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Tales from Gledhill House

Not only an erotic chapter but a beautiful pic to go along with it. Flynn probably learned more through his summer break than an entire year at uni. I certainly enjoyed the photo shoot we all did with TJ....and the frivolity that ensued with Flynn and Leon. Now is only I can find my copy of the DVD... Thanks Auto for a sterling story.

Craiger
 
Flynn tells me that he is pleased you guys enjoyed his rights of passage as much as he did telling you of his experiences.

Thanks for your responses - Oh and by the way, Leon says that he would be happy to hook up with Craiger if he is interested?
 
Hell yes! I'll shower and shave and gussy up a bit. I'll try hard to match Flynn, but I know that will be difficult.........

Craiger
 
What's with that question mark, Auto? We all know that Craiger is darned well Interested in Leon! :badgrin:

And, since Flynn has Exposed his interest in "Older" Guys, I'll be more than willing to do what I can to Distract him while Leon and Craiger are "Playing" in my car's back seat! ..| :-<

Hey! Sometimes you have to do whatever it takes to support your Team! (group)

Keep smilin'!! :kiss: (*8*)
Chaz :luv:
 
There's something real special about the back seat. It's been the scene of action several times..........Besides it give a great view of Chaz and Flynn in the front seat. That is between breaths and other things...

Craiger
 
The episodes from Flynn's story filled the time that our two main characters were enjoying the delights of a winter break. They are home now and what follows may help fill hours of idle curiosity...

-----------------------------------------------------------------​

Their cruise vacation was over and George together with Scott settled into their winter routine, cleaning and repairing and where necessary applying paint and varnish in readiness for the reopening of their hotel in the spring. With the absence of guest in the meanwhile, it meant that they were missing the evening’s entertainment they provided with their stories. George decided to indulge his hobby of collecting old books. He had quite a few, many of them banned at the time they were published as they were considered too profane for the public readership by both governments and the church. Many that had been deemed obscene by legislators had re-emerged in more liberal times but those on the church’s banned list were seemingly lost forever, stocks having been collected and burned. George would trawl through the stocks of antiquarian bookshops in the vain hope of finding such treasures but with little success.

However, one day in the duty corner of such a shop he found a pile of manuscripts. Some were hand written others were typed but none appeared to have ever been published in print. George called the shopkeeper over and asked about the manuscripts.

‘Those? Oh I acquired them from a house clearance many years ago. An old man who had a private press had died and his family wanted to get rid of material they found in the house and asked if I was interested. They were anxious to get rid of the stuff and didn’t require payment. As I got them for free, you are welcome to take any or all for just ten dollars. George didn’t have to think over the offer for long before he offered a ten dollar bill to the shopkeeper and with the manuscripts tucked into two plastic shopping bags mad his way home.

‘What in the name of all that’s holy have you dragged home now?’ Scott exclaimed.

‘Manuscripts of unpublished short stories, novellas as well as letters and diaries at a first glance,’ George replied. ‘We may find something of interest. It appears to be stuff that was rejected by publishers as unfit for printing, even the old guy who ran an underground private press did not use them.’

‘Then they must be of no interest whatsoever, put them in the trash where they belong. On second thought burn them, we don’t want them to be blowing around a tip if they can be traced back to us, we need to preserve at least a little of our reputation!’ Scott said angrily. ‘What a waste of money!’

‘Ten dollars is not a great loss and I will read through these before I do anything drastic with them. The old man held on to them for some reason otherwise he would have lit his fire with them if the authors did not want them back,’ George replied.
‘Well, if you do find something worth reading let me know,’ Scott said. ‘I’ll not hold my breath!’

A few nights later when they had settled down after dinner, George produced one of the manuscripts. ‘Scott, I think you may like this one,’ he said.
 
After a wind up like this, who can resist?

On with the Tale!
 
OH! YES! PLEASE!! (!) ..|

(And, why was Scott being such a Dufus? That "time of month"? :badgrin: :slap:)

Keep smilin'!! :kiss: (*8*)
Chaz :luv:
 
You know what they find in those old treasure troves, sometimes old unbelievable gems. I have a feeling there are many gems about to shine forth. On with the story, Auto.

Craiger
 
Maybe there's a pre or post cursor to Fanny Hill included in the manuscripts.
 
Chapter Twenty-Six

Secrets of the Confessional​

The short winter day was drawing to a close and in the fading light the first few flakes of snow started to fall. At first they melted as they touched the ground but then some started to survive as the air grew colder and soon the land was white. A pale light shone above the oak door of the bishop’s house as a dark figure made its way up the short path to the worn sandstone stoop. The shoulders of his black greatcoat were white with the snow as he reached out to pull on the bell chain. He heard the bell sound from deep within the house and after what seemed to be a lengthy wait in the freezing cold; the door swung open a few inches.

‘Who’s there?’ a gruff voice demanded as a pale face was partially visible around the edge f the great door.

‘Michael, Father Michael from Melchester parish. I need to see the bishop.’

‘It’ late, his grace is resting. Come back in the morning.’

‘Who is it?’ Another voice called from within the darkened house.

‘He says he is Father Michael, your grace.’

‘Well show him in Martha don’t let him stand out there in the cold!’

The old crone who kept house for the bishop stepped aside and the door opened wider for the priest to enter. He stamped his feet on the doormat to shed the snow that had adhered to his boots and removing his coat he shook the snow from it out the door before it was slammed shut behind him by the agitated old woman.

‘Come, come this way,’ the bishop said from the door on the priest’s right hand side. He followed where the older man led and entered a room lit only by a table lamp alongside a chair before a glowing coal fire in the large hearth.

‘Here, sit and warm yourself you look frozen,’ the kindly prelate said, pulling a chair close to his own in front of the warm coals. ‘What is so urgent that it has to bring you out on such a night and could not wait until morning?’

The newcomer sat shivering in his chair, his face contorted as though he was in pain. With the warmth from the fire on his front he began to feel its comfort and his teeth ceased to chatter.

‘I apologise for this late intrusion your grace. I have sinned and come not for forgiveness but to be released from my vows as a priest.’ His face had turned imploringly toward the older, white haired man who for the past few years had been both guide and mentor to him.

‘I do not understand,’ the bishop said. ‘You show such promise and have a great future in our mother church, why you could be a successor to my throne in the cathedral when it becomes vacant. I am old, too old to expect further advancement myself but I cannot be many more years for this life.’

‘Your grace is kind but I am not worthy of what you suggest. I have sinned, broken my vows and deserve only to be cast out but first you must hear be recant my vows, if only then to hear my confession and release my very soul from the grip of hell.’

‘You speak as though one possessed. I cannot release you from your vows without good reason. Maybe you should make your confession and then I may consider your demands. You are a good priest, loved by your congregation, why must you forgo you vocation and desert those to whom you owe a duty of love and care my son?’

‘Would that I was your son in truth and not merely in the eyes of the church we both serve for then it would be so much easier to throw myself on your mercy. A more earthly father would have some understanding of my dilemma.’

‘You misunderstand me my son, I am of this earth, I have all the attributes of a man as well as a calling from God. Whatever it is that pains you, causes you to want to throw off your vocation, I can listen and hope to offer you solace. Tell me, explain yourself.’

‘It will be best if I tell you everything although it shames me beyond all measure to speak of this event. I will start from the very beginning.’ Michael sat quietly for a moment or so gathering his thoughts while the bishop reached out for the glass of wine that he had neglected on the table by the lamp. He took a sip and settled back to listen to what the young priest had to say.



to be continued
 
:D :-<

I'm watching this space! (*S*) :badgrin:

Keep smilin'!! :kiss: (*8*)
Chaz :luv:
 
I, too, await the continuance of this intriguing story. Perhaps to be but a tiny mouse in the corner by the hearth. Not oft do we have such visitors so late in the evening. Particularly one of such character as Father Michael. His story may well be a sad and troubling one or possibly one of joy and happiness. We must wait for the author to bring whichever it will be into the light.

Craiger
 
“It was early in the summer and I was sat in the church half thinking half praying, my mind was racing as I was faced with a problem. Winter storms had left their mark on the building of our ancient parish church and repairs were vital. The warm, dry summer days offered the best opportunity for the work to be done but ours was a poor parish and the cost would be far beyond anything we could afford. Our only asset, if you could call it that was a hole in the ground; the hole from which the stone to build the church had been quarried. The local community was an aging one as the young people moved away to the industrial towns in the north to earn a living that would give them standards of which their forebears could but dream. The few agricultural workers and old folk that made up the congregation had given what little they could afford and we were far short of the funds needed to pay for the repairs.

As I sat contemplating I was aware of a sound at the door at the top of the nave behind me. I turned to look and saw what was like a vision. With the late afternoon sun streaming in from behind him a golden youth stood in the doorway. At first I thought I was seeing an angel sent from heaven such was the light behind the figure that made his blond curls look as though they were a fiery halo. As he spoke, I came to my senses. The young man approached and stood at the end of the pew where I was sitting.

‘Good day father,’ he said. ‘I have been told that there could be work for me here.’

‘Work? What kind of work?’ I asked, taken aback by what he had said.

‘I am a stone mason or should I say a journeyman stone mason as I am fresh out of my apprenticeship and I see your church is in need of repair.’

‘We do need repairs, that is true but there are no funds to pay for the work, we cannot afford to employ you.’


‘I am prepared to work for bed and board nothing else, so your only cost would be those for materials. I can reuse stone wherever possible to keep costs at a minimum.’

His offer seemed to me to be an answer to my prayers. Had God sent this youth I wondered? It seemed too good to be true and I pinched myself to see whether or not I was dreaming.

‘We have the stone,’ I said. The words tumbled from my lips as my mind was in a whirl, this whole situation seemed totally unreal.

He sat down beside me, placing his bag containing his few belongings and tools of his trade on the floor. ‘As I said, I am a stone mason. I can make the repairs and seek no payment other than my keep and a place to sleep. If as you say you have the necessary stone, the work can be done at virtually no cost.’

‘You are sure of this?’ I asked in amazement. ‘There is a room at the presbytery. The facilities are basic as is my diet but to what is mind to share you are welcome should that be all you desire while you work on the church.’

‘I shall be more than grateful for your offer. I need some work that will show I am an able mason; finished work that will qualify me for employment on great projects such as the new cathedral in the city. It is not enough for me to show my indentures, I need to demonstrate my skills as proof of my worth.’

‘Come and join me for supper, we can discuss this further,’ I said and led him from the church to the humble building I called home. While I heated up soup and cut off chunks of crusty bread my guest went out into the yard behind the house to wash off the dust he had acquired on his journey and he then joined me at the scrubbed pine table that I had laid in readiness for our meal.

‘I have yet to introduce myself properly,’ my guest said. ‘My name is Christopher Mason. Our family name reflects my craft as my father and his father before him were stone masons. I know you are Father Michael, as your name is posted by the church door.’

‘How do your friends address you?’ I asked.

‘Several of my contemporaries are called Christopher so we had to find way s of distinguishing us one from the other. I became known as Lucian and am happy to answer to my nickname.’

‘Then I shall call you Lucian’ He told me something of his family life and his experience while serving his apprenticeship with a stone mason known to his father as they had been apprentices together as young men. I asked why Lucian did not learn his trade from his father and he explained that his guild required all apprentices to serve under masters who were not immediate family members. An apprentice gained further experience as a journeyman and could then join the family firm, seek employment with another master mason or set up on his own. Lucian was seeking to expand his horizons and to polish his skills. I explained that we needed basic repairs done on the stonework of the church and I couldn’t be sure that any of that would add to his abilities.

‘All work gives experience and I may be able to surprise you with the results of my labour.’ Lucian replied. ‘Where will you get new stone if needed?’

‘There we are in luck. We have a small quarry nearby that belongs to the parish and it was from there that the original stone was brought,’ I explained. ‘I will show you in the morning; meanwhile you must be tired as you have been walking most of the day. Let me show you to your room.’

*****************************************​

The next day after the morning service, I took Lucian across to the quarry. He climbed down and examined the stone left scattered on the ground after the last quarrymen had worked there. He also looked at the rock face and then climbed back up to where I had been standing watching him and said that there were several useful pieces of stone but he may have to cut more. There was the problem of the tools for the job. I told him that there were some of the quarry tools in a small outhouse behind the presbytery and together we went to view them. Lucian looked them over and said that there was all he would need but that he might need some help. I told him that I had no experience of quarrying but cold assist under his directions, and that was decided upon.

Over the next few weeks, Lucian busied himself working on the church and to my great joy he was not only shaping stone to replace those that had fallen in the storm but also was carving decorative work to enhance the character and beauty of the church. The parishioners were full of praise for what he was doing and when they heard that he was not charging for his labour but relied upon me to provide him with accommodation and food, they would bring gifts of fruit and vegetables and other food such as a rabbit or a hock of bacon to replenish our shared larder. All was going well and then one day Lucian said it would be necessary to cut some new stone from the quarry. Together we collected tools and heavy hammers from the tool store and made our way to the quarry. It was hot and hard work but we managed to hack blocks of fresh stone from the quarry face and using a double handled saw together we cut slabs of stone into blocks that could be moved up to the church.

We were sweating profusely and the saw dust had adhered to our faces, arms and upper bodies like fine sand from a beach. Once we had transferred the required blocks to the church we went to the yard at the back of the house and stripped off so that we could wash down with water from the pump. The yard was enclosed and so we were able to strip naked without being seen. I had glimpses of Lucian as he had washed under the pump before but this was the first time that I had a full and uninterrupted view of him, fully naked. His body was finely honed and he looked magnificent as his wet body glistened in the summer sun. That night as I lay in my bed the image of that manly body was fixed in my mind and I was ashamed of myself for the way in which I felt about Lucian. For the first time in my life I had to admit that I was lusting after him.

Over the next week or so I tried my utmost to drive those thoughts from my mind. I tried to avoid watching him as he worked and would find an excuse if he suggested we went together to the quarry. I prayed forgiveness for my unclean thoughts but I could not get him out of my mind. He was there in my waking hours and in my dreams that became more and more frequent. I would wake sweating, and dare I say erect even finding my intimate parts covered with ejaculate to my great shame. I told myself that this was a test of my faith. Temptation was there to test my vow of chastity, it was God’s way and that by putting such thoughts in my mind and dreams he was giving me the opportunity to demonstrate my devotion to my calling.

The dreams persisted and became still more vivid as the days passed and I would see Lucian as he worked and I was unable to resist watching him as he bathed in the yard. We would take our meals together and converse about his progress on the church repairs and refurbishment. He created a new font, one with intricate carving of goats and other horned animals upon it to the amazement of the congregation. As the summer drew to a close and the autumn days grew shorter, Lucian declared he had done all he could and it was time for him to be on his way. The churchwardens decided that his departure should not go unmarked and arrangements were made for a farewell dinner for him in the village inn.

The elders gathered for the event and speeches were made, a farmer had supplied a pig to be roasted and ale and wine flowed freely. A good time was had by all and Lucian and I were carried shoulder high back to the presbytery at the end of the feast. We waved goodbye to the revellers as they staggered off to their respective homes and arm in arm we made our way into the house. Relaxed by the drink and in such a cheery mood we laughed and hugged one another, Lucian and I. Who made the first move, I cannot say but our hugs became embraces as our lips met in a tentative kiss. Overcome by desire and casting aside all caution we stripped off our clothes and lay together in my bed.

His hand was on my tumescence and I felt his manhood pressing hard against my thigh. We moved together so that our erections were gripped between us and we rocked our bodies to enhance the sensations that our contact provided. In frenzy we licked one another’s bodies, we kissed fervently and suddenly his mouth was on my penis. My wildest dreams became a reality as I allowed him to bring me to a climax. Lucian’s cock was as hard as any stone that he had chiselled and he probed my anus with it causing me to cry out until he had penetrated me and my muscle had learned to accommodate his engorgement. We rutted like animals of the field turn and turn about until we were both overcome with exhaustion.

The next day Lucian said that he would be on his way and I pleaded with him to stay. He said that he had to go; he needed to find other work, work that would pay him in cash rather than kind but he would return to me in due course. Accepting the situation, I tried to forget him while I gave all my attention to my pastoral duties. There were reminders of him all around the church and my nights were troubled with more dreams filled with lust. In time, as he had not returned, I told myself that he had not been sent by God but by the Devil and that I had sold my soul to him by succumbing to temptation of the flesh. I am no longer a worthy member of the church and no longer fit to be a priest.“

The bishop had listened intently to what Father Michael had to say. ‘I can give you absolution but as for releasing you from your vows, that is beyond my control. You can repent and carry on but if you feel that is impossible you can resign and go on your way choosing whatever path you wish to follow in the future.’
The young priest thanked the bishop for hearing him out and left feeling heartbroken as nothing the older man had said had really helped him with the burden of guilt he carried. He strode off into the night and made his lonely way back to his parish.

The next day his parishioners were surprised to find the church closed and the priest nowhere to be seen. A week passed and still there was no sign of Father Michael until one day some children were playing near the quarry and saw a body lying at the bottom of it in the snow. As they ran home they met the churchwarden who was walking to the church. Grabbing his coat tails they pulled him to the quarry where it was the priest who was found frozen in the snow.

The bishop was called upon to conduct the funeral service but he did not say that the priest had been to visit him. No one knew why father Michael had been out that night and all assumed he had missed his way and fallen accidentally to his death. The bishop sent out messengers seeking the whereabouts of a Lucian Mason but they all returned none having found him or anyone who had even heard of him beyond the village. The man remained a mystery.
 
WOW! So Powerful, and So Tragic! AWESOME story, Auto! :=D: ..| (group)

All the more reasons to ... no matter what ...

Keep smilin'!! :kiss: (*8*)
Chaz :luv:
 
That was an intense tale, and so tragic.

The horned animals on the font do give one pause.

You leave so many unanswered questions in our minds.
 
Auto, I find it a sad and tragic story, yet on the other hand, a beautifully romantic one as well. Father Michael was given the opportunity of witnessing the pleasures of life, but to the downfall and test of his faith. As Don commented on the horned animals on the font, I also now understand the nickname "Lucian." It is also a curiosity that his given name was CHRISTopher. So, who knows whether he was sent by God or was in fact Lucifer? Very intriguing tale and obviously still a mystery.

Craiger
 
Chapter Twenty Seven

‘That was an interesting story,’ Scott admitted. ‘I can understand why it may not have been put into print.’

‘Why do you say that?’ George asked.

‘It could offend the church.’

‘There has been plenty worse that has gone into print. The story does have some sort of moral I guess,’ George offered.

‘What could that be then?’ Scott asked.

‘Whatever you want, I guess. Here let’s look at another one. This could be worth reading,’ George said as he picked another manuscript from the pile.

What follows is the manuscript that George had selected:

The Servant of Two Masters.

He sat and waited. He had been waiting for the best part of an hour. While he waited he grew ever more tense in anticipation of what was to follow. This had become an almost nightly ritual for several weeks. He tried to recall just how many weeks he had been back in the family home following his time at university. That had been the best time of his life to date. Never had he enjoyed so much freedom. Here at home he was bound by the strict protocol that was observed by people that his father referred to as ‘our class.’ Wealth and position had its vast advantages but those who benefited from its power and influence were continually in the public eye and bound to behave impeccably if they were not to be hounded by those who sought their downfall. These were difficult times; the shift from the land into industry had brought about a change in the attitudes of the peasantry. They were forming unions and a new radical political class was speaking out against the autocratic rule of the monarch. He was being denounced as a tyrant and his secret police was kept busy rounding up dissenters who, once arrested, disappeared into the dark confines of the ancient prison in the heart of the city never to be seen again.

When studying abroad he had his own rooms where he could entertain in private. Here, back at home he had his own bedroom and bathroom but even that was not truly private as any visitor would have to pass through the house under the eyes of both family and the household staff. He needed his own space with a separate entrance so that his guests could come and go unhindered. For now he was obliged to use the boathouse. It was a stone building with a lower section to accommodate the small motor launch his father used on the lake and an upper floor that served as a sitting room cum diner and a small room for changing for swimming together with a bathroom. Quite ideal for a clandestine meeting such as that he had in mind.

He was Felix, the son and heir to the estate and Felix was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Bruno. A year or so his junior, Bruno had recently joined his father’s household staff and Felix was immediately attracted to his slim, fit looking body, his dark and brooding eyes that had long lashes that were the envy of the women who saw him. In fact women all but swooned when they saw the handsome young man and many wondered what it would be like to coax the duke’s new footman into their bed; women who would be grieved to know that what they had only thought about had been achieved by the duke’s equally attractive son.

There was a sound as the door to the boathouse opened and closed followed by footsteps on the creaking wooden stairs. Felix stood to greet the newcomer his face alight with the expectation of Bruno’s arrival. But it was not Bruno but Alicia his sister that entered the room. She must have noticed his sudden look of disappointment when she asked, ‘Felix, what are you doing here at this hour?’

‘I might ask the same of you?’ Felix replied. His sister sat in a chair and looked up at him, wondering why he was looking so distraught. ‘Felix, you would tell me if something is wrong?’ she said her voice full of concern for her adored brother. ‘Only I have seen you leave the house and come in this direction at night on several occasions.’

‘No sis, nothing is wrong. That is to say nothing is troubling me apart from the fact that you are here now and you should not be out at this time of night, you should go back to the house quickly.’

‘But I have also seen someone else come this way, someone who would seem to be following you. Are you sure there is nothing wrong?’

‘Nothing that you would understand, Alicia. Now you must go.’ Felix replied, his anxiety growing as he heard the sound of the ground floor door being opened again and the tread of feet on the stairs.

‘There is someone!’ Alicia exclaimed and she stood up looking in the direction of the stairs, he eyes wide with surprise when she saw Bruno. The footman was an unusual sight for the young woman, who had only seen him in his uniform as he went about his duties. Now he was wearing a loose shirt and a pair of cotton trousers, his hair ruffled and a look of surprise on his face. Ever a quick thinker, Bruno summed up the situation and in an effort to cover the true intent of his presence asked, ‘I saw you come this way sir, and I thought I would come to see whether there is anything you need now that the rest of the staff had retired for the night.’

‘Err, nnn...no,’ Felix stammered unsure as to how best to respond. ‘The Lady Alicia and I were merely having a conversation.’

‘It is you,’ Alicia said. ‘You are the one that I have seen coming here nightly. ‘Felix, tell me why are you and this footman meeting here like this?’

‘Alicia, you don’t know what you are asking. I must ask you to leave and go back to the house. If you love me, do not say anything about this to anyone. Just go.’

‘I think I do understand... tell me, is it true... you are lovers?’

Bruno had stood silently during this exchange now he looked at Felix, fearful of what he might say. By admitting their love for one another, Felix could jeopardise them both, in any event his position could be on the line if Alicia was to speak of this.’

‘Alicia, if you will not go back to the house, then I will explain but only if you swear by all that’s holy that what I tell you is to be a secret between us. Unless you give me your solemn promise, I can tell you nothing.’

‘I’ll keep your secret; it will not be the first between us, Felix dear. You know I would never do anything that would harm you in any way.’

‘I am not as other men. I have known for as long as I can remember that Ii am attracted to my own sex. You realise what that means?’ Felix implored.

‘Yes, I do understand and know what the penalties can be if you are betrayed. I promise not to speak of this but ask you to put this... this... infatuation behind you. You are to be engaged to my dearest friend this very week. How can you deny her?’

‘Emmaline has been like another sister to me. Our fathers have decided our union. I cannot, I will not enter into marriage with her for both our sakes,’ Felix said tears rolling down his cheeks.

‘How can you say that? How can you back out of the arrangement now that you have let it go this far?’ Alicia cried.

‘I am planning on leaving here tomorrow, Bruno is here to discuss the final arrangements with me, now please leave us and be true to your promise, say nothing of this.’ Felix said. His sister angrily turned on her heel and left the building. Felix watched through the window as she made her way over the lawn and out of sight through the trees as she sped back to the house.

Until now, Bruno had stood silently watching the exchange between the siblings. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I am late but your father kept me. His valet has taken the night off as he in unwell and the master wanted me to help him prepare for bed.’

‘It was probably as well you were late, imagine my sister’s reaction had she seen us together; it is bad enough that she knows of our relationship.’ Felix said as he reached out to Bruno and clasped him in a tight hug. ‘I have waited all day for this moment and now that it has come, I fear that I am too agitated by what has happened here this evening to stay longer. We must go back to the house separately, of course. I will meet you at the stables at nine o’clock tomorrow. No one will suspect us at that time as I usually go for my morning ride at that hour and you will have completed your morning duties.’

‘Felix, my only worry is that I shall have to wait on your father in the absence of his valet and you know he can be tardy in the morning. I will do my best to meet you at nine.’


oooooOOOOOooooo​

The following morning Felix was stamping his feet as he stood in the cold outside the stable block. ‘Where the hell is he?’ he muttered to himself as he checked his pocket watch for the hundredth time. Bruno was late. The coachman was becoming impatient and the horse between the shafts of the carriage was also showing signs of his eagerness to be underway. Just when Felix was about to give up all hope, Bruno appeared running in his direction. The two young men piled into the carriage and Felix told the coachman to head for the rail station with all speed as they will otherwise miss the train.

‘What kept you? I had almost given you up and gone on alone,’ Felix said angrily.

‘Sorry, it was your father. He insisted that I waited until he had had his bath. I then had to help him dress and he changed his clothes some three times before he was happy with what he should wear for the morning. I am only glad that I shall not be there to help him change later in the day or for dinner this evening!’

‘Well you won’t have to worry about him any longer. When we step off the train in Paris and set up in our new home you will be a gentleman like me and we shall have servants of our own!’
 
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