Oscar Tweed: A String of Novelettes

Novelette 2: The Perfect Cup of Earl Grey Part 4

After Tweed ate his breakfast, I assisted him in dressing. His wardrobe contained many fine suits, but I do admit they were marvelously outdated.  The display reminded me of my youth.  As a child one of my favorite hobbies was collecting vintage sketches of Victorian suits. Tweed's suits resembled my childhood collection.

Muffin's Academy always stressed the importance of fashion. Fashion represents the house and what the house believes in. A duke and his family would have a certain sort of dress, a barrister and his family another, and so on. The clothes fit the position. What was I to do with Tweed?

I had the following few things to consider before I made any suggestions: Tweed was one hundred and three years old, he did not flaunt his wealth subtly (he often threw literal wads of cash at people), his profession had everything to do with death, and the man challenged everything I said.  I decided on something slight, a very minor change.

"I have a suggestion, sir."

"What is it, Crutchley?"

"Just a hint, a dash of color, I think it will suit you wonderfully."

"Yes, yes. Show me then."

Earlier, before Tweed awoke, I visited the garden and plucked a rose. The red rose had highlights of pink, the perfect effect. I showed the delightful bloom to Tweed and his face went blank as his ancient eyes examined the flower.

"A rose, Crutchley?"

"Yes sir, trust me on this one."

 I expertly attached the rose to his lapel. He moved over to the mirror and gave himself a once over. He didn't quite create a smile, but his teeth showed and the muscles around his mouth quaked.

"My mother used to give me flowers for my lapel. You've done well, Crutchley."

The subtle color worked for Tweed. It wouldn't have for many men, but Tweed didn't fit into any practical category. I took a step back and looked at him fully. Tweed wore a top hat, a black suit from fifty years prior, and a tiny tea rose.  Tweed looked presentable.

I placed the note that young Timothy had given me earlier on a nearby table. Tweed snatched it up straight away and read it to himself. Again, he wore that "almost smile" and looked out the window like a man eager to start his day.

"Is there anything on the agenda today, sir?" I inquired as I gathered the empty breakfast plates.

"Much Crutchley, much."

"Anything you'll need my assistance with?"

"Indeed. Meet me in my study at two o'clock and bring your butler book."

"The MGBS, sir?" 

"Yes, that's the one."

I grew fearful and my palms began to sweat. What would Tweed want with the MGBS?

"I, I suppose, sir."

"Yes, that's all for now, Crutchley."

For four hours, even during my duties at lunch, I remained in quite the state. The MGBS was my link to everything butlery, everything pure. I promised myself that I would not let the book come into any danger. The last hour before my designated time to meet with Tweed had me glancing at the clock. Then, just five minutes before our meeting, I grabbed the MGBS and headed for Tweed's study.

I knocked and entered. Tweed, amongst all his books on spiritualism, bizarre trinkets, and antique maps, offered me a seat. I sat down holding the MGBS close to my chest.

"Place the book on the desk." Tweed said with a gesture.

I placed the large tome on the desk and looked at it lovingly. What did Tweed want with it?