The Man In The Mirror

Mr. Boothsworth stopped sipping from his cup and turned to the both of us, his eyes wide and suspicious, as if he suspected us of trying to trick him. For a brief moment, he bore a striking resemblance to Lurch from the Addams family, and although there was nothing funny about what had happened, I had to bite back a smile.

“How could the child know?” he asked bewildered. He leaned towards me. “Does he have some sort of—”

“Don’t talk such nonsense,” Mrs. Blackmore instantly shut him down.

“Why?” he retorted. “I’d like to know how the boy knew.”

“Most children have better intuition than adults do,” I said, the explanation sounded silly, but it was definitely a very odd coincidence.

Mr. Blackmore was scornful. “That doesn't explain anything.”

The door to the kitchen swung open then and in came Bella, one of the maids. She was dressed in the white apron and striped green uniform of the mansion.

“It seems to be an early morning for everyone,” Mrs. Blackmore noted to the brunette.

She had come to deliver messages from Mrs. King. She addressed me first. “Mrs. King … wants you to take Zackary to her as soon as you can.”

“Sure. I’ll go wake him up,” I said, finishing my coffee.

She turned to Mrs. Blackmore. “Also, she wants her usual breakfast of dry toast with a scraping of butter, and a cup of tea, Mrs. Blackmore. Please hurry up, because she is like a bear with a sore head this morning.

I took the old wooden stairs two at a time. I guess I was eager to see the relations between mother and child. Part of me still couldn’t quite believe how Zackary could have known his mother was in danger the previous evening, but the fact it happened was pretty amazing. Anyway, as much as I disliked her I was glad for Zackary’s sake she had returned unscathed. It would have otherwise been a very different atmosphere in the castle and the poor child didn’t need another problem on his little plate.

I quickly woke him up and told him his mother wanted to see him. He hopped out of bed in his eagerness to be with her. I stood back and watched him comb his hair carefully, then we set off for his mother’s wing. I knocked softly on her door and smiled encouragingly at him. When she bade us enter I pushed open the door.

She was lying in bed in a pretty nightgown with a matching gown. There was a plaster on her left forehead very close to her hairline, and another on her elbow, but otherwise she looked as fit as a fiddle.

“Oh, darling,” she cried, opening her pale arms. “Come to Mummy. I heard you had an awful nightmare last night, you poor little thing.”

The boy ran up to her, scrambled on the bed, and settled happily against her body. They were exactly the same shade of blonde. With him enclosed in her arms she turned her hostile eyes up to me. “You may leave now. Come and pick him up in about half an hour.”

I was actually going to say something nice to her, but I realized she hated me and nothing I was going to do, or say was going to change that. Anyway, she wasn’t my favorite person either.

“Okay, I’ll be back in half an hour,” I said, and walked out of her bedroom. I took a couple of steps away from her door, but then, something made me stop. I knew I could get caught, but I couldn’t stop myself. I had to know. There was something very wrong about the situation in this household, I was pretty certain it was being deliberately fostered. I went back to her door and put my ear against the keyhole.

"I was so scared, sweetheart. It was horrible. Just horrible. I mean I could have died last night,” she was saying.

“No, Mummy,” Zackary gasped.

“I’m afraid so, darling. You almost became an orphan last night.”

Zackary began to cry softly. “I don’t want you to die, Mummy.”

“Well, I was lucky this time. An angel sat on my shoulder and protected me, because little Zackary needs a Mummy.”

“What’s that then?”

“Oh that. It was just a little stitch.”

"Will you have ugly scars like Daddy?" he asked.

"Don’t worry, I won't turn into an ugly monster like Daddy. I love you and I’ll never stop loving you no matter what.”

“How do you know Daddy doesn’t love us?”

“For instance: weren't you scared last night when you thought I almost died?”

I heard a sniff and I assumed he nodded because she carried on. “Don't cry again my dear. You were happy to see me because you care for me, but daddy didn't even bother to ask me how I felt, or how I was doing. Isn't that terribly mean of him?"

There was no response. "Why doesn’t Daddy love us?"

"He used to," she said, "but that's the thing about accidents, they change people. It made not only his face but also his heart ugly. It’s not his fault, he can’t help the way he is, but that is why I can never trust him to be alone with you. You won’t ever stay in the same room as Daddy, will you?"

"What about if Charlotte is in the room?" Zackary asked.

At that moment I heard footsteps in the corridor and I quickly straightened and walked away. It was Melly, balancing some bags of shopping and a thick file.

“You still on for tonight, right?” she asked.

“Definitely,” I said, smiling broadly, even though my heart was thumping in my chest. If what I had heard was an example of how Mrs. King interacted with the boy in private then, it was no wonder at all that the boy was not only terrified of his father, but also paranoid about her. In one short conversation she had managed to poison the child against his father and make it appear as if she could die at any moment and he could lose her forever.

Chapter 28

Charlotte

Exactly half an hour later, I knocked on Mrs. King’s door. When she called enter, I pushed it open, and announced, "I'm here, Madam."

She lifted her head to gaze at me. "I will be heading to Winslow to see my Aunt today. I need to rest and since I want to spend more time with Zackary there will be no need to come along. Cancel his swimming lessons at ... what time is it?"

“2:30pm," I replied.

"Right. Cancel that, and get luggage packed with his things, enough for a few days.”

"Yes, Madam.”

"When are you meant to have your day off?"

"On Sunday," I replied.

"Today is …?”

“Thursday.”

“Doesn’t matter. Just take the time off until I return.”

"Alright, I responded. "Thank you."

"Get his breakfast ready, then come back for him."

I could have taken the child with me then, but she wanted to treat me like a lowly servant. Gritting my teeth I smiled at Zackary. Then I headed down the stairs determined I wouldn’t let her get to me, but there was no fooling Mrs. Blackmore.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her brows furrowed with concern.

&n

bsp; "Nothing a good breakfast won’t cure. What is Zackary having today?" I asked her.

“Oatmeal.”

"I guess you can start to prepare it. I’m supposed to bring him down for breakfast now.”

“Why didn’t you just bring him down with you?”

“Madam wanted a few more minutes with him,” I said with a tight smile.

“Charlotte, you don’t look so well,” Carrie noted, looking up from her cup of coffee.

“Mr. Boothsworth, how scared is Zackary of his father?”

Mrs. Blackmore answered for him. “Carrie told me George, the last chauffeur, told her how Mr. King had waited by his door for Zackary to come back from a trip to his Aunt’s, but when Zackary saw him he ran back out to the car and shut the door. George told her he was trembling.”

“That was nothing,” Mr. Boothsworth said, his tone doleful. “On his second birthday Mr. King threw him a party. He didn’t participate in the event but came at the end of it to give the boy a present. The moment Mr. King appeared Zackary started crying and looking at his mother for reassurance.”

“I know he’s a kid, but really someone should sit him down and be firm with him. I wouldn’t let my son treat me like that. It’s the strangest thing. He should have been used to it by now. It’s very strange because children that age are usually so good about accepting their parents exactly as they are.”

I had a good idea where his hysterics could have originated from, but I didn’t say. “How did the accident happen?” I asked Mr. Boothsworth. “You were around at the time, weren’t you?”

“This one’s been around a long while,” Mrs. Blackmore said sarcastically.

“I’m capable of commitments,” he insinuated, and for a moment I was pushed out of the conversation.

She gave him a sour look before returning to the batch of flapjacks she was pulling out of the oven.

He turned to me. “It was three years ago,” he said. “Mr. Stanley Wilde, Madam’s father was in the car with Mr. King. They were on their way from the airport when the driver of a truck carrying flammable liquid fell asleep at the steering wheel. His truck rammed into them. The impact flung their car off the road and into the woods. The leaking tank blew the entire vehicle up. Luckily Mr. King was flung out since he wasn’t wearing a seat belt, but Mr. Wilde wasn’t so lucky. Mr. Wilde was like a father to him in many ways and I think it was a devastating blow to him. He was driving, you see. After the accident, he completely shut off.”