With the count and butler gone, Maxwell had an idea. Since the count was busy, he wouldn't answer the call, so Maxwell quickly reached for a bell and rang it. This small metal bell was used to request servants when none were available. Normally, the butler would rush to his side, but in times when he was indisposed...
A knock rapped twice on the door, and as she was called ahead of time, a young maid entered the room without waiting for his reply. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked with a smile.
Maxwell smiled at his cleverness. He walked to his desk and leaned against it, sitting on it with his feet firmly planted on the ground. "Do you know the butler's name?" he asked with pursed lips.
The maid blinked a few times, eyeing him with a knitted brow as she repeated his words. "The butler's name?"
Maxwell folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, "I do not intend to ask twice."
This caused the maid's eyes to widen as she stiffened up. "Baron Sefton Catwell has been the estate's butler for over 40 years."
Maxwell’s smile widened. So now he knows not just the first but middle and last as well, huh. Baron Sefton Catwell… “Wait, 40 years?” Maxwell blinked. The man he had been talking to was not 40 years old. If that wasn't his butler, then who was he?
The maid eyed him suspiciously. "My Lord, Your Grace, Baron Catwell has no son."
This confused Maxwell. What did sons have to do with him serving the family for 40 years? Let's say he started 10 years ago; that would make him 50. That man was not 50… he couldn't be. Yet what else could he be, an advisor? Why was he making coffee and handling his affairs then? Also, Baron was a title and not a name, so he was a noble as well. Could nobles be barons? Perhaps it was just a show title, and the baron left the work to another young man… then what exactly was his relationship with the young gentleman who had helped him in the beginning?
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“Forgive me for asking this,” the maid began after a fair bit of silence from the duke, “but what does this have to do with anything?” The day had already consumed a fair bit of luck from Maxwell, but he decided to go further. After all, why not use his entire fortune of luck in one day? He should have been rich and powerful enough to handle it.
“Well,” he began, speaking with caution and hiding his real question in a simple statement. “I must admit I'm quite curious how the man looks so young after all this time.”
The maid blinked in surprise. "Your Grace?" she questioned, not just for him to repeat himself, but seemingly to question his very title itself. "Baron Catwell is a Mambas."
She said it so simply that there was something obvious Maxwell was missing. “True,” he agreed, more out of fear of being questioned than actual understanding. After all, what was a Mambas, another type of race? My god, can you imagine being born into a race of people who just look young at age 50… one could dream. Shaking the thought from his head, he continued. “It's just sometimes I'm surprised about how old he really is.”
The maid readily agreed. With a smile, she nodded hard. "Right? It's really creepy." Creepy, he thought. Didn’t every woman want to look young forever? For a man over 40, the butler could easily be mistaken for a vampire, if such things existed in this world… did such a thing exist in the world?
The maid quickly covered her mouth as if she had said something she shouldn't have. “Your Grace, please forgive me—what I mean to say is…” she stammered, her hand inches from her mouth as she tried to figure out what to say.
Maxwell waved her worries away. “It's all right,” he said. “I was just lost in my own musings. We'll keep this our little secret, how about that?”
Instantly, the maid breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a bow. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes,” he stated. “Can you fetch a pitcher of water for me? Something in the air has tickled my thirst.”
“Of course,” she said, and with a bow, she left the office.