# # #
Days had passed and still Vi had found no solution to her problems. An increase in sales and a decrease in wages would not help at this point. She sat upon a tightly cinched bale of hay and listened as Alexander, her strong, well-trained stable lad, pronounced each phrase as she’d dictated to him moments before. The boy, truly on the cusp of manhood, had been with her for years. She knew he had more to offer than his mangled arm showed. Capable and sturdy, he worked twice as hard as most of her men, his disability notwithstanding. She wished she’d had his insatiable drive at his age.
“‘May I take your coat, my lord?’ How’m I do’n, Lady Vi?”
Vi looked up to see Alexander, stopped before her. “I apologize. What was that?”
“My lady, you be alright today?” he asked.
“That is, ‘how am I doing?’ and, ‘My lady, are you all right today?’ And yes, Alexander, I have only been very busy as of late.” Vi watched as Alexander nodded and turned back to his work, continuing to recite his recent lesson.
The boy was smart, and worthy of a better life than Vi could ever give him. One day, he would be a stable master at a grand country estate or butler in a fashionable part of London…if only he’d dedicate himself to his studies. When he had become too old to stay at the orphanage, Vi had quickly taken him in and put him to work. She’d been happily surprised that his disability did not limit his physical abilities in the slightest.
“Very good,” she praised him. “Now, please recite Pope’s Essay of Man.”
“Again, my lady?”
Vi knew the work she demanded of him was mentally exhausting, but she hoped one day he would thank her. “Yes. Until you can recite the whole poem, with perfect pronunciation, you will say it every day.” She smiled in encouragement. “You almost have it perfectly memorized.”
“I jus’ don’t be get’n—” he started.
Vi stood and swept the hay from her skirt, considering her words before she spoke. “Alexander, I have told you many times. To work in a grand house, for a noble man and his family, you must carry yourself at their level.”
Alexander stared blankly at her.
“Do you remember the day you were told you would have to find different lodging? And a job to pay for your own food and housing?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How did that make you feel? Alone? Desperate? In need?” she asked. These exact emotions had stuck deep within her; they lived in her every waking moment and darkened her slumber each night. She knew them firsthand.
Alexander pondered her question for a minute before responding. “Like I was good for nothing. I be scared to think about those workhouses and what happens to people like me there.”
She knew she was being overly hard on him, but she needed him to understand the consequences if he didn’t try his best, especially knowing she would not be able to take care of him for much longer. “I am here to show you, to teach you, that if you believe in yourself you will never be alone or destitute. No workhouse will be in your future.”
They were so very different—from completely different worlds, yet they were also mirror images. She an ex-lady of the ton, and he a discarded boy. There was so much she yearned to teach him, wisdom she wished she’d had at his age. She wondered if she would have heeded the advice herself.
“I don’ be know’n what a cripple like me could do for nobody.”
His words brought tears to her eyes. With only one functioning hand, Alexander was still more proficient than any stable boy she’d ever employed. He had a way with the animals that defied the laws of nature. It was as if they understood each other’s needs on the most basic level.
He cared for them.
“You are much more than your disability, Alexander.” She took the hand that hung lifeless at his side and massaged the damaged skin. “You are intelligent, caring, compassionate, hardworking…”
Alexander lowered his gaze, as if embarrassed by her praise.
She continued, hoping to drive her point home. “You are so much more! And you will have so much more as you grow older and use the skills the good Lord gave you. One day, I promise, you will have a home and a family of your own. And, if you work hard now, a means to support them. You will never have to be alone.”
He lifted his sorrow-filled eyes to meet her. “I do be appreciating all you have done for me.”
“That was almost perfect, but it is not ‘do be appreciating.’ Try, ‘I do appreciate,’” she corrected, lightening the mood. “Now, Pope’s Essay on Man.”
Alexander nodded and his deep voice filled the empty stables with the words of his namesake, Alexander Pope:
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan
The proper study of Mankind is Man.
Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,
A Being darkly wise, and rudely great
She let the words drift over her. They settled like a heavy cloak, coating her in memories of her past and the harshness of mankind. Not just society, but her harshness as well. Society had only punished her as she’d deserved.
With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;
She’d been weak, still was. She only hoped that one day she would gain the knowledge and strength to right her wrongs. Could she humble herself to mankind to renew her body and soul? Seek forgiveness for what her youthful naiveté had caused? Cody and Winston had not been born only to die. And neither had she.
She’d preyed on those two young men, egged them on, and ultimately caused their deaths. If she were to be judged today, would she be found wanting? Had she corrected any of her errors?
Had she any hope of correcting her past? Perhaps she should not push Alexander to persevere when, in truth, she’d been the one to give up. She had yet to face her sins and make amends; instead she cowered in the country resigned to her fate.
The thought of soaring again, of not being afraid to admit her mistakes and gain her pardon from any and all who would give it, breathed wind into her sails. But she knew only one person who could grant her the forgiveness she sought.
Brock Spencer, Lord Haversham, held her future salvation in his hands, though he did not realize it. She hoped the day would come that she could ask for that salvation.
Alexander continued solidly, pushing to finish when he paused. Clearly, searching his mind for the correct pronunciation of a word.
“The word is ‘absolution,’” Vi cut in. Even as she said the word, a heavy weight settled upon her shoulders.
She was a fool. A fool to think anyone would forgive her and remove the cloak of shame she’d worn since fleeing all she had known in London. Truly, a fool to think she ever deserved the right to ask for Brock’s absolution.