Chapter One:
The Introductions
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The evening had not been going well. Traveling from the city of Finch's Hollow to the country estate of Scrimshaw Manor had left the five visitors feeling taxed and worn thin. Compounding their dissatisfied moods was the recognition of all the other arriving guests, a veritable who's who of names they did not wish to see in polite company. Only the chance of seeing how much better one was doing compared to the rest was keeping their smiles genuine. Lady Scrimshaw herself had the act mastered, managing a warm smile for her guests as she greeted each one, including the two latecomers she was least excited to see.
“Mr. Tavish, it is a pleasant sight to see you doing well.”
A lie, of course. Lady Scrimshaw held great disdain for the farmhand-turned-business magnate. New upstarts like this were giving the nobility a bad name, and the idea that one could rise from one social status to the next struck a bitter taste in her mouth. He was shabby, had no punctuality, and...she wrinkled her nose. Was that wine on him she smelled? What a horrible man. He wasn't the only classless barbarian she had to tolerate, but at the moment he was prominent, and she had regrettably invited him to her estate for dinner for the sheer fact of saving face. However, if there was one person she disliked more than Dervy Tavish, it was his wife. Dervy was a brute, but his wife attempted to follow and imitate Scrimshaw like a small child. It was a mockery of her station.
“Cheers, Lady Scrimshaw. Devil of a time making it out this way, but good to see you all the same. I'm sure you know the missus. Gilly, say hello why don'tcha?”
Giselle Tavish winced in disdain as Dervy butchered her name. It was a nickname she thought she had left behind in the old word of peasantry when she had married Dervy, but his daily use of it wore down her nerves. It was a reminder of where she came from, and she had tried for years to put it behind her. The money had been great, but the marriage...perhaps she would soon see to that. It was becoming too much for her deal with. She knew she was meant to be a part of high society. One day both her husband and the Lady Scrimshaw would realize that.
“Dear, please! Not in front of polite company! Lady Scrimshaw, it is always a pleasure to see your face.”
Of course it is, thought the Lady Scrimshaw as she beckoned them in.
It gives you something to aspire to be.
She proceeded to guide them through the foyer of the manor, making idle talk about the dreary weather outside, as is always the safe and polite subject when talking with distant company. Sadly Dervy was ignorant to such social checks and balances.
“Pardon me Agatha, but where is your manservant? Isn't it the posh thing to have the old boy let us in?”
Agatha Scrimshaw flustered, struggling to keep herself afloat on Tavish's crass addressing.
“My dear Tavish, I wouldn't dream of it. Every guest is a personal friend of mine, and I wish to invite them across my threshold myself.”
Aside from the lie, the other omission that she had left out was that her butler Alabaster was currently in the kitchen, devoting himself to a meal that hopefully none of her guests would soon forget.
“Alright, that's fine. Good to see you being kind to us chaps then!” Tavish clapped his hands together, rubbing them back and forth. “So, when do we eat?”
Scrimshaw and Giselle shared a look with each other, the one relatable thing that the two had was their bemusement of Dervy's lack of etiquette. “Well,” began the Lady Scrimshaw, pausing to give herself time to process the grubby, classless man. “The other guests have arrived and have enjoyed themselves in perusing my estate. We shall begin dinner within half an hour.”
At least that will shut him up for a time, she thought as she led the two in to the dining hall.
If only it were a more permanent solution to this horrid little gremlin.