Oscar Tweed: A String of Novelettes

Novelette 1: The Séance Part 1

Oscar Tweed

Novelette 1: The Séance

   

There were two clear options for my future as a young lad, one being the church and the other being butlership. My mother, of course, preferred the idea of me leading a flock of the faithful to everlasting paradise. She would swell with pride, and shed a tear or two, when she spoke of that flawless self-sacrificing scenario. No doubt in my mind that she thought the Crutchley name had been soured over time and that I, being bright and pleasant, could save our family.

Years of ungodly behavior and devilish revelry had plagued the family (and these were just the females). The brutes that carried the Crutchley name went much further. My Uncle Trent beat a man half to death for two shillings after a cock fight just outside of Brixton. The ‘Great Burglar of 1903’ turned out to be Cousin Peter and so on. Any good mother in such a hopeless situation would want her child to have the assurance of salvation.

 Salvation did come to me, but not in the high spires of London’s cathedrals. No, it came to me in the following four words: “To Be of Service.” The gilded quote displayed just above the door of Muffin’s Butler Academy called to me. My walking path to primary school blessed me with a view each morning and afternoon. I watched for hours through the window of the academy excited as I observed butlers-to-be hard at work. The interior chandelier, a great spindly thing of gold, candles, and a million crystals, cast its warmth down on me like rays of purity. The divine window that framed the scene became my stained glass and Muffin’s Butler Academy my church.

 In time, my devotion paid off. The staff befriended me and, with some consideration, hired me on. I became the youngest worker ever to grace Muffin's. I handled little things suitable for a child such as dumping out the rubbish bins and washing stacks of plates. Not quite the definition of bliss, but definitely close enough for me.

With hard work, I had earned myself a scholarship and began schooling. I excelled in all categories except for foot care. I have a sharp disgust of feet (my own and other’s). Socks disturb me even more. I distinctly loathe them. The most vile thing concerning feet are what the Latin speakers among us call the “digiti pedis” or the toes. Man created shoes to cover the nasty, little scoundrels. Feet and toes are one thing I hoped that the family I looked after would need zero help with.

After graduating first in my class at Muffin’s Butler Academy, I went straight to work. Not immediately as a butler, but as a houseman and a valet. I did this for eleven joyous years and then, when the placement service at Muffin’s deemed me ready, I was finally called on for full butlership. Here was the kicker - It was in America: Land of the Free, Home of the Brave! A little village called Dover, just outside of Boston. I felt shot out of England’s mighty cannon only to be caught in the arms of Lady Liberty. I said my goodbyes and promised letters to all my family and friends. Young Cyril Crutchley was going to make a difference in this world!

The master of the Tweed Manor, named Oscar Tweed, paid my fare on a cruise ship. For seven days, I slept in a cabin no bigger than a closet. The allowance given to me covered a very basic food package. I didn’t bother with the other passengers, but instead studied my favorite book that some call the Butler’s Bible - Muffin's Guide to Butlership and Service, or the MGBS. This tome contained all the sacred tenants of butlership, I could not exist as a butler without it. I took pride in having memorized most of the text, being that it is over two thousand pages long, it proved quite the feat!

I arrived at the port in Boston. I reminded myself that the land I stood on once entertained the Boston Tea Party. The very thought of dumping loads of tea into the sea unhinged me and threatened my inner being. Such a waste! I let the feeling pass and concentrated on my new prospect.