The Slap from the Father
Another story from the Mistress's Child series.
The entire household was abuzz with the news – the Businessman had proclaimed that he welcomed feedback on the running of the business from the entire household. This was what the Mistress’s Child had been waiting all along. She had seen so many problems with the household as she grew up, and had learnt so much during her years of helping to run the family business. She set about drafting down the many ideas she had, to show to her father.
Her Butler had seen her write out the words painstakingly upon the parchment, and was worried. “Little Mistress, don’t you think you should get your elder brother to say something? I did not hear anything from the other household of him saying anything to your father.”
“Oh Alfred, Alfred, you are just so full of worries! I know my father has never asked for any ideas from us in his whole life as a businessman, but we can trust him. Don’t worry!” She smiled at her Butler. She looked very pretty when she smiled, in contrast to the many years he had seen her cry herself to sleep as a little girl.
She really wanted so much for her father to know her ideas, that she quickly got the mail courier to send the letter to him, before she went about looking for the best dress she could find. The best dress she had probably looked like the ones her father’s servants wore, but she wanted to be in her very best when she sees her father.
The journey was just so long! The Mistress’s Child waited impatiently in the carriage as it neared the Mansion. Its majestic structure never failed to amaze and awe her each time she came. Her broken-down rented house was like hell compared to this heaven. She could wait no more – she jumped just before the carriage stopped, ran towards the house and opened the doors to greet her father.
The entire household was there, all silent, including her brother. All eyes were on the Master, his eyes full of anger as he clutched around his fists the letter that she had written to him regarding her ideas.
“Father…” Her words were cut short by a tight clap across her cheeks. She fell to the floor, and looked up at her father in shock.
“How dare you criticise the way I run my business?” He pointed his finger at her, his cheeks red with anger as he spoke, “Where were you when I was running this business empire? You are so rude and have no manners at all! Let me tell you something, little girl – you had better jolly well know where your place and station is!”
She looked in fright and confusion at her brother, who only shrugged his shoulders. She knew then what had happened. Yes, she knew it all. Everybody knew how her father was like, and had preferred not to say anything. She was the only fool who spoke up. The only fool to anger her father.
The Mistress’ Child did not bother to look back as she ran. She did not bother to tell the carriage driver, who sensed what had happened and simply took her back to the house. She did not quite see where she was going as she left the carriage and fell, dirtying her dress and cutting her knees and hands. All she wanted to do was to run into the sanctuary of her home, where she could at least have some warmth from the cold, cold world out there.
The Butler saw with alarm her bruised knees and bleeding hands as she entered. “Little Mistress, shall I call for Madam?”
“NO!” She reached out her hand to stop him, and winced in pain as her open wounds stung her.
“What had happened, Little Mistress?!” The Butler was normally a calm man, but she could see some emotions in him this time. She could not hold it any more, and hugged the elderly man and cried her heart out. The Butler quickly signalled for a servant to prepare the hot water bath (a rare luxury in the house, since the budget for firewood is tight) for his Little Mistress as he held on tightly to her. It would be bad if her knees and hands got infected. Doctors are expensive.
The Mistress’s Child had never cried so hard in her life before. Her bleeding hands hurt, and so did her bruised knees, but none of them hurt as much as the sting of the slap across her cheek.
She would never trust her father again.
The entire household was abuzz with the news – the Businessman had proclaimed that he welcomed feedback on the running of the business from the entire household. This was what the Mistress’s Child had been waiting all along. She had seen so many problems with the household as she grew up, and had learnt so much during her years of helping to run the family business. She set about drafting down the many ideas she had, to show to her father.
Her Butler had seen her write out the words painstakingly upon the parchment, and was worried. “Little Mistress, don’t you think you should get your elder brother to say something? I did not hear anything from the other household of him saying anything to your father.”
“Oh Alfred, Alfred, you are just so full of worries! I know my father has never asked for any ideas from us in his whole life as a businessman, but we can trust him. Don’t worry!” She smiled at her Butler. She looked very pretty when she smiled, in contrast to the many years he had seen her cry herself to sleep as a little girl.
She really wanted so much for her father to know her ideas, that she quickly got the mail courier to send the letter to him, before she went about looking for the best dress she could find. The best dress she had probably looked like the ones her father’s servants wore, but she wanted to be in her very best when she sees her father.
The journey was just so long! The Mistress’s Child waited impatiently in the carriage as it neared the Mansion. Its majestic structure never failed to amaze and awe her each time she came. Her broken-down rented house was like hell compared to this heaven. She could wait no more – she jumped just before the carriage stopped, ran towards the house and opened the doors to greet her father.
The entire household was there, all silent, including her brother. All eyes were on the Master, his eyes full of anger as he clutched around his fists the letter that she had written to him regarding her ideas.
“Father…” Her words were cut short by a tight clap across her cheeks. She fell to the floor, and looked up at her father in shock.
“How dare you criticise the way I run my business?” He pointed his finger at her, his cheeks red with anger as he spoke, “Where were you when I was running this business empire? You are so rude and have no manners at all! Let me tell you something, little girl – you had better jolly well know where your place and station is!”
She looked in fright and confusion at her brother, who only shrugged his shoulders. She knew then what had happened. Yes, she knew it all. Everybody knew how her father was like, and had preferred not to say anything. She was the only fool who spoke up. The only fool to anger her father.
The Mistress’ Child did not bother to look back as she ran. She did not bother to tell the carriage driver, who sensed what had happened and simply took her back to the house. She did not quite see where she was going as she left the carriage and fell, dirtying her dress and cutting her knees and hands. All she wanted to do was to run into the sanctuary of her home, where she could at least have some warmth from the cold, cold world out there.
The Butler saw with alarm her bruised knees and bleeding hands as she entered. “Little Mistress, shall I call for Madam?”
“NO!” She reached out her hand to stop him, and winced in pain as her open wounds stung her.
“What had happened, Little Mistress?!” The Butler was normally a calm man, but she could see some emotions in him this time. She could not hold it any more, and hugged the elderly man and cried her heart out. The Butler quickly signalled for a servant to prepare the hot water bath (a rare luxury in the house, since the budget for firewood is tight) for his Little Mistress as he held on tightly to her. It would be bad if her knees and hands got infected. Doctors are expensive.
The Mistress’s Child had never cried so hard in her life before. Her bleeding hands hurt, and so did her bruised knees, but none of them hurt as much as the sting of the slap across her cheek.
She would never trust her father again.
Comments
Post a Comment