended with these words:

I have now finally succeeded in settling down in the beautiful city of Lyon in the south of France, sharing an apartment with a young French student called Aurélie. There are several universities in Lyon, Ruby, so you could even study here and live with me and Aurélie! It is practically a secret passageway where our apartment is located. They are called 'traboules' and were used as shortcuts during the war, so the inhabitants of Lyon could travel from the hill, on top of which lies a beautiful church - the 'Fourvière', to the old town. We live in the safety of one such 'traboule'. If you walk along the streets of the old town, you come across several doors, leading to these secret passageways. Some of them are locked, so only the apartment owners can enter, but many are also accessible to tourists. To reach the entrance to the apartment building, you need only climb the stairs and ring the bell labelled 'Dubois', which is Aurélie's last name. It is a privilege to live here, really. Although your father was from the north of France, being in this country reminds me of him and how determined he was to always speak to you in French. I am sure you are now fluent, young lady that you must now have become. Lyon is a magnificent place to live with its Fourvière as well as its rivers Rhône and Saône. If you came to see me, we could walk along the Quais by the river Rhône and behold the Fourvière church on the hill in all its glory. We could also enjoy this glorious weather together. Even though it is only April, it already seems like summer to me. I would love for you to come visit me, my dear. What do you say? Think about it, please.

As always,

wishing you all my love,

your mother,

Charlotte Bunting

P.S.: I have the suspicion you never received any of my letters, so I have decided to visit you at Ravenshead if you do not respond within the year.

The letter would be dated a year ago by next month. It was mid-March, so I only had two weeks to decide what to do. It seemed that my world had been turned upside down. Even though I had done many a Google search to find out where my mother was hiding out, all my attempts to look for her had been fruitless. For the longest time, I had lost all hope, seeing no light and envisioning no possible future happiness for myself. I had fallen into a grim mind-set and had almost become clinically depressed after my father's passing. And now? My world seemed a lot brighter with a stable life in Blackfield, living with my best friend and working at the local library as an assistant. I thought I had found my happiness or as much of it as I would ever find, but learning my mother had loved me all along was joyful news indeed! I was thrilled to know I had a relative in this world that still cherished me. I no longer felt alone and unloved, I felt hopeful for a brighter future.