"I don't know why you wanted to start this inn in the first place. I have plenty of places in the countryside for us to stay at, Alfred. You could just sell your grandmother's place!" Arthur irately spouted as he barged in the door with a load of firewood. He looked like a proper English country gentleman in his tweed vest, trousers, and large green overcoat. He stomped the snow off his shoes, shook his scarf out, and placed the gloves and hat on the dining room table. When he still received no answer from me, he raised his large bushy eyebrows and pointedly stared his green eyes directly into mine.
I sighed and propped myself against the table. "Do I really have to explain this again? She left it to me. It is simple as that. She is family and if she wanted it to be sold she would have sold. What kind of hero would I be if I went against her dying wishes?" I proudly proclaimed with a smirk and twinkle of my blue eyes.
"Fine. Well at least, tell me, why the name Monkswell Manor?" Arthur fired angrily with a gesture to the wooden sign I had just finished painting that proudly proclaimed the name of our new bed and breakfast.
"What do you mean?" I asked hurt. I turned to look at the sign in time to notice that I had stupidly left off the 's' on the sign. I sighed and grabbed the black paintbrush I had just set down as Arthur so kindly interrupted me. I quickly painted a small 's' in between and stepped back to admire my handiwork.
"Have you even heard of the famous English play Mousetrap?" Arthur retorted.
"No, why? What does that have to do with the name of our Inn? I think it is a perfectly lovely name or whatever you British chaps say!" I turned around quickly to fire back at him, accidentally letting black paint fly off the paintbrush to splatter across Arthur's jacket.
His brows narrowed and he pursed his lips. With a sigh he said "Fine. Fine. No need to get touchy. I just rather think it rude of you to have never heard of the longest running play in England and its bad luck to name your inn after one in a murder mystery."
"Come on Arthur! You are such a superstitious bloke. Believing in bad luck. Did your little fairy friends tell you about the curse of Monkswell manor or something?" I said teasingly.
Unfortunately, SOMEONE just can't take a joke and frowning Arthur took off his paint splattered jacket threw it on the dining room table and screamed, "THEY ARE REAL YOU BLOODY WANKER!"
Ok. Ok. Sore spot. I decided to stop this fight before Arthur had a heart attack or killed something or me. "Whatever. Just let my grandmother's house name be. Anyways, Monkswell Guest House just doesn't have any pizzazz to the name. Manor flows better." I explained patiently.
"Flows? Get a bloody dictionary Alfred." With that he stormed out of the room.
"Hey! No need to storm from the room . . . whatever. Suits me just fine. WAIT NOT TOWARDS THE KITCHEN!" I screamed as I realized in what direction he was headed. I did not want the guests to die of food poisoning or be forced to choke down burnt scones.