By Elf Asato
In the prime of spring, Hyde Park was a crowded and busy, but peaceful nonetheless, social gathering for all ages. The elderly came to enjoy the heavenly scent of the roses and what could be their last spring while the young came in groups to socialize and peek their heads out into society for the first time. The roses were the main attraction on that fair spring day, and nearly everybody who was anybody, so to say, was there enjoying it. Occupying a park bench were two young women, maids from their attire, intensely engaged in gossip.
"...And also, Agnes heard from her friend Shelley that the late duke's eldest son has arrived from India to take over his father's title and estate. She was recently hired to the household, I think."
"You don't say? What was he doing over there in India, anyway?"
"Ah...I think Agnes said that he was helping with the colonization --"
"Figures. Like my Charles, all the men are over there away from the women -- and what for? Teaching those barbarians how to eat like civilized human beings!"
"Er, that may be a bit over the top, Carrie... Remember, your brother is over there servicing our queen; they'll bring him home eventually."
"You've been telling me that for the last seven years, Beatrice."
"Well...these things take awhile... Anyway, the new Duke Acheson has practically replaced half the household staff with newly hired employees along with his own personal attendants from his time in India."
"You mean he has Indians working for him? I daresay, can they at least speak English?"
"Ah...I'm not sure about that, honestly. I think Shelley would have mentioned something like that to Agnes, though, if it were true. He took a handful of his father's staff with him to India, I know, so he probably brought them back as well."
"Oh! To be a servant at the Acheson estate at that time, taken away to some far off and foreign destination... How romantic; it's almost like something in a storybook! Oh, what I would give to at least hear of the adventures they must have had!"
"Yes, I can only imagine what tales we would hear! Perhaps I should ask Agnes to ask Shelley..."
"Oh Beatrice, you must!"
Admiring a particular rosebush adjacent to the park bench where Carrie and Beatrice sat were two men, both dressed somewhat formally for an outing. The shorter of the two, having a distinguished stature, mused with amusement, "Do you think those lovely young ladies would enjoying hearing of the time when we happened to find ourselves stuck on an elephant trail?"
"I'm sure they would delight in it, my lord, but they are no more than servants and I cannot allow for you to lower yourself to that," the taller man spoke up, apparently the other's personal attendant.
The distinguished of the two nearly scowled at his attendant, his blue eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. "I'm growing bored of these roses and my leg is bothering me. Come along, Riff, we're going back home."
"As you wish, sir," Riff answered, trailing behind his master like someone of his position should.
"Welcome back, your lordship," the footman greeted once his master and the house butler arrived in the comfort of their own dwelling, only giving Riff a tiny but respectful nod of acknowledgement. "I trust you had a nice time at the park, sir?"
The master of the house gave a short but gleeful nod and answered, "Oh yes, we did indeed. I had forgotten how heavenly the roses smell in the spring here. Come Thursday you all really must go over, even just for the magnificent scent."
"Duly noted, sir," the footman replied as a petite household maid swiftly made her way into the main hall to greet them, her shoes click-clacking with every step she took.
The maid, one of the youngest newly hired employees, stopped before them. "Duke Acheson," she alerted softly with a nod, "Dr. Disraeli wishes to see you, sir."
Like a much younger boy, Duke Acheson rolled his eyes and groaned, but to those who knew him well, he was frequently less annoyed than he tried to act. "Jezebel again? I swear that man has a sixth sense; he has this annoying habit of always knowing just when my leg bothers me..."
"Perhaps that's to your advantage, sir," Riff spoke up, but when his master turned around and gave him a mock glare, he simply smiled serenely and added, "Dr. Disraeli becomes quite temperamental when you keep him waiting, sir, as you'll recall the episode from a few days before."
The duke clicked his tongue and turned on his heel, following the young maid down a hall wordlessly. Once their unequal footsteps eventually reverberated into silence, the footman fully acknowledged Riff and asked curiously, "Didn't make too much trouble over at Hyde, did he?"
Shaking his head, Riff explained with a subtle gleam in his eyes, "Not really, but I made sure his chances were limited. If he had it his way, he would have made quite the spectacle of himself."
"Yes," the footman mused as the two of them began walking down another hall. He looked away, keeping his eyes from Riff as he continued with an odd sort of inflection in his voice, "If he had it his way, we would all still be in India..."
"Right so, and a good thing we are not; he would never have a chance at his title or this estate otherwise, Ron," Riff replied quickly with a hint of an edge in his voice as he looked over to the footman, vaguely irritated.
Ron stopped walking and sighed, "I know you had the best intentions in mind for him when you forced him up here to claim his inheritance, but surely you of all people can see how unhappy he is here in domestic life. London fails to suit him while India does the job so perfectly."
For a few moments Riff was silent as he turned away and stared at the obviously expensive floor, completely motionless; then he broke the uncomfortable silence between them by replying in a soft but deadpan tone, "We are going to like it here, whether we want to or not, because we are staying."
"But Riff--" Ron protested, but the butler cut him off with a cold and decisive inflection.
"We are staying, Ron, and you might as well inform anyone who may think otherwise of this fact; there is to be no further discussion on this matter, and if I catch anyone talking about it, their pay will be docked."
Realizing he had hit a nerve, the footman muttered, "Yes, sir," and went off to attend to his normal duties, leaving Riff alone in the hall to mull over guiltily about the very matter he had closed.
Duke Acheson sat on the balcony overlooking the green, rolling countryside in a comfortable leather chair that he remembered being his favorite as a child.
Or rather, Riff remembered it that way.
Acheson, not too interested in details, wouldn't notice or even care if a chair dated back a hundred years ago or was bought newly yesterday. He personally believed that there were more important things to life than what color the drapes were on Friday; a trait that considerably disturbed his trusted butler and friend.
Almost like a foil, he and Riff.
But no matter the differences between them, the two had remained childhood friends despite Acheson's carefree attitude and Riff's insistence on order, among many more light-hearted...and serious differences.
When they were children, the most serious difference of all was the fact that Dudley Acheson was the only son of an influential duke, while Riff was merely the son of a servant. A traditionalist by nature, the duke refused to allow his son any contact with commoners of no wealth or status. In spite of all that, Acheson found his way to the son of a servant anyway and the two quickly became good friends. Although quite reckless, he at least had the sense to keep the friendship a secret from the elder duke, which Riff fully began to appreciate when he followed his father's footsteps and became a servant to the household.
At his side Riff stood, watching the birds chase each other across the sky but not fully seeing them. His mind was off somewhere far away, thinking back to his conversation with Ron, how everyone took the news that they would be returning to London practically a year before, his childhood hopes and dreams... The duke was placid at the time, staring off, perhaps thinking of his own worries for the day; it was a perfect time for reflection.
Breaking his gaze from the dreary sky, Riff turned his attention to his lord and master, the conversation he had with the footman replaying in his mind: "Surely you of all people can see how unhappy he is here in domestic life."
But was he really as unhappy as Ron said he was?
Since it happened, Riff had asked himself that countless times, and each time he never quite believed it when he told himself that of course Duke Acheson was happy. Why wouldn't he be? He had plenty of money, a title, an estate, loyal servants...what more could he ask for?
But there was something that bothered Riff. No, it wasn't about his master; it was about himself.
Riff regretted the fact that he was unable to continue on this train of thought due to a disturbance in the room directly behind them: Jezebel.
"Dudley Acheson, I can see you from here," Jezebel's authoritative and scolding voice carried out onto the balcony as the doctor himself rushed to follow, "and your leg is not propped up like I had instructed!" As Acheson fumbled for an excuse, the doctor rounded on Riff and further inquired sharply, "And why have my instructions gone unheeded?"
Glancing at the duke, Riff saw that he resembled a child caught in the act of stealing a pastry. He had to smile, but to avoid the wrath of Jezebel he did so very faintly. "I...was not aware of any instructions you might have given him. The master failed to inform me."
Jezebel sighed in exasperation and gave Acheson the most piercing look he could muster. "Perhaps this injury of yours will remind you to be more careful with what you do."
"Exactly," Riff added to the doctor's pleasure. "Falling into a ditch is hardly something that is expected to befall a gentleman of your stature and qualifications."
With a certain smugness, Jezebel recalled, "I seem to remember us all laughing very hard at you when that happened..."
Duke Dudley Acheson tried to scowl and prevent his dignity from being further lost, but in the company of his two most trusted and familiar associates, it didn't quite have the effect that he intended; Jezebel and Riff began to reminisce of Acheson's various follies while in India, including the ditch-falling incident along with the attempt to tame a monkey gone awry. The duke endured this torture for a minute or two before the three of them were interrupted by knock in the inner room.
Falling back into his role as servant, Riff disappeared to answer the door; Jezebel, in turn, acted as physician again and saw to it that his master's leg was propped up suitably. Returning shortly after, the butler presented the duke with a pristine letter adorned with a fancy and grand seal.
"A messenger boy brought this invitation to you, sir, from the royal family," Riff explained as he tried to pass it to his master.
Acheson, though, simply pushed the invitation away and said, "I'm in no mood to read letters and words, Riff. Tell me what it says." With that, he leaned back comfortably in his chair and looked to his butler like a child does while having a story read to them.
Though Riff had never officially confirmed it, he had the sneaking suspicion that his master wasn't at all fluent in the written word, if his struggle in his studies as an adolescent was the first clue. Of course, it was the complete opposite with the young butler. Even though Acheson's father would have thrown a fit if he knew, Riff had always helped his friend with his studies in addition to teaching himself. And so even as he became the duke's trusted butler, he continued to aid him.
Clearing his throat slightly, Riff opened the letter and skimmed through it briefly rather than reading its entire contents aloud, avoiding the flowery and unnecessary language used by aristocrats so often to make themselves sound more important than they actually were. The butler mused inwardly that that was the more probable reason in his master's reading difficulties. "The king is holding a ball for all the esteemed to attend, and you, sir, are invited," Riff summarized, wading through quite unnecessary details as even he struggled to grasp at a meaning.
"Oh bother," the duke grumbled as he crossed his arms, looking like a much younger boy. "A ball. When is the bloody thing?"
Riff gave the letter another quick glance to see if he had missed any details, and replied, "This coming Friday evening, sir. ...Do you not wish to go?"
Acheson's face contorted in mock disgust as he eyed his servant. "No. Now why, pray tell, would I want to go to a social gathering and mingle with haughty aristocrats? That was my father's crowd, Riff, not mine."
"But as the new Duke of Acheson, my lord, it is your responsibility to keep up your social appearance," Riff replied delicately, looking to the silent doctor for support; Jezebel, however, was lost gazing at the green rolling hills the balcony view provided.
Acting like a much younger boy, Acheson stuck out his tongue rather bitterly at Riff and blew raspberry. He stopped shortly, though, after receiving an irksome expression from the servant and his eyes wandered off somewhere distant. "Father used to go on and on about social responsibility, how it was your duty ensure that they thought the highest of you...and my mother always said that you had to keep up appearances and look beyond your best for the world. Those two were always so preoccupied with what everyone else thought of them that they had little time for anything else..." Duke Acheson tilted his head slightly towards Riff and gazed at him with his eyes sharply in focus. "I refuse to live like that, Riff."
Riff was torn between happiness and propriety for his master. As a servant, he had to accept his master's judgment no matter how much he disagreed; but then again his master's judgment had proven to be quite faulty in the past and as the new Duke of Acheson, he had to live that life. "...My lord...in the letter, the royal family blatantly expresses their wishes to see you...since you've spent so much time in India...and..." The tone Riff had meant was dutiful and subtly persuasive, but what came out was different - strained and desperate.
The silence that followed grew increasingly uncomfortable as the duke sat in his chair, gazing up pensively at the servant, while Jezebel looked Riff's faint agitation over in amusement with a lazy smirk illuminating his stark expression.
More so than the sound of his voice breaking the silence, Acheson's words startled Riff: "Why don't you go in my place?"
This was suitable enough to break Jezebel of his muted expressions. "What? Why him?"
"Honestly," Acheson explained in a mock-exasperated tone, "who else is as stuffy and proper as our Riff here? He's likely to better act an aristocrat than I would."
"S-sir, I'm flattered, but," Riff stammered as he flushed pink, "I cannot accept your offer. It wouldn't be right for a mere servant to attend a function meant for his master."
"Do you see?!" the duke cried out to his doctor, raising his hands for emphasis. "He's more prim and proper than a sweet virgin girl!" Duke Acheson burst out into a light laughter as Jezebel smirked furtively, side glancing at Riff in a most mischievous manner.
And at this, of course, the hue in Riff's cheeks deepened. "I'm serious, my lord," Riff stated again firmly, his tone indicating absolute certainty, "I cannot attend in your place as you wish!"
Acheson's merry laughter subsided as Riff spoke and he eventually resumed his childish pose of crossing his arms and looking utmost put out. "Oh fine, then. If it'll make you happy I'll go to this bloody ball..." At Riff's most gracious expression, the duke then added, "But if you ever change your mind, Riff..."
"...And I assure you that I won't, my lord," Riff stated softly, a twinkle in his eye of what one might call pride, "but might I say that hopefully this will lead you to realize that you really must take your duties as the new Duke of Acheson seriously."
"Yes, yes, of course," he replied quickly in an offhand manner that included eye rolling. Fortunately for him, Riff did not see that particular gesture. With a yawn he concluded as he took Jezebel's arm, "Well all this talk of extravagance has tired me, so Dr. Disraeli, if you'd be so kind to escort me to my chambers... Bad leg, you know. And what say you notify the royal family that a one Duke Dudley Acheson will be attending their much-esteemed ball, Mr. Raffit? I'd be very much obliged."
"As you wish it, sir," Riff murmured with a slight cock of the eyebrow at what seemed to be a mighty tone of sarcasm in his master's voice. As a dutiful servant, though, he said nothing.
Written: June - September '03
Words: 2975