Maid in Buttermilk II

Part I

The plump little Lord's voice filled the garden as he read steadily to Sir Clarcy of Pea:

Dear Lord Ainsley of Buttermilk
I am writing due to your solitary ad concering an open position
for a maid in Doffle Daffodil Weekly the 1st of June.
If this position is already taken, I regret to have been wasting
your time and wish to apologize profoundly for this.
If, though, incidently, the spare room for a maid is still not
taken, or any vacant position in your household is in fact,
unattended - I wish to show my most ecstatic enthusiasm.
I am a mother of two little girls and live in east ToffeeMuffin,
very close to your respected residence. My family have been
servants for the past six generations, serving everyone as far
up as her Majesty the Queen™ herself. I have been the maid
of Colonel Biscuit- may he rest in peace, cleaning and cooking
for him and his pleasant wife, God bless her, for the past
thirteen years, until they both passed away a few months ago.
My husband left me as a widow shortly before the birth of my
second child, and as a result of this I have to find a way to
provide me and my family of the necessities. I am extremely
realiable, thorough, quiet and skilled in my trade, there is
absolutely nothing within a home I will find impossible or
difficult to do, I have been trained by the very best.
Hope to hear from you as soon as possible.
I will be available to start with immediate action after your
Oki Iola Isles
PS. I make the most deliciously naughty Imam Bayildi's.

As the Lord finished his read, he just sat with the letter in his hands, looking oddly around in his generous garden. The birds were still making peeping sounds from within the lilac, hopping delightfully from one branch to the other. His eye caught the old fountain, now being raped by a giant, heavy and quite grand rhododendron, covering not just the fountain, but also major parts of the scrummy lawn. Sir Jarvis Diggory Clarcy of Pea was snoring pleasantly in the chair beside him, now and then his nostrils pulsating with a high-pitched whistle. The Lord of Buttermilk sighed, smiling blissfully in the June silence, thanking whatever of higher beings that had blessed him with this letter.

He immediatly proceeded to holler for Giles, inappropriately ignoring Sir Jarvis's unpleasant awakening, even his dissatisfied hiccup as a result of his jump in between two snores. Sir Jarvis gave the Lord a disgruntled stare as he in his surprise had landed belly up on the lawn, his garden chair and pillows spread around him. The Lord of Buttermilk was way to expectant to take notice of this, and rather asked the butler loudly if he could bring an encyclopedia, some paper, a pen, his hat, some stamps and some more tea for Sir Jarvis. A moment of distorted silence followed, Sir Jarvis got on his feet and with his hands he straightened the creases on his tweed suit, he put the chair back on its four wobbly feet and fluffed the pillows back into it before sitting down in it again. When Sir Jarvis was done moving about, the two of them merely sat there in mellow muteness, listening to the racket of things being moved about in the kitchen before Giles appearing in the backdoor.

Giles was balancing a teapot, a plate of raspberry tarts, a grey hat, a case with filt pens, a sheet with faded stamps, a few pieces of paper and a stack of envelopes on top of a very heavy encyclopedia. Determined, but careful he made his way past the sprouts in the kitchen garden, following the randomly paved cobblestone path across the unkept lawn to the sunny fleck on which the Lord and the Sir were sitting in a quiet anticipating state of apathy. Sir Jarvis helped the butler unload the pile of things on to the table and the Lord of Buttermilk immediately seized the encyclopedia, turning pages like mad. Giles emptied their cold tea on the bushes beside them, refilling the china with some freshly made tea, little threads of smoke dancing in the sunlight. Sir Jarvis helped himself to some raspberry tart while reading the letter that the Lord had shoved in to his hands.

After refitting the minuscule garden table by taking out all the dirty dishes and placing out the pens and paper, fluffing the lord's pillows patiently with one hand, Giles asked to be excused. "Hold on just a second Giles" Lord of Buttermilk replied, his nose still furiously caught in the encyclopedia. -"It is nearly teatime milord, would you like me to make you some 'omelett' before supper? I bought some very pleasant 'skinke'... er.. ham for the occasio.." he was interrupted mid-sentence by a an exctited -"Aha!" coming from his master. "Imam Bayildi -" Lord of Buttermilk said interested "A Turkish dish of stuffed aubergines, with the name translating roughly as 'the imam fainted'. I see, interesting. We like aubergines, don't we?" he said, for the first time getting the two others involved -"I suppose, sir, but what about the 'skinke'?" Giles retorted, apparently not really replying to the question. Sir Jarvis had just had time to nod confusingly at both the others as Lord Buttermilk waved Giles into the kitchen with an inpatient -"Yes, yes, make some of your 'omelett'".

With consummate enthusiasm the Lord started writing a reply, once in a while licking his lips and squinting into the sunlight, murmuring to himself. Sir Jarvis sat meaninglessly in his crooked chair, looking at the insects spur around as little specks of gold in the low sun, the shtick little birds still singing idiosyncratic.


Smylexx said...

If the lord had consulted his Smyclopedia instead of his Encylopedia, his problems whould all be solved by now.

Anonymous said...

You know.. I can almost smell the flowers.
At last we can find out what`s happening... more Tora, more..

Tante Bister.

Back to Top