the drawing room

“How many generations of your family have lived here?”

‘Seven” Charles replied.

“And you’re the one that is going to lose it?”

“I wouldn’t say I am losing it exactly, more that the world just happened to get to its worst as I had ownership of it.” Charles said tetchily.

“OK, well I will write that you’re losing it, the punters will find that more amusing.”

Charles had begun to regret his decision of employing this so called, salesman, to assist him in selling his ancestral seat. It was hard enough saying goodbye to the old place, without his youthful arrogant wit.

“Are there any juicy stories about the place, some old aunt that haunts the attic or what not?”

Charles sighed. There were so many juicy stories. Pregnant cousins, drug fuelled sex orgies, drunk grandparents, homosexual butlers, but he had one in particular that he needed to get off his chest.

“Well there is one story I know of.” he said conspiratorially, leaning in and lowering his voice to a whisper. “But I’m not sure whether I should really tell you, it is quite terrifying.”

The young man opposite looked over his glasses at Charles.

“Oh do go on.”

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