Tales from the Bottom End
A Jamie page with a continuing story ...
The sun blazed through Viewmount Park. It was so intense that the
weathercock standing proud atop a neighbouring bungalow would’ve
surely crowed had it been able. Curled up in a ball upon one of the
moderately stale benches, our marginably suitable hero, Henry Wentforth
IV of no fixed address, arose with the rosé sky.
Whilst surveying his surroundings, Henry overheard a rather animated
conversation and the departure of a mouse-drawn carriage. Creeping
closer, Henry realized that the odious, or odourless, abode was now
completely still. Inching closer up the walk, Henry noticed a piece
of parchment hanging from an ornate front door. Approaching the porch,
he began to read,
“Dearest Cybil,
Please feel free to use the amenities whenever you happen by to give
Fleur her kibble. The gardens seemed to have bloomed with particular
rigour this season and I often find that a brief stroll and roll is
quite lovely even in the rain. Thank you so much for your patronage
on such short notice. Hopefully, Mumsey is simply creating a fuss
– you know how the aged can be. We’ll send a messenger
upon our return post haste.
Our deepest salutations,
Petunia”
Save infrequent visits from “Cybil”, the manor was vacant
– a fortuitous happenstance for our hero. Breathless with exhilaration
was our Henry, like a Chinese kid in a candy bull shop, or something
reasonably close to it. For you see, our hero…dear Henry…was
a semi-professional thief.
In dire need of a rest for his weary head and feet wearier still,
Henry felt rather obliged to ensure that no “undesirables”
should decide to make themselves at home in this palatially humble
abode. Thus, he generously took it upon himself to provide a valiant
service to the absent owners and stay awhile.
First, a warm fire and a cuppa. It seemed odd to Henry as he ventured
down the spiral stone staircase that the entire house was empty –
nary a houseboy or cook to be seen. Surely proprietors of such wealth
would have hired help. The place was spotless and he was sure that
the mistress of the house wasn’t on her hands and knees…scrubbing.
Finding the kettle and some fragrant jasmine tea leaves, he made his
intoxicating brew and ascended to the parlour. As he assumed his rightful
position in a large fan back upholstered chair, Henry gazed intently
out the large bay windows at the gardens in back.
