Wild Child
Lord Errol Kensington sat in the study of Greystone Manor, his three-hundred-year-old ancestral home, rereading the letter that had been hand-delivered to him earlier that day. The news it contained was good—at least most men regard the near certainty of attaining high public office as good news. Lord Kensington, however, was not like most men. The likelihood of becoming Britain's next prime minister brought him no joy. Of course, if chosen, he would serve to the best of his ability but only because he considered service to his country an honor-bound duty.
Lord Kensington had not always been so self-sacrificing. There was a time when he put his personal life above all else. Seventeen years earlier, he was married to a woman he adored, who provided him with a son and heir to the title and the family estate. A business trip to Australia changed all that, though. Loathe to leave his wife and infant son for several months, Errol decided to take them along. The ocean voyage from England to Australia was long but uneventful. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of their brief journey through the interior. While traveling through the Northern Territory by rail, Lord and Lady Kensington were involved in a terrible train wreck. His lordship was seriously injured, and his wife sustained a massive head injury that would later prove fatal.
As devastating as the young woman's death was, the most tragic consequence of the accident was the disappearance of young Winston, the three-month-old heir. The infant, who had been sleeping in a basket on the seat beside his mother, was nowhere to be found. The wreckage was thoroughly searched, yet there was no sign of a body. Lord Kensington left no stone unturned in looking for his son. After nearly a year of tears and unanswered prayers, the bereft nobleman returned to England.
Once back at Greystone Manor, Errol suffered from frequent bouts of severe melancholia. Friends and family members assumed that with the passage of time he would recover, but as the years went by, the young lord made no attempt to join in the London social life to which he had belonged before the fateful trip to Australia.
Although his brother and sister sympathized with his overwhelming loss, they pressed him to remarry and produce another heir.
"You're the peer," the younger brother urged. "You have a responsibility to the family and to England."
Errol sighed with resignation.
"I have already decided to devote the remainder of my life to public service," he announced. "I will spend what is left of my years attempting to improve the lives of my countrymen, but I have no intention of ever remarrying."
"And what of the title and the estates?" his brother pressed.
"Upon my death, they shall pass to you and your heirs."
The lord's siblings temporarily accepted his decision, but they both held on to the hope that their brother would meet a woman who would bring happiness to his life once again.
True to his word, Lord Kensington tirelessly championed social reform; helped establish hospitals, orphanages and public schools; and worked tirelessly for the advancement of programs that would benefit Great Britain's working and lower classes. For seventeen years, he held fast to his resolve that he would never remarry, much to his family's dismay. His younger brother shouldered the family responsibility by marrying, but his bride failed to conceive a child.
Thus, on the day Lord Kensington received the letter predicting he would be the next prime minister, he felt no satisfaction, only a sense of duty to his country and to his family.
But what of my duty to myself? he wondered in a rare moment of self-pity.
Tears came to Errol's eyes as he recalled his wife's smile and her soft blue eyes that could dance with amusement or blaze with anger. How he missed her!
And the boy, his son. He had been so young at the time of the accident. His lordship never got to know his child, never saw him take his first steps or heard him speak his first words. He thought of the thousands of poverty-stricken children in England living in orphanages and working in sweatshops. Most of them had been unwanted. In a time when birth control was crude and unreliable, the poor were multiplying at an alarming rate.
"And yet I ...."
Lord Kensington shook his head. Such thoughts would only make him more dejected.
"What good does it do to sit here and pine over the past?" he asked himself as he folded the letter and put it inside his desk drawer. "A good night's sleep is what I need most."
As the weary nobleman walked up the main staircase toward his second-floor apartments, there came a loud knocking on the door. Horton, Kensington's long-time manservant, appeared from the back of the house. Before he could cross the foyer, though, there came a renewed pounding, even louder than the first. When Horton finally opened the door, he was nearly knocked off his feet by the visitor who rushed inside.
"Errol!" cried Cornell Hargraves, one of Lord Kensington's closest friends. "Thank God you're home."
"What is it, old chap?"
"A miracle!"
Cornell was never one to resort to hyperbole or melodrama, so the news must indeed be momentous, Errol concluded.
"I've just received a communiqué from my man in Australia. Oh, Errol! Your son has been found—alive!"
The astonishing news stunned the father and left him speechless. How could it be? He had instituted an exhaustive search after the accident but had been unable to locate the missing infant.
"After seventeen years?" Errol asked, bewildered by the news.
"He was found in the Outback. I suppose he was rescued and raised by Aborigines."
"How can the authorities be certain he's my son?"
The last thing Errol wanted was to get his hopes up, only to have them dashed by a case of mistaken identification.
"The boy's description matches the one you gave to the police after the accident: blue eyes, fair hair and, oh yes, an unusual birthmark on the right leg."
Errol's heart raced, and his spirits soared. Could it really be true?
* * *
During the weeks before the ship carrying the young heir was due to arrive in Southampton, Lord Kensington busied himself with preparing Greystone Manor for his son's arrival. A suite of rooms was redecorated for the youngster. A tutor was hired, and schoolbooks and supplies were purchased. No doubt, the boy would need proper clothes, too, so Errol arranged for the services of a renowned tailor from London. As the date of the ship's expected arrival drew near, Lord Kensington traveled to Southampton where he rented a room at a local inn to await the blessed reunion.
The Star of India docked on schedule. When word of the ship's arrival reached Errol, he ran from the inn to the pier, where he impatiently scanned the faces of the passengers descending the gangplank. He anxiously waited and watched as the crowded mass was reduced to a mere trickle and then finally ran dry. But there had been no sign of a young lad with fair hair.
Just as the fretful father was about to turn and head toward the office of the owner of the shipping line to make inquiries, a man called to him from the deck of the ship.
"I say there. Are you Lord Kensington?"
"I am. Do you have word of my son?"
"He's in his cabin, your lordship. I think it would be best if you come up here and arrange for him to be taken to your home."
"What's wrong?" Errol cried as he ran up the gangplank. "Has the voyage made him ill?"
Dear God! he thought. Please don't tell me my son went through seventeen years of deprivation and God knows what else in a strange land only to die upon his return to England.
"Physically, he's as fit as a fiddle."
Errol could tell from the man's uneasiness that something was amiss.
"Who are you?" he asked as the man led him to one of the ship's first-class cabins.
"My name is Barnaby Dillingham. I'm with the Foreign Service and was stationed in the Northwest Territory when your son was brought in. Under the circumstances, I thought it best to accompany the boy on the voyage."
"That was awfully kind of you, sir. I'm forever in your debt."
The pitying look on Dillingham's face filled Errol with dread.
When the two men reached the cabin, Dillingham took a key out of his vest pocket and unlocked the door. Errol gasped at the sight of the room: the cabin was in shambles as though a violent confrontation had recently taken place.
"Your son was a bit restless this morning, your lordship, but he's been sedated. I think it's safe to move him now."
Lord Kensington walked over to the bed and stared down at the sleeping boy. His hair, the same golden blond as his mother's, was unfashionably long and uncombed, and there was facial hair on his cheeks. Except for a towel tied around his waist like a loincloth, the boy was naked.
"I am appalled at his condition!" Errol shouted. "Who is responsible for this?"
"You don't understand," Barnaby explained. "Your son was not raised in England by civilized people. He is wild like—forgive me, your lordship—like an animal. I tried to dress him, but he ripped the clothes from his body. He growls and grunts rather than talks. It appears he knows nothing of even the most basic social customs."
"Then he will be taught them," Lord Kensington declared with a firmness he usually reserved for addressing Parliament.
* * *
When the tutor arrived at the ancestral manor, Lord Kensington had second thoughts. Miss Beatrix Dinsmore was a petite young woman, who looked as fragile as a porcelain doll. Would such a delicate maiden be able to teach his son, given the immensity of the task? Like most men of his time, Errol vastly underestimated the weaker sex.
Although Beatrix was no match for Winston physically, the boy responded in a positive way to her soft voice and firm but gentle manner. Through her patient persistence, the young heir was eventually cleaned, shaved and dressed in the fashion of a young English gentleman.
"You've worked wonders with my son," Errol said with deep gratitude. "Last night he even ate with a fork and spoon instead of using his hands."
"I'm afraid what I've accomplished so far will prove to be been much easier than what lies ahead. Winston was simply mimicking the way you and I eat. The real task will be to teach him to speak, read and write. Only then, once he has somewhat mastered his language skills, can we move on to arithmetic, history, literature and science."
Lord Kensington was pleased that Beatrix was so dedicated to her job. It meant she would be at Greystone Manor for several years—a prospect that pleased the lonely peer.
With the arrival of first Winston and then Miss Dinsmore, Errol gradually emerged from his cloistered existence. He grew quite fond of the pretty tutor and often escorted her and his son to various places of interest in and around London.
"Have you ever been to the opera?" Errol asked the young woman one day during tea.
"No, I haven't."
"We must go then," he insisted eagerly.
"I don't think Winston will sit in one place and be quiet for such a long time," Beatrix laughed.
"I wasn't suggesting we bring my son along."
The look in Errol's eyes spoke volumes. Beatrix smiled, revealing her own feelings.
"I'd love to go to the opera with you, Errol," she said, no longer finding it necessary to address him formally.
* * *
By the time Winston's vocabulary had grown to consist of approximately a few dozen words—mostly simple commands one often used to train a pet dog—Errol and Beatrix were already deeply in love. And on the day the young heir placed three words together and formed his first rudimentary sentence, the lord of the manor proposed marriage to his son's tutor. While peers of the realm did not normally marry the daughters of humble country vicars, Lord Kensington's friends and family welcomed the match. Beatrix was a dear, sweet, intelligent young woman and would no doubt make an excellent wife as well as a wonderful stepmother to Errol's son.
Unfortunately, Winston was not looking for a mother figure. He was nearly eighteen years old and had already gone through puberty. What he wanted was a mate. Although he had been taught to drink tea from a cup, use a napkin to wipe his mouth and cut his meat into bite-size pieces with a knife, the boy knew nothing of human dating rituals, marriage or parenthood. He had no way of knowing that his father and Beatrix were in love, for he knew nothing of emotions; he had needs, not feelings.
A scant week before the wedding was to take place, Lord Kensington had to travel to London on business.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" he asked his fiancée.
"I'd love to, but I have so much to do, what with the wedding so close. And I don't want to neglect Winston's studies. He's finally beginning to make progress with his letters."
"All right," Errol sighed. "Stay here if you insist. Maybe it's for the best. At least I won't have anything to distract me from my work."
Errol left for London the following morning. Beatrix spent the entire day working with Winston, trying to teach him the alphabet. When the boy became increasingly distracted and restless, the tutor suggested they stop for a break.
"Why don't we take a walk outside?" she asked. "We could both use some fresh air and exercise."
The weather was warm, so Beatrix chose the path that ran beneath the trees and beside a rushing brook.
"This place is so cool and peaceful," she said. "I love to walk here."
Most of her conversations with the boy were one-sided since his command of the English language was on par with that of a two-year-old. Still, she spoke to him constantly, even though she surmised he understood very little of what she said.
They had been walking for close to an hour when Beatrix noticed the sun was starting to set.
"We'd better get back to the house. It will be dark soon."
Winston either did not comprehend her words or chose to disregard them, for he kept on walking. The tutor reached out her hand and took him by the arm.
"We have to go back this way."
At the young woman's touch, Winston's male instincts emerged. He passionately embraced the startled young woman, easily overpowering her with his strength.
"What are you doing?" she cried, trying to extricate herself from his grasp. "Stop it! Do you hear me? STOP IT!"
His ardor, however, did not abate.
"Please don't," she moaned.
Beatrix knew Winston's actions were not born of malicious intent. He was a young man—a boy—who simply did not know any better. She had no desire to injure her attacker, but he left her little choice. She began to kick, scratch and bite. The boy responded with primitive impulses. He struck his tutor and knocked her to the ground. When she felt the weight of his strong, young body crushing her own, Beatrix became desperate. She reached her hand up and raked his face with her fingernails, leaving long, bloody gashes on his cheek.
Winston shrieked with pain and retaliated by slamming the young woman's head against a large rock. As Beatrix lay motionless on the ground, bleeding from her head wound, her attacker sensed that something was wrong. Although he did not know the word for it, he knew what death was. When he lived in the wild, he had seen many animals die. In the Outback, he had often been forced to kill to survive, but the death of the woman saddened him. Leaving her lifeless body beside the brook, the young heir sought refuge in his room at Greystone Manor.
The next day, Lord Kensington returned from London and was surprised to see that the library, which served as Winston's classroom, was empty. He had never known Beatrix to neglect his son's studies except during the holidays.
"Beatrix?" he called as he walked through the quiet hallways. "Where are you?"
There was no reply. When questioned, the servants informed his lordship that they had not seen Beatrix or Winston all morning. After a thorough search of the house, Lord Kensington saddled his horse and began searching the property.
"Winston," he called when he spotted his son in the garden.
The boy turned at the sound of his father's voice.
"What happened to your face?" Errol asked when he saw the deep scratches. "Have you been playing with the hounds again? You must be more careful. You could lose an eye."
"Eye."
Winston repeated the word and pointed to his eye.
Errol then saw the bite on his son's hand, and he felt tightness in his chest. The teeth marks were those of a human, not a dog.
"Have you seen Beatrix?" he asked nervously.
"Beatrix," Winston softly echoed.
"Where is she?"
"Beatrix."
Lord Kensington remounted his horse and continued searching for the woman he loved. It took him more than three hours to locate the body. His heart broke when he found her, not only because Beatrix was dead but also because the dried blood on her fingertips left little doubt as to the identity of her killer.
* * *
Cornell Hargraves hurried to Greystone Manor in response to his friend's urgent summons.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am," Hargraves exclaimed, his heart aching for the grieving lord.
"I need your help," Errol announced, valiantly holding back his tears. "I lost both the women I loved. I can't do anything to bring either of them back. Yet God saw fit to return my son to me. I can't desert him now."
"What are you saying?"
"I've told the coroner that Beatrix's death was an accident, but I'm not sure he believes me."
Errol fell silent, but after several minutes he continued.
"I want you to help me get Winston out of the country."
Normally, Hargraves would have refused to commit any act that might hint at illegality, but it was Errol who was asking him for help—Errol, his dearest friend.
"Where do you want to take him?"
"Back to Australia—where he belongs."
* * *
When the boat docked in Darwin, Lord Kensington broke down in tears in the privacy of his cabin. He had sworn years earlier never to return to the land where he had suffered such a devastating loss. Yet there he was. Only this time, the wild land of the Australian Outback was a welcome sight.
The following evening, Errol and Cornell drove young Winston to the spot where the train wreck had taken his mother's life, not far from where the boy was found seventeen years later.
"Do you think he'll be safe?" the father asked.
"He managed to survive here all those years. I assume he'll be safe enough."
When the young man saw the familiar surroundings, his heart leaped with joy. He was home again! As Lord Kensington and Cornell Hargraves watched, he tore off his clothes and escaped into the gathering darkness, his unintelligible cries answered by the wild animals who were his true family.
Salem's idea of being in the wild is using my flower garden as a litter box.
