Churlish Stories for Curious Children
The Remisier Caper
All is quiet in this quiet nook of Welsh countryside. An area nestled in a foggy valley, surrounded by small hills. On one of those hills, an isolated stone mansion keeps a lonely vigil on this foggy autumn evening.
A whistling wind whips its way along the moors, coming up from the valley, circling the house, making a low shrieking sound as the windows of the ancient manor are rattled. Ominously presenting the looming promise of a thunderstorm.
The occupants within the mansion this evening, both living there and visiting, pay no heed to the crisp weather outside. For it is warm and well-lit inside as they eat their evening meal of roasted goose and blood pudding.
However, it may have been wise for the ultra-wealthy occupants inside to have been paying a bit more attention to what was going on outside this foreboding dark blustery evening.
For if even one of them had been peering out into the gloom, he or she, may have observed how dark the woods surrounding the vast green lawn appeared.
Perhaps also observed, may have been a slender figure dressed entirely in black, slipping out of those shadows and moving its way diligently across the fog-filled yard, intentionally approaching the great stone mansion.
But no one inside did, much to their later dismay.
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The slender figure was dressed in black, complete with a hooded mask, wearing thin gloves, and oddly enough, carrying a large empty backpack.
The intruder made its way steadily and stealthily from the woods, across the open lawn, finally reaching the safe harbor of shadows surrounding the high hedges that were sandwiched in between the two large windows of the formal dining room.
The figure put down the empty backpack, then wedged itself between the hedge and cold stone wall of the mansion. Stretching up, and leaning in for a peek inside the window.
Red lips break into a broad smile, unseen under the nylon mask, spreading gleefully across the figure’s face.
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At that moment in time, as the ominously dark figure was peering in, the formal dining room contained twelve people, oblivious to the eyes outside the window watching them.
Eleven of them were wearing richly fitted evening attire, and the elegant ladies present were insanely dripping in showy, glittery jewels.
Not surprisingly, when the master of the manor has an uncle who is a wealthy noble, an actual titled Baron, who occupies an ancestral stone castle just across the moors, located on the highest cliff in the area, overlooking a dark ocean.
The master of this house also has a reputation for inviting guests who try their best to impress by showing off their wealth whenever they can, in the most external, facade, fashion.
The Baron’s nephew, master of the manor Lord Reginald, is a solicitor of some renown, with offices in London, Dublin, and Cardiff. Most of his wealth is inherited from his late father, through a family trust, that is overseen from the castle by his elderly Uncle.
The hostess this week, as is every week, is Sir Reginald’s prudish, purse-lipped, wife Madeleine.
Madeline is the type of lady who feels that by marrying Reginald, it gives her the inalienable right to act like she is the one directly related to the Baron and not her husband.
With them is their 18-year-old niece Cecelia, the Baron’s youngest child. Who had just come down that morning to be shown off by her Auntie to her guests.
Amongst those invited guests this evening is, of course, Lady Madeleine,s parents.
The mother is an old worrywart, a pretentious social climber by the name of Mrs. Marlene Cabot—Hinny, a lady whose puckered face looked like she was always sucking on lemons.
It was Marlene who insisted on adding her maiden name Cabot to her husband’s less acceptable to her, surname of Hinny.
Marlene always insists on being invited whenever her daughter has a houseful of guests. For it helps her charade in acting like she has money( she doesn’t have much, and is actually the poorest of the group) and in acting like it’s her that is also directly related to the Baron, a fact often falsely alluded to by her.
Sitting next to Marlene at the dinner table is Mr & Mrs. Ralph (Rose R.) Buxton.
They are, like Marlene, a social-climbing married couple, with ties to Marlene through contacts from their bridge club.
Marlene had condoled her daughter into inviting the Buxtons to be guests here this weekend. As well as talking to her bridge club acquaintances to accept the invite.
Of the final two couples, one is an old military friend of Sir Reginald: Sir Bryant Macready and his wife Lady Susan.
The last couple was their son, the Honorable Spencer Macready, along with his fiancé, Diane.
The guests all had arrived mid-week. In anticipation of the upcoming Saturday night.
On that Saturday evening, these 11 occupants of the stone manor house, are planning to attend an upscale, ultra-formal, exclusive invitation only, annual ball held at the Baron’s Castle.
But there are 12, not 11, in the dining room.
The twelfth occupant of the dining room will not be going. For she is a mere servant, the upstairs housemaid, Emilee. A pretty girl from France, dressed for the occasion in a formal black silk maids outfit with a white frilled apron and cap.
Emilee was busy clearing off the desert dishes from the large oak table, listening in to the conversations going on around her.
To the mistress and other females, Emilee did not exist, but she caught the gaze of several of the male guests eyeing her pleasing figure, tightly outlined by her shiny fitted outfit, with interest.
Suddenly Emilee realized that Lady Madeleine was addressing her…
“Emilee, the men are going upstairs to the study, please take up the brandy, then serve us( indicating the ladies) wine in the parlour.
Emilee gave a small curtsy and begins wheeling out the cart of dirty dishes. “Certainement Madame.”
Cecelia addressed her Aunt Madeline:
“ I’m a bit knackered, think I’ll head up to bed Auntie, if I may be excused?”
Madeline’s mother Marlene is the one that answers:
“Certainly my dear. I’m sure your mother, the Baroness, must keep you busy. ”
Not answering, Cecelia leaves, then, acting like Emilee is not there, she cuts in front so abruptly that the poor maid has to immediately stop the cart, sending a couple of China plates falling onto the hardwood floor, breaking
Nothing is said…though a loud “Tsk” comes out of Lady Madeleine’s horsey mouth.
Marlene snootily adds:
“No servant of mine would be that careless. “
This is an inside joke since Marlene cannot afford anything more than a “once-a-week cleaning” lady.
Emilee solemnly picks up the pieces, she knows that she will be punished by the cook yielding a strap later for having dropped the plates, possibly even dismissal, most likely both.
Emilee wheels the cart down the long hallway leading into the kitchen.
Spying Cecelia talking to the cook, the only other servant at the Mansion. The others, the butler and downstairs maid, had been given the weekend off, as is the tradition for the weekend of the Ball.
Cecilia had been asking for a bottle of sherry to take to her room.
Cecilia was waiting, foot tapping, as the cook obediently was at the cupboard getting it. She did not acknowledge Emilee as she entered.
The maid’s eyes darted to Cecilia.
The niece was dressed in a designer-made, long flowing, slick-looking, thin silvery gown of silk. The gown’s low cut gave no doubt as to the voluptuousness of its wearer’s breasts.
Emilee was sure it was going to be a topic of conversation in the parlour amongst the other female guests later. No one would dare say anything to Celia’s face about such things.
Cecilia was also wearing a handsome collection of dinner-wear jewellery this evening. An eye-grabbing diamond necklace with matching earrings, bracelets, broach, and rings.
Emilee smiles to herself.
She had spied a glass of water on the counter that Cecilia is leaning up against. How easy it would be to knock over the glass, spilling it onto the niece. Then as apologies are made as Emilee wiped her off, how even simpler to make a shimmering ring disappear from Cecilia’s gloved finger.
But Emilee has had to reign in those delicious desires once she had started working as a maid here at the manor a fortnight ago.
It has not been easy. Especially seeing all the lovely jewels and clothes the ladies had in their bedrooms as she was busy performing her upstairs duties.
Emilee must especially behave tonight. The Applecart must not be upset.
The maid says as much under her breath, the mantra she has been repeating in her native tongue all these long weeks:
“Pas de bouleverser le panier de pommes.”
The cook hands the bottle of sherry to Cecilia, who grabs it, and heads out to the main staircase to head up to her room.
As she walks out, she passes the side, servants staircase that is a faster way to reach the upstairs bedrooms. But Cecilia, like her Auntie, would not be caught dead on a staircase used by servants.
Emilee, watching Cecilia leave, asks for the Remisier brandy.
Remisier brandy is a rare vintage of brandy, terribly expensive, and very hard to come by. Actually the only bottles in existence were believed to be all in a certain American’s hands. So it was quite a shock to Lord Reginald to find one here.
This one had been mysteriously sent as a gift to Reginald’s Dublin office just this past week.
The card that came with the bottle only had on it the words, handwritten in an elegant script:
“For this Friday evening, please share with your guests.”
Fearing that one of this weekend’s guests may have been the mystery sender, Lord Reginald had no choice but to wait and serve it as a surprise.
The cook well aware of the mystery around the brandy, decided upon herself, that she will have to taste it.
Emilee watched as the cook uncorked the old bottle of Remisier brandy.
The cook takes a healthy swig, smacks her lips, and hands the bottle to the maid not offering to let her indulge also.
Not the Emilee would have, and she smiles to herself over that as she takes the bottle upstairs to the master’s study.
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Entering the study, Emilee sees that the men have already changed from formal to casual, donning crushed velvet smoking jackets.
Lord Reginald hands Emilee a decanter to pour in the brandy, he noticed that the bottle had been opened and the level inside had dropped.
Sir Reginald lectured the poor innocent maid.
“Taking a sip Emilee. Totally unsatisfactory “
Knowing that contradicting Sir Reginald will only make the situation worse, Emily sadly nods her head in shame.
Nothing more was said as Emilee poured the brandy into the decanter, but she knew that this discretion, plus the broken plates of china, would certainly lead to her dismissal come Monday. Which did not bother her a bit, these rich snobs had absolutely no heart, and would soon be facing a rather nasty comeuppance.
Besides, it had already been preplanned that she would be giving notice in a fortnight night’s time anyway.
The master pours out the precious brandy into small goblets, one for each of the men.
The Host tells them as glasses are filled that this was a mystery gift delivered to his office
Everyone is listening as all eyes are watching Reginald.
Everyone that is, ‘cept the maid Emilee, who now was standing directly behind her master, with her head bowed, she had been eyeing the master’s velvet smoking jackets’ pocket, noticing a slight bulge to the bottom.
She moves closer behind him, slipping her hand expertly inside the pocket and easily extracting Sir Reginald’s private keys.
Emilee then picked up the tray and passed the glasses with the woody smelling deep amber coloured liquor around
Once all have been served the master dismisses her:
“That will be all Emilee.”
As she leaves, a deep male’s voice calls her as she is in the hallway, preparing to close the door behind her.
She freezes frowning and turns around putting a false smile on her face as she does.
Coming out the door, the gentleman finished closing it, and approached Emilee in the hall. Getting very close to her.
“Listen miss I suffer from insomnia. Please bring me tea in this room at midnight. Be a dear .”
He pats Emilee on the hinny
She gets close and whispers in his ear, as her fingers rub along his chest.
“Monsieur, I understand most perfectly, see…”
She brings up her knee, reaching between his legs, stroking his John Thomas.
Looking down, he rubs his hands along the ultra-soft fabric of her uniform. He smiles into her upturned face.
“I see you do…”
Emilee smiles back for real, holding his gaze as her hand reaches in and lifts his solid gold lighter from the pocket of his smoking jacket.
Emilee chases him back into the study, reminding him the host is most likely waiting for him to make a toast using the rare brandy.
He leaves her, winking his eye.
Emilee the maid, heads down the back staircase to the kitchen, her hand in her pocket, fingers curled around the heavy real gold lighter.
So much for being a good girl, but the time for that this evening has almost come to an end.
Still holding the bottle, Emilee goes inside the kitchen.
She noticed that the cook is passed out, laying still upon the stone floor.
But the maid Ignores her coworker while getting the ladies their wine. She takes the bottle and tray of glasses in her hands and walks out to the hallway. Passing the cook as if nothing is amiss.
Going to the parlour Emilee serves the wine, unnoticed, as the ladies are talking away with the mistress of the house holding court.
As Emilee serves wine she observes sparkling necklaces, flashy rings, and glittery bracelets as well as the copious amounts of other glimmering jewelry the females are wearing along showy, shiny, and soft expensive evening gowns.
Lady Madeleine is wearing a green high-necked gown of satin brocade. Her flashy, incredibly expensive jewels consist of large emeralds surrounded by smaller diamonds. She is by far wearing the most expensive baubles. But not nearly as expensive as the ones she will be wearing at Saturday night’s Royal Ball. Those are locked up securely inside the safe in her husband’s study.
Her slightly younger close friend, Lady Susan Macready, is resplendently wearing a billowy gown of sky-blue silk. Her sapphires glimmer with rich fire. This is Lady Susan’s lesser set of sapphires, her better set, equally as nice as the hostess’s emeralds, are upstairs in her guest room, waiting to be royally displayed at the upcoming ball tomorrow evening at the castle.
“The” Mrs. Marlene Cabot-Hinny, Lady Madeline’s mother, is wearing a purple coloured satin frock. Her dinner jewels are thin gold chains set with diamonds. The collection sparkles as if it had just come from jewelers.
Which they have.
For unlike Lady Madeline and the other guests, Marlene does not own the type of jewelry she can wear at functions like this(and the Ball) without being laughed at.
So she has an agreement with a local jeweler(not a happy one on his part) whereby she borrows expensive jewelry to wear out for these occasions with the promise to promote his business( which she never does).
For the Ball, Marlene will be wearing diamonds of a much larger and much, much more expensive scale. The jeweler actually delivered them this afternoon and will be picking them up Sunday afternoon
The social climbing guest is Mrs. Rose R. Buxton. Rose, whose husband is a millionaire, is wearing an A-line-styled fitted gown of blue Taffeta. It pours down easily along with graceful elegance. Her figure is still quite pretty. Her dinner jewellery, a petite collection of blazing diamonds, flickers with an opulent display.
For the Royal Ball, her husband bought her a set of diamond ruby jewellery that had once belonged to a famous movie actress.
Diane is the youngest of the group, a year younger than Cecelia. Her long gown of crimson is a noticeably more form fit than the others. A fact that made Celia a bit jealous.
Lady Madeleine would be making it a point tomorrow to have an admonishing word with Rose over this. One simply does not upset, or upstage, the daughter of a Baron.
Adding to Dianes’s social standing “sins” is the fact her father is a commoner, a breeder of racehorses. Though her family is wealthy enough, Rose is not seen by either Lady Madeline or Spencer’s mother Susan, as a good match for young Spenser.
Perky Diane, aware of this, but not put off, is wearing expensive ropes of gleaming pearls. Rose is also flashing her quite large diamond engagement ring under everyone’s nose. She is saving the rest of her good diamonds to wear at the ball. She knows the low-cut gown she has chosen to wear that upcoming evening will be a brassy smash, especially among the male guests.
As Emily passed around the tray of half-full wine glasses, the ladies are discussing the royal ball being held at the baron’s castle tomorrow night. What they are going to wear, and who will be there?
The snippets of conversation are quite titillating to Emilee’s sharp ears.
“Madeline, are you wearing your tiara?”
“Yes. So is Cecilia. Along with her grandmother’s famous emeralds.”
“Ooh can’t wait to see her wearing them.”
“She has them all here. I’ll have her show them to you tomorrow’s tea. I’ll show you mine also. They are exact copies of the ones Princess ___ wore at her crowning.”
“Will the Baroness be coming to tea?”
“Oh no, of course, she was asked, but said she will be far too busy.”
“Too bad Cecelia’s parents could not come to dinner.”
Marlene answered that last comment, her nose in the air with:
“Oh I know, I had so much to catch up on with them.”
Emilee leaves, hearing the last bit, allowing herself a wicked smoke as she draws close the doors behind her.
The maid murmurs under her breath.
“Trop mal, it is too bad they don’t come.”
Entering the kitchen Emilee puts the tray down on the cutting table. Looks down on the cook, who is still passed out on the floor, then scurries up the back stairway.
Reaching the study, she listens in at the door. There is no sound of conversation inside.
Emilee carefully opens the door to the study. There is no movement, all the wealthy men, like the cook downstairs, are laying passed out cold in their chairs.
Cigars and pipes smoke, most sitting in ashtrays. Two cigars are smoldering on the floor. Emilee went in, snatched them up, and unceremoniously tossed them in a carafe of ice water.
Emilee then grabbed the empty Remisier brandy bottle and leaves the room.
Locking the door with the keys she had lifted, the maid hurries down the back staircase to the kitchen.
She enters the kitchen, steps over the unconscious cook, and heads to the pantry.
The maid Emilee goes into the pantry off the kitchen, setting the empty bottle on a shelf, she opens the outside back door.
She makes a whistling bird call out into the darkness outside, then repeats the call.
Soon the black figure of the thief emerges from the shadows.
Excited, she lets in the female thief.
They hug one another with joyful greetings. The excitement of the hunt is overwhelming to them both. After months of skillful planning, the head dizzyingly valuable prize(s) is at hand.
Emilee’s masked partner then asks:
“Bonjour luv, est-ce que tout est en place ?”
Emilee nods…
Wee, mon ami , the men are all passed out. Cecelia is drinking in her bedroom probably branlette( wanking) herself, and the pretty ladies are in the parlour drinking wine, wearing their best dinner jewels, clueless as to the “la tempête “ that is about to come down on them.
The thief winks her eye…
“There is a storm brewing up outside also. A good sign, no?”
Emilee shakes her head yes happily.
The thief holds up a thin coiled rope.
“Emilee, here is the chloroform, and the rope to tie up the cook. She is in the kitchen, yes?”
Emilee smirks:
“No need, the fat prig drank a generous amount of the brandy. Bien mérité, the wretch! Keep it for use on Cecelia.”
The duo makes their way through the kitchen, and they then both head eagerly up the back staircase.
Disappearing out of sight as they make their way toward the upstairs bedrooms.
Zeroing in on the one where the clueless Cecelia is staying.
Outside, the first lightening bolt of the oncoming storm rips through the darkness,briefly bathing the hallway in flickering light
End Acte One
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