Episode 6 – The Butler, The Husband, The Wife And Her Mother

Messrs. Jeeves and Fairchild of the National Butlers' Association were at their wits' end. Their evaluation of the candidate Niles Brightmore was proceeding in a most unusual manner; first had come that strange business of changing roles with his employer (for reasons which the two gentlemen still did not fully understand, but they gathered it had to do with the loud Jewish nanny), and now, the interviews they were conducting with the Sheffield family had produced such contradictory opinions of the candidate that they were considering tossing a coin on the question. The responses were the following:

Mr. Sheffield: "He's my best and oldest friend, and I wouldn't part with him for the world, but quite frankly, there are times he drives me up the wall. Sometimes I really feel like he's in charge, and I'm just there to earn the salary. Though I must say, he's an excellent housekeeper. Not a speck of dirt anywhere."

Margaret: "He just doesn't seem to get the concept of privacy. Every time I'm on the phone with my boyfriend, he's there hovering with his duster, listening to every word I say, and smirking."

Brighton: "He wears Dad's old clothes. He thinks we don't notice, but I can tell. He's really cool though, especially when he's insulting CC – that's Dad's business partner and she's a witch. I wanna be like Niles when I grow up. Except with a Sheffield trust fund."

Grace: "He wanted to be a lawyer when he was young, but Grandpa Sheffield made him give it up to become Daddy's butler. Now he's living vicariously through Daddy, since taking care of all of us is the closest he'll ever get to being rich himself. It makes him a little bitter, but he never takes it out on us. When I had nightmares after Mommy died, he used to bring me warm milk and tell me stories until I got back to sleep."

Francine Fine: "If y'ask me, this family would be so vermisht without him! That guy is up all day, scrubbin' bathrooms, cookin' five-star meals, dustin' all them tchotchkes on those little tables … I swear, I heard the kids call him up at two in the morning to bring a snack or check out some creaky noise – no, that was me. Never mind. Anyway, there wasn't much call for butlers in my old neighborhood in Flushing, Queens – you guessed? Oy, are you smart! – but from what I can tell, if anybody belongs in that Association of yours, our Niles is the one. Did I tell you he's still callin' me Miss Fine, even though we've been coworkers for more'n a month? Now that's classy."

Glancing over their note pads, Jeeves and Fairchild shook their venerable heads and came to the conclusion that one more vote was needed. Hence the presence of the formidable blonde sitting opposite them in Mr. Sheffield's study, gripping her purse tight enough to leave marks in the black leather. She had swept into the room in spite of Brightmore's protest ("But she doesn't even live here! And besides, I guarantee you this woman's account will be biased against me!") and they had been prepared for any number of wild and scandalous stories, but not for this.

Absolute silence.

"Well, ma'am? Do you have anything to say?"

CC Babcock bit her lip in angry confusion. This should have been it: her chance to finally get revenge on the man who'd been a thorn in her side for sixteen years. To get back at him for all those nasty little jabs about her weight, her character, her social life or lack thereof; for his constant sabotage of her campaign for Maxwell's heart; for every practical joke. To take away what he valued so much: the clearing of his family name, the acceptance and respect of his peers. This should have been perfect.

It was not.

This would make him miserable. She could picture it now: Niles brooding over his morning cup of tea, wielding his feather duster in abstracted silence, not even answering her initial zinger. Or – and this was a frightening possibility – his insults might get worse.

Or what if he quit?

CC had several rationalizations on call: . I'm the only one allowed to humiliate him, not these stuffy old vultures. I don't want to deprive Maxwell of an old family servant. I'd be bored without his vitriol to spice things up The truth (which she refused to admit even to herself) was that she simply did not like to see Niles unhappy.

She took a deep breath.

"He's very … competent," she said. "His service has been, and still is, quite valuable to the Sheffields. Especially since Mrs. Sheffield passed away. You do realize, being butlers yourselves, that the work Niles actually does is not what he trained for? At the Sheffield family estate in England, he would have been overseeing a staff of dozens. In this house, he does all the work himself. The nanny doesn't count; all she ever does is flirt with Maxwell. It's really Niles who's holding the place together."

CC grimaced; just like Nanny Fine, she was wandering off on tangents in the middle of her speech. Good grief … since when do I have so many compliments for the Butler Boy in my head? And if I don't shut up soon, what other sorts of nonsense might come out?

"My point is … if five interviews and one ridiculous charade didn't convince you to accept Niles into your little club, then I really don't think much of your intelligence. Of course, one must allow for that among the lower classes. Goodbye."

Jeeves' and Fairchild's jaws dropped with indignation. CC ignored them as she marched out of the room.

"Oh, and one more thing," she said, whirling around with her hand on the doorknob.

"For God's sake, don't tell him what I said."