The Good Old Days

Jessica jumped back as her Aunt Sarah hurtled out of the kitchen and hugged her.

“Good news. I’ve got my biggest catering job yet.”

Jessica gently disentangled herself from her aunt’s embrace, led her to the couch and sat her down.

“Great. You’ve worked so hard to create your business. I’ll help you set up and serve.”

“You don’t mind? That would be wonderful,” Aunt Sarah said, beaming. The next moment her face fell.

“Well, it’s sad news too, I suppose, though not for me because I didn’t know him…well, nobody knew for years if he was dead or alive…”

She stopped, breathless.

“Start again. At the beginning, please,” said Jessica.

Aunt Sarah grinned sheepishly.

“I do go on, don’t I? Sir Humphrey Bartlett has died, and I’ve been asked to cater for the gathering after the funeral. That’s what I mean about good and bad news.”

Jessica plopped down on the couch and raised her brows.

“Old Sir Humphrey up at the Manor? For real? He’s truly dead? I’d heard that his wife kept him locked in the attic, or that he was in a fancy loony bin somewhere, or that he’d faked his own death. You know, like that guy who left his clothes on the beach in Spain. Everybody thought he’d drowned until they caught him in Australia with his girlfriend and all this money he’d embezzled.”

Aunt Sarah shook her head and tutted.

“It’s ridiculous how people have nothing better to do than gossip just because someone is reclusive. He was our member of Parliament, you know, until the, well, um, scandal…I mean incident. I’m going to put the kettle on. Let’s have a cuppa.”

Jessica grinned as Aunt Sarah got up and headed for the kitchen, her refuge when upset or embarrassed. Her aunt had taken Jessica in at the age of seven, when her sister, Jessica’s mother, had died of a drug overdose. Jessica was deeply grateful for the way her single, childless aunt had put her own plans on hold to care for a traumatized little girl, but sometimes felt she was more worldly wise than her trusting aunt. She flipped open her laptop and Googled Sir Humphrey.

“Hmm, wealthy family, went to one of the best private schools, Oxford University, then army. Married the daughter of a wealthy industrialist. After army, entered Parliament…oh, thank you. I’m starving.”

Her aunt set down two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of homemade scones. Jessica drank some tea and continued to scroll.

“He wasn’t bad looking, especially in that Army uniform. Look at this wedding picture. Do you remember this?”

Aunt Sarah pretended to swat her.

“Cheeky. I’m not that ancient. I was two years old at the time.”

Mumbling through a mouthful of scone, Jessica continued.

“Sir Humphrey resigned his Parliamentary seat after being caught in a compromising situation with a male escort during a police sting operation...what the?”

She spluttered.

“Aunt Sarah, does this mean he had to resign because he was gay? That’s crazy.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Aunt Sarah said. “You have no idea how scandalous that was at the time. He was lucky not to be criminally prosecuted. I think they agreed not to pursue the case if he left quietly because other important people were caught in the same net. Very embarrassing for the powers that be. His father-in-law had bought them the Manor as a wedding present, so they came back here and lived in seclusion ever since.”

Jessica frowned.

“That was years and years ago. He was thirty-something when all this happened. He never got over it?”

Aunt Sarah shrugged.

“Who knows? We certainly never moved in his social circles, but I overheard my parents talking. It wasn’t just that he got caught. It was that he was very harsh, always on about law and order and family values, protecting children from perverts and all that kind of stuff.”

“So, he was a hypocrite,” Jessica said. “Did his wife stay with him? If so, I wonder why.”

“What’s that saying about the past being a different country?” Aunt Sarah said. “Divorce was still shameful. It was something for people with loose morals, like actors and movie stars. It didn’t happen to respectable, wealthy upper-class people, or not often, anyway. And maybe they loved each other. Only the two people in a marriage ever really know what happens.”

“Who contacted you?” said Jessica.

“His nephew. He’s making all the arrangements. Sir Humphrey and his wife never had children, and his wife, er, I mean widow, is very frail. Anyway, enough chitchat. We’d better get to work. There’s a lot to do. They’re not expecting many people but there will be some bigwigs there. If things go well, it’ll be good for business.”

“At least we’ll get to see inside the Manor,” said Jessica. “It’s supposed to be haunted.”

“Old wives’ tales,” said Aunt Sarah. “Let's keep our minds on the job.”

The weather was cold and dreary a week later when Aunt Sarah and Jessica rattled up the winding driveway to the Manor in Aunt Sarah’s ancient van. Built of grey stone and covered with ivy, the house suddenly loomed out of the fog as they turned the last curve. Jessica shivered.

“This miserable weather suits a funeral,” she said.

“It means people will be cold and hungry when they get here from the graveyard,” said Sarah. “They’ll appreciate the food.”

As they pulled up, the front door opened and a stout, red-faced man peered out.

“The tradespeople’s entrance is that way,” he said, scowling as he pointed.

“Oh dear, sorry, yes, of course,” said Aunt Sarah, stalling the van in her nervousness.

“Is that the nephew? Stuck up idiot,” muttered Jessica as they parked at the rear of the house. “Teaching the peasants their place.”

“Mind your manners, dear,” Aunt Sarah said. “I really need this to go well.”

Seeing her aunt’s worried face, Jessica bit back the retort she had been about to make. They were met at the kitchen door by a harried housekeeper who showed them to the kitchen.

“The food will be set up here in the dining room,” she said, leading the way to a large wood paneled room. A gaunt, stern man in military uniform stared at them from an oil painting on the wall.

“That’s Sir Humphrey,” said the housekeeper, following Jessica’s gaze. “Looks scary, don’t he? His bark was worse than his bite, though. Let me know if you need anything. Some of them are staying the night, so I must get the rooms ready.”

When they had finished setting up, Jessica brought her uniform in from the van. She looked around for the housekeeper, but there was no sign of her.

“I’m going to find somewhere to get changed,” she said.

“Yes, dear,” Aunt Sarah said, absorbed in putting final garnishes on the platters of food.

Jessica wandered off, cautiously peering into various rooms until she finally found a small bathroom where she could don what she liked to call her penguin waiter suit. She pulled a face at her reflection as she clipped on the bow tie and combed her hair.

“That’s as good as it gets,” she muttered. Turning a corner, she almost collided with someone.

“Why are you snooping around?”

Jessica recognized the grumpy man who had opened the front door.

“I’m sorry. I just needed a place to change. There was no one to tell me where to go.”

The man ran his hand through his hair.

“Apologies. Nerves are a bit on edge today. We’ve had some press roaming around, trying to dig up old dirt. As if they couldn’t leave my aunt in peace today of all days.”

Jessica noticed a portrait of a graceful woman on the wall behind him.

“Is that your aunt? She was beautiful.”

“I was, if I do say so myself,” said a soft quavery voice. "Humphrey commissioned that painting on our engagement."

Jessica whirled around. A tiny, frail woman in a black dress was standing behind her, leaning on a cane.

Despite her white hair and wrinkles, she was still recognizable as the beauty in the painting. She smiled at Jessica.

“My nephew likes to be my guard dog. Don’t worry, Roland. After everything I’ve been through, a few reporters don’t bother me. Who are you?"

"My aunt is doing the catering. I'm helping," Jessica said.

"Thank you for coming at such short notice, young lady. Let me see what you’re serving.”

She limped off down the corridor. Jessica followed her into the dining room where the food was set out. Aunt Sarah, her face set in concentration, was making final adjustments to a floral centerpiece. She started as they entered.

“Lady Bartlett! I thought you’d be at the graveyard…I mean, I thought I had time to…”

“I don’t need to be out in this weather at my age. I said goodbye to Humphrey a long time ago,” Lady Bartlett said, sitting down and gazing at his portrait. She turned to Jessica.

“I believe things are a lot more open-minded nowadays. I’m glad. Poor Humphrey suffered so much from the prejudices of our time. He couldn’t openly be who he was, so he reacted by becoming a caricature of what he thought people wanted a man to be. It didn’t do him any good in the end. The people he thought were his friends shunned him anyway.”

“It must have been awful for you,” Jessica blurted out.

Aunt Sarah winced.

“Jessica, please.”

Lady Bartlett smiled.

“It’s all water under the bridge. I loved him as he was, and if I had a little dalliance or two, he never complained.”

Aunt Sarah suddenly looked out of the window and gasped.

“Oh, my. People are coming. Time to go, Jessica.”

Lady Bartlett reached out and grabbed Jessica’s sleeve with a bony, blue-veined hand as Aunt Sarah hustled her out.

“The moral of the story is to be true to yourself, young lady, and don’t believe anyone who says the good old days were all that good. Please come back and talk to me after all this is over. I get lonely."

Jessica smiled, her eyes sparkling.

"I'd love to. Thank you."