“Valet was a born servant. He had everything a butler needs: perfect manners, unquestionable obedience, and a mouth that stays shut when it’s told to; however, that was the difference between what made him a skilled servant and what made him a sad man. 

 

Never have I heard him disagree, all he appeared capable of doing was twisting himself into knots so he could fulfill an order. Approach him with a question and he will answer it for you without a pint of curiosity. Tell him to count the ants crawling on the bark of the old oak and he will spend hours doing so. 

 

Valet’s attitude infuriated me, as he was such a passionate person beneath. Why, I remember when he had finished L'Ensorcelée by D’Aurevilly (by my recommendation of course) and he came bursting into my quarters several hours before dawn, tittering about how Jeanne-Madelaine had drowned herself in the wash basin. 

 

Ironically, he was always fascinated with death. When the Brodeurs were asleep and the servants were quiet, he spent countless hours pouring over the works of Verlaine, Poe, and Hoffmann, to which he was inspired to stare gloomily out of his window at the foggy gardens of the property. Far too melodramatic if you ask me.

 

He was a dark romantic to the core, full of isolation, vengefulness, and sullen handsomeness that may have been applicable to women if he wasn’t so decomposed. To see his philosophical musings and enthusiasm for the arts dying beneath the padlock of his obedient caricature was depressing. 

 

Only the Lord knows if Valet, wherever he is, truly made a difference of himself.”