Noblesse Oblige
Book Two
Indian Summer

By: Pete Bruno & Henry Hilliard
(© 2013 by the authors)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 5
A Saturday till Monday 

The stationmaster was chatting to Martin and Stephen as he watered his tubs of red geraniums. He asked his lordship if he would like the fire lit in the waiting room, but Martin said that he was quite all right and thanked him for his consideration.  They had come to meet some of the weekend guests personally and two traps and the Daimler were waiting in the yard.

Presently the 1:46 came puffing round the bend and five travellers were deposited on the platform while the stationmaster and the porter assisted by Stephen, were collecting the luggage. In one party were Aunt Maud and her children, Sophia and Antony.  There was another young girl, a slim and attractive debutante whom Sophia introduced as her friend Miss Webster.  The other party was singular in the person of a very frightened-looking Donald Selby-Keam who looked relieved when he spotted Stephen who was man-handling three suitcases with ease.  Introductions were made and Antony Vane-Gillingham said, “Aren’t you at my old school, Selby-Keam? I know your face and your name.  Your pa’s a governor, isn’t he?”

Donald went very red and murmured something that wasn’t a denial and almost withdrew his head into his collar like a tortoise when he was presented to the girls.  Aunt Maud tried to make him feel relaxed by saying, “Mr Selby-Keam, I know your father, Sir Maxwell, and your mother,” but Donald only looked more miserable and stood by Stephen who glanced over at Martin and shrugged.

Martin looked at Donald: he was slighter smaller than average for his age and his shrinking demeanour seemed to have a physical effect on his stature.  He wasn’t bad looking, but was fairly pale and had some spots on his chin.  His legs and arms were thin, but his shoulders were quite broad when he straightened them and looked up, which was not often as he seemed to concentrate on the ground except when he wanted to make sure that Stephen was still in sight.

The ladies occupied the Daimler while the gentlemen and the luggage went in the two traps. “We have a new tennis court which I’m hoping to christen this weekend, said Martin, pleasantly.  “Do you play Antony, Selby-Keam?” Antony said he did and Donald spoke up and said he played too.

“I didn’t know that, Donald,” said Stephen, “Tennant is teaching me and I haven’t seen you on the courts.”

“I often come and watch you play, Stephen, you mightn’t see me.  My father has a court at home. You need to work on your backhand.  I could help you if you like.”

Martin and Stephen exchanged glances; this was the most the boy had spoken.

When the great house came into view on the bend in the elm avenue they paused to admire it. Donald looked a little more alarmed at its intimidating grandeur.  “There’s a very good library, Donald, we might look at it after tea if you like,” said Stephen.  The boy looked at him with frightened eyes but did not reply.

The guests were on the court quite quickly and Miss Webster and Sophia were patting the balls backwards and forwards with a good deal of laughter that raised everybody’s spirits.  Even Donald came out of his shell a little when he played against Stephen and then Antony.  He was quite good and he even managed a smile when Stephen praised him and asked again to be shown how to hold the racquet.

Martin left the party to collect the Sachs and The Plunger who were on the 3.01.  Mrs Sachs was a warm and delightful young woman.  She was obviously with child and it was lovely to see how solicitous Sachs was, explaining that she required much persuasion to make the journey and how he had worked out an elaborate scheme of connecting trains by using the Bradshaw which saved nearly 20 minutes.  The Plunger was dressed in a sporting manner, perhaps a little studied.  He had on flannels with a school tie instead of a belt and he carried a tennis racquet in a press.

“Did you have much of a game on the train down?” asked Martin sarcastically.  The Plunger just said, “Hello Poole.  Thanks awfully for inviting me.”  And he was introduced to the Sachs.

Afternoon tea was quite jolly with the young ladies telling amusing stories about their social like in London and The Plunger and Antony Vane-Gillingham talking about sports and Oxford. Donald, however, spoke to nobody but Stephen so Martin let it go and asked instead if The Plunger would like to stay on and go up to London with them.  The Plunger’s monocle dropped from his eye and he was clearly excited and asked if he might telephone Dorking to inform his parents.

The guests assembled in the pink drawing room at seven o’clock.  This was sometimes referred to as ‘mother’s drawing room’ as opposed to the five other salons they might have chosen, most of which were rather cold and gloomy, although the red drawing room with its gilding and tapestries was undoubtedly one of the finest in the county.  The original party was now supplemented by the Plainsongs and daughter, the Destrombes, Miss Tadrew and Mr Kells the librarian.

“Where does Mr Kells sleep and eat?”  Martin asked Chilvers. “I don’t rightly know, sir, Daisy’s been taking him his meals for the last four years.”

Martin and Stephen moved through the room greeting their guests.  When they reached the new financial advisor and his wife, Mrs Sachs said to Martin and Stephen. “I could have my dinner on a tray in my room.”

“Oh, I’m sorry; you don’t feel up to eating downstairs? I’ll tell Chilvers,” said Martin.

“Oh no, it’s not that your lordship. Some people do not think it proper to see a lady in my condition; they find it embarrassing.”

“That’s utter nonsense, Mrs Sachs.  Your ‘condition’ is perfectly natural and not at all improper. And what’s more we’d be deprived of your company.  Everyone at the table has been born of a pregnant woman.  This is the twentieth century, not the nineteenth.”  

He turned to Stephen. “Now that we’re masters in this house I want to move with the times. We won’t be as formal as in my parents’ day: We will not dress for every meal.  Our guest can have breakfast in bed if they want to or out by the tennis court in summer.  The table won’t have to ‘balance’ and if we feel like having more men than women to dinner we will.  We will invite wives without husbands and vice-versa, as long as they don’t talk nonsense with their mouths full.  We’ll invite ladies that are expecting and gentlemen too! We will mix things up and not stand on ceremony at the expense of fun.  We will try to make these occasions stimulating and pleasurable for our guests at Croome.  That’s the important thing.”

“Have you been reading Mr Shaw, your lordship?” said Mrs Sachs at the end of this speech.

“Well, yes, but only ‘Major Barbara.’  

“Have you been reading Barrie, too, Martin?  He’d have Crichton the butler sit down with the family,” teased Stephen.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, Stephen, not unless the revolution comes.”

At 8:00 they walked in procession across the great hall into the gothic dining room.  Chilvers and the three ambulant footmen were in attendance and the guests circulated around the massive table and found their names.  Donald, at the last minute, had been placed next to Stephen and Miss Tadrew and across from Anthony.  Miss Webster sat next to Stephen and was the object of envy of the other two young ladies who had to settle for Martin and The Plunger.

The first course was a cold one: eggs with caviar in aspic and quickly followed by a soup served with sherry.  The well-bred guests turned to talk to their neighbour on the other side after this; ‘homard thermidor’ was next, the small lobsters coming from the Dorset coast and it was served with a dry Rhine wine.  The tournedos with morilles was Stephen’s favourite as he was fond of steak, and was just about to say so when he heard Antony Vane-Gillingham attempting to engage Donald: “I say Mr Selby-Keam, what do you make of our English master, old Mingis?” Suddenly, Donald let out a stifled sob and rushed from the table, covering his face with his napkin.

Stephen left discreetly from his place murmuring some polite lie about Donald being upset at news of a sick grandparent and went to find him.  Donald was in his room crying but wouldn’t open the door.  Stephen said that he must go back into dinner, but would return in half an hour and if he didn’t open the door he would break it down.

His tournedos were gone and the ‘asperges printemps’ (suspicious for October) even with sauce hollandaise was a disappointing substitute.  Martin looked over in his direction with an inquiring eye, while still engaging Prudence Plainsong, but Stephen just shrugged.  There was a Macedoine of fruits before the cheese and coffee.  Martin would not allow an English ‘savoury’ to spoil this otherwise French menu.

Aunt Maud ‘caught’ the ladies’ eyes and they retired to the drawing room.  Martin and Stephen deserted the men and went up to Donald.  “Please open the door Donald.  I don’t want to break it. Martin will be cross, won’t you, Martin?” said Stephen.  Martin replied that he would have to severely discipline Stephen and make him pay for any repairs.

There was a click and the tear-stained Donald let them in.

“I’m sorry, he said with a sniff.  I suppose I’ve ruined your dinner.”

“No, you didn’t; we just told them that you were upset about something at home.  They didn’t really notice,” said Stephen.

Suddenly Donald threw his arms around Stephen and hugged him tightly.  Stephen looked at Martin helplessly and Martin just smiled.

“What is it old sport?  What happened?” said Stephen.  “Can you tell us?  We might be able to help.  At least you might feel better if you tell your friends.”

“It’s that swine Mingis,” said Donald at last, barely able to hold back another flood. “I’m glad I failed that essay, even though father was furious.  I hate him.  I hate him touching me.  He knows my father, you see, and he was oh so terribly nice to me at first to suck up to papa so he can keep his job—I think there’s something wrong with his degree and something happened at his previous school.  He gave me good marks and special help. It was all right at first.  Then he started to…started to…you know…”

“Feel you up?” suggested Stephen looking intently at him, now with his arm around him as they sat on the edge of the bed.  Donald nodded.

“Did he do anything else?” asked Martin.  Donald couldn’t look at him but nodded again.

Presently he continued. “That swine forced me to suck him.  I have to do it most nights after school because now he says he will tell my father.  He hurts me too, Stephen.”  He hugged Stephen again. “You stood up to him.  He’s scared of you.  I’m so glad you sit next to me in class. I have no friends.”

Donald managed a sorrowful glance at Martin who joined in the hug. “Well, from now on you are to be with me or Tennant or Newell at all times and you’re not to be alone with Mingis,” said Stephen. “He won’t tell your father.  He’ll be desperate for you not to talk because he’ll be as frightened as hell of going to gaol.”

Soon Donald brightened up, and with the application of a cloth and some cold water from the jug, Stephen and Martin had him cleaned up, and with their excuses concocted they went down to join the party the pink drawing room.

There were card tables set out and the older ones were playing auction bridge while the younger ones were playing some silly card game that Mrs Sachs knew that involved making animal noises and adopting unusual stances.  There was much laugher from that end of the room.

At 10:00 tea was brought in and the magnificent silver kettle had the spirit lamp lit underneath it.

Miss Webster favoured them at the piano with a sentimental song as, when pressed, she just happened to have her music with her.  Stephen stood close to her and turned the pages when she nodded, Martin being momentarily left in charge of Donald who was much brighter after the card game.

Mrs Sachs offered a comic piece and she played very well.  All of a sudden Donald asked if he might play.  They all looked surprised and he blushed.  Nevertheless he manfully went to the piano and sat down and commenced to play the most marvellous ragtime piece called ‘The Cake Walk.’  Everyone applauded and he smiled.  Then he asked Mrs Sachs if she would play the easy part, which he showed her, while he played the other two hands of another rag called ‘The Oceana Roll.’  This was a wild success.  Martin was much struck by the freshness and irreverence of the piece that seemed to be, somehow, the very essence of that great and mysterious nation across the Atlantic; a country that had produced The Plunger and the Bike jocky’s strap, he reflected.  Soon everyone was singing it and even the servants could be observed moving in time to the infectious rhythm and mouthing the catchy lyrics.

The guest departed or retired to their rooms with the conviction that it had been a fine evening and that they had enjoyed themselves.  The Plunger was asked if he was comfortable and if Michael was attending to his needs. “Attending and anticipating, Poole,” said the Plunger, fitting his monocle and giving a little grin.

Donald could not be detached from his hero and Stephen looked at Martin. “Donald, don’t you want to sleep by yourself tonight?” asked Stephen.  Donald didn’t look at him but shook his head.  “Well you could sleep with me, except that Martin doesn’t want to sleep by himself either.”  Donald looked up at him in growing astonishment.  “It might be a bit crowded, but Martin’s bed is enormous and I think there might be room for one more—just for tonight.”

Donald’s eyes lit up and he hugged Stephen, then Martin and then Stephen again.  They took him into their room.  “There is one rule though,” said Stephen, “I’m afraid all your clothes will have to come off before you get into bed with me.”

Martin and Stephen undressed first and Donald’s eyes were on stalks as Stephen first removed his shirt and collar to reveal his naked chest and then slid down his evening trousers letting his enormous cock spring free.  “I though you must be big, Stephen, I can see it in your school trousers when you sit next to me.  I always wanted to feel it under the desk,” he said, blushing at the remembrance.

“I wish you had.  Feel it now if you like.”  Donald didn’t have to be pressed and he had a good feel and made admiring noises.  Martin was feeling left out and stood closer and Donald felt him too.

“You know, I now hate doing anything to myself because of you know who.  He used to tie up my hands and feet sometimes and hit me here,” he said, indicating his privates.

“That’s terrible,” said Stephen.  “We’ll not hurt you.  You can just cuddle up to us and feel safe. I promise you, Mingis will never hurt you again.  You have my word.”

Martin thought his heart would break.  He had never loved Stephen more than this moment when his true character was on display: strong and yet kind.  He is everything a man should be, he thought to himself.

Donald was allowed to undress himself and they did not touch him for fear of reviving the evil memories of Mingis.  Nevertheless, Donald was seen to have a very nice uncut cock and a dark bush, but no other body hair.  While his arms and legs were still juvenile, his shoulders were broad and it was possible to see where his ability at tennis came from.  He also seemed to be taller now that he was not so cowered.

They climbed into the big bed, Donald between his two protectors.  At first he clung to Stephen, but then turned to Martin and placed his arm over his chest.  Stephen spooned close and almost crushed him under his left arm and Donald made sure that Stephen’s hardening cock was captured between his hairless thighs before he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

It was sometime just after dawn that Martin awoke to find Donald sucking his cock. “I thought you might like to wake up like this, you were very hard,” he said pausing for a minute. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Thank you, that feels wonderful,” he replied and indeed it did.  Martin lay back with his hands clasped behind his head on the pillow.  

The noise stirred Stephen who felt for Donald in the bed and realised he had gone.  When he opened his eyes he sat up in astonishment. “I thought you said you hated it.” He said.

“No I hated being forced to do it by Mingis, and I didn’t say I wasn’t any good at it.  Lots of practice,” he said with a grin.  Martin warmed to Donald, not just because he was sucking his cock so well, but because Donald’s personality was coming out; he was funny—and a good cocksucker.

Stephen watched in fascination.  Donald could take Martin deep without gagging and you could see his throat swell when Martin’s cock went in.  He also pressed Martin’s cock into his cheek, which seemed to delight Martin judging from the groans—perhaps too much.

Stephen had lust in eyes and he uncovered his cock.  “You were hard all night,” said Donald pausing again but now stroking Martin’s sopping member.  “I want to suck you so much Stephen, but I don’t think I could get my mouth around it.”

“Could you try?” pleaded Stephen, then, looking at Martin, said slowly and carefully, “but Donald, Martin is my sweetheart you must know and I wouldn’t do anything without asking Martin if it was alright first.’

Martin rolled his eyes at this bit of disingenuousness, quite certain that this puppy had a crush on his lover, ‘but who could blame him?’ he thought. “Yes, suck him Donald, but do me too, I’m very close.”

Donald kept one hand going on Martin’s cock while he crawled over on his knees towards Stephen who was holding his leaking cock in expectation. “I’ll do my best Stephen, I really want to. Hold it still.”

Without using his hands he opened as wide as he could and took Stephen’s head into his mouth where he wet and stimulated just the head.  He touched his teeth ever so slightly on the silky foreskin.  Donald still kept stroking Martin but was now concentrating on this other task intently.  He twisted his head and swallowed Stephen down, down into his throat and when he was in deep, Donald manipulated his throat muscles to pleasure Stephen’s cock.  He could not keep this up for more than half a minute and then withdrew completely.

Stephen was almost speechless, his eyes were shining and his mouth was agape. “Where did you learn to that? It was amazing!”

“I have a book on sword swallowing by Chevalier Cliquot.  It’s just practice,” he relied simply.

“Huskison Major’s book!” said Martin to Stephen.

“But my throat is sore, can I just use my hands now?”

Martin and Stephen moved together, their arms around each other’s shoulders, as Donald continued to pleasure them, occasionally using his mouth to lubricate the boys when they were becoming dry.  Martin was close and Donald held his grip as Martin thrashed about and then spilled on his hand.  Both boys now turned their attention to Stephen.  Martin held Stephen’s hands down so he could not interfere with Donald’s work and kissed Stephen and teased his nipples. “I’m close,” said Stephen breathily and Donald worked his wrist harder.  “Use both hands now, cried Stephen, “My balls Mala!”

Martin released Stephen’s hands and pulled at Stephen’s sack, stretching it, but knowing he could take it.  With a shout he spilled, a shot hitting Donald in the eye where it stung and another shot landing on Martin who was still tugging. “Get it all out, Donald,” said Martin as he continued until Stephen said to stop, as it was now too sensitive.

They flopped back on the bed, breathing heavily. “But what about you, Donald?  You’ve not spent yet,” said Stephen.

“Sorry, Martin,” he said, “but I have…er...spent; it was so nice snuggled up next to you last night that I…well I…”

Martin felt behind him.  Yes, he was crusty back there.  He smiled at Donald. “That feels good,” he lied, “as long as you enjoyed yourself.”  He let Donald kiss Stephen, then pulled Stephen over to himself and kissed him extravagantly, running his fingers through his spilled seed. “You can borrow him, but this big one’s mine, Donald, I’m afraid.  I saw him first.  You better get back to your room before the servants are up.”

Donald left only slightly disappointed and Martin and Stephen were sound asleep in each other’s arms when Chilvers came in with their tea and drew the curtains.

Breakfast was laid in the small, yellow hexagonal room built a century earlier.  It had plenty of windows facing east and the woodwork was painted white so it was cheerful although the morning was grey.  On the sideboard were chafing dishes containing the usual English fare: bacon, devilled kidneys, sausages, eggs and kedgeree; and the guests served themselves.  Everyone had apparently slept well and none in the south corridor had been disturbed by the ghost that some sensitive souls had reported over the centuries.  The guests decided upon riding and tennis, if the weather improved.  The ladies accompanied Martin and The Plunger to church where The Plunger was allowed to poke the fire in the family pew.  Mrs Sachs preferred to rest in the morning room where she occupied herself with knitting baby clothes while humming the ‘Oceana Roll’.  Sachs asked if he might come to church, for while not a Christian, he was not a particularly observant Jew either but did love the sound of the church organ.  Antony Vane-Gillingham went down to the stables to organise some mounts for the party and Stephen and Douglas explored the library.

Mr Kells was nowhere to be found and the boys roamed the galleries and shelves unmolested, pulling out books that had interesting bindings or strange titles.  Most of the works, while beautiful to look at, held very little interest to the twentieth century mind but Stephen and Douglas marvelled at all those Pooles down the centuries who had accumulated this staggering collection. “I say, Douglas, you won’t mention my ‘sweetheart’ to the other chaps, will you?”  Asked Stephen.

“Of course not,” said Douglas, a little hurt, “We’re friends.  And you’re not going to mention my ‘sword swallowing’ are you?”

“No, of course not.  And I meant what I said about sticking with Chris and Julian.  We won’t let Mingis get near you; I’ll tell them what a beast he’s been, if that’s all right.”

“Just don’t tell them everything, will you?”

Stephen nodded.

Horses were found for all those who wished to ride and they set off through the village.  When they were passing his cottage Stephen said quietly to Douglas that that’s where he lived.  They headed in the direction of Pendleton, taking a short cut across the downs where the horses could gallop.  Then they were back on a path through a wood where Miss Vane-Gillingham dropped back to trot alongside Stephen.

“You’re not really from Western Australia at all, are you Mr Knight?” she said, smiling.

“I’m sorry Miss Vane-Gillingham I lied to you—well—to everybody, I hope you’ll forgive me. In fact this is where I’m from and when I met you that was my first time in London and my first time in evening clothes.   I was terrified.   I do apologise.   Please say you will forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.  Evening clothes suit you very well and your background only makes you more interesting.  My friend Mrs Buckweet still mentions you from time to time. You made quite an impression.”

“How is she?”

“Oh, I think she finds it tiresome living on the Piccadilly Line in the Brompton Road.  We both hope that we will see more of you when you come up to London, Mr Knight.”

“I hope so too.  I have already enrolled in dancing lessons in Blandford Forum you will be relieved to know, so I don’t crush the ladies.”

“Oh Mr Knight, but you crush them already,” she said with a smile as she cantered up to Miss Webster who was calling her.

At Pendleton they stopped at the inn and the publican had drinks brought outside so that the ladies would not have to enter the taproom.

They returned in time to change for lunch, which Chilvers and Mrs Capstick had arranged beautifully in the little-used Spanish Room, which was designed by Barry using Venetian tooled leather for the walls, enlivened with gilding.  The ceiling was copied from the Ca’ Pisani also in Venice and on the walls hung paintings by Velasquez and Zurbaran. The Plunger was particularly impressed and regretted his defection from Rome.

There was no soup, but the party, which had been supplemented by the Destrombes and Miss Tadrew, began with oysters a la Russe followed by chicken Lyonaisse.  The roast was lamb with mint sauce.  A fois gras was followed by Waldorf pudding.  At one point Martin caught the attention of the party.  “On behalf of my brother and I, I have an announcement to make.” The guest looked expectantly at him. “William has expressed a wish to adopt my friend Mr Knight as his ward and Stephen has done our family the honour of accepting the offer.  Might I add that he did so, if I may say Stephen, after much persuasion and carefully considering those people such as his stepfather, Mr Knight, Miss Tadrew and the late Miss Tapstowe who were very real parents to him.  Welcome to the Pooles, Stephen.”  There was a general murmur of approval and Antony Vane-Gillingham rose and shook Stephen’s hand.  Miss Tadrew was in tears and Stephen was comforting her while Aunt Maud came across and kissed Stephen.  Then it became a race for the other ladies to kiss Stephen as well.  When he arose his eyes were red-rimmed and he declined to say anything.  Martin gave him a hug.

The tennis court was in use all the afternoon by those who were not sleeping.  Douglas was proving himself a good player and The Plunger was his equal.  Tea was served on the terrace at 4 o’clock and Miss Webster begged Stephen to walk her down to the lake so she could see the golden carp and the lawn, being rather soft and steep, it necessitated taking Stephen’s arm, which she said was so strong that she now felt perfectly steady.

There was another splendid dinner in the gothic dining room and when the ladies had withdrawn Sachs took Martin and Stephen aside and discussed business matters.  He believed there was an American buyer for Scotland who would take it furnished and the family’s personal effects would be sent south.  The sum asked was staggeringly large, thought Martin.  Sachs was pleased that the largest portion of the money would be used for investment.  “I’d like a portion set aside for modernising the dairy farm, said Stephen, but not yet, I will have to see who will run it.  Tidpit is an old man,” he said to Martin, “but I am pinning my hope on his son.”

“Are you ready for the first bathrooms, Stephen?” Asked Sachs.

“Not quite.  I have to speak to Blake about getting builders, but soon.”

“There would still be some thousands of pounds left, said Sachs, what do you propose to do with it?”

“I’d like to have the electric light at Croome,” said Martin suddenly, “Could we afford that?

Sachs and Stephen looked at each other in surprise.  “Possibly.  We could do part of the house at least.  We’d have to have a dynamo,” said Stephen.  “That’s very progressive of you, your lordship,” he teased.  Martin blushed.

“I also have another idea for the estate; it’s to do with the horses.” Stephen continued.

“Oh don’t tell me you want to replace them with tractors and motors?” complained Martin.

“No, I want to have more horses.  O’Brien is an expert stud master.  Why don’t we breed horses?  I don’t mean racehorses, but working horses and mules and sell them to the Army Remount, for example?”

“That might be a good idea, Martin,” said Sachs.  “The Army is looking for suppliers.  With all your projects, Mr Blake is going to need some assistance.  Think about it.”

They adjourned to the drawing room in an optimistic mood.  There were no cards that night and Donald was begged to play something lively.  He obliged with some more Turkey-trots and ragtime and there was dancing.  The three girls vied with each other to teach Stephen the latest steps and Stephen begged them not to squabble and made them draw lots.  The girls did not seemed to mind his conceit and Martin, as usual, did much eye rolling.  Mrs Sachs took a turn and the girls danced with Donald as well as with Martin, Daniel and The Plunger.  It was one o’clock when they all went upstairs.

Stephen lay in bed with his arms behind his head.  He didn’t feel like sleeping. “It was a good weekend, wasn’t it Mala?”

“Mmm” said Martin who was trying to sleep snuggled up to Stephen with his nose in his armpits.

“We’ll have a fine time up in town with The Plunger too, won’t we?”

“Mmm”

“I’d like some of that ginger cock too”

“Mmm”

“It’s nice here.  No Douglas tonight.  Martin shifted a little and lazily stroked Stephen’s cock, half asleep.”

“Mala, I am a bit worried.  I think I may have bitten off more than I can chew.  Croome is a lot of responsibility.  I’m still at school.  I sometimes wish your father was here or that William was…”

Martin sat up and opened his eyes. “What’s the matter, Derbs?”

“Well there’s the bathroom project, then there’s the dairy.  I have this idea for the stud farm and the golf links too.  Now you want the electric light—which I think is marvellous.  I feel like my head will burst.  I’m not even seventeen Mala.

“Stephen, I think you’re wonderful.  You’re more of a man than most adults I know.  People follow you.  You’re a born leader.  You know one of the things about being from an old family—about being the lord of the manor—is that you can’t do everything yourself but you can get other people to do things for you.  People will follow the lord if they have faith and respect him. You have to pick your lieutenants, of course.  Delegate, command, Stephen, you will be able to get things done, you’ll see.  I’ll be beside you and show you how we do it and there are others who love you too—but none more than me.” Stephen had now put his arm around Martin.

“Command you say? I should issue commands?”

“You don’t even have to say it milord,” said Martin. “I anticipate your desires.”

*****

The guests departed on Monday morning and the three boys and Chilvers found themselves on the train to London.  Martin, in a burst of democracy, insisted that Chilvers travel with them in the first class carriage and the servant was trying to read ‘The Duke in the Suburbs’ by Edgar Wallace but was continually being interrupted by the excited boys.

“If we have Branksome house opened up more, Chilvers, we will have to have more staff, won’t we?”

“Yes, you lordship,” he said finally closing the volume.

“Do you think Michael could be trained as a butler and could be sent up?”

“I don’t think that would be possible, your lordship.  He is engaged to be married to one of the maids—to Daisy, milord.”

“Michael?” chorused all three in surprise.

“Yes, sir, Michael.  It happed shortly after Daisy’s aunt died and left her a boarding house in Whitby and I believe they will be wed and departed for Yorkshire within the next few months.” The three boys exchanged surprised looks.

“Will we manage without them?” Asked Martin.

“Oh yes, milord, quite easily, even with Rose and Lily leaving.  And if we are to go over to the electric light,” he said lifting an eyebrow, “I’m afraid I heard your lordship discussing it this morning—then we will not need Sarah and Enid whose main work is filling and trimming the lamps, your lordship.  There is William however.  When he recovers fully I believe he will make an excellent valet and maybe even an under butler.”

“But I suppose he will go off and get married too,” put in Stephen.

“Oh no sir, I don’t think there will be any danger of William forming such an attachment sir, he said, with his eyebrow cocked again.”

To be continued... 

Thanks for reading.  If you have any comments or questions, Henry and I would love to hear from you.

Posted: 09/20/13