Fragility

The Uninterrupted Party

It was a rather peculiar Month of July in the year of our Lord, 1833. The whole month, I worked in Blackham Manor doing the tasks set out to me by my Master, Geoffrey Theodore Pendlebury the Younger. A rather queer assortment of items I had to procure and decorate the Old Gathering Hall of the manor in Egyptian styles, paints and architecture all month, and attend to the eleven guests staying in the Master's Abode. Although I am still surprised at my age of eighty-two, my mind is as clear as day, and I can still remember all of the tasks and requests my Master and his guests have set forth for me to fulfil. At times, I still wish my knees were in working order during my sixties, and now I have to do things at a much slower pace going about the motions of my daily routine.

I have lived and worked in Blackham Manor for seventy-six, or was it seventy-eight years now? I can't remember how long I have lived here. Nonetheless, I've known Blackham Manor as my home, far from the Irish Countryside and the gentle green hills of Cork and Dublin. Though I have faint memories of my home back in Ireland, I now consider England my home. My family immigrated here looking for work when I was a wee lad. And my father, Anderson Doyle, and my mother, Dorothy Doyle, always worked as a pair of servants, and they've always brought me along to find work, their only son, Padraic Doyle.

When my parents were hired as Servants of Blackham Manor to the Pendlebury Family, it was like a dream come true. Blackham Manor, back in my wee younger days, looked like a grand castle and still does. The stately manor was designed with beautiful gothic architecture from the late medieval period of the 14th century, with buttresses that decorate the high walls, which are several storeys tall, along with a few high towers here and there and lovely stained glass windows that brought in a beautiful myriad of lights and colours to a particular room to dazzle the guests as they stayed. The manor and property that it is situated upon has a grand view of the Nord Sea, built on the pinnacle of Umbrium Hill, which is some leagues away from the fishing village of Mundesley.

Living and working here, I have considered a privilege all my life. To enjoy the view of the sun rising from the Nord Sea out east as I tend the front gardens of tulips, roses and petunias in the early morn is a majestic wonder. To see the sun peer from the black sea of night, with spears of golden light piercing clouds that bleed of scarlet before transforming into beautiful and vibrant colours. Only the Good Lord above could make such spectacular works of art come to life each and every day.

Aside from my fondness for Blackham and Umbrium Hill proper, I had known the late Master Geoffrey Thomas Pendlebury. He died not too long ago, about two years ago, three years my senior. He was a man of action and pride, was an admiral in the Royal Navy and fought the Colonies in their Revolution, the French whenever they acted up, and the recent Napoleonic Wars down in the Continent.

Geoffrey Thomas Pendlebury, I will always consider my friend and master. When my parents were hired by his father, Geoffrey Walter Pendlebury, we were the best of friends, inseparable in our youth. Master Geoffrey, the Elder, always had a wild imagination and always took me along. One day we'd be battling a dragon, going on a quest for the Holy Grail; the next day, we'd be fighting pirates in the Caribbean on our ship, the SS Elizabeth, looking for pirate treasure to share. During his tutoring, I was given the privilege of learning alongside my friend. We were given private lessons by Headmaster Ronald Lewis Kipling the 2nd, who was rather mean at times, a firm hand with the patience of a saint that was kind when we did right.

Over time as we grew up together, our friendship became distant as he was sent to the Royal Naval Academy down in Portsmouth and became active with the inner workings of the King's Royal Court down in London. Yet I, loyal as my parents, served his father and mother until their passing of old age took them. Geoffrey Walter Pendlebury, the 1st, died at the age of seventy-three. He had an infection from gout on his left foot; his wife Margaret followed two years later and died in her sleep at the age of seventy-four. Though my family was heartbroken by the Master and Mistress' passing, for it was them who gave us this new lease on life that my old friend was gracious in retaining us. My family continued to serve Master Geoffery Thomas Pendlebury the 2nd, until they passed. My father left us at the ripe old age of seventy-five and my mother at seventy-six. That was about twenty years ago since the last I saw my mother.