| General Fiction posted July 25, 2020 |
  |
Someone else
Zoom
by zanya
Edward tossed and turned between the cotton sheets. Scented cotton sheets. Carol's birthday gift to him. Alas, cotton sheets didn't help much when it came to keeping a relationship on track.
Autumn winds had begun to gust in October. Edward attempted to unplug from his tech world a little earlier. But something always came up needing his attention, an email from his PA or a report from the finance department.
One Monday morning Carol had called it a day, leaving Edward to his spreadsheets. Packing up her belongings she travelled deep into the countryside, hoping to find her dream hideaway.
Clip-clop of horses hooves woke him. A loud knock on the door made him sit bolt upright.
'Earl Edward,' a courtly voice bellowed,' breakfast is being served.'
Edward adjusted his perroquet, gently arranging a few stray hairs at his temple.
Just then the door opened abruptly and a portly gentleman enquired, 'Earl Edward, the grey is being brushed by equerry James. Will you be ready to saddle up by 10.am?'
Glancing across the boudoir, Edward noticed the riding breeches and bright red jacket. Donning both quickly, he pressed the riding cap firmly on his head.
As he tried to close the bedroom door he noticed the elaborate marble doorknob, an owl's talon.
No time to lose. Taking the highly polished stairs two at a time, he almost bumped into the portly gentleman who had knocked on his door.
'Earl Edward,' the gentleman began, 'as your valet Bates, it is my duty to advise you to take the staircase in an orderly manner, that is to say, one stair at a time.
Being sole heir to Dalworth does not entitle you to behave in a boorish manner.'
Edward wondered why Carol too described his behaviour as boorish.
A chill wind by the stable forced Edward to reach for the leather riding gloves that hung just above the door.
Slipping his riding boot into the steel stirrup, Edward mounted the dapple grey.
Soon breaking into a canter, he followed James across the fens. The pair cantered for miles, through fallen branches and storm debris. Edward began to feel a sense of exhilaration.
Sharing a tot of port with equerry James on their return, Edward enquired,' Jim when did you start working here?'
'Earl Edward,' James replied, looking askance at his interlocutor,' why I have been here since you were a boy, hired by your late father, Squire Ambrose. My name is James, not Jim.'
Feeling sleepy, following his imbibing of the port aperitif, Edward ascended the staircase, this time taking the steps one at a time. Tearing off his riding gear he lay heavily on the four poster bed.
The familiar ping of his mobile phone penetrated his deep sleep.
'What now,' he muttered 'valet Bates ...valet Bates,' he called out at the top of his voice.
There was a loud knock on the door.
Opening it, he was confronted by the elderly resident, Mr Smith, from the apartment above him.
'Have you taken leave of your senses, Sir,' Mr Smith enquired, irritatedly.
'There are no valets or butlers or equerries in these here parts, nor have there been any such since Queen Vic. Come to think of it though, they say this block is built on the site of the former Dalworth Manor. Some strange shenanigans took place there, they say, murder and mayhem.'
Edward stared fixedly at Mr Smith, who raised his index finger, pointing towards the riding cap still hanging on the door. 'Eh, you been cantering with equerry James? My turn tomorrow.'
With that, Mr Smith turned on his heel, disappearing from view.
Edward reached for the riding cap but it was no longer visible.
'No more emails or late night spreadsheets for me,' he said.
Pausing for a moment, he wondered aloud,' on the other hand why not, if late night spreadsheets can transport me to breakfast and a morning canter on the fens around Dalworth Manor, wouldn't that be preferable to workouts or bodyshaping on Zoom?'
***************************
Autumn winds had begun to gust in October. Edward attempted to unplug from his tech world a little earlier. But something always came up needing his attention, an email from his PA or a report from the finance department.
One Monday morning Carol had called it a day, leaving Edward to his spreadsheets. Packing up her belongings she travelled deep into the countryside, hoping to find her dream hideaway.
Clip-clop of horses hooves woke him. A loud knock on the door made him sit bolt upright.
'Earl Edward,' a courtly voice bellowed,' breakfast is being served.'
Edward adjusted his perroquet, gently arranging a few stray hairs at his temple.
Just then the door opened abruptly and a portly gentleman enquired, 'Earl Edward, the grey is being brushed by equerry James. Will you be ready to saddle up by 10.am?'
Glancing across the boudoir, Edward noticed the riding breeches and bright red jacket. Donning both quickly, he pressed the riding cap firmly on his head.
As he tried to close the bedroom door he noticed the elaborate marble doorknob, an owl's talon.
No time to lose. Taking the highly polished stairs two at a time, he almost bumped into the portly gentleman who had knocked on his door.
'Earl Edward,' the gentleman began, 'as your valet Bates, it is my duty to advise you to take the staircase in an orderly manner, that is to say, one stair at a time.
Being sole heir to Dalworth does not entitle you to behave in a boorish manner.'
Edward wondered why Carol too described his behaviour as boorish.
A chill wind by the stable forced Edward to reach for the leather riding gloves that hung just above the door.
Slipping his riding boot into the steel stirrup, Edward mounted the dapple grey.
Soon breaking into a canter, he followed James across the fens. The pair cantered for miles, through fallen branches and storm debris. Edward began to feel a sense of exhilaration.
Sharing a tot of port with equerry James on their return, Edward enquired,' Jim when did you start working here?'
'Earl Edward,' James replied, looking askance at his interlocutor,' why I have been here since you were a boy, hired by your late father, Squire Ambrose. My name is James, not Jim.'
Feeling sleepy, following his imbibing of the port aperitif, Edward ascended the staircase, this time taking the steps one at a time. Tearing off his riding gear he lay heavily on the four poster bed.
The familiar ping of his mobile phone penetrated his deep sleep.
'What now,' he muttered 'valet Bates ...valet Bates,' he called out at the top of his voice.
There was a loud knock on the door.
Opening it, he was confronted by the elderly resident, Mr Smith, from the apartment above him.
'Have you taken leave of your senses, Sir,' Mr Smith enquired, irritatedly.
'There are no valets or butlers or equerries in these here parts, nor have there been any such since Queen Vic. Come to think of it though, they say this block is built on the site of the former Dalworth Manor. Some strange shenanigans took place there, they say, murder and mayhem.'
Edward stared fixedly at Mr Smith, who raised his index finger, pointing towards the riding cap still hanging on the door. 'Eh, you been cantering with equerry James? My turn tomorrow.'
With that, Mr Smith turned on his heel, disappearing from view.
Edward reached for the riding cap but it was no longer visible.
'No more emails or late night spreadsheets for me,' he said.
Pausing for a moment, he wondered aloud,' on the other hand why not, if late night spreadsheets can transport me to breakfast and a morning canter on the fens around Dalworth Manor, wouldn't that be preferable to workouts or bodyshaping on Zoom?'
***************************
Someone Else writing prompt entry
|
Writing Prompt You (or your character) wakes up and are someone different. |
Image from Google
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. 
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2025. zanya All rights reserved.
zanya has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
