December 1905 - Regent’s Lodge, the London residence of Count Glorfindel.
“I say, Fin; it’s getting a bit dark in here,” Bunchy Cheverell said as he poked the fire. Bunchy, a chum of mine who normally rooms at his club when in London was spending the holiday season with me instead of cruising around the Mediterranean with his aunt. She is a veritable dragon, ceaselessly expounding on the evils of drink and the questionable benefits of temperance.
I rang the bell and had to wait for two minutes before my housekeeper, Mrs. Clavell, appeared, causing me to wonder where the butler was.
“You rang, My Lord?”
“Indeed I did. It is getting dark in here.”
“I will ask Fosberry to light the gas lamps, My Lord.” She curtseyed and left the room.
Fosberry appeared almost immediately and set to his task. When the lamps were fully lit the whole room was bathed in a cosy glow, which contrasted starkly with the dimly lit street outside. Driving sleet slapped against the window panes and slid down to the sills, partially melting upon contact with the glass. I thought how fortunate I was to be in front of a warm log fire.
“Will that be all, My Lord?” Fosberry asked. I suspected that Mrs. Clavell was within listening range, otherwise he would not be so formal.
“That will be all, Fosberry, thank you,” I replied. “Mrs Clavell can serve tea.”
The paperboy outside in the street, beyond the gates of my house, yelled something about some jewels. Fosberry and I exchanged glances and smiled. “It would seem, My Lord, that you require a newspaper.”