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Robin: Beginnings - Chapter Seven


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CHAPTER SEVEN

The Butler, the Billionaire, and the Bedroom


 “Who?” I try not to bounce in my seat, to hit Ms. Corvi’s desk with my feet. ‘Try’ is the operative word. It’s useless. “Who’s coming to get me?”

“Bruce Wayne.” Ms. Corvi says the name as if it’s some mystery to her. As if she can’t believe it. And I’m right there with her. Wait, wait, billionaire Bruce Wayne? The Prince of Gotham? The owner of the enormous tower? Of the castle? The recluse who only shows up to parties and has more than one girl on his arm? That Bruce Wayne?

“So… I’m being adopted… by a billionaire?” I lean forward, looking Ms. Corvi square in the eyes. “Is this a TV show? Where’re the cameras?”

This has to be a fake. A fraud. I trust Batman, but let’s be honest, nothing this good ever happens to anybody. Unless he has some sort of sixth sense or whatever. 

Ms. Corvi shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, no. Oh goodness, no. We would never do that to you, Dick. No… apparently, he was there. The night of the accident? And he—well—”

I don’t know what to think. Why would a guy like Bruce Wayne take in a small orphan boy who he only shook hands with once? Did I make that much of an impression on him? Or does he… does he… I sit back in my seat with a thump. I know what it is. He feels bad for me. He saw me lose my parents, and he feels bad. And since he has the money, he can just throw it to some kid. 

“So… I’m going to be what? His foster son?” I try to keep the tears from welling in my eyes. I don’t know what I think. Am I grateful? Yes, absolutely. Am I angry? Maybe. Am I relieved? Definitely. I don’t care about the money, the castle, or the fame. All I care about is I’m going to an actual house. Somewhere with someone who wants me, away from this horrible place... 

 But… he’s still a stranger.

Keep smiling. Keep going. I pound my heels against my chair. You’re going to like it at Wayne Manor. Just you wait. But then, I remember the circus. Raya, her parents, Pidge, Marco, Lilia, the clowns, Old Scott and Vanessa… and C.C. Haly. I saw them at the funeral… was that only yesterday? And it was hard to even look at them. Raya cried, well, wailing’s more the word, about how her parents wanted to take me, but I was already spoken for. C.C. Haly told me that they fought for me but lost. 

I try to stop the pressure building up in my chest, the stew boiling in my belly, but it’s there, and it won’t go away. So I smile at Ms. Corvi, trying to look how a little orphan should. Happy at the fact that someone’s coming for me. Heat builds in my face,  pushing against my eyes, but I ignore it. 

“No,” She clears her throat, placing her hands on her lap. Her attempts to smile are weak, which doesn’t help. “Not a foster son. He explicitly said he’s taking you in as his ward, and the court approved it this morning. I wish I had known sooner—”

I don’t listen to the rest of what she says. It’s a bunch of terms I don’t understand, like guardianship, the Will, the court, yady-yada. But I hold onto one word. What’s a ward?

My thoughts snap back to Ms. Corvi as she stands up, pushing back from the desk, letting out a brisk ‘hm.’ “Well, then.” She smooths her hair and motions for me to get up. “His butler is coming to pick you up. Might as well have you ready, right?”

“Right.” I try to beam to keep my steps light as we walk out of her office and back into the common area where all my things are waiting, three large boxes of clothes and personal belongings. 

The rest of the boys are in the dorms. Ms. Corvi and the caretakers always keep them there, apparently, when someone comes to take one of us away. And I know why. The dirty looks that Kong threw at me, the spiteful nicknames, all of it would be a disaster waiting to happen if they were down here with me.

I don’t have to wait long before a huge, sleek, brand-spanking new limousine pulls up in front of GCHB. The man who steps out of the driver’s seat looks like he stepped out of an old spy movie. He’s dressed in one of those black three-piece suits, complete with a bow tie and smart white gloves. Honestly, what kind of guy dresses like this? At least, in the last oh, I don’t know, hundred years?

He’s old, maybe in his early sixties. Thinning peppered grey hair smoothes under a cabby hat, sleek and black. Above his thin lips is the neatest, cleanest mustache I’ve ever seen. I can hear his polished oxfords from inside as he clicks purposefully towards us, the bell dinging as he steps through the door. 

I gawk, ignoring the way my mouth opens; no, hits the floor. So, this is what a butler’s like. I didn’t even know that they had butlers anymore. Who’d even wish to be one when they grow up? Did this guy wake up one morning when he was around my age thinking, ‘you know what I want to do for a living? I want to be a butler!’

“Master Richard.” His clipped British accent almost makes me laugh. No way this guy’s for real. Then again, he’s the kind of person who wouldn’t take it too well if you said that to his face. 

“Uh, call me Dick.” I try to straighten my hair and wipe my eyes, but it’s too late. He’s looking down at me with a raised eyebrow, his lips pursed. Not a frown, more like… an assessment. “That’s… my nickname.” I try a smile, yanking on my too-large shirt. 

“Very well, Master Dick.” The butler bows, actually bows, to me. This is too much. I have to bite my tongue hard to keep from laughing. I think I might actually like this guy. “I am Alfred Pennyworth, at your service.” He straightens, a slight twitch teasing the corners of his mouth. “But you may call me Alfred.” He motions to the limousine waiting outside. “I am to take you to Master Bruce’s Manor, your new home.”

“Thanks.” I manage, turning to look up at Ms. Corvi. She gives me an encouraging smile and thumbs up before handing Alfred some papers. 

I ignore their conversation and watch the staff lug my things into the limousine trunk. Even from here, I can tell they’re sweating over accidentally smudging the paint job or denting the trunk. Or maybe even just breathing on the thing. 

Maybe I am like Annie. An orphan, taken in by a Billionaire. I just hope he doesn’t expect me to sing and dance— at least, not at first. 

I’m glad to leave the Home, but my heart squeezes at the thought of leaving all these younger boys here. Maybe they’ll believe what I said. Maybe what’s happening to me will give them hope. Or maybe, they’ll roll their eyes, hunker down and keep going like they always have.

“Master Dick.” I jump. Alfred’s suddenly at my side, his gloved hand on my shoulder. “Say your goodbyes, then come out to the car. Back door, if you please.”

I nod, turning, holding out a hand to Ms. Corvi. “Thanks.” I shake her hand, trying to ignore how my sweaty fingers are against her smooth skin. “I know that this whole thing was—”

I don’t want to talk about running away. I don’t want to talk about the beatings, the teasing, the punches, and the screams. I just want to forget. Forget, and get away from this place. So I don’t finish. I can’t.

Ms. Corvi glances quickly through the windows, making sure Alfred’s standing by the car door before turning to me. Her whisper tickles my ear. “You have my number, Dick. I’m your person. You don’t feel safe? Call me. You think that something’s wrong? Call me.” She puts a hand on my shoulder, her eyes pleading. “This is very important. Your safety is our top priority, do you understand?”

Is she concerned about the Billionaire? Yeah, I’m sure she is. But what about the monsters living under this roof, doing who knows what when her back’s turned? Gosh, I don’t understand this lady at all. But I nod anyway, my stomach churning. “Okay, Ms. Corvi. I will.” I beam up at her, pulling away. “Thanks again!”

“I’ll check on you soon!” She calls, waving me out the door. 

I walk away from the Gotham City Home for Boys, a huge weight lifting off my shoulders. I want to run, to catapult into the limo, to get as far away from here as possible, but I bite my lip instead, chirping a small ‘thanks’ to Alfred as he holds the door for me. 

The inside of the limo’s a dream. No, really. The seats are so comfortable I could disappear into them, and the entire back is full of everything a kid would want. There’s candy, but not too much that I’d go into a sugar coma from eating it all, but there are snacks too. Crackers, cheese, apples, and a whole fridge full of drinks. Soda, juice, milk, even sparkling cider. 

Someone knew exactly what I’d need right now. You know, actual food that doesn’t taste like sloppy baby gunk from the can?

I nab a box of Wheat Thins and collapse into the seat by the window leading to the driver’s cabby. Alfred is already situated, the mirror tilted just enough so he can stare at me with those unforgiving but kind, smokey blue eyes. 

“All ready to go, Master Dick?” His voice is clipped but not curt. The car doesn’t move. Is he really waiting for me to say something? Do I actually get to boss him around?

It feels… wrong. “Uh… yeah. All ready, Alfred.” The limo pulls smoothly from the curb and into the side street traffic, a graceful raven sliding into a flock of loud, obnoxious birds. 

I munch on the crackers in silence until I can’t stand it anymore. Alfred doesn’t even have the radio going. Something beeps, and I jump, knocking over a container of tootsie rolls. I want to hide as they slide all over the car and the seats. Alfred’s going to have to clean them up.

“Yes, sir,” Alfred speaks to someone I can’t hear. “I have him with me now. We are on route, sir.” There’s a pause, and Alfred nods curtly. “Good, then. Everything is prepared.”

You would think he was planning a queen’s gala, not the homecoming of some strange little boy he’d never met. The limo falls into silence again, but I don’t let it last as long this time. “Alfred?”

“Yes, Master Dick.”

“Can you… tell me about Gotham?” I don’t know what else to ask. I don’t want to know about Bruce, I don’t want to know about the castle or the riches, I don’t even want to talk about Batman. What happened that night when he found me will stay my secret. All I want is a distraction. Something to keep this tugging on my stomach away. So I duck my head, trying to hide from Alfred’s piercing gaze. I expect him to roll his eyes or raise an eyebrow, but he nods. 

“Long before you were born, Master Dick,” Alfred starts, and his voice changes. He doesn’t sound like a stuffy English butler anymore. He sounds like one of those cool voiceovers narrating a nature documentary. I lean forward and listen. “The United States was founded and devastated by the war known as the American Revolution. While this fair country was formed, the cost was great. The new country was young and struggled to get on its feet.”

I know this from history class, but it’s weird hearing someone from Britain talking about America like this. Still, he does live here. I want to ask, ‘but what does that have to do with Gotham?’ but I don’t have to. Alfred continues. “This area was one such place where the colonists struggled mightily. In fact, they were about to abandon their homes for a more promising future— until the First Families of Gotham arrived.”

I peer out of the window. It’s hard to imagine all this land empty, void of people except a few cottages and a small village. Without the skyscrapers, without the dark alleys. Without the gangs and fear and death. 

“The First Families were rich, powerful, and revered by the people.” Alfred speeds us across Dini Bridge and towards the mainland. “They founded Gotham, brought the people together, and worked as one to make this city great.”

I peer in the rear window, back at the city that stands like a shadow against the bright sea. Yeah, well, some ‘great city’ they made. Even still, I can barely see the huge, shining golden statue in the bay, one hand holding a book, the other hand holding out a sword. Lady Justice. She stands as a beacon, a promise of a time where good people like Batman, Commissioner Gordon, Babs, Alfred, and Ms. Corvi change this city for the better. Back to the way it was supposed to be.  

“While a few of the First Families left or died out, five remain. Some still retain social standing and are recognized now as the Five Families of Gotham.” Alfred peers back at me from the driver's seat. We’re zipping through the countryside now, nearing that forest I saw from the train what seems like a lifetime ago. “Those families are the Elliots, the Kanes, the Crownes, the Cobblepots, and—”

“The Waynes.” I interrupt, crawling forward to peer out the front window, gawking at the sight before me. We glide up and down hills, turning into the woods, only to come out in front of large iron gates emblazoned with a stylized W. Beyond the gates are the sprawling grounds, and beyond those stand the castle. Okay, so from up close, it looks more like a Victorian-style manor house, but it’s the size of a castle. Gargoyles glare down at me from the eaves, but other than that, the manor looks… welcoming. The flowers spread their petals, the grass rolls in vibrant green, and the windows glisten, not at all dark and gloomy. 

There’s a buzz from a small box, and the gates open for us. A dog walks alongside the drive, big, black, and muscular, threatening. But he doesn’t bark or attack. Instead, he peels off to race across the grounds, chasing something brown and fury, making a dash towards the hedges. 

“That is Ace, our guard dog.” Alfred peers back at me, a small smile teasing his lips. “He is a good and loyal creature. He will accept you as part of the family. Just give it time.”

I feel like a puppy, peering out at the house that’s as big, if not bigger, than the entire fairgrounds. The front door itself is about as tall as my family’s trailer… but that’s just a façade. I know because the real doors, only slightly larger than usual, opens, and Mr. Wayne steps out. He’s dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, which seem wrong on him. He looks even younger, even more like a photoshopped model. But when I step out of the limo, unsure what to do with my hands, his smile isn’t the smirking, go get em' ‘I’m so rich’ grin. It’s genuine and welcoming. 

Human. 

“Dick.” He walks down the steps of the Manor, meeting me halfway as Alfred rummages around the trunk for my belongings. “I wish we didn’t have to meet again like this.”

“I know.” I don’t know what else to say. This person isn’t the laughing, joking person I met at the circus. I manage a small smile before turning my attention to the house, my mouth hanging open. “Wow.”

Bruce laughs. It’s small, but it’s real. “No moat. Sorry about that.” He pats me on the shoulder. “It was a nice idea, though.”

I blink at him, then remember what I said when I first met him. About the alligators. He remembers. I grin, sticking my hands into my pockets. “I guess I’ll live. Still beats the socks off the Home.”

“Yes…” Bruce frowns, his eyebrows furrowing, his eyes going so cold and steely I want to step back. “I want to take you home the night of the accident, or at least in the morning, but the court doesn’t accelerate anything, even for money.”

I gawk at him. He wanted to bribe the court to get me sooner? What kind of guy is Bruce Wayne? Why does he want me so bad? I force back a shiver. It’s almost… creepy. 

Then, I remember that he’s taken me in. That he’s giving me this manor as a home. And all I’ve done was complain about there being no moat and about the foster home. “Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” I suddenly hold my hand out to him. Someone’s playing tug of war in my chest or switching between the air conditioner and the heater. “Thanks… for taking me.”

His smile’s strange. Knowing, but kind. Soft, but hard. Just like him. Or not like him at all. He takes my hand and gives it a firm shake. “My pleasure, Dick. And please, call me Bruce.”

I’m so glad he didn’t say ‘call me dad’ that I sigh, my fingers dropping from his, only to pull at my oversized shirt again. 

Bruce clears his throat and claps his hands, turning to Alfred, who’s unloaded my things from the limo. “Right, let me take those to Dick’s room while you show him around, Alfred.” So, Bruce actually does do things around here. Even more interesting. I smile as he picks up my boxes, lugging them up the stairs. I watch him disappear. Vanish. 

“Well, Master Dick.” Alfred holds out a hand to the Manor. “Shall we?” 

Bruce joins us some halfway through the tour. I never thought a place could have so many rooms. And so many empty ones. There are some hundred bedrooms, each bigger than my trailer, two ballrooms, a banquet hall, a screening room, a three-level library as big as a house, and an in-home gym complete with a rock wall, indoor track, and so much equipment it might’s well be a maze. I don’t know whether to be happy or hide when I see the trapeze wires hanging over my head, a net safely underneath it. Did he have those installed just for me? Is this a kind gesture or some kind of sick joke?

There’re so many offices that I lose track, only remembering Bruce’s office and Alfred’s study, which is so spotless you have to hold your breath to keep from disturbing the perfectly pleated curtains. There’s a traditional living room smaller than the rest of the Manor, much homier, and right next to the kitchen, which could easily be used for a gourmet cooking show. 

By the time we get to my room, I don’t think I can be more surprised by this mammoth of a house, but when Bruce opens the doors and waves me in, I want to jump up and down. 

It’s every boy’s dream, literally. A four-poster bed, my own TV and gaming system, my own bookshelves, desk, and miniature mounted basketball hoop, complete with two brand new balls sitting on racks. There’re two doors leading off from the main room. One opens to a bathroom with a tub I could do laps in, complete with hot jets, full-length mirrors, and so much counter space I know I’ll never use. 

The other door leads to a closet. And when I say closet, I don’t mean a sliding door that leads to a small room with hangers for shirts and stuff. I don’t even mean a walk-in closet. I mean a whole department store of T-shirts, shorts, shoes, suits, workout clothes, hats, gloves, coats, scarves, jackets, hoodies… 

If I was holding something, I would’ve dropped it. Everything’s my size, even the tailored suits. And everything’s something I’d want to wear… except the suits. I don’t like talking about clothes, shoes, or anything, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m not impressed, no, blown away by this. Don’t laugh. You’d be blown away, too, if you walked into a closet bigger than your old trailer.

I turn to Bruce, trying to snap my mouth shut. No such luck. “Mr. Way— I mean, Bruce… this is all… for me?”

“Yes.” Bruce smiles. He doesn’t laugh. He understands. But how? Hasn’t he grown up with all this stuff? “It’s going to take some getting used to, the big house, all these things, but yes. This is yours.”

Mine… I look back at the closet, the room. All these things, just for me. Mr. Wayne spared no expense. He took the time to think about what I’d like… what I’d need. And yet… “Thanks, Bruce.”

He nods, just nods, and leaves. I watch him disappear again, lost in the huge house. Where does he go? What does he do? 

Alfred stands at the entrance to the closet, stiff as ever, though is it just me, or is there warmth in his smokey eyes? “Clean up and get dressed in proper clothes, please, Master Dick. Master Bruce expects you at dinner in the banquet hall at six-thirty sharp.” Alfred looks around the room before turning back to me. “I assume you will find ways to… amuse yourself until then. Remember, Master Bruce’s office is off-limits unless he summons you.”

And with that, I’m alone. Outside, Ace barks. But inside, it might as well be a morgue. I tap my hands on my thighs, turning my attention to the clothes.

All of this stuff… and Bruce seems nice enough… but… I close my eyes and sink down to the floor, rocking on my heels. 

All I want… is a hug.




To be Continued...

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©2024 by Madigan Thompson.

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