He flicked toward the end of the diary, his hands already shaking. The last entry was shorter, written in a shaky script as his mother relayed more terrible news.
William struck me. He has never done so, and I did not think he ever would. He is a vile, cruel man once the doors of our home are closed, once the servants can’t see. Out in public, he is all charm, a doting husband. Even the servants think he is kingly, a saint. Of course, they do; he pays them more than any other lord, but is that because he wants them to be quiet and ignore everything that happens? Surely they must hear him shout at me, hear him throw things around the room. I am beginning to think so. I know I must play my part; I know I can’t escape or hide. I must appear to be his doting wife, for if I do not, I fear what shall be done to me after today.
Oh, I did not see it coming. Truly, I did not. He asked me during a walk if I had my monthly course yet. Regrettably, I had. I know he wants a child badly, as do I, but I didn’t know how badly he wanted one. I didn’t know the rage he held inside... When I told him, his face changed; it was but a mask of raging anger. Then, he struck me so hard that I tumbled into a bush. I ...
“You horrid man!” Leonard screamed out loud and hurled the diary against the wall, where it knocked down several books, creating an even bigger commotion. “I hate you... I hate you...” he bellowed as he dropped the diary on its face and stemmed his hands on the sideboard. How could his father treat his mother like this? How did he have this man’s blood within him?
It wasn’t right. How had he never seen what his father was like? The diary in question ended after this entry, but he knew that other diaries continued this tale of violence, both physical and mental. He had belittled her and treated her awfully all her life. She didn’t deserve it; nobody did.
And yet, he was Leonard’s father. It was predestined he’d turn out like him, wasn’t it? He’d become his father by design if he allowed it to happen.
The clock ticking in the hallway brought him back to reality, and he knew it was time to put the diary away. He carefully placed it back in the trunk and closed the closet door.
Leonard paced back and forth across the creaky wooden floors, his footsteps echoing throughout the empty house. What he needed was air; he needed to breathe. Making his way downstairs again, he turned the corner into the parlor; he was startled by the sudden sound of the door creaking open.
He spun in time to see Mrs. Farnsworth appear through the servant door leading down. How odd it was that he’d just read about her when she was merely Fanny, the maid, not the housekeeper. The woman’s eyes settled on him, and she pursed her lips. “Is something the matter with Her Grace?” she asked. “Is she awake?”
Leonard shook his head. “No, she’s just sleeping. I covered her up, just as you told me to and made sure she had tea on her nightstand. It’ll be cold by the time she wakes but at least it’s something,” he replied.
“Well, that is good news. I’m glad she’s on the mend. One never knows when a cold can turn into something worse.” She dipped her head to the side and paused. “But how are you? You do not look well, Your Grace. Are you getting ill?”
“No, there is nothing wrong with me. I did not sleep very well, that is all. I was reminded of my mother, being in her old chamber for so long,” he said, realizing this was, in fact the truth.
“I can imagine. I think of her often still,” the housekeeper said with fondness.
“How well did you know my mother?” he asked.
Mrs. Farnsworth looked at him quizzically. “I’ve worked here for all of your life, Your Grace. I know the family intimately,” she replied.
Leonard nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. “I mean did you know her the way a friend might know her,” he said, remembering his mother’s hopes that she and young Fanny Farnsworth might be friends one day. “Did she ever confide in you? I mean, really confide in you?”.
Mrs. Farnsworth shook her head. “Your mother was a private woman, Your Grace. She kept to herself,” she replied. “She had a few friends but most of her time was spent out in nature, with her horses. What a tragedy that something that gave her so much joy should take her life.” She clicked her tongue and tugged on her apron, bunching the fabric up in her hand.
“I see,” he replied and took a breath. Lavender clung to the air, his mother’s favorite scent. Or was that his imagination? “Say, does my wife remind you of her? My mother?”
Mrs. Farnsworth’s brows furrowed. “No, Your Grace. Not at all. I mean, she is beautiful and kind just like your mother, but her personality is quite different.”
This piqued his interest. “How do you mean?”
“Well, your mother was very quiet and reserved. She did not seek confrontation and when it found her, she tried her best to avoid it. Her Grace appears strong minded, determined. Not like someone easily told what to do,” she said with a fond smile.
“That is true, she has a strong mind of her own,” he admitted. “My father had a strong mind of his own,” he added.
“He did. Stubborn he was,” Mrs. Farnsworth replied. “You are not like him in that regard.”
“I am often told that I am exactly like my father,” he said with resignation shining through.
Mrs. Farnsworth shifted from one foot to the other. “You are not. I have been here a long time and I can tell you that much. Your father ...” she stopped. “I have said too much.”
“No,” Leonard burst out, “you have not. What do you mean?”
She shook her head and stepped back, her face growing pale.
“Nothing, Your Grace, let me ... I must tend to dinner. Cook will end up making the hare if I don’t stop her. That’s for Saturday.” She looked at him with pleading eyes, and Leonard realized he had pushed her too far.
“Of course, please,” he said and motioned for her to go.
As Mrs. Farnsworth curtsied and left the room, Leonard was left alone with his thoughts. What had she wanted to say? What did she know? Why hadn’t she wanted to tell him more? Could it be she was right, and he wasn’t like his father? No! Enough. Enough now. His mother’s diary had told him what kind of rotten blood ran through him, and he had to accept that, no matter what anyone said.
