The Butler's Cottage

INTRODUCTION

I heard a legend about a cottage situated halfway between two neighbouring estates and how it became known as 'The Butler's Cottage'. What follows is about 3,000 words long and I hope you enjoy it.

THE STORY

It was late Friday afternoon at the end of Tom’s first week as Finance Director for the Grenville family estate. Since Monday he had met numerous people who were all part of the team employed to keep what was in effect a substantial business running.

All of the office staff had gone home for the weekend so the old cottage that served as the offices for the estate were quiet. Tom took the chance to catch his breath at the end of a hectic week. Something he had not been able to do properly was to go through the property records on the computer.

On the system were properties with names such as Game Keeper’s Cottage, Old Shop One, Old Shop Two, Dairy Cottage, East Farm, New Farm and The Gatehouse. Everything appeared to be in order and up to date except for one property; Chase Cottage.

The records showed there was a tenant; John Creasey, but no rent recorded or any costs. He put a note in his diary to ask some questions on Monday. He closed up the office and began his drive home.

As he drove over the crest of a hill and out of thick woodlands the valley opened in front of him. On his right was a field of bright yellow rapeseed in full bloom. On his left was a paddock with overgrown grass between the fence and the road.

While he was distracted by the sun catching the yellow in the field, two hundred yards ahead in the thick grass on the left a pheasant decided it was time to cross the road and go foraging in the field opposite. Tom saw it move into the road and in a split second of instinctive reaction, slammed on the brakes. There was a screech. The car was surrounded by a blue acrid smoke. No sickening thump from the front. He looked up from the dashboard just in time to see the pheasant nonchalantly disappear into the field unaware of its narrow escape from oblivion and the shock he had caused to Tom.

Tom parked the car off the road. He stepped out of it into the cooling evening air. A few yards further ahead he saw a cottage. It was weighed down by its greying thatch that looked like it was pulling the brickwork into the ground. Roses in full bloom tumbled over the wall.

A man popped his head over the wall.

“You alright there? Only I heard the brakes and wondered if you’d hit something” the man said.

Tom walked closer to the cottage and answered.

“Thank you. I’m fine. It was a pheasant…didn’t hit it” he replied.

He was close enough to the gate of the cottage to see a wooden sign that in faded paint said “Chase Cottage”.

So, this was it. The mystery property and this must be John Creasey who had disappeared behind the wall and the rose bushes.

Tom was in the office early on Monday morning to start work.

His assistant, Sue, came into his office.

“Good morning Tom. Good weekend? Can I get you a coffee” she asked?

“Thanks for the offer but I already have one. How was your weekend?” Tom asked.

“Busy as usual, helped Sir Richard’s mother at the main house with a charity tea for the church and did some gardening at home” Sue replied.

“I have a bit of a question” he said.

“Go ahead” Sue answered.

“Chase Cottage. Do you know what’s going on there? I was checking through the system and couldn’t see any rental income from the tenant, John Creasey. Have we been receiving rent, but it has been wrongly allocated for the last five years?” Tom enquired.

“Ah, Chase Cottage…..The Butler’s Cottage” Sue replied.

“The Butler’s Cottage?” Tom asked.

“Yes, The Butler’s Cottage. There is a story there” Sue said.

“And, the story is?” Tom asked “I didn’t see a Butler’s Cottage. I know I nearly killed a pheasant outside Chase Cottage on Friday evening and sort of met John Creasey.”

Every family estate Tom had worked for had at least one idiosyncratic property in their portfolios. Something related to wayward family members who had let the side down. Mistresses, alcohol, gambling, illegitimate children or drugs. They all had their stories so he wondered which category Chase Cottage would belong to.

“Only the family can tell it to you. Sir Richard is back tomorrow and no doubt he will mention it in your meeting with him” Sue answered.

“But what is the story?” Tom asked.

“I’m afraid only Sir Richard can say” Sue said as she left his office.

Tom was even more curious.

On Tuesday morning the fine gravel in the car park outside the office was ploughed by the enthusiastic wheels of a Land Rover. It came to a halt outside Tom’s window. Sir Richard got out of it and let two black retrievers out of the back door. They gambolled off into the woods before returning to their owner’s side. Sir Richard and his dogs carried a wave of noise and energy through the building. He and his canine entourage progressed along the hallway greeting everyone in each office as an old friend. Tom’s office was the last one in the corridor. Sir Richard was preceded by the two dogs who sniffed and explored the room as if they were doing a security check ahead of their owner.

“Good morning, Tom” Sir Richard announced as he came into the office “How are you? Have you settled in OK?”

Tom had met Richard a couple of months ago and can clearly remember his thick head of brownie grey hair which thatched his broad forehead. Seeing him again today reinforced that first impression.

“Yes, thank you Sir Richard. Everyone has been very welcoming” Tom replied.

“Good, good. We have a meeting, later don’t we. Oh, and by the way we are not too formal here so just call me Richard. The meeting…elevenish if I remember correctly?” Richard asked.

“Yes, Sir Rich…. I mean, yes Richard” Tom answered.

“Good, good. Come over to the main house with all your papers. That way we can’t be disturbed. See you then. Come on Gimbal…. come on Pegs” Richard called as one of the dogs lifted its head from the waste-paper basket and the other one appeared out from under Tom’s desk thumping its tail against his leg.

Richard left Tom’s office and his progress back to the Land Rover was marked by a receding noise and canine energy along the corridor. The main door to the offices banged shut. Richard’s footsteps and those of his dogs crunched across the gravelled car park. Then the Land Rover ploughed its way back along the driveway.

At ten forty-five Tom bundled his papers into his briefcase and left his office to walk to the main house. From Tom’s research, the house dated back to the sixteenth century. The first Lord Grenville had it built on land gifted from the crown for his exceptional military service on the continent.

Richard met Tom inside the main hall which was adorned with family portraits. He excused himself for a few minutes and left Tom to look around. Gimbal and Pegs followed him at his heels. The oldest portraits were in the ground floor area. These showed each generation in period dress costumes that was becoming of their class and rank in society. There was one portrait that stood out from the others that was next to a lady wearing very formal late Georgian clothes of elegant silk, tight and very low cut. The portrait was of a man, but he was not wearing clothes like the others preserved in the aspic of history oil paint on the canvasses around him. He looked like he was wearing a butler’s uniform. There was something familiar about the butler that he attempted to remember. His train of thought was derailed when Richard returned.

“Bit of a rogues gallery there, Tom” Richard said as he returned to the hall. “That one especially at the bottom of the stairs. The fifth Lord Grenville. Seventeen fifty to eighteen twelve. Served with Wellington in the Peninsula Wars for a while but was dishonourably discharged. Took up gambling and nearly lost the estate. Fortunately, his wife kept things together and here we are today…that’s her above him. She commissioned the painting of the man dressed as a butler next to her.”

Their meeting took place at a big table in the library. Richard answered any questions put by Tom who feverishly wrote down notes.

“Look Tom, no one is expecting you to understand everything immediately. I mean, the family has been here for over four hundred years so missing a couple of details today will not cause much damage” Richard said reassuringly.

There was just the issue of Chase Cottage left outstanding on Tom’s list which Richard had not mentioned

“Richard, what is the story with Chase Cottage?” Tom asked.

“Remember in the hall I mentioned the fifth lord? The gambler? I showed you his portrait, his wife and the butler?” Richard asked Tom.

Dinner had gone on for over two hours. It was time for the toasts which Richard led. After the toasts he suggested that now it was appropriate for the ladies to retire to the music room while the gentlemen retired to the library for port, conversation, and some friendly hands of whist.

“Make sure they stay that way” Lady Grenville told her husband.

The library was dimly lit by candles. The butler lit an extra candle behind each of the four men sitting at the table ready to play cards. He presented a deck of cards to his lordship, served the port and retreated into the flickering shadows.

The four men made good conversation and exchanged gossip while they played a few hands. The butler made sure no glass ever ran dry. Then Grenville proposed they played for small friendly wagers. This ignited his addiction and soon he suggested the stakes should be raised. Two of the players stood up and left the table. They retreated into the darker shadows of the library with their drinks. Only the host, Grenville, and his guest, the Duke of Somerford remained.

The butler appeared from the shadows and replaced the spluttering candles behind the two players. He recharged their glasses with more port.

During the early hands the pot of money moved back and forth across the table following each player’s luck. Then the pot seemed to be spending more time with the Duke of Somerford than with Grenville. Sovereigns neatly stacked in piles of ten formed a protective barrier around his good fortune.

The Duke had played cunningly and shrewdly. His luck was no greater than that of Lord Grenville. He knew Lord Grenville’s addiction and played it like a virtuoso would play a violin. When he knew he had a good hand he pushed the stakes higher knowing his opponent would follow. When he held a weak hand, he would keep the stakes low. That was the orchestrated tune played by a professional and successful gambler. It was one of the reasons he had been able to create one of the largest estates in the country.

Grenville’s addiction was fuelled by the confluence of his ego and large amounts of port. He could not see that the cards and the Duke were working against him. Losses were quickly forgotten. It was always his next hand which he played in his mind that would change his luck.

He had run out of cash to wager and the wall of coins in front of the Duke had become impenetrable. If he could get some more cash, he knew he could start winning and recovering some of his losses before his wife found out. His problem was that the cash was stored behind some panelling in the music room and as his wife was there with the other ladies he could not access it.

“Do you wish to continue Lord Grenville as I see you have no cash?” the Duke asked offering Grenville an escape from his predicament.

“I do sir, I do but I will have to continue with writing promises to pay any losses. Will that be acceptable sir?” Grenville answered.

“It is sir, that it is as I know you are of good standing” the Duke replied.

Play resumed. Grenville’s run of losses continued. He wrote more promises to pay. The Duke could see that Grenville was in serious trouble. Grenville continued to see it as a run of bad luck which would change for the better if he stayed in the game for just another hand. There was no room in that maelstrom of addiction for logic or reality. The Duke could see Grenville was in trouble and asked if he would like to continue.

Grenville could not see the Duke was offering him an escape route with honour. The Duke knew that his opponent would not take any such offer and that as he had lost so much already, he knew exactly what Grenville was going to put on the table. Without hesitation Lord Grenville answered.

“The estate sir, the estate” Grenville declared.

“Sir, what do you mean by the estate?” the Duke asked trying his best in the candlelight to pretend he was surprised by what he knew was going to be offered.

“Exactly what I said sir. I will wager the entire estate on the next hand against all of the cash and promise notes you have on this very table” Grenville answered.

The Duke thought for a few seconds weighing up the possible outcomes as he had been doing with every hand he played. If he lost this hand all that would happen is that the money and the promise notes would return to their original owner. If he won, then he would leave with all the money, the promissory notes and what was even more valuable, the entire Grenville estate making him the largest landowner in the country. It was a very calculated risk worth taking. He had already decided to accept as soon as Lord Grenville made his declaration, but he played him like a hooked salmon being teased out of the water to its inevitable fate.

“Well sir, do you accept?” Grenville asked.

The Duke could hear the quiver of anxiety in Grenville’s voice. He knew Grenville was not thinking clearly and held his breath for a few seconds before answering. He could see Grenville reach for his glass and what could be his last drink as the owner of his estate.

“Sir, I accept your wager” the Duke replied.

The butler stepped from the shadows and filled the Duke’s glass with port as he looked at his hand of cards. The butler saw that the Duke had three tens and a nine. One short of the highest possible count of forty. The Duke had three of the four tens from the deck of cards, he knew without having to look that Lord Grenville’s hand made his position hopeless and the estate would be lost. He still went around behind Lord Grenville to serve the port and saw his four cards. Three nines and a five. A good hand but still a losing hand which meant the estate was going to be lost in a few seconds.

“My God man! What the bloody hell are you doing you bloody fool?” shouted the Duke.

The butler stumbled and put his hands on the card table before collapsing across it. The table-top and then the legs splintered as his full weight bore down on its delicate form. Glasses, their contents, coins, promissory notes and the fate laden cards fell amongst the pieces of broken wood.

The Duke and Lord Grenville looked down from their chairs at the butler who was lying face down on the carpet amongst the wreckage and having trouble breathing. Lady Grenville burst into the room.

“Richard! What is going on here?” she shouted “No, don’t tell me……you’ve been gambling again.”

She didn’t have time to vent her anger at the Duke. Sensing he was about to be the target of her venom over gambling with her husband and not for the first time, he left the room with the two other men who had been watching from the shadows.

Her tone changed when she saw the body of the butler lying on the floor surrounded by the wreckage.

“We must get help!” Lady Grenville said as she knelt beside the butler’s body.

She stood up, grabbed hold of her husband’s sleeve and pushed him out of the library and into the dining room leaving Creasey on the floor.

“Richard! How could you? After everything you promised…. you just cannot help yourself. You fool! You absolute fool! We will discuss this later. I must see how Creasey is.”

Lady Grenville returned to the library. Creasey was standing looking into the fire. The bits of paper Lord Grenville had written his promises on were burning.

“They have all been burnt your ladyship and all the money is here on the mantlepiece” Creasey whispered to her.

She embraced Creasey who held her tightly. She whispered to him “Thank you, thank you Creasey…. I just don’t know how to thank you?”

“Was Creasey really taken ill that night?” Tom asked.

There was silence in the library for a few seconds which Tom wanted to fill.

“Without Creasey…………. shall we leave it at that Tom?” Richard said as he stood up and hurriedly left the room with Gimbal and Pegs in his wake.

As Tom left the house, he took looked again at the portrait of the butler. He didn’t see the uniform but instead saw a broad forehead thatched with brownie grey hair.