Mind Your Manors

Part 2 - Farce

"The stuff of clever capers doomed to fail
whilst blundering escapades stumble on success."

Chapter Six

Mind Your Table, Manors

Oboe entered his quarters. His keen eye took note of a letter prominently displayed on the mantel. The envelope had been stabbed through its center using the letter opener he'd admired earlier that day, with the rest of blade driven deep into a large candle. The impression was alarming to Oboe, and made all the more so as he approached, further noting red drops of blood inked onto the envelope just below the blade's point of entry. No other markings were present on the face of the letter. As Oboe's trembling hand reached for it, so too, did his wobbly eye begin to jiggle in its socket.

The letter read:

Dear Tramp,

Nothing has changed.

Sincerely,

Oboe let the letter fall into the smoldering embers of the hearth. He watched it ignite and burn. Staring into the glow, his thoughts turned on options: Slip away in the middle of the night, or, stay and play and see what comes of it. The first option would limit the gain to whatever is easily plundered—a booby prize of sorts. The second, could potentially land a much grander prize. But in order to succeed, a level of risk would have to be assumed. The risk being that someone, here, in this household, had not been duped. Which begs the question: Is this "someone" dangerous in the corporal sense, or perhaps, in some other way? A way that would not necessarily cause bodily harm, should be manageable. On the other hand, a knife in the back would hardly be worth the prize. In the final analysis, yes, the presentation of the letter is disconcerting, but the content does not overtly reflect a malicious intent—the words are nonthreatening. Oboe decided he would stay. Someone was expected to take charge of this estate. And, so long as the opportunity was ripe, it might has well be he.

A cursory orientation of the manor ensued as Oboe found his way to the kitchens, led by the savory smells of the evening meal. He entered to find the cooks hovering over pots and pans, thoughtfully stirring and sampling to adjust for taste. Marlyse busied herself loading dishware and cutlery onto a cart. No one had noticed him come in.

Alfonso was first to catch his eye and offer a hearty greeting. "Hola, Señor Oboe!" The Spaniard put down his knife and beckoned him over. "Welcome, señor, welcome to our place of work. Please, let me introduce you. Everybody, this is our new steward, Señor Oboe."

"Good evening. Hello everyone," said Oboe, approaching. "Now then, the enchanting Maid Marliemon, I've met already,"—winking at Marlyse—"as well as this perfect gentleman,"—nodding to Alfonso—"so, that leaves you three industrious individuals."

The saucier, bubbling with excitement, hardly able to contain herself, stepped forward and said, "I am a sous-chef, Lisa. I make a gravy, the sauce and a soup and all these kinda things and I am a so happy to meet you! Sorry I—I ..."

Oboe grinned and took her hand in his, saying, "Dear Lisa, never apologize for exuberant displays of happiness. If it rubs off on those around you, so much the better. I, too, am very delighted to make your acquaintance." Letting go her hand, Oboe turned to Chin and inquired, "And to whom do I have the pleasure of meeting next?"

"Sous-chef number three, Chin," said Chin. His eyes, magnified through the thick lenses of his spectacles, studied Oboe's wobbly orb.

"Well, Mr. Sous-Chef-Number-Three-Chin, pleasure to meet you." Noting Chin was continuing to scrutinize his wonky eyeball, Oboe asked, "Does my wandering eye upset you?"