Aristocats Butler Edgar Novels & Stories

The butler hurriedly went upstairs to report, "Sir, a lady asks to see you." Martin, in despair, swept away the trinkets on his desk as he bellowed, "Tell her to get out." The butler paused, hesitated for a moment, then plucked up his courage and said, "She claims her name is Charlotte." Charlotte? That name sent a shiver through Martin's frame. The door to his study was thrown open, and Martin gazed darkly at the butler, gritting his teeth, "Her name is Charlotte?" The butler nodded, "Yes, she says her name is Charlotte, Charlotte Langley."

Every detail and exquisite piece of decor looked like it had been plucked straight from a design magazine, but I knew better that this was just a glided cage. When I wandered into a side hall on the second floor, I spotted an elderly butler with grey hair and a tuxedo, meticulously polishing a massive grandfather clock. When he saw me enter, he immediately stopped and gave me a polite bow. "Ms. Reed." "You are?" "You may call me William Baker. I'm the butler of the Radcliffes," he said in a warm voice that carried the cadence of a classic Canverlian butler. "William Baker," I said with a nod. "Is there something wrong with Mr. Radcliffe in the head?"