Time

~Chapter 3~ Meeting my Rich Uncle

A single tear caressed my cheek. Then another and another. I still couldn't believe that it had been three days since I had found out about my parents. Three days, 16 hours, and 22 minutes; I had been counting. I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply through my nose, and exhaled through my mouth as I opened up my eyes. Wiping up the wet tears from under my eyes and on my cheeks, I remembered what Agent Jones had told me: 'It's ok to cry'. But no matter how hard I tried to accept that idea, there was that little voice in the back of my head said that my crying was a nuisance and my tears made me look weak.

In an attempt to shake off the thought, I pinched myself back into reality where I was still sitting in the backseat of the old-fashioned car, and according to the watch on my left wrist, we'd be arriving at the place anytime now. That is if we'd make it there at exactly eight hours since the man driving had picked me up.

I clutched my phone and another round of uncontrollable tears slipped down my face. I knew it was stupid, but I was trying to hang on to the belief that this was all some sort of sick joke and the two coffins that I saw go into the ground were just mannequins of my parents and not the real thing. But I knew, deep down, they weren't. It was an open casket funeral and I had seen their bodies. I had touched them one last time, and it was definitely them.

One thing I still found odd, though, was that this man hadn't shown up at my parent's funeral. If he was going to finish raising me, the least he could do was show up for his sister's funeral. But maybe his rich ass had different morals than the rest of the 98% did. Maybe he thought that a stupid meeting was more important than saying goodbye to his only sibling.

A gruff voice brought me out of my hatred and it was coming from the front of the vehicle, "We're almost there, Miss," The chauffeur said, "I suggest you look out your window, if you are as exceptionally curious, as I was as a child." As it so happened, I was, in fact, curious. I unbuckled my seatbelt, slid over to the left side of the seat and grabbed the lever type thing to physically roll down the window.

I was greeted with the crisp and cool scent of late spring as Mr. Manchester pulled up next to a long driveway. I gasped at the beautiful view. The once white mansion had aged to a soft, rustic tan. It was three, no, four stories! The front yard opened up to the path that was just barely big enough to fit a small car, like the one we were in. On either side of the path, a meadow and several huge trees lined it all the way down to the iron gate, "Gorgeous, ain't it?"

"That's definitely one word for it," I agreed with a nod. Mr. Manchester got out of the car for a moment, shuffled with his keys before picking out the largest one, made of iron, like the gate. When he got back in, we turned onto the path and as we were going down it, I realized that the one thing that would make this even cooler, would be if the tree branches were so overgrown that it covered the path.

The car stopped in front of the steps that led up to a set of wooden double doors. I opened the door of the car and grabbed what I called my 'carry-on' bag which basically consisted of my laptop, a book, a couple of journals, and my pencil bag. Standing in front of the mansion, I craned my neck to look up to the top, which had to be no less than 70 feet up. I stared in awe for a second before turning back to the car and grabbing one of my suitcases out of the trunk.

"Thank you, ma'am. That is one less for me to carry," Mr. Manchester said, bowing his slightly toward me, which made me feel uncomfortable. He, then, grabbed my second case out of the trunk before slamming it shut. I followed him up the steps where he knocked with the horseshoe-shaped knocker, exactly three times. We had been waiting for no less than 30 seconds before someone had opened it.

A woman, maybe in her early 20s, wearing what looked like what a typical maid would wear, had been the one to open the door. Based off of this, and the car outside, I assumed that my Uncle was the traditional type. I cringed slightly. I didn't particularly like these sorts of people. But I guess you shouldn't judge a demon by its horns.

The woman greeted us with a warm smile and ushered us in. After the door was closed, my eyes swept around the place. It was spacious, even with all of the furniture positioned meticulously around every corner. I looked up toward the second floor where there was a grand staircase leading up to it into a large balcony. At the top of the stairs, I noticed there was a man in his mid to late forties, staring down at me, watching my every move.

He was wearing a tailor-made suit and a stern look that could have made someone cower in fear and as I looked over at the chauffeur and the maid, I realized that it did, in fact, make some people cower in fear. I looked back up at the stairs and he was making his way down them toward me, slowly. It was almost creepy how he took one step and paused for a moment before taking another one.

When he had reached the bottom step, he spoke, almost as slowly as he had walked down the stairs, "You must be Amser Turner, my sister's daughter. Welcome to the Denholm Mansion. My name is Jason Denholm, but I am only to be referred to as Uncle, by you. While you will be staying here, there are few rules that must be followed. The most important of which is that while I am in my study, do not disturb me. The rest of the rules are on the list that I have had placed on your bed. Dinner is at 6 o'clock sharp, if you are late, you do not eat. This goes with all meals," He paused before turning to the maid, "Ms. Smith, please take Ms. Turner's things from Mr. Manchester and show her to her room." His voice was deep, but not gruff, as the Chauffeur's had been.

Ms. Smith nodded and Mr. Manchester handed her my suitcase. She ushered me past my Uncle and I followed her up three flights of stairs. The third set, instead of leading up to a floor, led up to a room, my room. And it was huge, seeming to be about half the size of a football field. There was a queen-sized bed on the left of the room, positioned towards the back corner. The dresser was to the right of it with a nightstand between the two. In the middle of the room, was a couch and two chairs which made a 'U' shape, perfect for having some guests. A T.V. hung on the wall directly across from the couch. A desk, a bookshelf, and a reading space were on the left of the T.V. and to my right looked to be a mini kitchen area with a small table for two, a countertop with a microwave and some supplies for tea, and a mini-fridge was placed next to it.

A small gasp slipped out of my mouth. This didn't feel like a room, it felt more like an entire house. I could live out the rest of my life in this room and be perfectly fine, "Where's the ensuite and walk-in closet?" I joked.

Ms. Smith laughed, "The closet is to the right of your bed and the ensuite is to the right of the T.V., miss. " Of course there was, I thought, how could I be so stupid. This room was big enough to fit 50 people, of course, it has an ensuite and a walk-in closet. "Well, are you going to walk in or not, miss?" Ms. Smith asked politely.

"Oh, sorry. I just needed a minute to take all of this in, " I paused to take a step forward before turning back, "Are you sure that this is all mine?"

"Yes, miss," Ms. Smith replied, walking past me toward the bed. She heaved my suitcase onto the bed and began unpacking it. I made a small noise of exasperation and walked quickly over to the bed to stop her.

"Oh, no. You really don't have to do that. I can unpack myself," I told her and made an attempt to grab a large stack of books that I had packed in there, but she just swatted my hand away from them and told me to read the list.

It was a laminated page and full of writing from front to back. I pushed myself onto the bed and began to read:

*The following list of the rule is absolutely mandatory. Failure to follow these in your immediate expulsion from this house. You have one week to get the hang of them, as you come from shameful beginnings, however, once the week is up, you have no warnings.*

~ ~ ~

Rules:

#1: DO NOT disturb me while I am in my study as I have important work to do.

#2: Show up for all meals on time. Breakfast is at 9 am, Lunch is at 12:30 pm, Tea is at 3:30 pm and Dinner is at 6 pm.

#3: You are forbidden from wandering around the second floor. You are only to use the stairs to the left to travel to another level.

#4: Ms. Smith will pick out all of your clothes and accessories for the day - you have no say in the matter.

#5: To roam the yard, you must let Mr. Manchester know where you're going. To go elsewhere, you must ask my permission and if you have my permission, then I will arrange for him to get you there.

#6 When I have guests, you must be on your best behavior and perform perfect etiquette. I will assign you a tutor shortly.

#7: Mandatory classes for you to take are proper etiquette, cooking, English, and French. Each of these classes has their own tutor. If there are any additional classes you would like to take, please inform either Ms. Smith or myself and a tutor will arrive shortly after the others.

#8: Do not try to do any of the servant's chores. Their job will be terminated if you do so.

#9: Any extracurricular activities including horseback riding, swimming, and gaming must be practiced during the available scheduled hours.

#10: Never talk back to me for I am always right.

#11: You must look presentable at all times, this includes clean fingernails, neat hair, and a minimal amount of makeup.

#12: When I have guests in the house, only talk when spoken to, and never eat meat if they are staying for a meal.

#13: Guests are only allowed into the house with my permission and must follow all of these rules as well.

#14: Lights out by 10 pm, no exceptions.

#15: Again, these rules are mandatory. If I so much as hear that you even slightly break them, you will be thrown out.

Well, shit, I thought, I was going to be forced to live with a sexist pig for the rest of my life, or at least until he throws me out. Which, now that I think about it, could be very, very soon. Especially if he was going to pull this "shameful beginnings' crap.

I looked over at Ms. Smith who was now onto unpacking my clothes from my second case. She looked up from her work and noticed me staring, "Did you need something, miss?" She asked.

I thought for a second and then answered, "Yes, actually. I don't particularly like being called, 'Miss". Please call me Amser or Ams, my nickname."

She smiled, "And I don't exactly like being called 'Ms. Smith'. Please call me Jenni."

I held out my hand for her to shake and smiled back at her, "Nice to meet you, Jenni."