Linksfield

2- Secret

I dressed the master for dinner that evening but hardly remember doing it as though I were a marionette with someone else pulling the strings.

"Jack?"

I heard his voice softly in my ear and I realised I was still in the master's room. How had the hours of the day passed so quickly? And the change of his voice from the usual gruffness to its now softness, caught me off guard. I turned to look at him and he was staring at me.

"I'm sorry, Sir, did you ask for something?"

"My dressing gown, Jack. Are you quite yourself?"

"Yes I am, and that's the problem."

I attempted to cross the room but I felt his hand on my arm, pulling me towards him. "Well I don't care for riddles. Is there something the matter?"

It was my turn to snap. "No, why should there be?"

"Don't raise your voice to me, Boys! You have quite forgotten where you are."

I stammered, running my fingers through my hair. "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm not quite sure what's wrong with me today."

I took his dressing gown from the coat hanger and handed it to him where he placed it on.

"Family troubles perhaps for the family you rarely see?" he asked.

Why was he prodding me for an explanation? Why couldn't he leave me alone? "No, they're fine."

"You really are difficult to question, Boys. If you don't want to tell me then you must keep your secrets but don't let them interfere with your work."

And so, I changed the subject but how aware I was of his examining eye. He knew full well I was hiding something. It was growing increasingly hard to keep calm, appear as though there was not a black cloud above me ready to unleash its downpour and let me drown. I spent the night unable to sleep, reading the note over and over, wondering how I was going to get out of my predicament. I did not want to pay. I did not have the money to pay. But I also did not want my secret to be revealed. As difficult as my job was, I wanted to keep it.

I kept silent about it the next day and spent the breakfast eating as quietly as possible, barely conversing with my friends, listening to Frank and Doris speaking of the latest book they'd read. I was usually enamoured by their enthusiasm for reading but my stomach felt so sick, so churning, that I couldn't focus. I was almost relieved when the master sent me on an errand to send some letters for him so I could finally feel some fresh air on my cheeks and think about my plan of action. Looking upon the sun which was trying to emerge from behind the clouds, I almost forgot my troubles and it was with great regret that I had to return to Linksfield.

When I arrived at the iron gate on the way home, the master was standing by it—quite uncharacteristically— tapping his hands together. He was wearing one of his serious faces and he waved his finger at me, beckoning me closer, luring me back to my prison. He never uttered a word then, simply kept pointing until we reached his study and he motioned for me to close the door behind us. He stared at me, the seriousness of his face never wavering and then I felt my heartbeat quicken as I saw the piece of paper in his hands. My piece of crumpled, ink-stained paper. The letter!

"You've been through my things?" I shouted without thinking as though he were my brother and not my employer.

He sat down at his desk and sighed. "This is my house, Boys."

"And that's my room."

"It's my room, you merely...inhabit it."

"But it was under my mattress!"