Page 15 of Lady Liar (A Series of Senseless Complications #5)
Upon reflection, it had turned out to be not at all necessary to meddle with the springs on Lord Thorpe’s carriage.
As well, it had caused a delay in that couple’s setting off for their wedding trip when the carriage collapsed in front of their house.
So that had been regrettable. Fortunately, that was all water under the bridge now.
Mrs. Right made her way down to the kitchens to arrange for a tea tray to be sent up to her weeping girls.
At least Valor was not involved in the palaver.
She’d taken Sir Galahad over to Serenity’s house two doors down to play with Nelson and Havoc.
Mrs. Right just hoped that Havoc, that great beast of a mastiff, did not swallow Sir Galahad whole.
He was a cheerful little pug, but not very fast on his feet, as the legs attached to those appendages were exceedingly short.
She turned the corner and found Thomas and Charlie staring at Mr. Klonsume, who was waving a letter.
Considering the expression on his face, she had a good guess at what letter it was.
She’d not imagined it would come today. She had thought the post would bring it tomorrow.
The all-important letter that was to kick off the proceedings of getting Mr. Klonsume out of the house had arrived.
“Mrs. Right,” the butler said, “you arrive at a propitious moment in my career. Gad, if my friends in America could see how far I’ve risen!”
“What’s happened, Mr. Klonsume?” she asked. Though, she knew perfectly well what had happened. Or at least, what Mr. Klonsume would believe had happened.
“Here,” he said, shoving the letter at her, read it for yourself.”
Mrs. Right nodded. She hardly needed to read it, as she had written it.
She’d borrowed some paper from the duke, resplendent with his crest and knowing full well that Mr. Klonsume would not recognize it, as crests and titles seemed to go right over his head.
In as manly a hand as she could muster, she’d written as Lord Watery.
She’d done her best to sound like a drunken viscount.
Klonsume—
Dastardly of my father to send you off like that. Heard you were found a place through Lady Marchfield (stern old girl). Chin up, old fellow, I write with very good news.
It seems Buckingham has got a scheme going called “Operation Flattery.” Something about increasing trade with the Americans and smoothing over any irritations of the shipping variety.
They intend on knighting a pile of you fellows to show their friendliness and drum up some goodwill.
I slipped you on the list—made up a whole palaver about you inventing a piece of factory machinery, if you can believe it!
Going to revolutionize something or other.
(I think I said gun manufacturing but who knows—I was entirely under the table.)
Promised my father I’d ease up on the brandy if he put your name forward.
(I won’t but what can he do about it now?) Things are moving fast—the Lord Chamberlain will send a carriage for you on the morrow.
They will take you to a set at The Albany and there will be further instructions there about what’s next. That’s all I know about it.
Oh, except that Lady Marchfield will be apprised of the thing and escort you to the ceremony. I’d do it, but would probably be in my cups and the queen don’t like that sort of thing. My father would do it, but he doesn’t particularly approve of you. (Or believe you invented anything, hah!)
Anyway, this eases my mind about my earl throwing you to the streets. Very shortly, you’ll be Sir Morus Klonsume! You always said, well, I don’t remember exactly what you said, something about American confidence.
Cheers, old boy.
Watery.
Mrs. Right laid down the letter after pretending to read through it. She’d worked very hard to put just the right expression on as she took in this astonishing news.
“What did I tell you, Mrs. Right?” Mr. Klonsume asked. “What did I tell you all along?”
She did not answer, as the butler had told her no end of nonsense and she would not know where to start.
Thomas had turned away and Charlie pressed his lips together in an effort not to laugh.
Both those boys would have instantly recognized the duke’s crest. Not the Maharajah of-I-know-everything, though.
Mr. Klonsume glanced down at his ridiculous waistcoat, embroidered with American flags.
“I’ll need something new,” he said thoughtfully.
“A waistcoat with our two nations’ flags on it—a merging together of two fine peoples represented by an American knight.
Oh, now I did not think, will I get a crest? That should go on the waistcoat too.”
“I’d be surprised if you did not, Mr. Klonsume,” Mrs. Right said.
He nodded. “Yes, of course I will get one. One cannot be a knight without a crest, I reckon. With any luck, I can put in a request about the design of the thing. A lion must represent my courageous nature. And then, I wouldn’t mind a phoenix on my crest. I’ve risen from the ashes more than once in my time and now I am poised to fly to ever greater heights! ”
“It certainly is surprising how life can suddenly take a turn,” Mrs. Right said pleasantly.
This was a bit much for Thomas and he ran from the room to laugh elsewhere. Mr. Klonsume was too taken up with his incoming knighthood to notice.
“Sir Morus,” he said reverentially. “I suppose it harms nobody if I take on the title at once. After all, it sounds so natural to my ears, as if I’ve been Sir Morus all along.
I suppose it was always my fate to be a knight; I’ve somehow felt it inside since I was just a lad.
Yes, it could not be a harm to adopt the title at once. ”
“Certainly not, Sir Morus,” Mrs. Right said.
“Should you be curtsying? I hardly know,” Mr. Klonsume said, tapping his chin.
“Not in the servants’ hall, I believe is the tradition.”
“That makes sense. Yes, of course it does. Why would a Sir even be in the servants’ hall?”
“Why indeed?”
“And then, I’ve got the break the news to the duke that I will be off on the morrow. One English maharajah to another, as it were.”
Mrs. Right would like to correct that statement to “as it were not .” Instead, she said, “Leave the duke to me, Sir Morus. He does not like change of any sort, as you probably ascertained when you got here. I know how it will be best handled. In any case, I imagine you might like to spend your time packing your things. When the carriage arrives on the morrow, you will not wish to keep them waiting. It would be bad form.”
“Excellent points, Mrs. Right,” Mr. Klonsume said with a tone she imagined was meant to signal some sort of newfound gravitas.
“Gad, I’ve got to learn all about good form and bad.
Goodbye, Mrs. Right. We will no longer travel in the same circles, I’m afraid.
Can’t be helped—when one moves up in the world, one leaves people behind. Nature of the thing.”
Mrs. Right was itching to inquire what happened to his idea that there was no rank in America. Nobody was above anybody else. Now that Mr. Klonsume imagined he was to have a title, he did not seem so opposed to the idea of rank. She kept her own counsel on it, though.
Head held high, Mr. Klonsume went off to pack his things.
There was silence in the servants’ hall until he was well out of hearing.
Then the hysterics that took over could not be contained for some minutes.
Cook came in to join them, as he’d been listening from the kitchens.
He said he’d laughed so hard he cried and was planning to blame it on chopping onions if he were caught.
On the morrow, Mr. Klonsume would be taken to The Albany in a carriage that would fly a few ridiculous flags to hammer in the pomp of it all and he’d be given the keys to Lord Charles’ set.
There, he would find instructions to pray all night to prepare himself for the royal bestowing of a knighthood of the Order of Owen, which she had entirely invented.
Saint Nicholas Owen was known as the saint of ingenuity, which was very apt to bestow upon a fellow very impressed with his own ingenuity.
Mr. Klonsume would also be left with preposterous clothing to wear to the nonexistent ceremony, all dug up from the attics.
With any luck, Mr. Klonsume would don a frock coat, colorful waistcoat, breeches, silk stockings, shoes sporting a heel and gaudy buckles, and top the whole thing off with a patch and a powdered wig.
He would set off to collect Lady Marchfield to be witness to his knighthood.
And that would conclude the satisfying return to Lady Marchfield of yet another butler.
Though Mr. Klonsume was generally oblivious, Lady Marchfield would see Mrs. Right’s hand in it at once. She only wished she could be there when the fellow arrived in all his splendor and explained he was to be knighted into the Order of Owen because of his American confidence and ingenuity.