Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Short Story: "Called to Account"

This is a writing challenge posed to me by Chris and Jerri Schlenker from my "Beginning Writer's Workshop" course:

CALLED TO ACCOUNT
A 500-Word Short Story by Rainey Wetnight, a.k.a MsFicwriter

“Mister Edmonds? Would you step into my study for a moment?” 

“Certainly, your lordship.” This isn‘t good. If Lord Marsdale wants something, he summons me to the parlor or dining room. I’m being called to the carpet, but what ghastly infraction have I committed? 

Once he’s seated behind his mahogany desk, he places his fingertips together in a pyramid shape. “It seems that two thousand pounds has gone missing from my bank account.”

“Sir?” Calm down. Keep your tone neutral. 

“I find it rather odd, Edmonds, that just one week ago you were requesting some time off.” 

“I - That is true, but I don’t take extravagant holidays. A fortnight in the country is enough for me.”  

He ignores this. “The only three people on these premises with access to my finances are my wife, my valet Coe, and you - for household expenses. Have you been making withdrawals without my knowledge?”

My spine stiffens. “I would never do so, sir, especially for such a large sum. Have you questioned Coe?” 

Lord Marsdale raises an eyebrow. “I shall, but I thought I’d start with you. What are you not telling me?” 

Square your shoulders. Head high. Stand up straighter. “I have been perfectly aboveboard with you.” 

“Yes, you have, and I applaud you for that. Such is why I’m surprised at your reticence now.” 

“Reticence? My lord, I have done absolutely nothing. Theft is far below me, and these accusations, with all due respect, are far below you.” Good. Keep questioning his honor, and putting him on the defensive.  

“Sit down.” 

He’s kept me standing this whole time. Foolish move. I could have bolted, but didn’t. Why? With cautious grace, I take the one seat across the desk from him. I want him to speak next, and to keep on speaking.  

“Have you been having any financial difficulties lately, Edmonds?” 

“Related to my duties, sir? Of course not. I make a point of budgeting wisely, for this estate and myself.” 

My employer leans forward half an inch. “What about the evening gala for Lord Steyne and his wife?” 

I cringe. “It was their anniversary, and so I purchased food and wines according to their particular taste.” 

“Aye. In this case, ‘their particular taste’ happened to dig us five hundred pounds into the hole…” 

The edge in his voice is growing sharper. I’ve got to nip this in the bud. “What can I say?” I shrug. 

“The Steynes were quite pleased, but I was not. I gave you a reprimand, which you seem to have ignored.” 

“No, sir! I’ve striven to be frugal in our dinners, especially in the servants’ kitchen - less meat, more meal.” 

“Bravo.” He lets his hands slip down onto the desk, and then curls them into fists. “Now I want the truth.” 

I give him a slow, oily smile. “Why don’t you ask your wife? Your beloved Mabel, who is now my beloved?” 

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