From the diaries of Herbert J. Bottsworth (‘Botter’).

First of June, 1890.

MY HEART was pounding so hard, I half-expected it to burst through my chest, through the door, and bounce off down the road to find a rock to cower under. I was home alone, and there were a couple of criminal ne’er-do-wells outside, who seemed to want to be inside the house – and they certainly weren’t about to let me get in their way.

I listened carefully as I heard the men continue to plot their assault.

“Right, these rich toffs always keep their money either in a safe, or stashed under their mattress. So, I’ll take the front, you go and try and force your way in ‘is back entrance.”

I smirked. ‘Force their way into my back entrance’ indeed!

I paused. My word, I thought, I have been in his lordship’s employ for too long! This was no time for cheap innuendo! This was time for decisive ACTION!

*****

I CALCULATED that I had a few minutes to spare before the criminals organised themselves and successfully picked the locks on the doors. It wasn’t a lot of time, but as I knew the layout of the house back-to-front and inside-out, and knew precisely where all the tools I required would be, it was enough for me to implement my plans to fend off these rogues.

Indeed, no sooner had I finished setting up my first booby-trap, that I saw the front door fall open, and a tall, filthy, heavily-stubbled fellow slid into the hall, brandishing a bag in one hand and – considerably more worryingly – a pistol in the other. He glanced about and let out an impressed whistle at the sight of the many great items his lordship owned. He gazed around in awe for a moment longer, then noticed the winding staircase, and headed towards it – thereby also heading directly into my trap.

From my vantage point looking over the railings on the first floor, I watched the man slowly ascend the stairs. I waited until he was at exactly the right point, and then I threw a paint-can attached to a rope over the railings. I watched with glee as it arced perfectly through the air, coming to an abrupt halt at the thief’s head, sending him tumbling backwards onto the floor, where he lay, unconscious.

I took a brief moment to congratulate myself on the perfect application of some basic mathematics, and then I remembered I had another felon heading around the back of the house. Wasting no time, I untethered the rope from the railings and the paint-can, and dashed off through the house, pausing only to grab a candelabra from the dining-room table as I passed through…

*****

THE door handle on the back door turned slowly, and then the door was gently pushed open to reveal the face of a shorter chap, with a dusty old bowler hat, and a straggly beard. He peered through the gap in the door, and satisfied that no-one was around (having failed to spot me crouching behind the sink) he pushed the door open further. I smiled as I watched the rudimentary pulley-system which I had just set up move into action, the rope attached to the door-handle tightening, causing the other end to tip the lit candelabra on its side, the flames directly coming into contact with the cad’s bowler hat.

The man remained in the doorway for a few more seconds, evidently suspicious of his surroundings, but not suspicious enough to notice that his bowler was quickly setting ablaze. He was about to venture fully into the kitchen, when he stopped, and sniffed at the air.

“Woss burnin’?” he said out loud, and then, realising it was his hat, began screaming and yelling, while frantically trying to remove his flaming head-wear without burning his hands. As he leapt about, he failed to notice that I had scattered several marbles about the floor, until his feet came into contact with them, and he wound up slipping up and falling with a heavy thud onto his back.

I waited to make sure the man was out-cold, and then slowly inched forward. Suddenly, the man’s eyes flicked open, and before I knew it he was back on his feet, and brandishing a gun in my direction.

“So, fink yer pretty clever with all this gubbins, do ya?” he sneered. “Well, let’s see if yer ‘alf as smart when it comes to dodging bullets!” And with that, he fired at me, and I fell to the ground.

“Huh, not very smart at all, then?” the thief sneered as he approached me, still pointing the gun at me. “Better luck in the next life, mate!” he chuckled, but in a flash I kicked the pistol from his hand, and was standing before him, unharmed.

“B-but how? Are you a GHOST?” the dim-witted cad blurted.

“No, I am a SERVANT!” I corrected, flinging open my jacket to reveal a serving-tray strapped to my chest, which I duly unfastened. “And as for the ‘how’ – solid silver serving-tray!” I beamed, showing the dumb-struck fellow his bullet lodged in the tray. “I do believe that you have been served, sir!” I exclaimed, before whacking the criminal about the head with the item.

*****

I TORE back through the house again, reasoning that if I could get outside, I might be able to alert a local police-man, and have the thieves taken into custody. But as I rounded the corner from the drawing-room into the hall, I saw the first felon standing in front of the door, his pistol aimed squarely at my head.

“Where do ya fink yer off to, eh?” he grinned. “Fink you’re pretty clever, with all this gubbins, do ya?”

“Oh please,” I sighed. “I have just this moment heard the same speech from your colleague. Can we just not move onto the point where you are unconscious again?”

“Oh-ho!” He cackled. “An’ what makes you think I’m gonna be unconscious, eh?”

“Because,” I said, pointing to the grand-father clock by the wall as it chimed two. “I have just noticed that it is two o’clock in the morning.”

“And?”

“And…THIS!” I exclaimed, as, on cue, the door suddenly flew open rather violently and knocked out the burglar, while in staggered his lordship, clearly very inebriated, and seemingly covered in wine.

“All women are HARLOTS!” he declared, swaying uneasily on the spot. “At least, I WISH they were, then they would not get so terribly offended when I offer to pay them for sexual intercourse.”

“Good evening, your lordship,” I smiled, having never before been quite so pleased to see the old rogue.

“No, a terrible evening. A waste of a night! And…and what in the name of French ticklery has been going on here, Botter?” his lordship continued, surveying the scene before him.

“I…I shall explain in the morning, milord.”

“You better had, you wretch! ‘Tis a mess! Remind me to dock your pay and thrash you senseless for this!” slurred his lordship, as he made his way uneasily across the hall, and up the stairs. “Oh, and Botter?”

“Yes, milord?”

“I fear I may have vomited all the way down the path, so be a good fellow and clear that up as well, eh? Make yourself useful, you blithering arse-tube.”

I smiled. “Very good, milord.”

I do not know what it is that keeps me in the employ of such a rude, obnoxious and frequently drunk man. Nor am I certain why I risked my life just to save his property. It is certainly not the money, that much I know. Nor am I bound by contract to remain with him for ever more, I am free to leave whenever I please.

Thus, all I can conclude is that I stay by Lord Likely’s side because, in a peculiar sort of way, I actually rather like him. For all his bluster, I believe he is generally a good-hearted man, which is why he agreed to employ me in the first place, and why he has even saved my life on a fair few occasions. No-one has spared quite as much thought towards me as his lordship, which, I suppose, makes him the very best friend I have.

Even when I am cleaning up his vomit at two in the morning.

– Fin.

ATTENTION! Botter has now joined Lord Likely upon the Twittering Device – if you need any assistance, please do see if Botter May Help.

Alternatively, Botter may also be located within The Book of Many Faces, where he shall only be too happy to supply any assistance.

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From the diaries of Herbert J. Bottsworth (‘Botter’).

First of June, 1890.

IT was not long after I had risen, and fixed myself a warming cup of tea, that my morning peace was shattered by the incessant ringing of the servant’s bell, being sounded by my irksome employer, Lord Likely.

I sighed, put down my cup of tea, and set about preparing a coffee for his lordship, knowing full well that he would not be even remotely tolerable until he had his morning caffeine intake. Beside the steaming coffee, I placed a glass of water and some head-ache pills,  as he had stumbled in rather late again last night, and thus I expected him to be in even more foul of a mood than usual. His lordship and the morning are very uneasy bedfellows, even more so when he has a raging hangover bought about by one of his many nights of excess.

With the bell still ringing in my ears, I dutifully made my way to his lordship’s bed-chamber, breakfast tray in hand. I knocked politely upon the door, and following a muffled ‘come in’, I entered the room.

The minute I had stepped into the room, however, I found myself placed in the utmost peril, as his lordship levelled a shotgun in my direction, and let off a round. Luckily, the shot went wide and I was unharmed, which is more than could be said for the unfortunate glass of water on the tray, which exploded into a thousand tiny pieces.

“Milord, what on earth are you doing?” I exclaimed, as I made my way to his bedside, while he frantically set about reloading his weapon.

“There is a demon in this room, Botter!” roared my employer, his eyes wide with frenzy. “A demon, I tell you!”

“A…a demon?” I repeated, fearing that his lordship’s over-enthusiastic alcohol consumption had finally loosened his fragile grip upon sanity completely, sending him hurtling into an insane void from which he’d never return.

“Yes, Botter, you blithering ball-sack! A demon! Look, there!” cried his lordship, pointing excitedly at an opposing wall, upon which rested an extremely un-demonic butterfly.

“Um…that…that is a butterfly, milord,” I explained gently.

“I know that, you filthy arse-crack! I am not ruddy mad, you know!” his lordship snapped, before screaming, “WINGED DEVIL!” at the top of his lungs, and firing his gun wildly into the wall. He missed the innocent creature, which nonchalantly fluttered off out of the window from whence it had came.

“Heavy night, milord?” I asked, laying the breakfast tray upon his lap.

“Well, I should say…WHAT THE ARSE IS THIS?” he bellowed. “Are you trying to kill me, Botter? Did you seriously think I’d eat shards of glass?” he continued, jabbing at the shattered remains of the water-glass.

“No, milord, I – ” I began.

“Balls to it!” my employer roared, upending the breakfast tray’s contents all over me, including the extremely hot cup of coffee I had just prepared. However, years of training and half a lifetime spent in his lordship’s servitude had taught me not to react, despite the unpleasant sensation of hot coffee seeping through my clothes.

“Forget breakfast, Botter! Go and run me a bath, I shall be going out, I think. I met a lovely pair of twins last night…”

“Oh, really?” I said, picking up the debris scattered across the floor.

“Yes – they were on the chest of this wonderful blonde woman! Ha-HA!” his lordship chuckled, which I politely echoed, despite finding such comments rather puerile. “And so I think I should like to be better acquainted with her – and them! – and so shall invite her out to luncheon. Naturally, you shall remain here, as I do not want her put off by your vile countenance, Botter.”

His lordship has said many cruel and terrible things to me in my time, but I have found the best way to deflect them, and make him stop his tirade of insults, is with three, simple words:

“Very good, milord.”

*****

AND SO with his lordship bathed and dressed, he finally left, advising me not to ‘wait up’ as he clambered into a cab, which then rattled out of the grounds. I watched it disappear down the road, and then I returned inside the house, closing the doors gently behind me.

“HE’S BLOODY GONE!” I cheered, throwing my hat into the air in celebration. “Oh, happy day!”

With the rest of the day my own, I decided to treat myself to a beer or two, which I decided to drink whilst sat in his lordship’s big, comfortable chair, my feet on the coffee-table, a thick book on my lap to enjoy.

When the lazy, aristocratic cat is away, the downtrodden mice will play.

*****

I MUST have dozed off in the opulent comfort of my employer’s chair, for I awoke suddenly at the sound of a plant-pot being smashed outside. I sighed and got to my feet, assuming that this crashing heralded the return of my master, in a doubtlessly drunken state again, having great difficulty navigating the treacherous terrain from carriage to door.

However, as I approached the front door I heard hushed whispers emanating from the other side. I instinctively crouched down and carefully edged toward the door, where I carefully lifted the letter-box a touch, so I could better hear the voices outside.

“…y’might have alerted them to us, you dolt!” hissed one voice.

“No-one’s in, remember? We saw ‘is lordship leave, didn’t we?” replied another.

“Yes, but ‘e’s got that butler fella, ain’t he? I bet he’s still in there somewhere…”

“Well, if he is, we’ve got a way of dealin’ with ‘im, ain’t we?” chuckled the second man, and then I heard the sickening click of a pistol being primed. My blood froze.

I slowly closed the letterbox again, my mind racing. It was clear that the two men outside were not of a friendly persuasion, and meant me a great deal of harm. Oh, heavens! What on earth was I to do? What would his lordship do?

…Get drunk and collapse in a pool of his own vomit, I thought. That’s no use to me. No, I’d have to think myself out of this problem on my own…

– Botter.

To Be Continued and Concluded!

ATTENTION! Botter has now joined Lord Likely upon the Twittering Device – if you need any assistance, please do see if Botter May Help.

Alternatively, Botter may also be located within The Book of Many Faces, where he shall only be too happy to supply any assistance.

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