The Strange Fate of Lord Bruton Read online

  The Strange Fate of Lord Bruton

  F.R. Jameson

  Also by F.R. Jameson

  Ghostly Shadows

  Death at the Seaside

  Certain Danger

  Ghostly Shadows Shorts

  Foliage

  The Strange Fate of Lord Bruton

  The Widow Ravens

  Screen Siren Noir

  Diana Christmas

  Eden St. Michel

  Alice Rackham

  Other Short Stories

  Confined Spaces

  F.R. Jameson’s debut novel, The Wannabes is now available completely for free!

  Click here for your copy!

  I was not alone in thinking it that it was a tremendously impudent gesture for the man to arrive uninvited at the door of Bruton Hall and demand to see His Lordship. Given Lord Bruton’s fearsome reputation, it would seem inevitable that this man – whose name, he vouchsafed, was Ellery – would be thrown promptly into the rain-sodden dirt for such impertinence. And yet, His Lordship did deign to see this Ellery – even though he arrived without invite or card and was apparently a complete stranger to His Lordship. It was the first link in a chain of seemingly inexplicable events which brought fire and ashes and death.

  The hiring by Lord Bruton of an honest to goodness butler was a subject which excited comment throughout Society that spring. It had long ago been decided that the demanding temper of His Lordship was such that no close servant could possibly stay in attendance, and furthermore that Lord Bruton had quite reconciled himself to the fact. He would make do with the retinue of other household staff, confident his humour was such that they would swiftly learn to stay out of his path while performing their duties without mishap or distraction.

  All who mattered had of course heard the tale of how, on achieving his majority, the new Lord Bruton, had beaten his father’s faithful and long retained butler, MacDonald, until he was a quivering bloody mess mewing from a hundred different agonies. MacDonald had been placed in charge of disciplining the new Lord Bruton and his younger brother when they were boys. Obviously Lord Bruton understood the need for such discipline in a young man’s life and also why his father – a busy parliamentarian, with numerous clubs – had felt the need to delegate the task. What he resented was that MacDonald – one of the lower order, a menial despite the airs he handed himself – clearly took such great pleasure in birching the young boys.

  On the day His new Lordship took possession of Bruton Hall, he gave out a beating that had quite evidently been long overdue. It was said by many that MacDonald walked with a limp for the rest of his life and kept a handkerchief firmly in grasp to wipe away the drool that emanated in a near constant stream from a mouth and jaw which had never set right.

  Other butlers would be tested over the years, but the reputation of Lord Bruton was now established. Some said that this account was greatly exaggerated, particularly by Lord Bruton himself, whose russet face would swell with glee whenever one of his acolytes told the story in his presence. There was no doubt though that Bruton had formed strong and unyielding views on the nature of butlers, and how – despite the belief of most of polite society – they had little place in a gentleman’s life.

  However, all that seemed to change the day this man Ellery arrived unprompted at Bruton Hall. Somehow this man finagled his way into His Lordship’s presence and rather than being shown roughly to the gutter, charmed and mollified Lord Bruton enough for His Lordship to hand out the long dormant position of butler to the great Bruton Hall. If that wasn’t peculiar enough, this man, Ellery, seemed to have no experience in the art of butlering and was unknown to any of the other great families of England. This was all truly astounding.

  Later, when His Lordship spoke of the hiring, those noble eyes glazed over as if his mind had taken temporary leave of itself. He told of how the footman had gently knocked on his library door one evening to inform him that a man had arrived to see him. This visitor offered no explanation for his being anywhere near Bruton Hall, but most incredible of all was that the visitor – this utter stranger – was at that moment standing at the footman’s shoulder. Rather than remain politely at the front door, he had sauntered into the ancestral seat of the Brutons, without even the courtesy of waiting to be announced. And then – with Lord Bruton on his feet and eyeing him with blazing fury – he marched malapert into His Lordship’s library, beaming a smile of fulsome confidence that was far above his station.

  His Lordship nearly burst with rage. How dare this individual intrude into the sanctuary of Bruton Hall like that! How dare he appraise the items on display as if one day they may be his! What was the matter with the idiot footman that he would allow this ill-mannered wretch through the front door to take such liberties? Lord Bruton made up his mind at that instant to have the man thrown into the dirt and the footman flogged into unconsciousness. Strangely though, only one of those actions was ever carried through.

  Just as His Lordship took a step forward, his faithful riding crop raised in his right hand, something in the intruder’s eyes seemed to arrest him. Later on it was difficult for Lord Bruton to quite describe the sensation of exactly what it was, but he said it was like an almost ethereal sparkle. In circumstances like that, His Lordship would normally have taken a glint in the eye from a plebeian as d____d insolent indeed! How dare this person even have the nerve to raise his gaze in the presence of such eminence? But something about that man just seemed to have the power to paralyse Lord Bruton. As Ellery stared at him, every ounce of justifiable anger seemed to burn away until His Lordship peaceably and calmly resumed his seat.

  Some who have travelled wide across the Orient, tell of men who have such hypnotic abilities they can quell a venomous snake an instant before it lunges. This, or something adjacent to it, is what the man Ellery seemed to demonstrate that evening. The fearsome Lord Bruton, who even his oldest friends would have avoided when his blood was up, not only sat down again but also signalled that the footman could depart (for now) and leave him with this stranger.

  The door closed and Ellery’s eyes gazed covetously around the library. He even went so far as to ask indelicate questions about the paintings which adorned the walls, and (the unread, and thus undamaged) encyclopaedia and novels which filled out the burnt-oak bookcases. Approaching His Lordship’s possessions with a grasping expression similar to that of an East End money-lender, inquiring the value of each and if the answer was particularly high (as, incredibly, His Lordship assigned a price to each time he was asked), darting his tongue between his lips like a loathsome desert salamander.

  Those who knew Lord Bruton were amazed to hear that he just sat in his chair throughout this, that he didn’t just strike the man down and watch his blood flow across the varnished floor of the old library. Instead he simply sat in his customary armchair and engaged with the man, even taking calm sips of port as the interloper first assessed and then made free comment on Lord Bruton’s wealth and taste. Seemingly as weak as a tuberculous child, His Lordship watched as Ellery exhibited this utter want of respect.

  Which party brought up the idea of this man being employed as butler in Bruton Hall, His Lordship could not say with any certainty. Of course the unanimously agreed supposition was that it had to be Ellery. Indeed, why would a Noble who’d famously got along well without a butler suddenly, and without prompt, feel the need for a man servant? But His Lordship thought that maybe he had asked the question, that there was something in Ellery’s eyes which convinced him to not only raise, but offer the role. All he could recall was Ellery giving him a wink and a grin (and it was hard to imagine anyone treating Lord Bruton with such casual formality without receiving a slash to the face, eve
n if it were the Archbishop of Canterbury himself), then telling the scion of the Bruton that: “It would be a great pleasure for me to look after an old house like this and an old gent like you.”

  This was all most extraordinary; discombobulating, in fact. The last time His Lordship had employed a butler was over ten years earlier. That man was named Ryan and he came to Bruton Hall from Wickham Manor, where he was much admired for his tact and skill. At the time he was thought to be a good match with His Lordship, as Ryan’s marvellous physique (he was an early proponent of rugby-football) meant he wouldn’t be intimidated easily. However he departed after only six months, with a bruised sense of self if not – in this case – a bruised torso. Discretion is of course assumed with any great butler, but Ryan would apparently shudder with something like revulsion whenever his former master was mentioned.

  As one of the finest butlers in England had failed in the task (not that it kept him out of employment for long; the good and the great knew how difficult that task was), that was the point when Lord Bruton determined to maintain a house free of head servants. At his club he could often be heard making free and merry on the subject of butlers. They were like hamsters, he said, storing up crumbs from your table in their fat cheeks. It was just like His Lordship to compare something he didn’t like to vermin: when particularly in his cups, he would draw analogies between Prince Bertie and a hungry, impatient rat.

  Even if every other detail of the hiring wasn’t absolutely astonishing, what made it doubly so was the figure this Ellery cut. Butlers should, as all know, be presentable to the upper classes and embody an air of superiority which reflects well on the house. The only time I visited Bruton Hall after Ellery had taken tenure, there was a soup stain on the front of his jacket and his shirt was crumpled above his too short trousers. Furthermore he greeted me with a great casualness, chewing on some unidentified meat whose juices had run over his chin, and actually whistling at the same time. As you can no doubt imagine, I was amazed and appalled. But the glazed look in His Lordship’s eyes showed he didn’t have the slightest care. For a moment, I thought Lord Bruton might be suffering some ague. He had after all fallen out with one of the smartest butlers in England, but was now accepting service which would not have passed muster with an American gentleman. And yet, after a few minutes’ conversation, it was clear that Lord Bruton was fit, well and inexplicably happy with his new butler’s service.

  Shocked as I was, it was clearly not my place to question Lord Bruton’s judgement.

  Perhaps this Ellery reminded His Lordship of someone. Hence the swift and baffling attachment. When Lord Bruton did turn his mind in that direction it seemed to be with a vague unease. The person this Ellery possibly brought to mind (in a way that was utterly unquantifiable, and certainly wouldn’t bear any scrutiny) was not someone Lord Bruton would wish to engender recall. It was a young man who had made loud and dreadful accusations against him, and used such disparaging words, that no matter the truth or otherwise of these brash allegations, Lord Bruton had been duty-bound to severely punish him. This was not a man Lord Bruton was going to recollect with affection, let alone transfer such affection to another.

  Physically the two men would have struggled to be further apart. Whereas His Lordship, many years now past his prime in the Horse Guard division of the Empress’s army, had settled into a physique which reflected well on the meats and wines that were his favourites; Ellery had a body which looked like it had been starved somewhere the wrong side of the Rangoon. Furthermore, he had a sharp and angular lankiness to contrast with the squat form of His Lordship. The only trait they shared was a large head. But whereas in His Lordship it confirmed the impression that he was Man’s closest relation to the walrus (a joke once made at our club, but never repeated in his presence), Ellery resembled a stick figure drawn by a small child. His skull did seem to be perfectly round and his lopsided grin, which was never far from his face, absolutely filled it. It was not a pleasant visage and not one I would wish to see each day if I had been in the market for a butler. But initially, His Lordship told us, Ellery’s appointment – baffling as it was to outside observers – went well.

  It was not long after Ellery had taken up residence that the cook was found drunkenly wandering through the gardens of Bruton Hall. This did not reflect badly on the new butler as there had long been a suspicion in His Lordship’s mind that the cook was prone to indulging too freely. She had been in his family many years and it was his view that she’d grown lax in her views of service. Until Ellery appeared however, scarcely a whisper of such had reached His Lordship’s ears, something he put down to the recreant solidarity that existed amongst his servants. Ellery was different though. He apprehended the errant cook and led her back to her room to sleep the intoxication off. It wasn’t a long rest as at first light he woke her and handed over her already packed bags, before sending her with curt abruptness on her way. Of course she wept freely, but Ellery was no more likely to be weakened by a woman’s tears than his new master.

  When His Lordship was informed of the news he was delighted. Not only were his long held doubts proved correct, but now he considered it, he realised he’d actually grown tired of the cook’s food. It was one of the reasons, he told Ellery, that he spent so much time at his London club. Even more impressive, the butler was able to provide an instant replacement. She was a distant cousin of his, he averred, and just happened to be in the neighbourhood seeking a position. His Lordship was more than happy to employ her, not least because he would be in the house for dinner that evening and he was esurient to try something new and pleasing to the palate. He was not disappointed, the venison that night was the best to have ever passed his lips.

  Not long afterwards His Lordship was forced to return to London, both for business reasons and matters in Parliament. Once there, reports reached him of further changes to the staff at Bruton Hall. It seemed that Ellery was removing the more long-standing members of the household and replacing them with other servants. Men and women with whom he was experienced. By that point His Lordship seemed to have developed a substantial amount of faith in the butler. Besides, he had no particular affection for his older retainers, no matter how long they’d been serving his family. Memories of the fine meals he had enjoyed since the arrival of the new cook suggested Ellery knew what he was doing in the hiring of staff.

  Although, the fact that this was done without consultation did somewhat rankle His Lordship. Obviously he did not require every decision sent his way for approval, but if mass changes were to be made then he wanted to be aware of them before some upstart at his club. He made up his mind to have words with Ellery as soon as he returned to Bruton Hall. Maybe even give him a taste of the birch so the lesson would be properly remembered. However, before he was due to leave London, he received news which made household concerns a secondary matter: Sir Marmaduke had returned.

  Sir Marmaduke was Lord Bruton’s younger brother, although – as was often the case – there had never been a great deal of sympathy between the two. In fact, His Lordship was of the opinion that his brother was a coxcomb whose dissolute and peccant behaviour had long shamed the great name of Bruton. True, in later life His Lordship had been known to imbibe somewhat freely himself, but as a young man he had been a military hero, a vibrant figure. His brother however had never achieved anything in life, apparently having no more ambition than to be a source of immense embarrassment. It was not long ago that His Lordship had managed to obtain Sir Marmaduke an honorary role in the Governor’s office in Jamaica. This was a simple enough position; a portfolio of duties that a moderately intelligent child could have performed without aggravation or strain. On achieving this posting for his wastrel sibling, His Lordship had celebrated for a week, confident it would remove his brother from his orbit for a good many years. If not for the rest of their natural lives. Yet now the worthless varlet was back and apparently staying at Bruton Hall.

  Post-haste, Lord Bruton returned to his country seat,
determined that his brother should not sup off his charity in perpetuity. He was livid that Marmaduke had clearly done something so reprehensible in Jamaica that a decision had been taken to shift him hurriedly and quietly back to England. Did the louse never give a heartbeat’s consideration for the good name of the Brutons? In his fury, Lord Bruton actually considered stopping his brother’s allowance, even though having a sibling traipse the streets begging for money would be more shameful than anything else.

  By the time he arrived at Bruton Hall his anger was uncontainable. Marmaduke had only arrived through the doors three nights before and already whispers abounded of the tawdry revels taking place within the hallowed walls of Bruton Hall. In his furious impatience he nearly tumbled from the carriage, determined to stamp his foot upon his brother’s neck. Not only had that d_____d ingrate ignominiously departed a position that Lord Bruton had worked so assiduously to achieve for him, he was now turning their family home into little more than a common tavern.

  The sheer rage of Lord Bruton was agitated almost beyond sanity by the tortuous amount of time it took the new footman to give him access to Bruton Hall. Indeed he was rendered almost speechless by the fact that the footman was both clearly drunk and loudly passed gas before greeting him. With a swing of his mighty arm, he shoved that loathsome wretch out the way and determined to deal with his brother first and everything else, including Ellery if necessary, later.

  It did not take him long to find Sir Marmaduke. In fact, greatly in his cups, the Viscount staggered into the hallway and actually attempted to throw an embrace around his older brother. His Lordship, bubbling with anger, pushed the fool roughly away. It was not far past noon and Sir Marmaduke was already bleary eyed and the worse for wine. He was barely dressed, having only an old and an ill-fitting crumpled night-shirt upon his person. However, the most extraordinary sight was that draped around him was a laughing, common strumpet; whose attire was such that clearly all modesty had long since been sacrificed.