Maid in Buttermilk

I suppose this all belongs over at Fiction Chickens, but nobody reads that - so it feels unsatisfying in a way, you know, to leave it over there, alone.
Where it is now it is a whole lot more safe, a whole lot more loved and appreciated, you will all scroll past it looking for pix of my beautiful sister! That is something, at least that is better than nothing.

In a little dip between the fields lay a brick house. It was surrounded by blooming roses, purple and white lilac and some little scarlet begonias, all this foliage, the fuzzed, uncut lawn and the house were confined by a low stone fence. A warm June sun embraced this ripe summer afternoon and covered the landscape like golden drapes. The brick house was what by size I assume you’d call a small villa, or a minuscule mansion, because it was quite a pleasurable rust red size to it. You could tell from outside that most of the wobbly old windows had white lace curtains on the inside, and traditional, clean shutters neatly bolted on to the exteriority. All in all it was a very delicious countryside home, all heartily and delicately luscious.

The toffee-sweet village of Buttermilk was not far away from this brick mansion, a rickety road was paved from the brick house and all the way there - and even further, as far as Thistleshire.

The lord living in the brick house was a jolly, excited man, round as a peach and most of the time quite well-dressed. He was the lord of buttermilk and also a slightly messy person. Now and then he would let things lie around, just carefully thrown about, in the office wading knee-deep in papers, in the kitchen to his hip in gravy and potato-peel. The greenhouse was filled to the very brim with gardening tools, and he couldn't ever remember whether he'd ever seen the floor in there.

Despite being a... er.. untidy person, the Lord was extremely punctual, and though he was the one and only lord of Buttermilk - he had a hard time replacing his rapidly emigrating maids. They came and went faster than his watch, and trying to make them stay was not short of being as hopeless as to endeavour to drink light.

This June, Lord Buttermilk had two visitors in his brick house. They were Sir Jarvis Diggory Clarcy of Pea and his son, Edward Clarcy. The two of them resided in two of the several guestrooms, partly away from the Lord's outrageous mess. The Lord had in fact, attempted, though poorly, at cleaning the house, but the moment he started tidying he had to make a further mess to put the things in the right place again.

To help them keep away from the unflattering chaos of the house, in the lack of a maid, the Lord had hired a part-Norwegian butler named Geir. The name apparently, had proven to be way too difficult - so the Lord had decided to rename him Giles. Mr. Giles was a tall, silent man, he looked good in a suit and made little fuss about himself- therefore he was perfectly suited to be a butler. He would pour the gentlemen tea in the garden, fluff the pillows on their rickety garden chairs, and he made a quite nice omelette too.

The need for a maid, obviously apparent in all the mayhem of the mansion - became even more obvious as Sir Jarvis Diggory Clarcy of Pea announced his wife was coming to visit by late August. It had been so hot in the city, and she quite enjoyed the silence and comfort of the countryside, especially in August.

As Sir Clarcy of Pea had made this known, Lord of Buttermilk went double-cream pale, and stared silently into his cup of tea. His short legs couldn't reach the grass from the decaying chair he was balancing on, and once again he tried to resist the urge of dangling his polished shoes. -"I do suppose that means I have to do something about the raging hodgepodge inside the house!" Lord of Buttermilk said, he didn't sound thrilled at the idea. Edward Clarcy was currently visiting the town of Thistleshire because of business, so the only one sitting near the Lord of Buttermilk was Sir Clarcy of Pea himself. All he did was to chuckle, and he grinned at the Lord of Buttermilk; -"Clearing the turmoil will do you nothing but well anyway, Ainsley". And he leant back in his stick chair, closing his eyes.

-“There’s a letter for you, sir” Giles said, and he placed a silver tray with an envelope on it on the garden table. He then removed the plate with biscuit crumbles, and poured both the gentlemen a new helping of tea. “Oh, that reminds me, sir…” he said, trying to get the Lord of Buttermilk to open his closed eyes. “…I am quite sure I saw a bit of the surface on the kitchen table, but I am still working on it. Oh, and I found this… ‘globus’” he said, and held up an earth globe “… in the fridge, do you have any preferences of where I should ‘stappe’ it?” The Lord finally opened his eyes, the sunlight forced him to squint at the butler, and he held up a hand to shade his face. -“Erhm, you could put it, hmm, how about the library?” he suggested dimly, and was still suffering from black spots in his vision. The butler merely just nodded at his response and then disappeared.

The little, round Lord proceeded to open the letter, and he looked over at Sir Clarcy of Pea. “Should I read it out loud, so you can hear it too, Jarvis?” Lord of Buttermilk asked, Sir Clarcy of Pea nodded gratefully from his garden chair. Around them in the blossoming garden, the birds were singing confusingly in the lilac. Lord Buttermilk cleansed his throat and started to read from the stiff yellowish paper.


Anonymous said...

Jammen.... mere da???
Tante Bister

Smylexx said...

Wait!! It CAN'T end there!!

What was the letter? Was it a letter from Tufty, the 70's road-safety squirrel?

Was it a shopping list sent by the mice that lived in the messy shed?

Perhaps it was an invite to the Annual Fish and Goose Soirée from Lady Zara Jamoleena Puddleduck who lived in the town of MaltyFudge-On-Sea (about an hour away from Buttermilk).

We have a right to know!!

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