What the Butler Saw
Aloysius Parker watched as his mistress gave one last look to check her appearance in the gilt mirror. Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward had chosen her outfit with even more care than usual, because she had plans for exactly how the next few minutes were going to unfold, and details mattered. She was to look effortlessly perfect, desirable yet untouchable and radiate the implied superiority that only those descended from fifteen generations of British aristocracy can pull off.
The room had been chosen with care, too. Previously, Milady had entertained her expected guest in the morning room, with its comfortable country house furniture and charming hotchpotch of paintings of much-loved childhood ponies. Seeking to welcome, not impress, it was a cosy sanctuary with bookshelves stuffed haphazardly with books that were for reading, not display.
This new room did not have a crackling log fire or a worn baby grand piano sporting an informal arrangement of family photographs.
No, this room was the Manor's grand reception salon. Family members were represented here, too, but not in snaps capturing unguarded moments of fond intimacy. Huge posed portraits lined the walls. Centuries of Creighton-Wards in their finery staring out haughtily from ornate gilded frames, looking down, both literally and metaphorically, upon the lesser mortals seeking an audience.
Penelope, satisfied that she achieved her desired impression, crossed her ankles demurely, arranged her hands to rest lightly in her lap and addressed her butler.
"You may admit our guest now, Parker".
"Very well, Mih-lady".
Of all of those who thought they knew the illustrious Lady Creighton-Ward, only Parker would have been able to detect the tension underlying the measured instruction. This self- possessed young woman he served had faced down Heads of State, the elite of numerous countries and some of the most dangerous criminals on the planet, but her faithful old retainer knew her tells. She was not happy.
Parker gave a little bow and left. He entered the salon's ante room and approached a young man. Said youth was currently engaged in squinting down the spout of the priceless Minton teapot he had picked up from a carefully arranged display. The teapot rattled and teetered alarmingly when Parker silently materialised beside him.
Parker plucked the treasure to safety and cleared his throat disapprovingly. He announced,
"'Er La-hadyship will see you now."
Parker proceeded to herd his charge into the reception room.
"Mih-lady, Master Gordon Tracy".
As Penelope waved the young man into a Chippendale chair (that Parker knew for a fact to be excruciatingly uncomfortable), he left the room, closing the heavily carved doors behind him.
Parker blew out his cheeks, undecided as as to what to do next. A regular butler would undoubtedly retire discreetly, leaving his mistress to conduct her personal affairs.
But Parker was nothing close to being a regular butler. Although he would rather face a hail of bullets than admit it, Parker viewed his role as Lady Penelope's protector as a sacred duty. He knew she was upset at the prospect of the coming interview, even if there was no outward sign apparent to anyone but himself.
That was enough to make up the chauffeur's mind. He moved smartly along the wall of the ante room, scanning the ancient oak panelling next to the fireplace. Running his hand along the elaborate mouldings at head height, his fingers caught on a notch in the wood. He pressed down, and with no sound the nearest section of panelling swung open to reveal a narrow, dusty corridor behind the decorative woodwork.
Creighton Manor was a stately home that had been much changed over the centuries. Different generations had added to, and altered the building over the years, the last major changes being in the early eighteen hundreds. At first glance, the Manor was the very epitome of Georgian elegance, but the heart of the house was much older, having its roots in Tudor times.
And this house, like it's mistress, had secrets.
After the Tudor king, Henry the Eighth, split with the Roman Catholic Church for not allowing him to divorce, there followed years of religious persecution of the populace. Disfavour swung back and forth, targeting Catholic or Protestant according to the whims of whoever held the crown at the time. Wealthy families, if they wanted to survive those turbulent times, had to find a way to practice their faith in secret.
That was why many of the houses of the time had tiny rooms and passages built into their walls. Houses of suspected heretics were regularly raided and evidence of the "wrong" religious artefacts or celebrants could spell a death sentence. So, hiding places or "priest holes" were woven into the fabric of certain houses. Houses like Creighton Manor.
It was into one such space that Parker now squeezed himself.
This particular hidey- hole had been customised for other uses over the years. The Creighton -Wards had long had a reputation as clever and subtle courtiers, who operated by gathering intelligence to further their causes. To this end, two eye holes, made ingeniously invisible to those in the grand reception room, had been carved out to enable the watcher to spy on the inhabitants of the chamber. Lady Penelope had employed this surveillance method on many occasions in her work.
Thus Parker was in the perfect position to watch events unfold. He knew exactly what her Ladyship was going to do because he had seen her from this very spot, perfecting her techniques on a number of different unfortunate young men. Oh yes, he could predict Lady Penelope's side of the encounter pretty much verbatim.
The only thing neither Parker nor the Honourable Lady knew for sure was how the latest in that line of unfortunate young men was going to react. It remained to be seen how Master Gordon Tracy was going to respond when he was, with the utmost civility and surgical precision, dumped.
OoOoOoOo
Parker cast his mind back to the previous day, when young Master Tracy's fate had been sealed. The day had started well enough. Lady Penelope and Gordon were due to attend a beach party hosted by a friend who had a lovely Cornish estate which boasted a private cove. Parker had driven the pair, wincing every time he checked the rear mirror to see the hideous orange and purple Hawaiian shirt bedecking Milady's escort.
"Bloomin' colonial should be h-arrested for wearing h-a loud shirt in h-a built up h-area", he might have been heard to mutter under his breath.
In the back of the car, Gordon was re-enacting an encounter he had had with an eccentric rescuee who had unwisely gone scuba diving with his pot plant "Gladys".
The aquanaut was graphically describing how the geranium had had its own diving bell, which the man, Ned, had refused to release after he (inevitably) got into difficulties. A passing Humboldt squid had taken a shine to Gladys and when Thunderbird Four reached them, the cephalopod and Ned were engaged in a tug of war over the floating flora.
Parker had to admit that Goldilocks had a flair for mimicry with his entertaining re-enactment of the scene using a delighted Sherbet to take the role of Gladys. Clutching the exited puppy, Gordon was shrieking,
"Let go, you overgrown cuttlefish! You don't scare me! I've fed bigger specimens than you to my budgie!"
Parker could not tell whether this was an accurate report of proceedings or Gordon's dramatic embellishments. In any case, since the Humboldt squid had three times as many arms to bring to the tussle, both Gladys and Ned were heading for disaster. Gordon had, according to his interpretation of events, been able to use his awesome squid-whispering skills to distract the animal.
This apparently involved him launching his pastrami sandwich out of a torpedo tube to distract Gladys's admirer long enough to pull both Ned and the foliage to the safety of Thunderbird Four.
By the time they had reached Cornwall, Parker had to admit that Lady Penelope had been genuinely amused by the boy's antics. The day had started off promisingly, infused with bright sunshine and the playful, light-hearted atmosphere.
It didn't last.
Before his mistress had done much more than greet her hostess and the other guests, Thunderbird Five had sent a message to alert Parker that a gang that Lady P had been tracking had resurfaced and was on the move. She had no choice but to apologise prettily and leave to attend to the matter. Gordon offered to come but had been told to stay and enjoy himself, that she would return as soon as she had the situation under control.
To Parker's disgust, the pesky miscreants had played merry hell before being subdued hours later. When the duo returned it was nearly dark and the party guests were ready to depart. One of the party goers, the Dowager Duchess of Wessex, hinted shamelessly that she needed transportation home which would allow her to elevate the ankle she claimed to have turned. The sports car of the long-suffering nephew who had brought her to the gathering was, she claimed, impossible for her to ride in without risking irreparable damage to her extremity.
Parker wondered uncharitably how she would be able to tell what state her extremity was in, since the old lady was as wide as she was tall and he estimated that it was at least forty years since she would have been able to see her feet over her ample bosom.
However, as she kept gushing to Lady Penelope about how wonderfully roomy and comfortable FAB 1 looked, there was no way of ignoring her short of outright rudeness.
Master Gordon had caught Lady Penelope's eye and, seeing the tacit permission there, had offered to find an alternative means of getting back to the Manor to allow the elderly lady to take his place.
Which was how Parker came to be taking a huge detour to drive the shameless lift-scrounging toff back home. The chauffeur scowled to see his mistress squeezed against the side of the car to accommodate the woman who had hoisted her legs up onto the seat .
In addition to being a thorough nuisance and strain upon FAB 1's suspension, the Duchess, who was known as an incorrigible gossip, then proceeded to launch into a stream of tattle about her fellow party guests.
"It was so kind of your young friend to give up his seat. He seems to have quite good manners, for an American. Mind you, he used entirely the wrong cutlery at dinner! New money, the Tracys you know? I believe he was brought up on a ranch or some such place, so I suppose one cannot expect him to recognise a fish knife." She chuckled patronisingly.
Despite the fact that he may, Parker owned, have at times muttered the odd disparaging remark about the second youngest Tracy's lack of couth, Parker found himself bristling on the boy's behalf at the ungrateful old bat's comments.
Oblivious, she continued.
"Mind you, I tell you this, that boy couldn't keep his eyes off Margery Harrington-Smythe", she tittered.
"He spent the entire day ogling her! Made no attempt to hide it! Hardly surprising though, a little bird told me she'd had some enlargement work done and if you ask me she was deliberately wearing that frankly indecent Versace two piece that was clearly..."
Parker never head the end of the statement. Just before the damning indictment started, Milady had noticed her chauffeur's sour expression at having to listen to mean-spirited gossip and swiped the control that slowly raised the soundproofing partition between them. Whatever else the poisonous old trout was saying, Parker did not know, but he did catch a split second of Penelope's devastated expression before her "game face" was re-established and the smoky glass barrier obscured
his view.
Unusually, even after the garrulous old witch had been dropped off, Lady Penelope left the partition raised. On arrival at the Manor, she had thanked him distractedly and gone immediately to bed. As Parker garaged FAB1, he knew exactly what would happen on the morrow. The salon would be prepared and young Master Tracy was going to experience what Parker dubbed, "The H-Old 'Eave 'O".
To be honest, Parker didn't quite know how he felt about his mistress's fledgling relationship with Gordon Tracy. He had been flabbergasted when her Ladyship had started going out with the boy.
The thing was, Lady Penelope had "a type". The second youngest Tracy did not even come close to it. In fact, Parker mused, the boy was so far from being her usual "type" that he'd have to take Thunderbird 4 all the way across the Atlantic, cadge a ride on Thunderbird 2 back to Tracy island, blast off in Thunderbird 3, go past Mars to dock with the new Hubble Telescope on the edge of the solar system, where he would have to switch it onto its highest setting to see "that type" in a galaxy far, far away.
The society "IT girl" liked men older than herself. She liked them sophisticated. She liked them to have exquisite taste. She liked witty, intelligent conversation. She liked them tall, dark, stylish and handsome.
Gordon Tracy was five years her junior.
Gordon Tracy's idea of sophistication was to have curly rather than regular fries with his burger.
Gordon Tracy had a vintage poster of "Finding Nemo" on his wall.
Gordon Tracy's conversations often finished with the phrase;
"No, you are!"
As for tall, dark and handsome...
The lad had maybe two inches on the 5' 7" Lady Penelope in her stockinged feet. In her killer heels she topped him easily.
With regards colouring and style, the lad most closely resembled a sunflower that had covered itself in glue and run through a Goodwill store.
Handsome? Parker had to admit that he was a good-looking youth. Although the slightest of the grown Tracy brothers, he had a swimmer's physique under those eye-watering shirts. He could be called cute in an American surfer-boy way, but that was nothing like the dark, brooding beauty that his mistress gravitated toward.
In Parker's view, it was as if a bird fancier had for years collected eagles and then returned one day with a cockatoo. The chauffeur could not see for the life of him how this relationship could work.
The trouble was, in Parker's humble opinion, that for a woman with such savvy and cleverness, Lady Penelope had simply dreadful taste in men.
Time and again her choices had let her down. Even those few who seemed less dire had soon made some mistake leading to the interview in the grand reception salon. It wasn't that Parker regretted the demise of these suitors. Indeed not. In his view, not one of the hopeless crew had been worthy to kiss the feet of his mistress. However, he had an uncomfortable inkling that Lady Penelope might, just might mind you, have a tendency to protect herself by pushing prospective partners away, perhaps even picking no- hopers from the get-go.
Certainly, as an heiress, Penelope had been warned by several wise relatives, at an early age, that many suitors would be more interested in her money or her title than in her charms. And they had been right.
A number of suitors had seen her as a meal-ticket. Nothing more than a golden goose. Others had been drawn by the title. Sometimes this was driven by the wish to acquire the ultimate in social standing for people who already had money and power. Other times it was driven by what Parker thought of as the, "Giant Panda H-effect"
The British aristocracy had dwindled over the last century and a significant number of the upper classes thought of themselves as "endangered". The solution was to find another aristocrat as a mate to save the species from extinction.
Lady Penelope did not share this belief, but the company she often found herself in due to her upbringing and her job, was frequently landed gentry like herself.
Now, Parker was a snob on Lady Penelope's behalf. He considered everybody beneath her. However, this was not because of her rank or money. Parker had long since learnt that more often than not, the privileged upbringing afforded by a bankroll or a title tended to lead to arrogance, selfishness and a despicable sense of entitlement.
In fact, Her Ladyship and the Tracy family were the only significant exceptions to that rule he could call to mind. They both had high ideals and routinely put their lives on the line to uphold them. This was all the more impressive when a life of idleness and hedonism was an easy alternative.
So, despite the impression Parker was at pains to give in his dealings with Master Gordon, he did actually have a soft spot for the youngster. He secretly liked his spirit and sense of mischief. He admired the stripling for having chosen to follow in his family's altruistic footsteps and become a Thunderbird.
The lad was also clearly besotted with Lady Penelope. Now whether that was puppy love or something more, Parker could not say. He did, however, believe that the boy would feel devastated when he learnt he had no chance with her Ladyship. Just how he would react remained to be seen.
Experience had shown that Lady Penelope's rebuffed suitors responded in one of three ways. Without exception.
Lady Penelope had evolved a system for dealing with each kind of response. She had it down to an art form. Each of the differing reactions emerged at different points in proceedings and were managed with practised ease before the candidate was dispensed with.
Sighing, Parker turned his attention to the salon where Lady Penelope was, as always, setting the scene by elegantly pouring two cups of tea, from an occasional table out of reach of her guest. Every tiny detail of this encounter was choreographed with purpose:
The tea ritual served to demonstrate how little she was affected by the end of the relationship. It made it that much harder to throw a hissy fit when you had nowhere to put down your cup. It signalled that she expected her rejected suitor to deal with the blow in an equally civilised and dispassionate manner.
Except of course, they didn't.
They should sip their tea, accept without question that they had transgressed unforgivably, fall onto their swords by apologising unreservedly and at the earliest opportunity make their excuses and leave. Parker figured this was the romantic equivalent of British Army officers leaving their colleague alone with a glass of whisky and a revolver after they had been indicted for cheating at cards or passing the port the wrong way round the table.
Out in the salon, Lady Penelope had burdened Gordon with a fine bone china cup which he cradled awkwardly. The boy kept trying to slurp the hot liquid down, whilst at the same time gesticulating with the cup and babbling excitedly that Jed from the stables was saddling up Juno and Firefly for them to go for a gallop.
Milady ignored him and began Stage One, the laying out of charges: Felony - The ogling of Margery Harrington-Smythe. She dropped this bombshell and then she paused.
This was not a reprieve. No thinking twice and deciding to let it go.
No.
This was the point to allow those Parker had christened the Lickspittles to make their presence felt.
The Lickspittles were the needy, a cowardly bunch that hung onto the Honourable Lady Creighton-Ward like gulls round a trawler. They might be clinging for gain, immature obsession or they were sycophantic groupies, quick to realise that their position was in jeopardy. They would jump in immediately to bow and scrape, simpering, flattering and apologising, saying whatever it took to wheedle back into her good graces.
It mattered not that they apologised. Her Ladyship knew she could have accused them of anything and they would have fallen over themselves backtracking and kow-towing. Penelope couldn't abide spinelessness.
They were history.
Now, Parker had a suspicion that Gordon might fall into this category in that he had the same air of puppyish devotion that other suitors had shown. He may well be prepared to do or say anything if it meant keeping his chances alive.
Parker switched his attention to the boy. Gordon had stopped gesticulating and was staring at Penelope with his cup still dangling in his outstretched hand. The finest hand blended Assam sat quivering on the brink of the tilting cup. The lad's mouth hung open slightly making him look like a surprised guppy. A blush had appeared on his neck.
Lady Penelope waited.
Parker waited.
But Gordon said nothing, just kept staring.
Not a Lickspittle, then.
Now that Parker thought about it, the boy might look like a lovesick chrysanthemum, but he was in fact an Olympian and a Thunderbird. Gordon might have many faults, but a lack of courage was not one of them. They didn't give out gold medals and IR uniforms to people without gumption.
So, onto stage two. Stage two involved laying out the details of the crime. Parker listened while her Ladyship revealed the observations made by the Dowager;
Gordon had spent the entire day watching Margery Harrington-Smythe. Gordon had engaged in half-hearted conversations with other guests whilst still craning his neck to see Margery in her microscopic Versace. Gordon had continually moved position to get the best view of Ms Harrington-Smythe.
Lady Penelope politely enquired his opinion as to whether this would be the front or the rear?
She paused for a response.
This was the point in the process when Parker's " Barrack Room Lawyers" made their appearance. This group knew they were as guilty as sin but relied on undermining her Ladyship's argument. They had now heard the case against them and would argue points so the accuser lost faith in her conclusions and would be deceived, distracted and deflated. They would proceed to pooh- pooh some accusations and lie shamelessly to conjure blameless alternative motives for others. This bunch used gaslighting to imply, oh so subtly and patronisingly, that his mistress was an overwrought and foolish woman.
Suffice to say this approach never ended well.
Penelope might admire quick thinking but a display of dishonesty and chauvinism would leave the suitor verbally hung drawn and quartered. If Gordon adopted this tactic, thought Parker, he had as much chance of survival as a short nun at a penguin shoot.
However, Parker thought that this was now a likely response for the lad, given his constant need to deny responsibility for pranks against his brothers. Parker had seen him act innocent in the face of accusations more times than he could count.
Just the previous week, Virgil had stormed to the poolside where Gordon had just emerged from the water. The aquanaut had been trialling Brains' new wet suit with integrated flippers. Virgil had begun ranting accusations at his fish brother. Apparently, someone had rigged Virgil's alarm clock to go off to the sound of a rooster cock-a-doodling at 130 decibels, followed by the sound of a shotgun blast. The fact that the bang had resulted in a small explosion, which had showered Virgil in glue and feathers, was pure Gordon.
Yet Gordon had affected an air of offended innocence and suggested that (despite the fact that his brother was standing there covered in feathers and looking like a half -plucked turkey) perhaps Virgil had been hallucinating due to paint fumes from his studio?
Virgil had given a roar of fury and lunged at his brother. Gordon took off.
Parker would be long gone in years before he forgot the sight of what looked like Big Bird chasing Kermit the Frog round the pool.
So, to say that young Master Tracy had "previous" would be an understatement.
Banishing the vision of muppetry, the chauffeur brought himself back to the present and winced as the finest hand blended Assam slopped, disregarded, over the sides of the cup onto the 200 year old Axminster. The red had now crept up Gordon's neck and was starting to flush his face. His eyebrows had lifted and his eyes were starting to bulge slightly. His jaw had slackened further. His head was starting to poke forward as he stared transfixed at Lady Penelope.
Lady Penelope waited.
Parker waited.
Gordon said nothing.
Not a Barrack Room Lawyer, then.
Now that Parker thought about it, Gordon often fibbed as part of a prank or joke, but he had never known the lad to lie or deny responsibility when it mattered. In debriefings after missions, Gordon would freely raise his mistakes or errors of judgement in discussions and be open to ideas of how to avoid them in the future.
Also, thought Parker, he could not recall any instances when Gordon had shown any inclination towards sexism. He recalled an incident when the boy had been caught by reporters after a rescue. He had answered their questions with equanimity and then one of the journalists asked him who was the toughest member of International Rescue.
Gordon had smiled at the question and said without hesitation,
"That would be my grandma. She's half my brothers' size, three times our age and 10 times as tough. She's the strongest of us by far."
Of all the brothers, Gordon was the one who could give flippant answers to questions but it was clear to Parker that he meant every word he said. He had no problems with acknowledging a woman was stronger or more knowledgeable, and never had a problem with taking orders from females. He would argue if he ever thought orders were wrong but that was irrespective of sex.
So on to Stage Three it was.
Stage three was when Lady Penelope made clear what she felt about the miscreant's behaviour, its unacceptability, the fatal flaws it revealed in her erstwhile suitor and the conclusion that any relationship was now irrevocably at an end.
So long and thanks for all the fish.
Parker saw his mistress make a brief unobtrusive wringing motion with her hands. The movement surprised and dismayed Parker. This was another sign of genuine distress. He had never seen Penelope's tells emerging in these circumstances before.
But then the implications hit him, as they clearly had his mistress.
If Gordon wasn't a Lickspittle or a Barrack Room Lawyer, then he had to be a Komodo.
Komodos were the group that remained quiet whilst Penelope laid out the charges and her conclusions. They had no intention of apologising, they were not going to attempt to argue their way out of it. They remained quiet and let the fury at being rejected build in them. It was when she had finally finished speaking the that the dragons revealed themselves.
Like their giant lizard namesakes, what dripped from the Komodos' mouths was toxic. Each and every drop was virulent, burning and wounding. It was intended to infect the victim, weaken them as the merciless pursuit of total destruction proceeded.
Parker had coined the term after seeing the likeness in the first and most vicious example of the breed, Lord Rafael Altringham.
Lady Penelope had been courted by Altringham when she was young and inexperienced. She had been flattered when the younger brother of the Duke of Norfolk had shown an interest in her. Not because of his title, but because "Rafe", as he was known, was a sophisticated, well-travelled man who was the darling of London society. He raced cars, played polo, had dark, smouldering good looks and an air of Byronic romance that both men and women seemed to find irresistible.
Parker loathed him on sight.
Altringham had an easy charm and sharp wit that made him a sought-after guest at country house parties. However, the chauffeur noticed early on that Rafe's humour always seemed to have a cruel and mocking edge to it. There was no warmth, kindness or humility to him.
The alarms on Parker's "Rum 'un Radar" were deafening.
So, as Lady Penelope's appointed protector, Parker started doing some digging. He spoke to Altringham's staff. No one had a good word to say about him. More worryingly, he found out that Rafe had a lifestyle which far exceeded his trust fund. His cook confessed that she had overheard her master talking to a prospective investor for one of his outlandish money-making projects. He had used the Creighton-Ward name and claimed that Lady Penelope would be standing guarantor for any money lost in the venture.
Telling his mistress had not been pleasant. Penelope was in the throes of her first adult romance and she had refused to believe him. She had told him coldly that he had overstepped his role and told him never to speak of it again. Parker could not recall ever feeling more wretched.
However, although Penelope was barely speaking to him, it seemed that some part of her had recognised that Parker, of all people, would not want to hurt her with lies, and she had reluctantly investigated further.
As a result, the grand salon was set. Altringham was admitted and Parker was dismissed. Parker knew that he was still on thin ice with her Ladyship, but he had a bad feeling about Altringham. He made the decision to watch over his charge from the priest hole.
His Lordship had sat silently as Penelope laid out her findings. Angry red patches began marking the chiselled cheekbones. When Lady Penelope had finished, Altringham stood. For a second Parker thought he was going to leave quietly, but then...
"You. Pathetic. Schoolgirl. How dare you speak to me like that!"
Altringham was hissing with fury. He began spitting venomous words, curses, insults, using his knowledge of Penelope to cut where she was most vulnerable. Parker felt his fists clench by his sides. At any other time, he would have been straight in to drag that disgrace of a human being out by his ear. But Penelope was still angry with him. He didn't know how she would react to knowing he had been eavesdropping. So, he waited.
Penelope was trying gamely to maintain her composure in the face of the brutal onslaught. Although Parker could clearly see she was shaken, she appeared to draw strength from the ancestors lining the salon walls. She rose, every inch the Honourable Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. With every ounce of contempt in her body, she told Altringham to leave.
Parker saw it then, he saw it in the tightening of Altringham's jaw, and his shift of weight as he prepared to bring his arm back. He was going to backhand her! Parker was out of his hiding place like a shot, but even so, he knew he could not possibly get to Penelope before Altringham made his move.
Parker burst breathlessly through the heavy double doors, only to stop, transfixed on the threshold. There in the room stood Altringham. He seemed to be hunched in a strange position, slightly crouched, mouth open and contorting as if in a soundless cry. His hand were cupped over his crotch, from which a dark stain was spreading.
Lady Penelope stood nearby. In her hand she held the Minton teapot which had recently held the finest hand-blended Assam. The piping hot hand-blended Assam.
"Ah, Parker, there you are. Would you mind escorting Lord Altringham out? He appears to have had an unfortunate accident and needs to leave. He will not be returning."
"Of course, Mihlady" said Parker. He grabbed Altringham by the scruff of his neck and hooked him out of the room. He could not help the huge smile breaking out on his face.
Like Altringham's pained yowling, Parker's proud sentiment of, "That's my girl!" was expressed silently.
After this incident, Parker had taken to watching "The H-Old 'Eave 'O" from the priesthole, just in case.
Parker's thoughts returned to the present and he was aware that Penelope was talking with studied disinterest about her disappointment in Gordon. The chauffeur had to admit that he felt something strangely akin to that sentiment. The Yank might be a celery-crunching, halibut-brained, card-carrying goofball, but the thought that Gordon Tracy was just another young man who's ego could not tolerate frustration or criticism was somehow surprisingly distressing.
Parker had thought him to be a hundred times better than the likes of Altringham.
Altringham.
Oh God.
Altringham was a louche, cowardly man whom Penelope had been able to incapacitate easily with her quick thinking and resourcefulness. The Tracy boy, if he wanted to physically hurt her Ladyship, was a completely different prospect.
Gordon was an ex WASP cadet officer. He was combat trained.
Parker had seen all the Tracy brothers sparring with Kayo. Virgil was immensely strong but hamstrung by an innate reluctance to use that strength against others. John was streamlined and coordinated in zero gravity, but like Bambi on ice when dirtside.
Alan was going to be a force to be reckoned with when he was grown. No question that he was going to be far bigger and rangier than his immediate brother, maybe even the eldest, but for now he was all fast reflexes but no focus.
Scott was another trained military man, big and strong and fast. Sharp, controlled and highly skilled, his bouts with Kayo were always impressive.
Scott was indeed a formidable soldier, but Parker knew Gordon was the more instinctual fighter. Oh, he had technique learnt from WASP and Kayo and he had trained for years to move with speed and precision. His athleticism meant he could pull off seemingly impossible moves with that compact body of his. He had an astonishing ability to improvise moves beyond taught patterns.
He was also utterly focused and relentless.
When Gordon was sparring seriously, it was as though a switch was thrown. The laid -back beach bum became ...dangerous.
Parker tensed, undecided as to whether he should intervene. He plastered his face more closely to the wall to try and see every nuance of Gordon's reaction. Verbal aggression might need to be trusted to her Ladyship to manage, but he would, he decided, be blazing into the salon at the slightest hint of a physical threat.
Inside the room, Lady Penelope had concluded her speech.
Parker and his mistress awaited the emergence of the dragon.
The boy said nothing, just sat like a statue.
Gordon was sat forward in his chair. The Minton teacup now fully drained onto the carpet and dangling disregarded. He was utterly unmoving.
Penelope, unsettled, started reiterating her last comments, but as she regarded him, her words tailed off into stuttering silence. The hitherto unflappable aristocrat now looked thoroughly unnerved.
Gordon was completely flushed from his neck to the top of his head, which was thrust forward at a strange angle. His eyes bulged, staring unblinkingly at Penelope with his jaw completely slack. His eyebrows had travelled up to his hairline.
Parker realised that both he and Penelope had unconsciously begun mirroring his position, leaning forward with mouths ajar and eyebrows elevated as they waited...for something...anything.
And then...
And then Gordon made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.
The observers gulped.
And then...
The boy drew in a huge breath.
The observers held theirs.
And then...
Gordon threw back his head and let loose.
He howled.
He opened his mouth and howled with laughter. Great whooping guffaws that shook his body. His eyes streamed with tears and his whole body convulsed so hard in the seat that Parker thought the priceless Chippendale might be shaken to bits beneath him.
Lady Penelope was now the one who sat transfixed.
Gordon rocked in his seat alternating slapping his thigh and stabbing a finger at her Ladyship as he attempted to make words, only to collapse into further howls of laughter.
It was now Penelope's eyes that bulged and her jaw that hung open. All vestiges of the self - contained aristocrat in total control of the situation had gone in the face of her utter, utter astonishment.
As Parker watched, though, something truly amazing happened.
Because this wasn't the appeasing tittering of a Lickspittle.
This wasn't the patronising, dismissive chuckle of a Barrack Room Lawyer.
This wasn't the bitter, derisive bark of a Komodo.
No, this was something else entirely. Somehow, God only knew how, but without a word the boy's laughter spoke volumes.
Gordon's choked chortling was for her pretending to be "Her Ladyship" when he knew who she was; the girl, the woman, the weak, the strong, the amazing and the ridiculous, gloriously human core of her.
The gleeful shouts of laughter that punctuated the hilarity exclaimed Gordon's unapologetic delight that Penelope had cared enough to actually be jealous, jealous over him!
Gordon's unrestrained mirth said, as clear as day, that it was utterly, utterly absurd to even think that Margery Harrington - Smythe could ever come close to outshining his girl. She and everyone else were as guttering candles against the bright, incandescent flame that was Penelope.
Parker heard it all.
Penelope heard it too.
Her lips twitched.
She snorted.
She started to laugh.
Within minutes the two young people in the salon were helpless with uncontrollable hysterics. Parker couldn't remember the last time he had had seen her laugh like that. He would have paid more attention if he too, wasn't shaking with silent laughter.
Eventually Gordon managed to get the heaving gasps under some kind of control. Slapping Penelope playfully on the knee he croaked out that they had to get changed 'cos Jed would be waiting for them and as he staggered to the door still holding his ribs, he gasped that the last one at the stables was a stinky kipper.
Parker stayed just long enough to see a still giggling delighted Penelope trot after him through the doors before he turned , sagging back against the wall and allowed himself the luxury of laughing out loud.
Well, mused Parker, looks like we are going to need a new category of response to "The H-Old 'Eave 'O".
Although, now that he thought about it, maybe they wouldn't actually need to worry about that little problem any more...
OoOoOoO
Epilogue
Parker took a moment to enjoy the panorama from the viewpoint at the edge of the Creighton-Ward estate. He had finished laying out a picnic blanket and unpacking a hamper from FAB1's boot.
Freshly changed and on her way to the stables, Lady Penelope had breathlessly asked him to rendezvous with Gordon and herself with a champagne lunch. Her Ladyship had been giddy and glowing. She gave hurried instructions then disappeared off, saying over her shoulder that she would leave the menu to him as she was, "At risk of being a stinky kipper!".
Parker smiled at the memory.
Suddenly, from the woodland below the tor, the chauffeur heard whooping and a pounding of hooves. Two horses emerged into the open, easing back from a full out gallop. Parker recognised Lady Penelope's two beautiful Arab mares, the black Juno and chestnut Firefly.
The riders dismounted, loosening their girths and tying their horses to a sturdy sapling. Having stroked each velvety muzzle and made sure their mounts were comfortable, Lady Penelope and Master Tracy climbed the up to where a veritable feast had been laid out for them.
The couple greeted Parker warmly, thanking him for the spread. Gordon chattered away enthusing about how marvellous Firefly was, and how he wished he could have a horse just like her if it had been possible to keep one on Tracy island. Parker would have been surprised at how comfortable the young American was in handling the feisty mare if he hadn't been ruefully aware that he had spent the morning underestimating the lad, and been determined not to repeat his mistakes.
As the young couple settled down to their lunch chatting happily, Parker turned to leave, to spend some time discreetly relaxing in FAB1 until it was time to pack away the picnic paraphernalia. As he did so, he heard Lady Penelope apologising to Gordon for her accusations of the morning.
"I'm so very sorry, darling, I should never have listened to the Duchess. I should have realised that what she said about you and Margery could not be true."
Gordon, busily scarfing some delicacy, replied,
"So, Margery, red bikini, brunette, right?"
Penelope nodded.
"The old freeloader wasn't lying. "
Penelope stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"
Gordon spoke through a mouthful of chicken.
"The Duchess wasn't lying. I couldn't take my eyes off Margery."
Parker had frozen too, with a horrible sinking feeling in his gut. Could he have been mistaken after all? Could the boy have been able to fool both him and his mistress. Was he, in fact, the consummate Komodo, cruelly luring his victim into a false sense of security only to make the Coup de Grace all the more painful?
Gordon paused to swallow a chunk of drumstick. He continued,
"Yep. Didn't want to take my eyes off her for a second."
He went on,
"In my entire life I have never seen a more hopeless swimmer. It was like someone had squeezed the Titanic into a bikini. She looked like she was gonna go down with all hands at any moment!
I spent the whole day on tenterhooks in case I had to fish her out. I'd never have lived it down if she'd have drowned on my watch!"
For a moment there was silence.
Then for the second time that day, Parker heard the sound of his favourite couple collapsing into helpless laughter.
OoOoOoOo