Johanna and Mina watched on with blank, almost black expressions. Mina cried too, sometimes, but I could never hear her over my own sobs. Johanna had become hardened over the years and no longer empathized with my pain.
“I’m sorry, Father,” I cried, unable to form any clearer thoughts. And I hadn’t even realized what I’d just said until I heard his reply.
“I’ve told you never to call me that!” he yelled, finding some extra strength in the yell to make me sorry for those words too.
The bottoms of my feet burned like they were being poked by a red-hot iron. I tried to go somewhere else in my head, but the pain kept me present. After a few minutes—though it felt like an eternity—the blows slowed as Master Ramsey grew tired. The strikes became more infrequent, bringing back the horrible anticipation of when the next one would land.
“Johanna, come here,” Master Ramsey commanded. From the watery blur of my vision, I saw her join her father’s side.
“Aim for the weals in the center of the feet and strike fast. What do we do to stubborn mares that insist on remaining wild?”
“We break them, Father.”
“Good girl.”
I took a few labored, deep breaths while the switch changed hands. Then I felt the familiar sting of being struck again. The first one seemed almost hesitant. A pause. The next one was less so. A shorter pause came.
“Yes,” Master Ramsey said. “She needs to know you mean it.”
Then the full force and volley returned and I found myself screaming again. Johanna grew tired faster and her blows weakened but I knew it wasn’t over.
“Mina, come take your sister’s place.”
But Mina didn’t budge; she stood glued to her spot and shook her head. Her face matched mine as a ruin of tears, partially concealed by the pink and red locks accessorizing her naturally blonde hair.
“If you do not, you will only be making it worse for her.” Master Ramsey’s voice was deep and sinister. He did not shout.
Mina dragged her feet as she reluctantly complied. When she took the switch, it was almost a mercy; she missed the primary target half the time, and the blows she landed correctly had a greatly reduced severity. But even the touch of a feather hurt at this point.
She didn’t last long and then the real punishment continued, causing me to wail once again like a dying animal. I knew I wasn’t even bleeding—Master Ramsey was too practiced—but the pain inflicted by each calculated blow felt like my feet would split open at any moment, like overripe fruit.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take another licking, it was over. The girls were sent on their way with warnings of disobedience, while I was untied from the bench. My arms fell limply to the floor. I lay across the leather unable and unwilling to move.
“You may go about your chores, Victoria,” Master Ramsey said, snapping the sticks into smaller ones before throwing them into the lit hearth. Next time would require new ones I’d also have to supply. It was all part of the ritual.
He gave my butt a pat and left the room, allowing me the slight dignity of hobbling out of the den in solitude, but not before returning the leather bench to its original location under the trophy.
Chapter 2
I carefully made my way to my room in the cellar, another reminder of my place in the family and within the community. The wooden stairs killed my feet, but the cold concrete at the bottom slightly dulled the pain.
The lights down there were dim and the air cool and musty. This was where much of the extra furniture for parties was stored, tables and chairs that would fill the main ballroom. It was all kept under white linens to maintain the items relatively clean between uses; I felt I was living amongst the dead.
My room was far from the stairs, far from access to anyone, and I treasured my moments of seclusion. There was one overhead lightbulb I could turn on using a string; it didn’t provide much illumination for the whole room, even though it wasn’t much more than an oversized closet. Two small windows close to the ceiling let in a little more light, though I usually kept my curtains drawn. The furnace and water heater were on the other side of the wall and I listened to them crackle and cough, on and off, throughout the nights.
Besides an intercom by the door and the crucifix over my bed, the walls of my room were bare. The Ramseys were a God-fearing family, and the crucifix they’d given me as a little girl was the reminder that He sees everything and I was being watched and judged wherever I went.
I had a nightstand with a digital clock and a few candles, a metal clothes rack for my dresses, a portable plastic dresser for the rest of my clothes, one pair of casual dress shoes for when I was permitted to wear them, and a small bookcase containing hardbound copies from Master Ramsey’s library. I made sure each book received no more than an extra crease in my care; they were so sacred to me. They were my escape.
I lit a candle on my nightstand and lay on the bed. Curling up on one side, I kept anything from touching my damaged feet. I was missing memories since the accident a week or so earlier; according to Dr. Crane, acute head trauma could cause temporary or even selectively permanent amnesia. But all the memories of my switchings throughout the years remained intact. Why couldn’t some of those have been erased? I closed my eyes to see what else I could forget, but the memories of being beaten flooded back with gruesome, terrifying clarity.
Who was the boy?
It hadn’t been a lie. I honestly couldn’t remember. There was no one I could meet in town, no one I knew outside of the Ramsey estate. Johanna and Mina went to school with the other children, though they arrived in more style than their peers, but my studies were confined to the estate with the Governess. I was taught to be proper and polite, like any other noble young lady. But I was no noble young lady; I was just a Sandalwood.
I could hear footsteps echoing in the hallway outside my room, so was not surprised when there was a soft knock at the door.
“May I come in?” It was the melodic voice of Lady Ramsey.
“Yes,” I said, and the door creaked open.
She entered the room holding a couple of embroidered hand towels and a porcelain basin filled with water. She was an indisputably beautiful woman, making it clear how her daughters came by their good looks. Her blonde hair was up in a tight and perfectly held bun. Her face matched her daughters’ soft and subtle features, and she only bore a few more lines of age.
Lady Ramsey glided over to my bed, wearing a flowery apron skirt over her dress. I scooted to the far side so she could sit. She set the basin beside her and maneuvered my hurt feet onto her covered lap. Looking over at me, she tucked a lock of my dark hair behind my ear and wiped my tear-stricken cheek.
“You’re a strong girl,” she said. “I wish I had your strength.”
“I’m not strong,” I said. “I don’t know how much more I can endure.”
“We’re never asked to endure more than we’re capable of.”
I used to call her Mother, but there’d come a time when it just didn’t seem appropriate anymore. I was without a family and it was no use pretending I was a part of this one. I often wondered why the Ramseys accepted to care for me at all.
Lady Ramsey dipped one of the hand towels in the basin and wrung it out before gently applying it to my right foot. I cringed despite how careful she was being. My feet were always dirty; no matter how hard I scrubbed, I could never get them totally clean. She wiped around the wounds and gently patted the injured portion of my foot, reminding me of the real mother I was missing so much.
“I know you didn’t mean to go against our wishes by venturing into town alone,” she said as she continued her work.
“I forgot to bring someone with me,” I said. “There’s so much I’m forgetting right now. My head is in a fog.”
“Dr. Sosin said you’d feel like that for a while. But you’ll be back to your old self soon.”
“The past few months are a blur. Master Ramsey mentioned a boy.”
“A boy…” Lad
y Ramsey moved to my left foot, gently dabbing at the fiery welts. “Yes. He had been harassing you. It culminated in a confrontation while you were riding, causing you to be thrown off Misty. It was a miracle you weren’t more hurt.”
“I so love riding,” I said, having no recollection of the fall.
“I know you do, sweetie. And you’ll be able to again once you’re well enough. I’m sure Dr. Crane will clear you for riding in a few weeks’ time.” She dropped the wet towel into the basin, the water now cloudy and brown. Then she took the dry one and patted my feet dry. “It’s for your own safety,” she said, laying a comforting hand on my ankle.
“What is?” I asked.
“For you to take someone with you on your trips into town. The boy has escaped reprimand thus far and we are concerned for your safety. I don’t know what else he’s capable of. You know you must follow the rules.”
“Who is he? What’s his name?”
“You never mentioned his name, and by the time the accident occurred, it was too late to ask. But I’m grateful you don’t remember him. It helps for you and the rest of us to move on.”
“I’m not grateful for it,” I said. “I want to remember. There’s enough in my life that’s lost to me. Like my parents.”
“You’re my little girl.”
“I’m not a—”
“No matter what happens, you’ll always be my little girl.” Lady Ramsey moved my legs aside and rose from the bed. She wiped her hands on her apron skirt before picking up the soiled basin and turning to me. “You’re excused from any unfinished chores for the rest of the day. If anyone questions you, tell them to come talk to me.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you for your kindness.” My feet ached, but they felt slightly better knowing they’d get some time to rest.
Lady Ramsey left the room without another word and I closed my eyes, trying to remember the face of the boy who’d supposedly tormented me.
Chapter 3
The most severe pain from a switching lasted for a few days, but the following day was always the worst. Each step felt like a fresh strike from my time on the bench.
I limped to the kitchen and helped prepare breakfast with the hired help, and was allowed to sit down and eat once the family had finished. I crossed my legs under the table to keep the soles of my feet temporarily off the floor. I had a compulsion to keep checking them, examining each red ribbon stretching out across the arches.
I ate my porridge and cut fruit while the rest of the kitchen staff cleared the table from the family’s breakfast.
“Are you finished, Miss Victoria?” Berta asked when there was nothing more to take away. Only the tablecloth was left to be changed. “I’ll take your dishes for you.”
“You know you don’t have to do that. I’ll get out of your way,” I said, removing my almost empty bowl. Many of the estate workers were extra nice to me the day after I’d received a switching. I glanced down at Berta’s shoes and envied her.
“I’m not trying to rush you,” she said.
“I know you need to finish up,” I replied. “I need to get my day started as well before meeting with the Governess.” I finished the fruit while hobbling into the kitchen to wash my own dishes; I wasn’t about to have the others waiting on me.
Once I was finished in the kitchen, I headed to the stables. The Ramseys had a total of twelve horses. Misty was an Appaloosa and I thought of her as my own, even though she wasn’t specifically given to me. She was the mare I mostly rode and the closest thing I had to a real friend. I tended to all the horses but gave Misty the most attention.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to ride you lately,” I said as I brushed her. “I should be allowed to, soon. I’m told Dr. Crane will return in a few days and he’ll hopefully give me a clean bill of health.”
Misty whinnied and nodded, and I knew she understood.
“One day, we’ll ride and you’ll jump the fence and we’ll just keep going… going far away from here. I wouldn’t be able to do it without you.”
I adjusted my stance, but everywhere I stood had more pieces of straw digging into the soles of my feet. It was uncomfortable even on regular days; on this day, though, it was nothing less than excruciating.
I couldn’t linger too long, I kissed her on the cheek before continuing to the next stall to tend and clean.
It was mid-morning by the time I had worked through each of the occupied stalls. There wasn’t much time before my lessons would begin with the Governess, but I had a few minutes to rest.
I ventured into the meadow. Part of it was fenced in, where the family did much of their riding, as did I whenever I was allowed. I leaned on the wooden fence and watched Mina practicing with her trainer. It was Sunday, so the school was closed, yet I wasn’t excused from lessons.
Her thoroughbred, Pumpernickel, trotted in circles around the trainer who barked commands to the horse and his rider. Mina sat tall on the saddle, keeping the reins tight; her riding skills were already almost surpassing mine.
“I know you miss it.”
I turned to see the Governess striding up behind me.
“I can’t wait to get back out there,” I said.
“It shouldn’t be long now.” Now, the Governess stood beside me at the fence, resting her forearms on the top slat. “Dr. Crane will be back on Tuesday, correct?”
“Sometime this week, I was told.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Okay, I guess,” I said.
“And your head?”
“It’s still a little fuzzy, but not hurting as much,” I said, mainly because the pain in my feet had overshadowed it.
“Good, then you’re fully prepared for today’s lesson?”
“As ready as I’m going to be. Can’t I have a little more time off?”
“You’ve missed quite enough already,” she said. “Today is the day we resume.”
“Okay,” I said, hanging my head low. I knew she wouldn’t go easy on me and had to make sure she wouldn’t have a less than satisfactory progress report to deliver to the Ramseys.
When she was silent for longer than usual, I glanced up. Her expression was dark as she focused on the far side of the field. She was no longer looking in the direction of Mina and her trainer.
Then I saw him too. There was a boy who looked about my own age standing at the far fence. His hair was short and light and he wore a tan leather coat. It was hard to make out many of his facial features from this distance, but he seemed tall and trim, gauging his height from how far his upper body extended above the fence-top. I’d never seen him before, but the Governess seemed to know exactly who he was; it was clear she was not the least bit happy about his presence.
The boy was staring directly at me with haunting eyes, the color of which I couldn’t distinguish but I felt them reaching for me, pulling me to him.
“What is it?” I asked. “Who is he?”
“He is the boy who caused the accident,” she replied. “I should alert the Master immediately, but I know as soon as I turn to leave, he’ll be gone again like a ghost.”
“That’s him?” I now had a face to paste into my missing memories. Now all I needed was a story. “He doesn’t look—”
“Well, he’s dangerous and should not be on the Ramseys’ property, especially after what he’s done.”
The boy never tore his gaze away from me and I couldn’t manage to look away either; his unyielding attention was mesmerizing.
“Now he knows you’re up and about, he may be here to finish the job.” The Governess snapped two fingers to grab my attention. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything?”
“No. What should I remember?” I asked, finally turning to her. “What do you mean by finish the job?”
“To kill you,” she said ominously.
The trainer was leading Mina back to the stables. “Let’s get you inside, child. It’s time for your lesson anyway.”
Chapter 4
I couldn’t shake the boy’s face from my mind, becoming so engrossed in my thoughts that I forgot about the pain in my feet for a short time. But the Governess didn’t allow my distractions for long.
Who was he? What was his name? And why would he want to kill me? I thought seeing his face would have triggered one of my lost memories, but it didn’t. It just created more questions.
The locations of my lessons depended on the subject matter of the hour. Oftentimes, they started and finished in the library of wall-to-wall bookcases complete with rolling ladders and an assortment of study tables in the center of the room. Master Ramsey’s desk was in the corner by the stained-glass window.
The Governess—attired in her black dress with long billowy sleeves—methodically circled the table at which I was seated. She held a long wooden pointer that she tapped against the palm of her free hand as she paced.
“That’s as far as I can go,” I said and could sense her displeasure from behind me. “I’m trying.”
“Reciting three generations of Queen Dorothea’s lineage is not trying hard enough; Mina can do that in her sleep. You were previously able to go back seven generations.”
“I was previously able to do a lot of things.”
She rapped me on the shoulder with the pointer. “Save your smart mouth. Sit up straight. I will not have you slouching in my presence. A proper young lady will sit up straight with her feet crossed at the ankles until she is ready to rise.”
I crossed my feet at the ankles to appease her, causing me to remember the pain in them, and then said, “Why is this so important anyway?”
“Why is the Queen of Westeria so important?” she asked, her tone dripping with disapproval. “The question is downright offensive and I hope it is never heard uttered beyond these walls. The Queen of Westeria should be important to everyone within the Kingdom. She’s been the sole ruler throughout your lifetime and her family has ruled for thirteen generations. Open the book and read to me—direct lineage only. We won’t branch off too far.”
Archanum Manor Page 27
