They left the manor without delay, not a minute past two in the afternoon. Loretta watched as their carriage rolled past the fountain at the manor’s entrance, a threadbare teddy bear clutched in one hand, the other holding her mother. She craned her neck to observe the carriage trundle past the ornate stone fountain, its waters dancing in the midday sun, and turned to look curiously at Vittoria. The Duchess, she noticed, was in an oddly good mood today, more than she had been during the past few weeks. She wondered the cause of the sudden transformation.
“Mother,” Loretta said, her gaze turning back to follow the retreating carriage, “Where is Arlo going suddenly?”
Vittoria ceased her farewell wave to the carriage and glanced over her shoulder, at the ever-inquisitive Loretta, “Lottie, dear,” she said, smiling, “your brother is going to learn magic with your father. Today is the day he officially becomes a practitioner, and your father thought it fitting to commemorate it by instructing him at your great-aunt’s abode.
Loretta’s eyes seemed to light up at that. “Really?” she gasped, her voice wavering between incredulity and excitement, “Does that mean Arlo will finally be able to perform magic tricks for me?”
“Yes, my dear,” Vittoria chuckled, “He’ll be able to do exactly that.” Her gaze drifted back to the horizon, watching the dwindling silhouette of the carriage, now barely discernible in the sun-drenched expanse.
And so much more
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Arlo looked past the carriage’s bevelled window, watching as blurred figures zoomed in and out of view. His eyes traced them as they did, noting the causal indifference plastered on the faces of ladies and gentlemen, the adroitness of street urchin as they danced through mazes of legs and carts alike, and the palpable camaraderie of groups of factory workers as they passed, their shoulders bent with exhaustion yet sporting smiles that radiated resilience.
As he observed, he found himself becoming captivated by these vignettes of existence that were so drastically different from his own. There was, he reminded himself yet again, a whole world out there, waiting to be explored. Each face, each life, was a story unto itself, an echo of humanity and civilization that lived outside his gilded world.
It wasn’t the first time he’d become aware of this outside world’s existence, but each time seeing it gave him a reminder not to entrench his mind so deeply in plans, schemes, and books. His second life was to be lived to the fullest, and those two things were insufficient to attain it.
They wouldn’t give him any real comrades, or a lovely lady with whom to share life’s ups and downs, or experiences so sunny that they scorched themselves into his mind’s memory bank. They couldn’t, and he yearned for all of that. Life would be insufferably grayer without them.
The corner of his eyes caught sight of Edward—seated opposite him on the carriage’s plush seats—flipping a page of the book perched on his right hand, and his head turned to regard the middle-aged butler. A monocle sat abridge his nose and there were more lines etched onto his face, but besides that, he looked unchanged from how he’d first seen him ten years ago.
He glanced at the book he was reading. On Liberty, by Yves Lussier, its cover read, and Arlo’s interest was swiftly piqued. What was it about? And why was Edward reading it? It sounded like some discourse on political thought. Was Edward interested in that sort of thing?
He realized, in that moment, how little he knew of his tutor. For seven years, the man had instructed him, yet he knew next to nothing about his person, not even his last name. If it was part of his job to keep his personal and professional life separate, he was damn well skilled at it.
“Edward,” Arlo broached the silence, a note of hestitance as he shifted in his seat.
Edward paused his reading and lifted his eyes to look at him. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, “Yes, young Master Arlo?”
Mustering his courage, Arlo cleared his throat, “I don’t mean to be pry or anything, but could you…” his confidence faltered momentarily, his mind debating whether he should even be asking this, “...might you tell me a bit about yourself?” the words finally left his mouth, “I realized I know very little of you outside my lectures, and I wish for us to foster a stronger rapport.”
If Edward was taken aback by his question, his composed visage betrayed no hint of it. “Ah, I see, young Master,” he closed his book and set it by his side with a soft thud, “What do you wish to know?”
“Dunno,” Arlo considered his words, “Everything, perhaps?”
“Very well,” Edward granted, his gaze drifting briefly outside the carriage for a second, eyes clouding with distant memories before returning to Arlo. “Well, as you could imagine, I was born within the confines of the empire, in the bustling heart of Toffstead, the capital of North Wickshire province in the northeastern corner of the empire.” he began, adjusting his monocle.
“I was of humble birth and the eldest of six children. My father was a watchmaker and my mother, a seamstress. We lived in a quaint three-storey building that also served as my father’s workshop.” His eyes wandered outside again, “My father was a stern, gaunt man. Though poor, he was not without intellect, as he taught me many lessons which I still use today. My mother, on the other hand, was gentle and frail, prone to sickness. I possess fewer memories of her than I would like, as she died when I was eleven, after giving birth to my youngest brother.”
“Her demise marked a challenging phase,” Edward looked back at Arlo, “I was forced to work longer hours to support my father in raising the family. Some days I’d work as much as twenty hours, toiling in factories and aetrum mines or haggling by-passers of Toffstead’s busiest streets trying to sell my father’s watches.” He produced a pocket watch from his jacket and looked at it, as if reminiscing.
Arlo watched him fumble with it for a few seconds.
“It was a hard life. But the sight of my broken father and thought of my siblings starving to death was all the motivation I ever needed. I bottled up my grievances and endured, endured until …” Edward paused, eyes becoming distant again, before continuing, “...until that fateful day. I returned home, weary from yet another day of toil, only to find charred rubble in place of my house. An untamed fire had torn through the building, igniting a deadly explosion that claimed the lives of my father and three of my siblings. The only two that survived were the two directly younger than me: a brother, whose face had been disfigured by the accident, and a sister, whose legs had to be amputated after being crushed by debris.
“We plunged into destitution after that,” Edward tucked the pocket watch back into his jacket, “We eked out an existence on the streets, in squalor, huddling together as we cried ourselves to sleep in those cold, unforgiving nights. Within weeks, the harshness proved too much for my sister to bear. One frigid morning, my brother and I woke up and found her lifeless, the cause eluding us both at the time. In retrospect, it was probably due to sickness. She had, unfortunately, inherited our mother’s frailty. It was a miracle she’d even lasted that long”
Edward released a deep, measured and tugged at the ends of his jacket, smoothening it, “I was left with no other family other than my brother until a woman, purporting to be our father’s elder sister sought us out. My brother and I, of course, were initially skeptical of her at first. My father had made no mention of even his parents, let alone a sibling, so we thought she was some conwoman, even with her tidy appearance. Toffstead had no shortage of them.
“However, when she presented letters penned in our father's distinctive handwriting and a ring, eerily identical to the one our father wore, we were forced to reconsider her claim, no matter how astonishing. She took us under her wing, and we relocated here—to Aldenville—where she served in the esteemed Aldritch manor. I was sixteen at the time, and the memories are as vivid as if it were only yesterday. The proximity to the illustrious residence of the famed House of Aldritch, of which we'd only ever read in history books or glimpsed in newspapers, left my brother and me astounded.
“My aunt recommended us to the then head butler of the manor as footmen, and he accepted us. Though they were not related, my aunt was like my mother in many regards: exceptionally kind and loving. She treated us as if we were her own children, always with care and compassion. Through her, we came to learn more about our family and why our father had been reticent about his past. My grandfather had apparently been a famous watchmaker who’d lost his fortune after his company went bankrupt. My father was his youngest child. He’d run away from home, aged eighteen, because my grandfather disapproved of the woman he wanted to marry.”
By this point, Edward’s tone carried a hint of something Arlo couldn’t quite place his finger on. A sense of detachment, perhaps? He pondered, but still listened with rapt attention.
“My life took a turn, the moment I started working as a footman at the manor. My meticulous approach to work, amiability and articulate nature put me in the good graces of several of the household staff and even some of the manor’s residents. In due course, I was promoted to the position of valet for Master Hiram, where I first captured the attention of Lord Albert Aldritch, your grandfather.”
Arlo’s brow lifted at the mention of ‘Hiram’. Lord Hiram Aldritch was his paternal uncle, his father’s younger brother and Earl of Scranshire, a region in Athanor. Of the decade he’d spent in this world, Arlo had yet to see the man in person once, only knowing what he looked like by virtue of family portraits.
The revelation that Edward had once been Lord Hiram’s valet was intriguing. He wondered what he knew about him. Certainly more than himself, who knew nothing about his ever mysterious uncle other than the fact that he had fathered three children, was an elected Member of Parliament within the Pruvian House of Commons, and was noted leader of its Conservative Party.
“Lord Albert took a particular interest in me,” Edward continued, “In hindsight, it might have been because he recognized an uncommon propensity for the arcane within me. Regardless, he orchestrated my education and mystical training after discerning my intellectual potential and suggested to the then head butler that I could be a potential successor.” A faint smile playded around his lips, “I was about thirty then, and elated at the fact he’d singled me out. Lord Albert introduced me a world I never knew existed, from the tangles of spellforms to the labrynithine protocols of Pruvian high society.
“The more I contemplate about it, the more I realize he’d been priming me from the start. I suspect, in his mind, he had chosen me as the future head butler the moment I’d caught his eye. It feels that way, at least.” Edward looked outside again, halting the story for a few seconds, before continuing, “Be that as it may, I spent the following years continuing as Master Hiram’s valet until Lord Albert reassigned me to serve Master Adgar the moment he’d designated him as his heir. A role I’ve been doing for over fifteen years now.” He placed his hands on his lap, and his gaze returning to Arlo.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“And that brings us to the present.” He finished, with the same faint smile that he’d begun with.
“I see,” Arlo said, his mind still sifting through the chronicle, “Thank you for sharing, Edward.”
“Your welcome, young Master Arlo.”
Damn. That was all Arlo could think after hearing Edward’s story. He had never imagined the butler had navigated such an turbulent life, steeped in despair as it was. Hearing about it was...enlightening, to say the least. It was a life dotted with harrowing experiences, arguably exceeding what he’d gone through in his past life. He felt a newfound connection to the man, understanding that.
“And your full name?” Arlo inquired abruptly, “You never mentioned it.”
Edward’s smile broadened. “My full name,Young Master,” he revealed, “is Edward Harvey Wraith.”
“Right.”
Edward Harvey Wraith. He made sure to etch it into his memory. For some odd reason, he got a vague premonition that he’d seen that last name somewhere; somewhere and someplace he couldn’t remember. If he did, it was probably in some book. That was all he’d been digging his head into all these years. He made a mental note to check later.
“Also,” Arlo said, loosening his bowtie to ease the chokehold it had on his neck, “What became of your brother?” he asked curiously, “Is he still employed at the manor?”
Edward chuckled, “Oh no, not at all, young Master. He resigned after working a few years alongside me as a footman to serve in the Pruvian Army. Became a Captain for the 17th Lancers, also famously known as the ‘Death’s Head’.”
“The 17th Lancers, you say?” Arlo said, intrigued, “That’s rather interesting.”
“Indeed, Young Master Arlo,” Edward said, “The 17th Lancers is a distinguished cavalry regiment with a legacy harking as far back as the days of Charlotte the Merciful. As lancers, they combine the roles of light and heavy cavalry, and in battle, their primary role is to engage the enemy with shock tactics, using the weight and speed of a mounted charge to break through enemy lines.
“Their mobility also makes them adept at reconnaissance and patrolling duties. My brother joined out of a profound sense of patriotism and the wish to serve his country.” Edward’s lips tightened into a hard line, “Regrettably, he fell in the line of duty during the Battle of Broadwatch in the Great War, the final clash preceding the onset of the Pruvian Civil War. Word was he died a warrior’s death, fighting valiantly even as his unit was surrounded and overwhelmed by the enemy.”
Arlo wasn’t sure what to think of the insouciance his tone carried, but responded with a thoughtful hum. “And your aunt?” he queried, “Is she still alive?”
“Fortunately, she is, Young Master,” Edward confirmed, “Though I’m afraid old age has gotten the better of her. She retired a few years prior to your birth and moved to my grandfather’s humble dwelling in Grayburg, his birthplace.”
“That so?” Arlo mumbled, inwardly tugging his lips in delight knowing that Edward still had some family ties to which he could still hold. It was, he decided a very positive thing. Edward probably found motivation in it.
“And her age?” he asked quietly, glancing outside the carriage window.
“She’ll be celebrating her eighty-seventh birthday in September, young Master,” Edward answered, “Quite old, I reckon.”
A smile crossed Arlo’s face at Edward’s lighthearted remark. “Indeed, it is” he said, looking back at him with a smirk. Indeed.
A companionable silence swiftly descended the carriage following those words, a quiet lull in their conversation, before Arlo finally paid attention to a particular question dancing within his head.
“What do you know of my grandfather?” he asked, stopping Edward from returning to his book. It was a pressing question for which he had less answers than he would have liked. In the past, it hadn’t occurred to him to ask the butler. But now that he knew the two had shared a relationship, it was impossible for him not to ask.
Edward seemed to consider the question, gently adjusting his monocle, “A lot of things, Young Master,” he said, with a uniquely peculiar smile, “Are you perhaps interested in learning more about him?”
“I am,” Arlo honestly replied, not hiding his interest, “If it’s you’re able to. Father rarely speaks of him. No one does, really. Not even Granna.”
“Understandably so,” Edward replied, his tone taking a solemn turn, “His death, despite being almost nearly two decades ago, still casts a substantial shadow upon the family. Your father was particularly devastated.”
That was something Arlo had already discerned, but Edward’s explicit confirmation of it told him he was willing to talk about it. It made him wonder the extent to which Edward himself might have been affected by the loss, if he was at all.
“What sort of man was he, in your opinion?”
“A very unique one,” Edward responded, “Lord Albert was a profoundly insightful man who enthralled everyone around him with his sharp wit, boundless energy and magnetic charisma. He could see things most couldn’t, and possessed a penchant for inventing creative solutions to complex, pressing problems. I do not know of a figure who has had the chance to meet Lord Albert and hasn’t come to respect him.”
How grand, Arlo thought with an inkling of admiration for Lord Albert’s persona. Edward had spared him no praise, and it was clear in the manner with which he spoke that he held deep reverence for the man. Surprising, Arlo admitted, yet not entirely unexpected.
Edward continued, “His irresistible character enabled him to achieve many great feats. Academically, he was exceptional, earning dual honorary doctorates in both Law and the Arcane from Cleswelts University by the age of thirty. His prowess on the battlefield was renowned too; many considered him one of the finest military strategists the empire had ever produced. He successfully led a beleaguered army and spearheaded Pruvia’s efforts to protect her colonial holdings in the east, orchestrating brilliant campaigns that saw the nation victorious in both the Pruvo-Gytan and Vurlish Wars.
“And In the political landscape, he was a formidable figure. He was a prominent leader of the Liberal Party and was a staunch advocate for social reform and individual liberty. His comprehensive treatises on various political ideologies influenced many, earning him the moniker of ‘the people’s hero’ despite his aristocratic roots,” Edward suddenly grabbed the book he was reading and held it up to Arlo, pointing at the author’s name,
“Even Lussier, the renowned Betonese philosopher and author of this book, was a close associate of his. He references some of his works and dedicates this entire book to him. This, young Master, is just a small example of how influential he was.”
“I see,” Arlo said, wonderment stirring within him. Edward’s short narration was probably just the surface of his exploits. There was, he recognized, small wonder how the man had gone on to become Head of House Aldritch. There was a peculiar brilliance about him, one he reckoned must have been dreadfully difficult for the other Aldritch scions at the time to compete with. He was suddenly interested in how his siblings perceived him.
“Are you aware of how his siblings viewed him?”
“Unfortunately, I am not, young Master,” Edward said, “I know very little of Lord Albert’s life before he became Head of the House. Although, I can provide some educated guesses.”
“Carry on,” Arlo nudged.
“Lord Albert was one of three siblings,” Edward elaborared, “These included Lord Ewart, your great-uncle, and Lady Thelma, whom we are currently en route to visit. Lord Ewart met his untimely demise on the battlefied, staunchly supporting the monarchists during the Civil War so I suspect the two were not on amicable terms. The fact that Lord Ewart is portrayed by the staff to have been bested by his younger brother in the race for succession only adds credence to this assumption.”
“Lady Thelma, on the contrary, stood firmly by Lord Albert’s side during his insurrection. Among the two siblings, she was undoubtedly the more affectionate one. So it is not unreasonable to deduce that they shared an exceedingly close bond—perhaps Lord Albert’s closest. This conjecture is further reinforced when considering that Lady Thelma had abdicated her claims to succession very early.”
Arlo cocked a brow at that. Abdicate her claims to succession very early? For what reason? Had she no ambition to lead the House and take control of its fortunes? He hadn’t expected that.
“Why did she do that?” he interrupted.
“I take it you’re referring to her decision to abdicate her claims?”
“Yes.”
“I do not know, young Master,” Edward responded thoughtfully, "But perhaps her fervent passion for the arcane provides some answers. She chose a scholarly path and dedicated a greater portion of her life to education compared to her siblings. So it is possible that she perceived the succession dispute as an unwelcome distraction from her scholarly pursuits, contentedly relinquishing her potential role as Head of the House. The true reasoning, however, is only known to her."
“Right,” Arlo mused, propping his arm on the carriage window and cradling his head in his hand. Edward's theory seemed plausible, but he was convinced that the truth held more complexity. How could one readily relinquish a chance to command the power vested in the Head of House? It struck him as inconceivable.
His eyes closed, his lips taut in contemplation. No, it wasn’t absurd, he concluded. Not everyone was seduced by the allure of power, not everyone coveted its grip. There were other things, things they might consider to be more worthwhile, to spend their lives pursuing. That was glaringly obvious. The old him would have effortlessly understood that.
A tremor of discomfort ran through him as he realized how subtly, yet significantly, his thought process had shifted over the years, skewing towards a mechanical understanding of the world. Power, it seemed, had ensnared his mind more than he'd recognized. Its tendency to consume was becoming disturbingly apparent.
“I see,” he mumbled, opening his eyes with newfound clarity, “What else do you know about them? Lady Thelma in particular. I want to know more about her.”
“Certainly, young Master Arlo,” Edward said, producing his pocketwatch from his jacket again, “Though I’m afraid we’ll have to put a lid on our conversation for the time being.”
“Why?” Arlo inquired, bemused.
Edward gestured towards the window, “Because we have arrived, young Master.”
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Complimentary Information (Optional): Edward Harvey Wraith was born on the 16th of June, 1602. Despite his imposing stature and stern demeanor, Edward harbors an unexpected talent - he's a virtuoso whistler! His lips produce a myriad of bird calls so lifelike that they not only lure feathered friends to the Aldirtch estate but sometimes cause confusion amongst the local avian population.
Character Image (rendered in animation)
[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/989274756341706822/1119832192470745228/Stormeyy_55_year_old_Butler_old_age_silver_hair_and_blue_eyes_l_95bba973-ba34-446a-b6f3-7d3bdcf3cbc9.png]