The Adventures of Charlie Smithers (The Charlie Smithers Collection Book 1) by C W Lovatt

Author:C W Lovatt [Lovatt, C W]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wild Wolf Publishing
Published: 2013-11-11T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

We pulled onto the gravelled lane to Brampton Manor in a coach-and-four.

Everyone was gathered on the broad, stone-flagged steps of the entrance to greet us, all shouting and waving congratulations. I pulled the curtain aside with my silver-tipped walking stick and peered out at all the friendly faces beaming back at me.

There was dear old Mrs. Dyck, the cook, smiling toothlessly and waving her best lace hanky. Oh, and here was Maggie, the chambermaid, jumping up and down, ringlets bouncing like bedsprings, scarcely able to contain her enthusiasm. Over there was that young lad, whatsisname, the new ostler, knuckling his brow and grinning idiotically from ear to ear. Davis, the footman, immaculate as usual, was bowing gravely from the waist, right-angled to the ground. Oh my goodness! There was even redoubtable old Mrs. Kilns, the housekeeper, laying aside her glowering phiz for a change, the welcome of her smile contrasting sharply with the severity of her grey-haired bun. And old Tomkins, who had lost an arm at Waterloo, standing stiffly to attention, his remaining limb rigid at the salute.

And before them all, dressed in their very best coats and tails, were Lord Brampton himself, side by side with my guv’nor. Lord Brampton smiling amiably and my old man fit to burst the buttons on his starched front.

When Davis came forward to open the coach door, I emerged waving my topper amidst the warmth of all their cheers.

“Well done, Smithers!” Lord Brampton seized my hand, wringing it sincerely, “Jolly good show!”

“Now then, Charlie,” my father piped his eye emotionally, but managed to give my back a good thumping all the same. “Now then, lad!”

And there was my mum, dressed up in her best calico, with the shawl that Dad had given her last Christmas draped over her shoulders.

“Ma bairn,” she crooned, all five foot two Presbyterian inches of her enfolding me in her arms. “Ach, ma wee lamb, cum back frae the land o’the niggers tae see his old mither agin, has he no!”

“Mother!”

I held her close as I dared, being careful from force of habit to listen for excessive strain on her tiny bones. I breathed in deeply, filling my nostrils with the scent of the lye from her soap.

“Mother, I’m home!”

“Aye laddie, so y’ar. Fit to burst ma puir old heart w’the gladness of it, too!”

I held her for some time, and would have continued doing so for quite a bit longer, but the spell was broken by an expectant “Ahem!”

I looked up to see Lord Brampton fidgeting his eyeballs toward the coach like an over-excited child awaiting permission to open his birthday gifts.

“Aye then,” my mother reluctantly extricated herself from my arms, smoothing out my lapels with little bird-like whisks of her hands. “Now, where’s this bonnie lass we’ve bin hearin’ so much aboot?”

“Yes, where?” cried Mrs. Kilns.

“We want to see her,” Mrs. Dyck called from the step, peering short-sightedly at the carriage.

“Yes, do show us! Oh please!” Maggie piped.

Then there was a general uproar from all

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