Mortimer

Chapter 14

Mrs. Dixon was far too practical to spend money on such ridiculous trinkets. She believed whole-heartedly in modesty, education, and a secure savings account. Nearly every dollar she had earned during her years as the nanny had either been put into savings or sent to her five children in Jamaica. Sure, she did spend a little here and there, but those cherished pennies were used responsibly, and really primarily to maintain her position as one of the most respected and upstanding nannies in the town. During trying times such as the one she was enduring now, listening as Mortimer ranted on, she would reflect upon these things: her status in society, her five children back home in Jamaica, and her little nest egg savings account. She smiled and imagined herself floating away to her happy home: In Jamaica, nuzzled in a canary yellow hammock where she and her late husband lived. Surrounding her were her five, brilliantly successful children. Someone who also happened to be educated, refined, and practical. Not to mention, each one of them doted upon their mother mercilessly.

also

Something Mortimer said, snapped her from her reverie. “What was that?”

“The acute angle of the graphite must be shaven to be at a precise thirty-four degrees in order to satisfy my requirements of integrity in the shading and duplication of the majestic Mistress Esquirer.” Mortimer barreled on as though he had not heard her.

“No, no, no.” Mrs. Dixon waved her hand, “You said something about communion wine.” She wrinkled her nose. “Have you been drinking?”

“I shall require a trip to Mendelmen’s General.” Mortimer was in front of the mirror vigorously scrubbing at his tarnished lapel. “Blast that wolfish degenerate!”

Mrs. Dixon shut the water off. “Are you listening to me boy?” But before she could go on there was a knock at the door. “Goodness, who could that be?” She pointed to Mortimer. “You get in the bath, put your clothes in the hamper there, I will send Neville in with your robe.”

“And what about my dinner?”

“You will only get your dinner after you have had your bath!” With a sweep of her skirt, Mrs. Dixon left the bathroom, opened the door to the house, and came face to face with John Adams Ascariot.

***

“Isn’t it a bit late to be paying a call?” Mrs. Dixon did not feign ceremony when it came to this man. He had been a thorn in her side since she had joined the Ascariot staff twenty years ago. Though he was her late-master’s only brother, he was also one of the most irritating men of her acquaintance.

“Neville assured me it would be quite alright.”

“Did he? Before I let you into the house just now?”

Ignoring her, John opened a small leather book. “Considering this property will belong to me as soon as… well we won’t get into that now, will we?” He looked through his spectacles at Mrs. Dixon who glowered at him.

“I don’t suppose we will.”

John suppressed a smile, for, when Mrs. Dixon scrunched her face the way she was presently, she looked quite akin to a bulldog.

“What is all that nonsense in there?” He leaned over as if to peer though the closed bathroom door. “Has Mortimer not yet learned how to employ the bath?”

“I assure you that the hygienic aptitude of Mr. Ascariot is none of your concern.”

“Ah, brushing up on your English I see.” John raised a condescending brow. “It reflects upon the family nicely.”

Mrs. Dixon was unable to give him a sufficient demonstration of her acumen for English, her native language, for John tossed an envelope into her hands. “This was on the front stoop.”

She eyed John warily. “I beg your pardon?”

“Indeed woman, your listening skills leave much to be desired.”

She hoped he would mistake the trembling in her hands for anger instead of the paralyzing fear that had chilled her to the bone.

Someone cleared his or her throat at the opposite end of the hall.

“Dinner is ready.”

Mrs. Dixon stuffed the letter into the front apron of her pocket. “Thank you, Millie.” Then turning back to her guest: “I suppose you would like to stay.”

“I’ve only come by to discuss some things with the lady of the house, if you would be so kind as to direct me to her.”

Mrs. Dixon watched as he discretely withdrew a roll from his pants pocket, extracted a small white tab from it and popped it into his mouth.

“Mrs. Ascariot is in no condition to take callers I am afraid.” She folded her hands and looked him straight in the face. Mrs. Dixon was thankful that after her earlier venture into the foyer dressed in her nightgown; the widow of the late Mr. Ascariot had wandered back upstairs to her wing of the house.

nightgown

Unfortunately, Mrs. Ascariot hadn’t been well enough to take a caller for quite some time. Mrs. Dixon suppressed a sigh. The Lady of the house had been acting a bit batty for years and then, with the tragic disappearance of her husband, she had completely lost her mind. Much of her time she spent wandering the halls, a confused expression in her eyes and nonsense at her lips. It was all that Mrs. Dixon could do to prevent the entire town from learning of the mistress of the manor’s decline into lunacy.

Of course, this was not news to John as he was her brother-in-law. But all the same, Mrs. Dixon did not want to afflict her mistress with an unannounced guest, especially this unannounced guest.

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