A Rose’s Thorn

Across the English countryside, a horse and his rider plowed through the crisp fall foliage, scattering leaves in its wake. He focused not on the road as he crossed Thornebridge Manor, but on the task at hand. His eyes fell to the messenger bag that hung securely from the side of the saddle. Sir Thornebridge Sr. had quitted the estate and moved from the cold countryside into a house in Bath. As relayed to him by Captain Blythe, a long stay in Bath could cure many ailments. With that in mind, Sir Thornebridge was intent on staying in Bath permanently, leaving his estate in the hands of his capable son Lucas Thornebridge, who upon the death of his father was to inherit. The rider slowed to a stop, a servant held the reigns of the horse as the rider dismounted and, with the letter in tow, made inquiries as to whom he should deliver the message to directly. He was then shown into the masters study by the housekeeper, Mrs Jenkins. Lucas Thornebridge sat behind a great oak desk looking over the months leases and expenditures. Mrs. Jenkins approached him cautiously, “Mister Thornebridge sir, a letter has come for you.” He glared up at her, annoyance clearly written across his features. His quill resting in mid-sentence on the paper which he had been writing on. She hesitated a moment, “Its from Bath, sir.” His gaze swept to the servant that had carried the letter. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Alright, let’s have it.” Mrs.Jenkins handed the letter to him and ushered the servant out of the room and to the kitchen. He noted the wax seal, and knew the letter was in fact from his father. Lucas read through the letter twice then in a rage of disgust, tore the letter and flung them into the fireplace. “All this is madness,” he stated as he rested his arm against the mantle of the fireplace. Mrs.Jenkins found him staring intently at the dancing flames. “Mr. Thornebridge sir, dinner has been prepared.” He continued to stare at the flames. “Madness,” he mumbled. Mrs. Jenkins watched for a moment then began to reply, only to be cut off as he flung the knickknacks off of the mantle and across the floor with one fell swoop of his arm. “Madness! I will not stand for this!” Mrs.Jenkins, completely used to his tantrums, walked out of the study and silently shut the doors. She turned to find several other servants looking at the study, as another crashing sound echoed from behind its doors. Clearing her throat, Mrs. Jenkins stated that the master was ill and would not be having supper that evening. She walked away leaving the master to his work.