The Outsider (Word Count: 1,467)

(The following story contains some mild use of period language).

England, 1810

Well-worn boots crunched on pristine white gravel as the young man made his way towards the magnificent red-brick facade of Gracebourne Manor.   The youth stopped for a moment and gazed around him in wonder at the luxury he could never imagine in his wildest dreams. On either side of him, perfectly manicured lawns stretched away towards the horizon, disappearing behind the house. He carried on towards the covered entrance at the top of a short flight of stone steps. The panelled front door, guarded by a pair of marble columns reminiscient of a bygone era, boasted an oversized dragon-headed brass door knocker. It took the visitor all his strength to lift it and knock.

***

The family were enjoying afternoon tea in the drawing room when the butler tapped on the pinewood double doors. 

'Enter!' called Lord Giles Gracebourne.

The servant approached the figure lounging in his favourite wing-back chair in the middle of the room, and whispered in his ear. ‘Sir, a pauper’s boy is at the front door, wishing to speak to you and Madam.’

Lord Giles turned the page of his newspaper. ‘Probably wants a job. Tell the cretin to scarper, Addams, or we’ll sue for trespass.’

Addams squirmed. ‘I tried that, Sir, but he insists it is a matter of great importance and he will only speak to you and the Mistress.’

Giles Gracebourne crumpled the tabloid, which rustled in protest, and flung it down onto the painted wooden side table beside his chair. ‘Fine! I shall tell him myself.’

The butler beamed. ‘Very good, Sir. I’ve put him in the breakfast room.’

Lord Giles growled in frustration. 'You said he was at the door.'

***

The visitor gaped at the splendour around him, from the floor-to-ceiling curtains framing the windows to the variety of cushioned seats he dared not sit on. In the middle of the dining table was a crystal vase with freshly-cut flowers, the scent perfuming the room. Portraits of the family’s ancestors adorned the walls, some on horseback, others scowling at him with eyes that seemed to follow his every move. It was all a world away from the draughty, two-room cottage with bare floorboards which groaned and creaked underfoot, the unsteady tripod stools, faded wooden benches and beds with thin, straw mattresses, to which the youth was accustomed.  

***

Giles Gracebourne threw open the door to the breakfast room and stormed towards the youth, coming to a halt at the edge of the rug. He paused, taking the unkempt appearance of the young man in front of him with a disparaging look, then sat down in a wingback beside the huge fireplace, draping his arms over the sides of the chair. His eyes never left the outsider.

‘Well? What do you want? If it’s a job you’re after, speak to the housekeeper, Mrs Gingham. Don't bother me or my wife.’

The youth gave a tight shake of his head, just an inch or two to the side, then back to centre. ‘I’m not here about a job, Mister.’

‘It’s My Lord, to you!’

The youth refused to be bullied. ‘Lord Gracebourne. I fink I am the son of your wife, Lady Elizabeth.’

Giles froze, staring at the insolent youth in front of him.  

Just then, the lady in question appeared, prompted by the butler. One by one, the junior members of the family, and the more curious of the servants, followed her to the breakfast room doorway. ‘Giles! There you are!’ She looked from her husband to the ragged stranger and back again as she drew to a stop beside her husband’s chair. ‘Haven’t you got rid of the scoundrel yet?’ 

‘Scoundrel?!’ cried the visitor, causing the lady of the manor to clutch at the string of pearls around her neck. ‘Is that the way you address all your children, Lady Elizabeth, or just the illegitimate ones? The ones you don’t want?’

Her composure recovered, Lady Elizabeth let her arm drop to her side. ‘You are mistaken, young man,’ she said, her voice cool and calm. ‘I have never been unfaithful to my husband,’ she lay a hand on Lord Giles' shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. ‘All of my children are those of my husband. They were wanted, and they were raised in this house.' She paused. 'Goodness, but the youngest is a good decade older than you must be!’

Caught off guard, the youth took an involuntary step backwards, colliding with the dining table and earning a disapproving frown from the owners as the vase rocked precariously. A servant rushed forwards, ready to catch the priceless receptacle if it should fall. The crowd around the doorway spilled inside and gathered around Lord and Lady Gracebourne.

‘You… you did!’ the visitor stammered, blinking rapidly as he pulled a woollen yellow blanket from his sleeve. He found a corner and showed them the family’s crest. ‘Or is this not your insignia?’

The couple’s eldest daughter, thirty-six-year-old Lady Lizzie, gasped. She pushed between her sister and husband, stepped forward and snatched the blanket from the stranger’s hands. ‘Where did you get this?’

The young man’s steady gaze shifted to the woman glaring at him. ‘I was found wrapped in it on the doorstep of the people who adopted me and raised me as their own,’ he replied.

‘Liz?’ It was her own husband, Sir James.

A stunned Lady Lizzie ignored him as she gazed up into the brown eyes of the outsider, fingering the soft satin trim of the blanket in her hand. ‘They told me you were dead,’ she all-but-whispered. She spun on her heel and glared at her mother as her memory took her back to a stormy night eighteen years before. ‘You told me he’d been stillborn. I protested that I could hear him cry. You said I was delirious. We had a funeral for him with a tiny white coffin!’

Lady Elizabeth once more reached for the pearls at her throat. ‘I was showing you a kindness. You couldn’t keep him, could you?’ she said. She took a step backwards as her daughter advanced, rage taking over from the younger woman's shock. ‘You had a future ahead of you… Your family’s honour to think about... Sir James could hardly be expected to raise a stable-boy’s bastard, could he? What would our friends think?’

The couple’s younger daughter, twenty-nine-year-old Lady Cathy, giggled. ‘Wow, Liz! And Mama and Papa thought I was the wayward one! You went much further than I would ever ha-’

‘Shut up, Catherine!’ screamed her mother, her face crimson.

‘So this is what has been hushed up?’ asked Sir James, calmly. ‘All those years of sudden silence as we joined you. Various relatives quickly hushed as I entered earshot. Refusing to discuss the topic of a child abandoned by its parents - even when it made the headlines. I carnally know my wife. We have three children together... Did you really think I wouldn’t know my wife had birthed a child before our marriage?’

Lady Lizzie withdrew to a nearby chair and sank into its welcoming leathery folds. ‘All those times I’ve visited that grave, thinking about my firstborn, imagining him in the cold ground, leaving a teddy bear or a yellow rose for a child that was not in the ground at all.’ She looked up at her son, taking in his black hair, the brown eyes of his father, the unmistakable Gracebourne chin. ‘I was young, a little older than you are now,’ she said. ‘Just nineteen. But I knew then that I would never have let you go.’ Her voice hardened with resentment and renewed anger. ‘Unfortunately for us, so did your grandmother. And she got to you before I could.’

‘He is no grandson of mine!’ declared Lady Elizabeth.

‘He is my son!’ yelled Lady Lizzie, whipping her head around to her mother once more, eyes burning with fury. ‘Like it or not, he is your grandson. And you denied he even lived.’

‘I was thinking of you, Li’

Her daughter cut her off with a shake of her head. ‘Oh, no you weren’t! You were thinking of yourself! Of your precious honour and your standing in High Society. You weren’t thinking of me at all! I was just another pawn on your chessboard. We all were. And him-’ she threw a finger in the direction of the visitor as tears fell unchecked down her face. ‘He was just a piece of stable-boy’s trash that had to be disposed of.’ Her voice softened as the anger evaporated. ‘Well, now that stable-boy’s trash has come back to find out about his family - his real family.’ She looked over her shoulder at her son and gave him a sad smile. ‘And what a poor lot he’s found.’