As they made the turn into the alley, Shackleford said, “It’s been half a century since I put that damned thing on. It feels odd not to have it. I still feel like it’s there.”
“I felt the same way when I got rid of my dog tags, sir.” Roger made the turn into the tarmac behind the house. “Although they were lighter than this.”
“Is it still shrinking?”
“I don’t know, sir. I can’t tell if it’s shrinking or if I’m just getting used to it.” He pulled up to the back door and parked. By the time he got around the car, Fidelia and Barbara stood in the doorway so when Shackleford stepped out he got the full blast of happy smiling women.
“What’s all this?” Shackleford said, a smile breaking out on his craggy face like dawn on a rock-bound coast. “Delia? Barbara? What are you doing here?”
“Where else would I be, Joseph?” Delia asked.
“Don’t you have a safari or something to do?”
Delia shook her head. “Wrong season. I’ve got a trek planned for the Gobi Desert in a month, but I don’t have to be in Ulaanbaatar for a few weeks yet.”
Barbara looked at her, jaw dropping a little. “Really? Outer Mongolia?”
“Why not? I’ve some friends who trek the Dzungarian Basin every year. I’ll be joining them for their annual pilgrimage.”
Shackleford still stood, one hand on the car door, staring at Barbara. “I didn’t expect to see you either. What are you doing here?”
Barbara shrugged. “I talked with Delia and she said it would be all right for me to come back for a while. I don’t have to stay—”
“No,” Shackleford said. “No, it’s not just all right. It’s wonderful. I had no idea you’d even consider it. Let’s get inside where I can sit.”
Fidelia took him by the arm and walked him into the house, leaving Roger to get the bag from the trunk.
“Is he really all right?” Barbara asked as Roger placed the bag inside the back door.
“The doctors don’t know what caused it. He’s had the normal reactions to cardiac arrest, but they can’t see anything beyond an old, relatively healthy heart.”
“No,” she said, glancing at his chest. “Delia said you took the amulet.” She looked up at him.
“I did.”
She stared at him for several long moments. “Are you all right?”
“As far as I can tell, I’m suffering no ill effects from it, Miss Barbara.”
She gave a small nod. “What will you do now?”
“Put the car away and begin preparing luncheon,” Roger said.
She laughed. “No, I mean, now. He’s not in danger anymore. Will you stay on as butler?”
The question caught Roger flat-footed. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“From what Delia said, his niece isn’t going to pay you anymore.”
Roger shrugged. “We have an enforceable contract. If she reneges, she’ll be paying me double.”
“Wait. What?”
“When she hired me, I had a friend help me rewrite the contract. It was a dumb contract and I think she knew it. We made some changes to list specific duties and responsibilities. We also added a default clause so that each party paid a penalty if they breached the contract. If I failed to hold the position for the year, I owed them all the money I’d earned on the job.”
“Ouch,” she said.
Roger nodded. “But if they breach, they owe me double.”
“So they’d owe you two years of salary?”
“And two million dollars,” Roger said.
Her jaw dropped. “You’re getting a million dollars?”
“My completion bonus. If I serve as butler for a year, they owe me a million. Why on earth would I quit now?” He smiled. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Barbara? I need to put the car away and begin luncheon.”
She picked her jaw up with a snap and a nod. “Of course, Mulligan. Carry on.”
Roger gave her his best Jeeves bow and set about carrying on.
Chapter 22
Roger pulled the car up to the front of the hotel’s convention center doors, taking his place in a line of limousines picking up the well-dressed and bejeweled crowd. Whatever magic they used to line up the guests and cars seemed to be working. He spotted Shackleford with Fidelia on his arm and Barbara at his side waiting in the portico for their turn at the curb.
He pulled up and a hotel doorman opened the passenger door.
“Shotgun,” Barbara said, standing back a bit while Shackleford handed Fidelia into the back and slid in alongside her.
The doorman closed their door and then opened the front for Barbara. “Have a good evening, Miss. Thank you for coming,” he said.
She gathered the skirts of her gown and slid in beside Roger, tucking her feet in to clear the door before it closed.
Roger rolled the car out of the way while giving everybody a chance to buckle up, then pulled out of the entry, joining the line at the parking lot exit.
Fidelia leaned a little forward to speak to Barbara. “Did you have a good time, my dear?”
Barbara’s laugh filled the car. “Oh, my. You have no idea.”
“Young Carton seemed quite taken with you,” Shackleton said.
Barbara shrugged. “He seemed more taken with himself, I thought.”
Fidelia snorted. “And here I thought you couldn’t read talented people.”
“Did I miss something, Delia?” Shackleford asked.
“No, Joseph. Let’s just say, Sheldon Carton may be nearly forty but he needs to outgrow being a frat boy.”
Shackleford chuckled. “Fair. I think I was probably closer to sixty myself.”
In the rearview mirror, Roger saw Fidelia kiss Shackleford’s cheek. “You were never a frat boy, Joseph.”
“Thank you,” Shackleford said. “I think.”
“Who did you find most interesting tonight, my dear?” Fidelia asked. “Your first time in the big pool as it were.”
Barbara sat back in her seat, looking out the passenger window for a moment before turning back to look at her. “They all seemed so earnest.”
“Earnest?” Fidelia asked.
“Yes, as if they had something to prove to the new kid. The men in particular but even the women. I had the distinct impression that the claws were sheathed but that I needed to watch my step.”
Shackleford laughed. “Perspicacious of you. There’s always a bit of jockeying for position when you get more than three talented people in a room.”
“You know who seemed most interesting?” Barbara asked, after a moment.
“Do tell, my dear.”
“The Staggs. Jonas and Cecelia?”
Fidelia grinned. “Cecily. Why them? I’d have thought you’d have found more in common with some of the younger talents.”
“I don’t know,” Barbara said, gazing out the side window again. “Chemistry, perhaps. That and they weren’t trying to be interesting.”
Fidelia gave a short chuckle. “Well, you were the belle of the ball this year, my dear. The woman of mystery who appeared beside the most reclusive talent in a decade.”
“Oh, don’t tease the girl, Delia,” Shackleford said. “Your sponsorship to the club, as it were, was at least as intriguing as showing up with me.”
“Hm. Perhaps,” Delia said. “Perhaps.”
“Now that the Fête is behind us,” Shackleford said. “What are your plans?” He nudged the back of Barbara’s seat.
“Who, me?” she asked, turning to look back between the seats.
“Yes, you. Delia’s off to Ulaanbaatar in a couple of days. What about you?”
Barbara sighed and looked around the car at each of them in turn. “Would you think it terribly ungrateful of me if I went back to being Madame Dionysia for a time?”
“Not at all,” Shackleford said. “Not at all. As long as you know you have a home with us at Shackleford House whenever you want it.”
“Thank you, Joseph,” she said, blinking and looking out at t
he cityscape as they wound their way back into town.
“What about the bed and breakfast?” Fidelia asked.
Barbara looked at Roger and smiled. “That was Mulligan’s idea. I think it’s a good one, but none of you need me underfoot for that.”
Roger glanced at her. “You are always welcome, Miss Barbara.”
“Thank you, Mulligan,” she said, settling back into her seat.
The remainder of the drive passed in quiet contemplation until Roger pulled up to the back door of the house and shut off the car.
He walked around to open the door for Shackleford and Fidelia before opening the door for Barbara. “Here we are, Miss.”
“Age before beauty,” Shackleford said, smiling at her.
They stood there in the chill of the early spring night, looking up at the house.
“This will be yours one day, you know,” Fidelia said.
Barbara looked up at it and nodded, before casting a smile at Shackleford. “Not for a long while yet, I hope.”
Shackleford smiled back, a bit sadly. “Sooner rather than later, I fear.”
Fidelia took his arm and nodded at the door. “Don’t get maudlin on us, you old fool. Open the door before we catch our deaths out here.”
Shackleford cleared his throat and nodded. The door popped off its latch as Roger went back to the car to settle it in the garage.
He came out to find Shackleford waiting for him at the back door. “What about you, Mulligan?” the old man asked.
“Sir?”
“What are your plans?”
“I need to make sure you’re all settled for the night, sir. I think the pixies need a bit of libation given the last few days of excitement.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, my boy. Don’t play the fool.”
Roger nodded. “I have a few more months of my contract with your niece. If she pays off as she should, I’ll need an investment advisor to shelter some of that windfall from the government. If she doesn’t, I’ll need a lawyer.”
“Fair enough. Then what?” The old man tilted his head to one side, his eyes shining behind his spectacles from the light above the back door.
“Then I’ll have to see if Shackleford House still needs me, sir.”
Shackleford smiled at that and nodded a couple of times. He patted Roger on the arm and turned to the house. “Good man, Mulligan. Good man.”
He disappeared into the house, leaving Roger to stand on the back stoop looking up at the city-washed sky above for a moment. A feeling of contentment settled on him as he listened to the night traffic on the streets around him and the occasional rustle of the still-bare limbs of the two oaks in the back. He nodded to himself and entered the door, closing and locking it securely. He followed the sound of voices up the stairs and into the library. “Might I offer a nightcap, anyone?” he asked.
“Nothing for me, Mulligan,” Shackleford said. “I’m for bed. I don’t remember the last time I stayed out so late. My old bones need to stretch out. Ladies?”
“Nothing for me,” Barbara said. “I need to get out of these shoes and put on some real clothes. Storybook princess is fun but I’m about to turn into a pumpkin, I think.” She stopped to kiss Shackleford on the cheek and give Fidelia a hug. “Thank you both for this evening. It was magical.” She grinned. “Not that way.”
“Good night, my dears,” Fidelia said, as Shackleford followed Barbara out of the library.
“May I get you something, ma’am?” Roger asked.
Fidelia shook her head and blessed him with her smile. “I just wanted to say thank you, Mulligan. Not just for—” She nodded at his chest and the amulet hidden under his shirt. “That was above and beyond,” she said. “But for being here for Joseph when he needed it. For staying when others might have run.”
Roger gave her a small bow. “It has been my pleasure, ma’am.” He paused for a moment. “To be honest, I think I needed him as much as he needed me.”
Her smile warmed and she crossed to give him a peck on the cheek. “It’s not proper, I know,” she said. “But thank you, Mulligan.”
“You’re quite welcome, ma’am.”
She sailed from the library and headed down the hallway toward her room, leaving the door open.
Roger made a quick pass, collecting the glasses and straightening the pillows before taking the tray of dishes down to the kitchen and placing them in the dishwasher. He still needed to make a turn around the house to shut off the lights and make sure the house was secure, but he took down a saucer and placed it on the counter. The pixies had earned their whiskey.
He might even join them.
About the Author
Nathan Lowell has been a writer for more than forty years, and first entered the literary world by podcasting his novels. His science-fiction series, Trader’s Tales From The Golden Age of the Solar Clipper, grew from his long time fascination with space opera and his own experiences shipboard in the United States Coast Guard. Unlike most works which focus on a larger-than-life hero (prophesied savior, charismatic captain, or exiled prince), Nathan centers on the people behind the scenes—ordinary men and women trying to make a living in the depths of space. In his novels, there are no bug-eyed monsters, or galactic space battles, instead he paints a richly vivid and realistic world where the “hero” uses hard work and his own innate talents to improve his station and the lives of those of his community.
Dr. Nathan Lowell holds a Ph.D. in Educational Technology with specializations in Distance Education and Instructional Design. He also holds an M.A. in Educational Technology and a BS in Business Administration with a minor in marketing. He grew up on the south coast of Maine and is strongly rooted in the maritime heritage of the sea-farer. He served in the USCG from 1970 to 1975, seeing duty aboard a cutter on hurricane patrol in the North Atlantic and at a communications station in Kodiak, Alaska.
He currently lives in the plains east of the Rocky Mountains with his wife and two daughters.
Read more at Nathan Lowell’s site.
Books in the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper Series
Trader Tales
Quarter Share
Half Share
Full Share
Double Share
Captain’s Share
Owner’s Share
Seeker's Tales
In Ashes Born
To Fire Called
By Darkness Forged
Shaman Tales
South Coast
Cape Grace
Troy Harbor*
Fantasy by Nathan Lowell
Ravenwood
Zypheria’s Call
The Hermit of Lammas Wood
The Wizard's Butler
* Forthcoming
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