Tragedy of the Gimbles

IV

"It was going to happen sooner or later," Nancy said mournfully. "I suppose we just didn't expect it to be tonight."

Victor, father's butler of seven years, nodded sadly. "Yes. It seems we're never ready for these things to happen. But they must happen, mustn't they?"

"Yes," she sighed. "You'll make the arrangements for his funeral, then?"

He nodded formally. "Of course. We'll bury him in the morning." He frowned in concern. "Are you certain about not requesting an autopsy? I have heard that learning the manner of death helps to deal with the grieving process."

"No," Nancy said firmly, hoping that her sudden insistence would be interpreted as grief instead of fear. "I don't want him to be cut open like that. Let him be."

Victor nodded in acknowledgement, although he still retained some measure of worry on his face. "Of course, Nancy. Forgive me. It was simply a suggestion."

Casually, he glanced at his watch. It was a gift from his late master, its faceless design allowing him to see the gears and cogs ticking away beneath the hands. A skeleton watch, it was called. The numerals were etched into the glass, painted a deep shade of crimson, complimenting the gold coloring of the strap and frame. And what did father ever give me? she seethed, careful not to betray any measure of jealousy.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" she inquired innocently. "I wouldn't want to keep you too long."

"Oh, nothing too pressing," he said. "I just wanted to make it to the funeral parlor before they close up for the night."

"You should go," Nancy encouraged. "I'll take care of things here."

Victor looked at her thankfully. "Of course. Thank you, Nancy. You will keep an eye on your brothers, then? Thomas especially?"

"They'll be safe with me," she promised. "And Thomas just needs some time alone." It wasn't surprising, she thought, that Victor would come to her for this. With James being gone half the time, and Thomas living as a hedonist for the past few years, Nancy was left as the dependable one.

I should have been first in line. I might have been, if James hadn't shown up the second father coughed up a little blood... but there was no point in speculating. The will was clear enough. Estates divided among the three of them. Four million dollars each. Fair.

Victor spoke, and Nancy snapped out of her reverie. "Very well. Do give Lord James my best, and let him know that I'll be back shortly." He bowed demurely to her, then turned and left the small parlor they had been conversing in.

Nancy frowned as he left. Lord James. And yet he called me Nancy. Apparently, Victor was still uncomfortable with the notion of having three separate masters. But still, why pick James? Why must everything go to the firstborn?

Nancy had been the third child of the late Lord Gimble. She had spent her whole life knowing that once he died, James would get everything, and Thomas would get whatever was leftover. There was an order to things, and she was born at the bottom of the ladder.

Or she would have been, had they not stopped their father from changing his will one last time. Cheat me out of my inheritance, father? No. I think I'll stick with the one mother drafted for you. At least she cared about me, on some level.

Nancy left the parlor and headed towards the eastern wing of the house. Rooms and hallways she had passed by without a glance before seemed new and strange to her now. They're all mine, she thought, a smile creeping onto her face.

She put a small spring in her step, admiring the gold framed portraits adorning the hallway she strode down. She made a mental note to commission a portrait of her own, to add to the lengthy line of aristocrats.