The Boarding House

There was a  hint of warmth in the March breeze.

‘Alas,’Squire Edward  uttered the word aloud, knowing no one was within earshot,’what else was a young Squire supposed to do with the world at his feet except savour its delights?’

Soon, the room he rented in the dilapidated boarding house would be but a distant memory.

Locals stared at him and wondered how someone born into  privilege could squander his wealth.

Today March 15th 1940 was not a day for such bleak reckonings.

He took the sepia photo out of his  pocket and gazed at it. He had not inherited his father Lord Henry’s high forehead  or protruding ears.  Today, he felt lucky to have been Lord Henry’s first born, though rumours still swirled around about his birthright.

Tears began to roll down his fifty- two -year -old cheeks.

Exiting the boarding house he climbed into  the waiting carriage. He was on his way to becoming Master of the Manor.

As the Manor came into view he pulled down the carriage window to get a closer look. A ‘For Sale’ sign  at the  entrance, creaked in the blustery gale.

The mildewed smell of the  dilapidated boarding house stirred afresh in his nostrils.