A/N- We didn't have much to go on regarding the groundskeeper, so I did my best to include an interesting perspective.
"Just try and catch me!"
George heard the small boy's voice cry from somewhere beyond his sight. He looked up, squinting under his hat to try seeking the source of the noise. A deep frown marked his face, hoping that the boys would have the good sense to stay away from the garden this time. He'd had to fix enough of the flower plots in one week that he could've replanted the whole garden all over again.
Boyish laughing and fast thumping steps on the stone walkway grew closer and closer, until the three usual culprits sprinted around the corner and directly past where he knelt in the dirt. He held up his hands, drawing breath to chastise the three children, but they'd already hurtled themselves over the edge of the stone wall and into the shaded patches of dirt behind it.
"Hey! I've told you brats before, I won't tell you again!" He shouted after them, knowing they were only half listening. "Stay out of the plants!"
Predictably, they ignored his cries and continued their path of torment through the trees and shrubs planted further in. Shaking his head with a defeated sigh, George stood from where he'd been working and made his way back towards the manor.
He'd had quite enough of the lads. All this destruction they left in their wake was making his job twice as difficult to finish, and he didn't have the patience to replant another dozen roses because of them. The house Master was soon to get an earful from him yet again.
Even better, the Lady of the House emerged from the manor a few minutes later, meeting him halfway down the stone steps. She saw his irritated expression and sighed. "They're at it again, are they?"
"Yes, Madam, and if you'd be so kind as to reign those little monsters in so I could finish my task, I'd rightly appreciate it." He replied with evident scorn. She didn't appear to take offense, which he was glad for. He held no grudge against her for her son and his friends' behavior, but he would only tolerate so much.
Face set in determined lines, she nodded once. "Then if you'll excuse me, I'd better find those three and give their backsides a proper smack." Despite the harsh tone, the ghost of a smile showed through, and she walked past him towards the garden.
George knew she was too kind a woman to carry out the threat, no doubt thinking she'd settle on a good talking to to straighten the three of them out. Those boys may be spoiled, but a lecture from the Lady herself was a feared enough punishment to suffice. She could make even him wince from guilt, without ever having done anything wrong himself.
Satisfied that he'd be spared from the boys' antics for at least the rest of the afternoon, George returned to the flower patch to complete the row he'd been tending that morning. He spotted a few trampled tulips further down where the boys had passed, and scowled.
The sun beat hard down on him, and within the hour he'd finished patting down the soil, brushing the stray dirt from his gloves. He'd have to dig up the ruined flowers and plant new ones, but first he would take a break, thinking a tall glass of water would do him good.
Suddenly, a shadow fell across him, and he looked up to find three young, sullen faces, and a pleased house Lady standing just behind them, her hands clasped behind her back.
"I believe these three have something they'd like to say to you, George." She started smugly, her words making it very clear that they'd better start talking.
William, his trousers covered in dirt and glasses slightly skewed on his nose, stared at his shoes glumly. The groundskeeper knew him well enough to figure that he'd provoked some sort of contest between the three, perhaps a race, which had prompted the destructive trample through the garden. He was always trying to best Mark and Damien in some form or another, unable to resist an adventure. He was the brainchild behind most of their antics.
Mark, the troublemaker George was most often stuck with, was trying to hide a satisfied smirk from his mother. He doubted the boy felt very bad for having ruined some of the flower plots, leading the older man to believe he'd won whatever challenge had been placed on him. That, or he found it funny that his friends were being chastised by his mother. They boy was much too cocky for his own good.
Damien kept stealing glances at his two friends. He was always worried about keeping the peace between the other boys. George had an inkling Damien had been trying to prevent this outcome from occurring, but the others had proved to be too much for him to handle on his own, blindly rushing off to best one another. If anyone had the least amount of blame for the ruined garden, it was him. And, predictably, he was the first one to apologize for what had happened.
"Sorry, Mister George." The genuine remorse very clear in his voice. "We should have been more careful."
"That you should have." George replied severely, doing it more for the sake of teaching them a lesson than out of anger. They were just boys, after all, no matter how frustrating it may be. He'd been just a lad too, once.
A few more seconds of silence prompted the Lady to smack the two remaining children on the back of their heads when they made no move to apologize. "Well? Out with it." Her voice reflected another warning.
"Sorry…" They grumbled quietly, but that wasn't good enough for her.
"Louder, now, so we can hear."
"Sorry, Mister George." They said in unison, obviously unhappy at having to do this. Finally, the older man nodded deeply.
"Do I need to make myself any clearer about trampling through the flower beds?" He inquired, and all three shook their heads hastily. "Good, now off you go, and I'd better not catch you doing it again!" He shooed them away, watching as they bounded off in another direction.
The Lady smiled tiredly after them, shaking her head. "No matter how much I try, I doubt those boys will be tamed."
"They're certainly not ones to follow the rules, are they?"
She chuckled, straightening the hat shielding her face from the sun. "No, but I suppose neither am I." Her mischievous grin made him roll his eyes dramatically.
"A good day to you, George. The garden looks beautiful, by the way." And with that, she walked her way back towards the manor, her shoes clicking evenly against the stone path.
George was quite surprised to see several different automobiles roll up the manor's drive. It had been years since this number of people had all been invited over at the same time. Having been weeding the front flower bed, his back aching with both old age and prolonged slouching in the dirt, he'd been able to get a good look at everyone who arrived that evening.
That detective fellow had arrived first, the ridiculous investigator's hat on his head. The groundskeeper didn't know all that much about him, as he hadn't been on one the Master's childhood friends growing up, but the man had visited enough times to be recognizable.
Next came Damien. The smartly-dressed city mayor stepped out from the automobile, waving gratefully to the driver before straightening out his suit. He spotted the groundskeeper in the dirt further away and smiled with an enthusiastic nod. It seemed he was ecstatic to be here for this occasion, or delighted to see the house Master again. If George recalled, it had been some time since his last visit.
The last guests to arrive were William, ever the eccentric, and an unfamiliar individual whom George had never seen before. Perhaps they were a friend of someone in attendance, but the old man largely ignored this new person in favor of watching the military man keenly.
It was no secret that Mark had held a great hatred over this particular guest for years. To see him here now was…unusual indeed. Staying away from the manor and keeping to himself in the shed out back kept him from being in the loop on most gossip, but this rumor in particular was well known, spanning back years previous.
The mystery guest entered the house first after being introduced to the Colonel, and it was then that William noticed George in the bushes. He lifted his chin, as if convincing himself that he was supposed to be here, before following into the manor. George went back to his tilling, the first worms of doubt beginning to squirm in the pit of his stomach.
Had the house Master been anyone other than Mark, the boy he'd watched grow up over the years, George wouldn't have payed much concern to the evening's unexpected event. But he'd been around long enough to know what kind of man the boy had become, and just how this place could change a person.
Things spelled out to be quite terrible, he thought to himself.
At the sound of a gunshot ringing inside the house, George's head shot up from the hole he'd been digging for the water pipe. A few moments later, loud cracks of lightning flashed the sky overhead. George ducked instinctively, hiding underneath the lamp post and tree that covered him. It was perhaps the dozenth time that day it had happened, but each one left him more worried.
There'd been no sign of a storm up to that point, and not a drop of rain had fallen that day, but all this lightning from out of nowhere pointed to one thing: that damned house. He'd made great pains to stay away from going inside, seen what it did to people who stayed too long. George peered with resignation through some of the windows, unable to see anyone moving on this side of the manor.
Things had quickly gotten out of hand, if the ruckus inside was anything to go by. He'd heard yelling of all kinds, both in and out of the house. If he were hearing any of the conversation correctly, there'd been a murder. Mark himself, specifically. A terrible thing indeed, but it wasn't the first tragedy he'd witnessed in this place. There would be many more, whether it be with this family or the next. The house did what it wanted, and there wasn't a damn thing to be done about it.
George had come to understand that despite his best efforts to stay away from everything going on, things may just drag him in whether he liked it or not. Even as he finished the thought, another few cracks of lightning thundered overhead, and the older man slowly made the sign of the cross, a silent prayer to whoever was above to protect him from the fate of those inside.
ns 15.158.61.18da2
