Linksfield

1- Arrival

"Yes, Jonathan Boys, but people generally call me Jack."

"People?"

I smirked. "I do know some, Sir. Good friends in fact."

He smiled for the briefest of seconds. "I will be addressed as Sir."

"As you wish." He'd clearly been ignoring the several times I'd already called him so. I sighed. My arms were aching from carrying the suitcase from the station and then up the stairs. "Sir, may I have permission to put down my bag?"

"You may take it to your room and once you're settled, I'd like to see you in my study."

"Your study?"

He gave me an exasperated sigh as though I ought to know everything already by some kind of divine power.

"Go downstairs, find young Doris to show you around and then join me in the study."

I clenched my teeth. "Very well, Sir."

Two bags full Sir, anything else Sir? I left his side and resumed my task of seeing to my room and making the long trip down to my own people who lived and breathed below stairs.

...

The Servants Hall was like any other I'd seen over the years—simple and plain with more personality in its people than its décor. Around the wooden kitchen table, the few servants were ready for a brief lunch and so I crept in slowly, not keen to disturb them.

"Only me everyone, the new servant, don't get up," I said, pulling out a chair.

The cook, Mrs. Orwell—an unusually slim women for a cook—with scraggily grey hair, pulled me down onto the chair and practically force-fed me sandwiches whilst in turn the other servants introduced themselves. There was Mary the ladies' maid to Clement's mother, known as Boyle to the employers. There was Frank, the young footman who'd answered the door and who always had his head in a book. He was far too academic and bright for this work but fortune had seen fit to place him in lower society where his talents were wasted. Finally, there was Doris. She was lovely. A clever and kind young lady, always helpful and ready to lend a hand. All in all, it was a small household, a cheerful bunch of people, and I knew that this is what would keep me going for the many days, weeks, months or years I found myself at Linksfield.

"What's he like?" I finally said as I gulped down a refreshing cup of strong black tea.

"Who?" Mary said, nibbling a piece of toast like a mouse. "Oh, you mean the master? Keeps himself to himself mostly. He has these moods, you see. His mother, she's the outgoing one. She'll be at a party, he won't. He's not an easy egg to crack. One of those mysterious types. You've got your work cut out for you and no mistake."

"What happened to the last fellow?"

They all glanced at one another and there was sudden quiet as if a witch had cast a spell across the entire household, forcing them into silence. They stayed still for several moments.

"What is it?" I asked.

I was dying to know. I'd known every bit of gossip at my last place. I'd always felt it was a servant's right to know every piece of information about his employers, that way if I had to, I could use it against them. Only if I had to mind, I took no satisfaction from blackmail.

"They say he went to Ireland to see his sister," Doris said, whispering. She glanced behind her toward the kitchen door.

"Say?"

"No one never saw him leave."

There was little way to reply to such a mysterious statement except with a laugh. I leaned forward and let out a smile. "And you think he murdered him?"