This letter was found, tucked carelessly into a tin shaving box, among the burnt-cinder remains of Whitley Hall around the turn of the 19th century.
History books tell us that the estate was rebuilt easily, for such was its Lord’s wealth of resources, but the letter itself was often referred to by generations of Whitley Butlers, as a strange kind of warning.
Good Morning, Mr. Thomas,
I trust you are well. I’m sorry to have left you in such a way, without the satisfaction and clarity of hearing my instructions from my own lips, but so it must be. The circumstances of my leaving so quickly last night (the footmen will tell you that the carriage was brought no earlier than three) are of such a grievous nature, and involve such incomprehensible, chaotic cruelty to my tenants and rebellion to myself that you must rest easy without knowing them. I assure you, however, that the right shall be done and the wrong shall be done away with.
In the meantime, I am leaving you the most relevant and precise of instruction. Remember that, as in all the runnings of my Household, precision as I use it has much to do with the heart of a given matter, and less to do with the minutiae of exterior details; but it is in the minutiae that the heart of a matter often shows itself.
Therefore, please read these instructions with sober care, not only because they are for your own well-being as my steward, and the preservation of my Household, but also because your heart’s loyalty will be proven—and improved—in the working out of what I ask you.
1. I’m leaving you with 500 pounds of liquid asset, to use for the everyday needs of the manor. Do not speak with me about the amount that I have left to the groundskeeper, the Head Lady, the Falconer, the Shepherds, the amount I’ve entrusted to the Rectory, or—of all things, certainly—the few pennies of help I have left to several of the sculleries. You, of all men—a student of economics—ought to know that there is a difference of demand in any given sector. You, of all men—who have commented before, I know, on my ‘strict’ dealings as a master—that I will always reserve the last judgment of a thing for my own making. Moreover, Mr. Thomas, I have never heard you able to bring up a case of that judgment’s failing in any respect.
So remember that while I am giving you 500 pounds, this is a sum that I have not chosen arbitrarily, and neither will I judge your use of it arbitrarily. Not only do I ask you to run my house with it, and to use it only for its purpose (I know, surely, how common it is amongst the stewards to shave a little off the top, or to behave as if the whole is at their personal disposal). Remember that you are responsible for your use of this money, and I would like investment, frugality, and generosity, all to be evident—but it is not the resulting numerical balance that is of value to me, or to you.
I will always be a better businessman, but you will never have to operate under the delusion of personal sustained loss; it will never be your money to fear for. Only use wisely; do not let yourself be easy because I’ve assured you that the end is neither assured nor terribly relevant. Assuredly, you are a Steward, and assuredly, you must be found a good one.
2. I’m leaving you with a certain responsibility of judgment. In the absence of my audible voice, I will place a certain amount of power in your hands—borrowed glory, if you will—which you must engage your whole heart and mind in the pursuit of. There will be disputes for you to mediate, of course, as head Butler, but much more often, there will be a constant, daily call for you to dissect right and wrong, to uphold the honor of these distinctions when they are contradicted, and to live out the short days till I return in such a way that you uphold Truth still further. I know that the second footmen like to quarrel with each other over candles, that the head housemaid has had a break with her lover and neglects her work, that the gardener’s wife has just lost a baby, that my driver has occasionally stolen brandy out of the basement. You will be called upon to search many great and silly matters in order to know what my desire would be (always, so you know, what is Greatest Good). Then you will be called upon to do everything in your power to bring the matter under dominion, reconciliation.
3. This last one is the most important, the most truly important of all. You must not forget me; you must not forget who I am as Lord Whitley, and you must not forget who you are, as one of my adopted sons. (Sir Manderly asked me last week ‘why on Earth I would be moved to adopt from some unknown family, and outside the county, no less, and then to put him into such a position in the Household, all with only the recommendation of mongrel parents and wastrel behavior’. I did not answer his question—except maybe, if I remember correctly, with another question—but neither will I answer it to you. I know you will not take offense to my reminder of your origins, for you have learned enough of my nature to understand that your origin has as little to do with my adoption of you as my daughter Effie’s constant invention of new wildflower-and-mud arrangements has anything to do with a predicated knowledge that flowers are more competent to be arranged than mud. Effie does not choose her flowers or her mud out of observed worth, but out of a nature that desires to instill worth with her hands. So—I ask you now, most of all, to remember my return. One who expects his master at any time (and you can, for I will tell you neither the hour or day when these evil ones will be finally vanquished) is one who constantly keeps the Household in readiness. And you must believe the things that I have told you, for otherwise, there is no man who would do as he has been asked, to serve and love the Household well, and wait patiently for an unscheduled return. Only be ready.
You must be ready for me, Mr. Thomas.
P.S. Of the list of tasks, and the list of restrictions that we have kept in the Household for so many years now, one strikes me particularly as something that must be stressed to you. Do not use the bedroom as a place for lighting useless fires, not now, when summer is high and the evenings could be stood so easily in another room of the house. I know that the fireplace in the Vanderbilt Room of the guest wing is especially easy to light, and the room comfortable if you only have a few hours for leisure—but I must trust this letter to warn you that the chimney in that room is by no means sound, or very well clear.
