The tension in the air is palpable.
The entire staff is there, some standing and others shifting uncomfortably in their seats. The body lies motionless on the floor, cold and pale. Death by hanging. The marking on his neck makes that clear enough.
The man’s daughter is in the corner, still sobbing, but more from shock than sorrow.
All eyes are trained on the stableboy now, who was last seen in an altercation with the deceased. Then he was alive, and now he is not; no doubt that raises a few eyebrows.
The boy gets down to one knee and scans the corpse of his former taskmaster, who seems to be staring back at him. Even dead he is despicable.
As the crying settles the collective whispering is increasing. The stableboy can sense it without even trying - everyone is now talking about him. He barely utters a word when the old cook fires the first shot.
“Y-You did this!”
“No”
“You never liked him!”
“I never liked anyone here”
“If I may be allowed to speak…”
And then suddenly, reverent silence. The crowd parts to reveal the source of interruption.
The young lord looks quite different out of his usual stark attire. In his blouson shirt and with hair loosely draped around his face, he projects none of the stateliness he is generally known for. Were it not for his delicate features he would be lost in this crowd.
“Let us put a stop to all this speculation. Old man, do you not see that our stablehand appears injurious and barring the matter of his death, that the corpse does not?”
The cook looks to the floor; the observation is astutely salient, and he is embarrassed by it.
“Also, had he not been muttering to himself strangely, about matters concerning repentance and Judgement before going missing today? Are the reports that have come to me untrue?”
Some of the houseworkers nod in agreement.
“That leaves us with the most important question. It was brought to my attention, and had greatly concerned me. I intended to address this more discreetly but the gravity of the accusations pitted against our dear friend here leaves me with little choice.”
The young master pitifully looks towards the dead man’s pubescent daughter. Letting out a reluctant sigh, he speaks gently, apologetically.
“Little Miss, has your father been forcefully partaking in your honour?”
The tears come bursting out accompanied by a hair-raising wail. The men gasp in horror, but the matrons and maids rush to the girl’s comfort, cooing at her and rubbing her back. The lord himself, kneels and cups her hands, squeezing them tightly. He manages a warm smile.
“There, there. I have spoken with the Lady regarding your plight. If you so choose, you may reside in this Household for as long as you wish, and assist in her affairs. My mother is most benevolent and kind, and you will be treated well. Go now and rest, you have had a long day.”
Feebly she is slowly escorted by the washerwoman out of the room, as the men stare at their feet with equal parts awkwardness and sympathy. When she is gone the master speaks again.
“This monster lying before us had abandoned his sacred duty to protect his child and robbed her of her innocence. And today, realising the immense crime that he had committed, he chose to end of his life, even if that may never be payment enough. There is no knowing the circumstances that spurred this realisation in him, but that matters not anymore. Now, give him at least a proper burial.”
The crowd leaves and the room begins to clear, but the chatter is still heard. In light of their discovery, that is to be expected. Yet the stablehand remains in his seat, eyebrows furrowed but otherwise he is completely still. He is lost in thought.
What did I do? It worked.
