The lawn area around Westover Estate was lively the morning of the Twelfth of March with reports of Mr. And Mrs. Westover loaning many of their family's artifacts to London's Historical society annual Gala and fundraiser. It was announced late the previous evening that this year's theme was to be "An Evening Amongst Medieval Times." The broadcasts reported a never before seen by the public artifact of the disgraced Sir John Arundel would be included in the evening's display.
The housekeeper, Ms. Charity Hogg, freshly returning from the market began turning away the reporters at 8:00 am when the moving truck arrived, but the flashing cameras and questioning sounded like swarms of locusts announcing the second coming.
Ms. Hogg, almost seventy, with the youthfulness of 35, was used to the excitement around the castle as she'd been in residence for the last forty years. She started as a hand-maid, became a nanny, then tutor, for the Westover's four children, and was even an in house joker when she entertained Elizabeth's eldest and immediate heir to the throne Charles. He aged well but he was a peckish little brat when he was only a thigh high. It so happens that she was also the first to turn the snobby reporters away when the African prince was snuck out the backdoor into a carriage when her majesty came for tea that three in the afternoon seven falls ago. She knew the protocol and had no problem standing ten feet taller than that six foot dashing BBC Westminster reporter Marcus Lovington, even if she fancied him. She demanded three things at Westover: 1. Order and honesty. 2. A Schedule for Everything. 3. Polished and dressed. The Westover's, their third generation grown children, and the gossiping neighbors all knew it.
"Oh Kent, look another one! This one actually Waterloo, you'd think they'd have been first!," Ms. Hogg guffawed to the Westover's groundskeeper Kent Klein.
Mr. Klein served as Junior Westover's valet until he finally admitted horse travel was dated and a cruel and unusual punishment for Polo horses in their prime. Mr. Klein was forced to fire the carrot eating purebreds and purchase an American Mustang. It was a beautiful 1967 cherry red fastback and it's shoes were perfectly polished daily to reflect the nine minutes of wear before they graced a muddy puddle. Mr. Klein, since that afternoon, was moved to mostly patrol and orderly keep as dictated by his partner now of forty years Ms. Charity Hogg. She was the love of his life.
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