As I sat in my overstuffed chair in the library of Morley Hall the deep winter night outside the window stood in stark contrast to the warm and golden glow cast by the fire in the hearth. I had always come here when I was troubled. It was my vain hope that the books would steep, brewing a “tea of knowledge”, as it were, from the musty air. All I needed then would be to absorb it by spending a few pensive minutes there.
My particular troubles as of late were of a financial nature. The old family money had finally run out. I was left with a staff I could not pay and a mansion I could not upkeep. As I was going over several solutions that had come to me earlier in the day and finding them all unworkable, drowsiness overtook me. I had just drifted off to sleep when I was awakened by a soft cough at my side. I shook off the muzziness that afflicted me and looked up to find my butler offering me my usual nip of the juice as a nightcap. As he bent to me and proffered the glass containing the stuff I noticed a small envelope on the salver.
“What’s this, Blanford,” I asked taking the envelope.
“My resignation sir,” he replied.
“But… but… my man! You’ve been with my family for years,” I managed, forgetting that I’d have to let the man go before the year was out.
“Indeed sir, since I was a boy. My grandfather served your grandfather as my father served yours. There seems always to have been a Blanford at Morley Hall.”
A wistful look came to his eye as he spoke and he began to move about the room. Stopping by the mantelpiece he turned his gaze upward to the painting of my father that hung there. Sitting nobly astride his horse and clad in full hunting garb the old man cut quite a romantic figure.
“I was there when your father sat for this painting. I remember the weather was inclement that day and the horse was in a fractious mood. The beast would not stay still and your father was becoming very cross. Just at the height of his aggravation there came a great clap of thunder startling the horse and causing him to buck your father off into a puddle.”
Blanford lowered his eyes to the mantelpiece. “And here. I remember the day the lady dowager, your grandmother sir, obtained this fine torsion clock. She claimed it had come from the household of Tsar Nicholas II and your mother hadn’t the heart to tell her it had only come from Harrod’s. Many have been the times I have handled this clock. Dusting it, winding it and resetting its hands when they were a tad off. Just as if it were mine. Indeed sir, as if the whole of Morley Hall were mine. Which is why I wish to purchase it.”
For the second time that evening the man had me speechless. Luckily my quick wits came to my rescue. “What?” I reposted cleverly.
A slight hint of embarrassment crept into the man’s voice. “I’ve won the sweepstakes, sir. Quite a significant sum.”
This time no brilliant quip came to me. I sat in stunned silence gawping at the man like a haddock.
“I am led to understand that the manor is in some difficulty, sir, and I find myself now in a position to aid us both,” said Blanford, filling the silence.
“Well, yes,” I replied and as I spoke a light dawned. The man was offering me a way out of the financial hole in which I found myself. Overjoyed I looked at the man and said, “I would be honored to sell the old place to you, Blanford.”
I arose and shook the man’s hand vigorously. A great weight had been lifted from my mind but as it was lifted another quickly replaced it.
“But, Blanford, what shall I do? I have no other home and no position to support myself.”
At this his lips spread into a sly smile. “Well, sir,” he said as he dropped into my chair, “I will need someone to butle for me. Pour me a brandy, would you?”
It was my turn to smile.
“Yes, Blan… yes, sir.”
-I am Karl Fogsen. Thanks for reading.
