Mind Your Manors

Part 3 - Allegory

"Secrets hidden between lines; the deeper meaning behind words—a piece of life's puzzle."

Chapter Sixteen

Steering Clear

The meeting was scheduled for nine o'clock—sharp. It was quarter to the hour. Rohbair stood before a full-length mirror appraising his appearance. Clean-shaven and dressed in his best, he fancied he looked quite the dandy. He had Marlyse to thank for pressing his morning coat—or cutaway, as the Yanks liked to call it. Aside from a down-in-mouth period around Christmas, Maid Marlyse was proving to be a gem. She never faltered in her enthusiasm, and never failed to regard the future in anything but the most optimistic light. Her bright smile shined like a beacon of hope. In fact, if not for her suggestion, the general meeting this evening would never have occurred. Marlyse had been rather astute in her reasoning. She surmised that the disgruntled population of the estate would embrace a forum in which they could voice their concerns. Certainly, after the holiday season's "festivities".

Rohbair threw a few more logs on the fire. He knew if he wasn't away too long there might yet be embers with which to rekindle a blaze upon his return. The nights had been cold of late, and the warmth from the hearth proved a welcome enticement. Rohbair checked the time. He pulled on his frock coat, lit a lantern, and left.

The hallway was dark, cold, and empty, the windowpanes, frosted over, and yet Rohbair marched with a lively sense of purpose, undaunted by the stark surrounds. His heart beat to the rhythm of the charge. He was going into battle—a warrior, powerful and confident, ready to tear all opposition asunder; to rip discord from the very gullet of its source. No one would be permitted to dethrone him, nor move him from his aim.

The drawing-room. The drawing-room. The drawing-room. The words, like a mantra, drove the butler in the right direction. If there was one thing he'd learned from his last call to meeting it was this: To chair a meeting, one had not only to study the material to be presented, one must also draw upon every resource to actually show up at the appointed venue.

The door had been left open and a flood of golden light spread into the hallway. As he approached, Rohbair could hear the murmur of voices from within. He halted just outside. He took a breath, mustered his resolve, and then crossed the threshold.

Upon entering, the butler saw most everyone had turned out. All except the doctor and Yuno were present, and were now milling about or comfortably seated. Dr. Dare could be excused, of course, since he was not part of the problem. If anything, he stood as an unswerving proponent of positive change. And besides, wasn't it he who drafted the rather effective "invitations" to attend this evening's meeting? The man certainly had a knack for knocking off notes designed to incite action. As for Yuno ... well, what's to be said about Yuno? Sometimes he's there, sometimes he's not.

Rohbair cut through to the front of the room like a strict headmaster about to commence instruction. He removed his coat and hung it on a rack. His movements were brisk and efficient. Turning to his audience, he gave a sharp tug on his waistcoat and stepped to the lectern, which, if truth be told, was actually just a music stand. Rohbair picked up the drumstick he intended to use as a lecturer's pointer. He tapped it on the edge of the stand to call everyone's attention. Voices settled. But not before a rude and derisive flatulent-sounding utterance erupted from their midst. A few disapproving glances pointed to Ernie 'Lad' O'Boyo as the culprit. Bob ignored it. Chin didn't—he burst out laughing. Ernie grinned and made the fart-sound again for Chin's benefit. The hysterical laughter consuming the sous-chef terminated abruptly, interrupted by a loud report, not unlike a gunshot going off in a small room. Yuno, who had just entered, had slammed the door behind him.