To the Manor Born - 2nd Third - W-Illustration

This is, obviously, the 2nd THIRD of this lengthy poem. Due to Poetry Soup's file-size limitations, this piece had to be posted in 3 parts. How fun... The 1st and 3rd THIRDS can be accessed, of course, by going to - "Poems by Mark Stellinga" - on the Soup. Sorry for the inconvenience... Thanks for reading this monster, I think you'll feel it's worth the effort - He told me all about the house, and boasted of the many royal guests who’d waltzed within its walls, And how its chain of very rich, aristocratic families had hosted heads of state and festive balls. He said, “The earl who’d built the home in 1569, told Ms Hearthwood…the day he passed away… That…if she’d keep the manor looking absolutely spotless…as long as she desired…she could stay! “A couple hundred years ago the final male was born, and then…in 1830…he became The master of the manor, when his father passed away…to carry on the Brackenthorple name. “But - he would never sire a son! He fathered only daughters…and records show his daughters followed suit. So…you’re, indeed, the only male descendant from the tree of all the Brackenthorple family fruit.” I became suspicious when he strongly recommended I check the manor out - before I sign! I told him, “I’m not worried, sir, about the shape it’s in. I’ll gladly fix it up…because it’s mine.” “The outside needs no ‘fixing up’ at all,” the man explained. “The home’s condition’s better far than most, But - just in case you haven’t heard - a lot of folks believe that Brackenthorple Manor…has a ghost! “And when the staff was questioned on the day they were dismissed…because the manor's final Lord had died… Each of them confirmed the claim…and, if the story’s true…I’d give my weight in gold to get inside! “I’ll prepare the abstract and the deed by noon today…while you go to your cousin’s - for the key. We’ll meet back here at twelve o’clock…then I will drive you out. And, sir…I’d wait to sign if it were me!” I made the run to meet my cousin…thanked her several times…and viewed the chart that proved that I was next. Then, handing me the key, she said, as I got up to leave, “I’m sure you prob’ly know…the manor’s hexed! “But Maggie’s not a scary ghost…she simply loves to clean. She’s been there for the past four hundred years, And all accounts I’ve come across have shown that she was loyal, and - to the end -admired by her peers.” Regarding what she’d told me to be nothing more than rumor - and knowing how the British love their jokes - I told her that my mother and the lawyer’d said the same…but I would soon disprove it as a hoax! Hurrying back to the lawyer’s office, more convinced than ever that I would be a fool were I to heed The cautioning of the barrister – (who struck me as suspicious) - I quickly signed and filed the manor’s deed. Without a car - and not the least inclined to take a cab - I did accept his offer for a ride. The truth is - I was hoping that he might reduce my bill if I would let him look around inside. Thirty miles from London, on a narrow, winding road, ‘twas nearly 2 p.m. when we arrived. He was there to satisfy his - curiosity…and I…to prove the legend was contrived. Devoid of pungent, musty smells…which long-abandoned homes are known the nose to typically impale… We wandered through the many rooms, surprised to find aromas that actually were a pleasure to inhale! Expecting cobwebs - dust - and stench…the lack thereof seemed strange. It seemed as though the house had - kept itself! Every room was tidy. Every item in its place - on every single table - stand - and shelf! Bequeathed to me because of having Brackenthorple blood coursing through my veins, I felt such pride To hear the old solicitor identify the portraits of all the previous owners that had died. When he’d finished telling me who each ancestor was…we walked the massive house from end to end. Wine cellar to bell tower, we toured its every floor…until there were no stairs left to ascend. Everywhere we wandered there was not a speck of dust on either any furniture or floor. And glancing back at rooms that I was sure we’d left exposed…I noticed - not a single open door! And I was almost certain, when we’d entered, both of us had tracked in grassy bits from off the green. Yet…when the tour was over…and we got back to the entry…the vestibule was now completely clean! Don't forget to read the ending, it will surprise you - Mark