Returning to my childhood home was always something of a tricky matter. I had enjoyed a lengthy sojourn in London initially to study, but then I was encouraged to stay by my father during the war. He thought it best that a Gracey should never set foot on a battleground; it was far beneath us, he said. I had studied at Oxford, just as my father had, and had enjoyed my time there. After the war, I was meant to return, but something always kept me from returning, which I wasn't too put-out by. But now I was nearly 35, and I had to return after the death of my father. My mother had passed on a few years prior, and that being its own difficult journey that I had resolved not to return.
I always knew I would inherit the grand estate and mansion. I was my parent's only surviving child, and thus I knew from the moment I could sit up, that it would fall to me. Since slavery ended, I had the doubly challenging task ensuring the upkeep without my father's booming plantation. To be quite honest, I thought slavery to be quite repulsive. My father and I never saw eye to eye on that front. I would have thought he would be against the horrid practice as he had grown up in England, where slavery was decidedly out of fashion. We argued quite frequently, and I would have been disowned if he didn't fear the mansion would be destroyed after his passing. The estate had hints of the wild arguments we had. The fountain had a statue of a goddess who no longer had her left arm, and a couple of books in the library were missing from being thrown in the fireplace.
In England, I had wished that the whole place would go up into flames or something. I had no desire to run a plantation. But alas, my father was dead and buried, and it was my job to either sell the estate or figure out what to do with it.
I passed through the gates, the servant having swept in and taken my bags and rushed ahead. The Spanish moss fluttered in the slight breeze. It was early April, and already the humidity was soaking my skin. It would only get hotter, I thought unhappily.
In front of the grand door, Ramsley stood. Ramsley was perhaps the single oldest butler. He had been around my entire life. My father was not terribly interested in me, and my mother was ill quite frequently, so Ramsley did a great deal of the work raising me. I, of course, had governesses, but he was the one that ensured I comport my self as a gentleman.
"Master Gracey, I trust your journey was a smooth one?" he asked in his low, rich voice while bowing.
"It was fine," I said as I shrugged off my coat and handed him my hat.
"Dinner will be served in a few hours. I have enured that your belongings have been put in the Master Bedroom. Is there anything you require before dinner?"
"No, I think I will lie down and perhaps begin reviewing the books," I said.
"Very good. I shall send someone to your chambers when dinner is ready," Ramsley said, bowing. "And welcome home. This place has been much in need of a Gracey."
I only nodded. I entered what was my father's room and noticed that none of his belonging had been removed, but rather mine had been forced to share the same space. I frowned at his portrait that hung over the fireplace. That would need to be removed soon, it wouldn't do to have him staring me down whilst I slept.
I looked in the large wardrobe and found my clothes inside. I decided to change into something a bit more casual. As I was the only person inhabiting the place, why shouldn't I be comfortable? Ramsley might sigh at me and insinuate that I follow in my father's tradition for dressing for dinner, but what was the point if one was eating alone?
I laid down on the large bed and closed my eyes. Returning home had taken several weeks, and despite occupying lavish quarters on the ship and train, travel was still taxing.
I wasn't sure how long my eyes were closed before they opened to the something, or rather someone I wasn't expecting.
"Oh! Forgive me for waking you!" the young woman said. "I was told to bring you to dinner."
"No, you're quite alright," I said, rubbing my eyes. "Forgive me, but who are you?"
"I'm the new maid, I was hired a few months before Master Gracey's passing," she chirped.
"No, I mean, what is your name?"
"Elizabeth, Elizabeth Henshaw sir," she said with a slight curtsey.
I nodded. I was taken with her beauty and paused longer than I should have.
"Please, call me Edward," I said once I had collected my thoughts.
"If it would please you," she said.
Dinner was a dull affair, and I did not see Elizabeth for the rest of the evening. Ramsley loomed nearby, seeming pleased that I was home. I could hardly focus on the soup as I resolved that I must get to know this Elizabeth Henshaw better. And why shouldn't I? If she was to be a servant here, I should know who my employees are. Shouldn't I?