Shakespeare Undone

By Vincent Tanner

Life is full of surprises, but most are not on the scale of those experienced by Woodward Shakspear, an aspiring playwright who can't seem to get a break. That is, until he receives a letter that is going to change his life. He will be doing a lot of traveling and meeting many people, so many people, in fact, that it makes his head spin. This unassuming accountant has no idea what is about to confront him. His peaceful life in the United States will be altered as he explores what it is like trying to become accustomed to living in England. Living in a different country is nothing compared to what he discovers in a dark, dusty attic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662400971

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Beginning

Hello.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Woodward Shakspear. I was born in Stratford. No, not the same Stratford-upon-Avon, UK, you may associate with William Shakespeare, but in Stratford, Connecticut, USA. Although our names—Woodward, William, Shakspear, Shakespeare—are similar, there is no relation.

Like William Shakespeare, I have a passion for playwriting, but I’m not as well accepted as he was. I have been writing play after play, but up until now, I haven’t had any success in getting anyone to become the least bit interested in my work, not even interested enough to take a look at it. I am rushed and sometimes even pushed out the door of the literary offices as quickly or more quickly than when I came in. They do not want to deal with unknown writers. I just have to keep on trying.

The similarity in names is only the beginning, and that is where my tale begins…at the beginning, but it doesn’t end there. I work for an accounting firm in New Haven, Connecticut. I do my writing in my spare time, of which I have a great deal. I’m not much of a lady’s man…kind of shy and withdrawn. Actually, women scare me. I am very able to put my thoughts into words, but I’m always afraid I will say the wrong thing at the wrong time when I talk to them. However, I do enjoy talking to them, especially if they are, you know, a bit attractive and show some intelligence.

Dealing with other men is also a problem. Most of them seem to have no interest in intellectual endeavors. All they talk about is how ’bout them Mets? or ramble on about some hoops game. I have nothing against sports; I enjoy sports. I enjoy playing sports and watching sports, but I can’t see myself wasting all my nonworking hours plopped in front of a TV with a beer in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. If I’m going to watch sports, other than playing them myself, I prefer to watch a live game in person as it is played, not on a wide-screen TV. It’s the same with theater. There is nothing like a live performance. If an actor flubs a line or misses a cue, he has to deal with it right then and there in front of you and make the best of it.

What are you doing sitting home all alone? Come with us and meet some chicks, friends would often say, but the bar scene is not my bag. Ya never know. You might find Ms. Right. Yeah, Ms. Right, or Ms. Right Now, but what about later? What if she has a jealous boyfriend? I can hold my own in a fight—some martial arts training—but if I have my choice, I will rather go jogging in the park than get into a barroom brawl along with these other friends.

My keyboard and I have formed a serious bond. We have a very special relationship, a mutual understanding. I give her gentle keystrokes, and in return, she gives me the words I feel.

This leads me to the beginning of the story about how all this came about.

I return home, grabbing my mail from the box on the way in. The air-conditioning at work broke down again today, so it was sweltering all day long in an office building where none of the windows can be opened—all solid glass. It is great to get home to my cooler apartment. I have the AC set to a higher temperature while I am gone. It kicks on periodically just to keep the humidity down. I can lower the temperature by a few degrees as the evening progresses; anything is better than what we had at work today. I sort through the mail—bill, bill, junk, junk, junk, bill. What’s this?

I am holding a rather unusual-looking piece of mail. The envelope is of fine linen stock, and the stamp and postmark indicate it came all the way from London, England. Such a letter cannot just be torn open. I take out my pocketknife then carefully slit along the top of the envelope, making sure I don’t damage the pages contained within. Unfolding the crisp pages of the letter, I read:

Dear Mr. Woodward Shakspear,

It is my unfortunate duty to inform you of the passing of your great-great-uncle Lathrup Shakspear. He went to eternal rest quietly in his sleep on August the sixteenth of last year.

You are the only heir named in his will. Therefore, you will inherit his entire estate; however, you must come to England to establish your identity and sign a number of documents in order to take possession of the premises and properties. I have enclosed all the necessary information you will need to contact our firm.

Please contact us at your earliest convenience. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Mr. F. Harris, Esq.

The only heir to an English estate! Holy crap! I immediately begin typing a reply letter to Mr. F. Harris, Esq., on my faithful keyboard, informing him I will be traveling to England as soon as possible. In my letter to him, I explain that I will need to obtain a passport, which will take a bit of time. I’ve never needed one before, so this is a first for me. I have a considerable amount of accrued vacation time, but I don’t know if it is going to be enough. I didn’t even know I had an Uncle Lathrup! I wonder why it took almost six months for them to notify me. I guess I’ll find out when I get to England.

At work, there are congratulations all around. I speak to my boss, and he says, When it’s time for you to travel to England, take your vacation days, and if you need more time, we will put you on a leave of absence until you get back. That will be without pay, of course.

The passport comes through faster than I have expected. I did have to pay extra to have it rushed, but I figured it was worth it. I reserve my airline tickets and send another letter off to Mr. F. Harris, Esq., informing him when I will be arriving. I don’t leave for three weeks. My plane will be landing at 8:30 a.m., British time.

Another letter arrives from Mr. F. Harris, Esq., stating I will be met at the airport, taken to my hotel and then to his law offices or, as they refer to it, the solicitors’ office, which is great. I can imagine trying to find my way around a place like London all by myself. I definitely would get so lost that I probably would never be heard from again.

In both his letters, Mr. F. Harris did not state what the inheritance consists of, and I didn’t ask either. He did state premises and properties—plural! That means, there is at least one house, maybe more, and I have no idea what he means by properties.

My flight leaves from Newark Airport, so I take the airport limo bus for the long and bumpy ride to the terminal. Because it is an international flight, I need to get there extra early. It will also mean waiting around in the airport for a long time until my flight is announced.

Passport and tickets in hand, I board the plane. During the cruising, I sleep most of the time; there is nothing to see out the window except dark Atlantic Ocean. Approximately ten hours later, we land at Heathrow Air Terminal.

Exiting the terminal, I see a driver holding a placard with my name on it. Damn, it’s cold! I should have brought a warmer coat. I thought England was supposed to be warm! I guess that’s because the only time you see anything about England on the TV, it is always filmed in the warmer months and on sunny days. They don’t show you the cold, the snows, the frequent rains; no wonder you always see the British carrying umbrellas even in the sunshine.

Approaching the driver with the placard and just before I get the chance to tell him I am the person he is waiting for, I hear a passerby state, "My good man, you spelled Shakespeare wrong!"

After checking into my hotel, we continue on to meet with Mr. F. Harris, Esq.

Chapter 2

The Solicitors’ Office

When you travel abroad, you are only allowed to bring up to a certain amount of cash with you, which is not a problem with me. In all my bank accounts, I have far less than the maximum. I pretty much have cleaned them all out, leaving only enough to keep the accounts open. I have no idea how much this trip is going to cost me, so I brought all I have available. I am in for a number of surprises—some good, but most bad.

Upon entering the solicitors’ office, I’m greeted by a secretary and asked to have a seat. It’s interesting, back in the States, you are told to have a seat; here, they ask you. I am so sorry you have to wait a few minutes, but Lord Harris was not expecting you so soon. He thought you would spend a bit more time at your hotel. He needs to make sure he has all your paperwork in order before he sees you.

So he is a lord! Then it dawns on me—most barristers are lords.

I just dropped my bags off at the hotel. I’ll unpack them later when I return to my room. I didn’t bring much with me anyway.

You should have brought more, she says. You might be here for a while.

Sitting, waiting in this plush office, I yawn. I’m glad I slept on the plane—that is, if you could call it sleeping, with the all too occasional air turbulence, noises throughout the cabin, the stewardess pushing the beverage cart, meals being served, and having to try to sleep in an upright sitting position. I probably got only one or two hours of decent sleep the entire trip. I feel like it’s three o’clock in the morning, and when I look at my watch, that’s the time it says. I look up at the clock on the wall in the office realizing I am still set to US eastern time. I reset my watch to local time, hoping their clock is right, but then again, what difference do a few minutes make?

The door to the office opens. The man facing me is not what I envisioned. I was expecting a stately-looking barrister in a black robe, wearing a powdered wig. Instead, here before me is a short balding man dressed in a finely cut business suit.

Won’t you please come in, Mr. Shakspear? I assume the man must be Lord F. Harris, Esq.

Upon entering his office, he extends his hand. I am Lord Fredrick Harris, he says. I introduce myself, shaking his hand. Please have a seat, he says. Damn, these English are polite!

Did you bring with you the documentation needed to establish you are who you say you are?

I wasn’t able to get everything on your list, but I was able to dig up most of it.

Dig up?

Locate. I have my passport, birth certificate, driver’s license, work photo ID, copies of my ancestors’ birth and death certificates, immigration records… They wouldn’t let me have the originals, but each is stamped to attest to their validity.

I understand, he says. This is not the first time I have done this. Copies will suffice for now.

For now?

Yes, for now. I haven’t even looked at them yet. I need to verify all your documentation. It might take a few days to make sure you are the Woodward Shakspear named in the will. Ms. Henna, would you come in, please? The secretary opens the door and enters.

Handing her the sizable stack of papers I brought with me, he again asks her, Make copies of all these documents, if you would please. To me, he says, Your original documents will be returned to you in just a few minutes. Care for some tea while we wait for Ms. Henna to do what she needs to do? It is just about ready. I believe it has steeped long enough.

Nodding my assent, I state, I’ve never had a teatime in England before.

Most Americans have not. Actually, they have never even had tea. They make theirs using little paper-enclosed packets that make an atrocious cup of tea. This is good, proper English tea. He pours a cup for each of us. I have to say, it was the best tea I ever had.

The secretary returns, handing my original documents back to Lord Harris. He begins to go over them page by page, humming here and humming there.

Is there a problem? I ask.

No, no problem that I see at the forefront, but you are not the first Woodward Shakspear to enter my office. Actually, you are the last on the list. There have been three others before you. They were all from various parts of England. You are the only one I could locate in America or Canada. None of the others came even close to you as far as establishing lineage. It took quite a bit of investigation to locate you. That is the reason it took so long to contact you. First, we had to process each claim to the estate individually before notifying the next possible heir and then hunt you down. He hands the originals back to me. Keep these papers safe. They might mean the difference between you inheriting your late great-great-uncle Lathrup Shakspear’s estate or you going home with nothing.

That answers my question as to why it took so long for them to contact me.

Pardon me, Lord Harris, but just to shorten the rhetoric, can we simply refer to him as Uncle Lathrup instead of ‘my late great-great-uncle Lathrup Shakspear?’

All right, your uncle Lathrup. You Americans…always in a hurry…always looking for shortcuts. Uncle Lathrup it is!

What happens to the estate if I prove out to be the wrong Woodward Shakspear like the others?

I will be given a bit more time to continue my search, but if it proves fruitless, the government takes possession of everything, minus my expenses.

So for you, it is a win-win situation.

You might say that. I secure my fees regardless of who takes final possession of the estate.

I could see dollar signs flying out the window when Lord Harris mentions expenses and fees. I know what attorneys charge back in the States. I work for an accounting firm and have seen it firsthand.

What does Uncle Lathrup’s estate consist of? I ask.

We will go over all that once your identity is completely established. That should only take two or three days. There is nothing more for you to do right now. Why don’t you take that time to explore London? I will send a message to your hotel when it is time for us to meet again.

*****

I spend the rest of my first day in Jolly Olde England, and the next two exploring the more famous and familiar sights: Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus. I couldn’t find any clowns, but there were a few people who could pass for one. I want to go to the famous British Museum, but that will take an entire day all on its own. Perhaps another time. Not knowing my way around, I am completely at the mercy of the taxi drivers.

Finding palatable food is another challenge. The English seem to eat strictly for fuel and not for enjoyment. Almost everything is bland, and they serve up some of the weirdest things—things I never heard of, as though the English cooks never heard of spices.

Returning to my hotel on the third evening, there is a message from Lord Fredrick Harris, Esq. waiting for me. We are to meet tomorrow at nine o’clock in the morning. He is sending a car to pick me up. That’s nice of him. It will save me cab fare, I say to myself.

*****

Back in the solicitors’ office, I do not have to wait. The door to Lord Harris’s office is open. I guess because he is expecting me. He motions me in, closing the door. Ms. Henna’s desk is empty, which is not unusual in a law office, excuse me, a solicitors’ office. She is probably running some kind of legal errand for Lord Harris, possibly another reason for the door being open. There is no one there to announce me, and with the carpeted floor, my footsteps are not heard behind a closed door.

Congratulations, Mr. Shakspear, all your documentation checked out. You are the sole heir to your uncle Lathrup’s estate. Please have a seat.

He remembered—no long-drawn-out your late great-great-uncle Lathrup Shakspear’s estate.

Now, let’s get down to business, he says grasping a sizable stack of papers. You have a considerable number of documents to which you must affix your signature. I hope you did not make any pressing plans for today. This is going to take quite some time.

Just more sightseeing. Nothing I can’t put off to another day.

Good, then let us begin.

Before we do, I have one question.

Ask whatever you need to know.

I’m curious. Am I legally bound to accept this estate, or do I have the right to refuse it? I have heard of times where the inheritance cost the heir considerably more than the estate was worth.

I can assure you, Mr. Shakspear, that will not be the case here. Even though you are signing the documents, they are not binding until they are notarized and recorded with the Commonwealth. After you have signed them all, I will go over each one with you individually. You can take the time to read each one now or simply sign them. I am bound by the courts to explain each and every one of the pages to you—word for word—and answer any questions you might have. If you take the time to read them now, it will take twice as long.

I didn’t like the idea of signing something without reading it first, but he said we would be going over every page, and paper tears up very easily. Picking up the pen, I begin signing my name. At times like this, I wish I had a name like Gary Ray instead of Woodward Shakspear. By the time I’m finished, I’m getting writer’s cramp.

Quickly making sure all the papers are in proper order, he says, "Very good, Mr. Shakspear. Before we begin going over each separate document, I am going to tell you what you have just inherited. The value of the premises and properties, he emphasizes those words, is only an estimation for tax purposes."

Taxes—I knew there was a catch!

The estimates are very conservative. You can always have a full appraisal made at your own expense, but you will find your tax liability will be much higher.

I’ll take your word for it at this time, I say.

The real property—

You mean there is fake property?

"No, by real property I mean buildings and land as well as all contents. The real property is valued at 6,284,937 GBP."

GBP?

Yes, Great Britain pound or pound sterling. I will henceforth just refer to the currency as pounds. I believe you know what pounds are?

Yes, I’m an accountant by trade, and the last time I checked, which was just before I left America to come here, each British pound equals 1.30 American dollars.

That is correct, but it does fluctuate by a pence or two throughout the day. Some days more, some days less, but that’s neither here nor there.

How much did you say the property is worth?

It’s £6,284,937.

I almost fell out of my chair. How many houses and how much land are we talking about?

There is the main estate house, two smaller cottages, a stable, which is empty because your late great—oops, sorry, your uncle Lathrup divested himself of his horses years ago, and a garage with two automobiles. The land is approximately 500 hectares, give or take. The property lines almost never run straight in that region.

Hectares? I’m not familiar with that. About how many acres is that?

Let me see. He selects a book from the shelf, looking up the conversion. Scribbling quickly on a pad he says, Approximately 1,235 acres.

Holy cow, that’s a lot of land!

There are also expenses. First are my fees. My retainer is £500 per hour. As of yesterday, that amounts to £2,520. Add today’s expenses and any other necessary legal work I will need to do on your behalf, and there will be a bit more you will need me to oversee. You will understand more clearly once we get into the documents. We will reach a final figure. I would not concern yourself with that right now. I know you will be well able to afford my fees.

What do you mean?

You will see. After that, there are the taxes—inheritance tax, estate tax, conveyance tax, property tax, as well as a few smaller taxes and fees.

Again, I see dollar signs flying out the window. How can I possibly afford all this? I only have so much money, and you can’t spend property and possessions you don’t yet possess. Even if I were to sell everything, how could I cover all the costs from the time I do try to sell things until the sale goes through?

There is more, Mr. Shakspear, much more. Your late uncle Lathrup had a sizable amount of pound sterling deposited in the Bank of England.

How much?

Thumbing through the pile, he looks at one of the papers I signed. It’s £997,923.

This time, I did actually fall out of my chair. I had started to get up to leave, realizing there was no way I could afford this inheritance without going bankrupt and was ready to tell Lord Fredrick Harris, Esq. that I decided to pass on the inheritance, but when I heard the figure, my arms supporting me forgot they were attached to my body.

Are you all right, Mr. Shakspear?

Fine…fine… I’m fine. Lord Harris helps me to my feet. I carefully sit back down. How much did you say?

It’s £997,923.

That’s what I thought you said. I can’t believe it! Doing the math quickly in my head, it pays to be an accountant; I almost fell out of my chair again. That works out to almost 1,295,000 US dollars!

Believe it, Mr. Shakspear. You are now a very wealthy man. When I stated you would have need of my further services, it is because I still need to do the necessary paperwork and document filings to gain you access to your uncle Lathrup’s funds. That should not take very long.

So now I’m a rich English land baron!

"No, not a baron. That term is not used anymore, more like a rich heir. Your uncle Lathrup had no title, but he did have much wealth, and now all that wealth is yours."

We spend the rest of the day doing exactly what Lord Harris said we would be doing—going over every single page, word for word. With any questions I had, he answered them quickly and clearly.

Finishing the last page, he says, I will not notarize or file these documents until after you have visited the estate. Tomorrow I will send my driver to pick you up and take you to your estate so you can thoroughly inspect it. He is also an excellent mechanic, so he will ensure the two motor cars are mechanically sound. If everything meets your approval, we can finalize all the details the next day. Plan on spending a few more days in your hotel. It will take a small number of days to get everything filed properly and for you to gain access to your uncle Lathrup’s bank accounts.

Accounts?

Yes, he has a draft account and savings. Both will need to be closed and reopened in your name. I will take care of all the necessary paperwork for you.

Lord Harris, regardless of my decision tomorrow, I will still have to return to the States. If I decide to take possession of the estate, I will need to return home to tie up loose ends. If I decide to pass on it, I will be returning to the US for good. A little poorer, but much wiser.

I understand, Mr. Shakspear, which is why I am waiting until after you inspect the estate before I file anything. If you feel you need more time, you can stay at the manor as long as you need. My driver will return for you when you are ready. Just give my office a call. You do have the number?

Yes, right here.

Oh, and you won’t be alone if my driver leaves. There is a groundskeeper and a cook-housekeeper. They are husband and wife, very nice people. I have met them many times over the years. They live in one of the cottages. The other one is vacant at the present time. It is a bit of a ride, so my driver will call for you at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow.

Thank you, Lord Harris. I’m looking forward to this adventure.

Speaking of that, if you are feeling adventurous enough and decide to take one or both of the motor cars out for a spin, remember, we drive on the left side of the road.

Chapter 3

The Estate

Back in my hotel room, I toss a few things into the small bag I used for a carry-on aboard the airplane just in case I do decide to stay over at the manor. Interesting, the manor. Lord Harris referred to it as the manor only once. All the other times, he called it the estate. I’m picturing a stately castle with a drawbridge and a moat, complete with moat monsters.

*****

It is 7:00 a.m., and I am waiting as the driver pulls up in front of the hotel. He takes my bag, placing it in the trunk, or the boot as the English call it. I can also see a large tool kit in the trunk; I’m guessing he will use it to check out the cars at the manor. He opens the rear door for me. Do you mind if I ride up front with you? Lord Harris said it is a bit of a ride, and it will make talking easier.

Whatever you desire, sir. He moves around the large vehicle to open the front door on the opposite side. Whereas in the States, I would have gotten in the right-side door; here, the passenger seat is on the left.

We drive off. So tell me, driver, what’s your name? I hate calling you driver all the time.

Smythe, he says.

Okay, Smith, my name is Woodward.

"Yes, I know, sir, but my name is Smythe with a y."

"Oh, I see, with a y. How long have you been working for Lord Harris?"

Long past nine years now.

He must treat you well for you to be his driver for so long. Are you the only driver he employs?

No, there are three of us. Lord Harris has his personal driver, Hamilton. Buckley, the other driver, and I shuttle clients around and transport Ms. Henna around to wherever she needs to go to conduct Lord Harris’s legal business, as well as delivering important messages. One of us also picks her up in the morning and makes sure she gets home safely each evening.

That’s very noble of Lord Harris. Is his practice very busy? I’ve seen no one else except Lord Harris, Ms. Henna, and you.

Yes, he is very busy. He specifically set time aside for you because you had to travel so far to get here. Having to chauffeur you around has made my workload lighter. Normally, I am running all over the place. That load falls on Hamilton and Buckley’s shoulders while you are here, mostly on Buckley.

*****

The limo turns into a gated driveway. Smythe presses some numbers on a keypad. The gate swings open. We travel a considerable way down the long driveway. Still no manor in sight. Emerging from the tree-lined driveway, there it is. It’s not the stately castle with a moat and drawbridge I envisioned, but it is a big, big house. We pull up to the front. Smythe starts to come around to open the door for me, but I’ve already let myself out.

I’m going to take a walk around the outside of the house to get the full effect before going inside.

Very good, sir. I am going to drive around back to the garage to check out the vehicles. Do you want me to remove your satchel from the boot before I do?

No, it can stay there. I’ll collect it if I decide to spend the night.

Very good, sir. You know where I am if you need me. Smythe drives around back and takes his tool kit out of the boot. George, the groundskeeper, approaches driving a tractor with oversized wheels, pulling an even larger mowing machine. He eyes me walking around the house.

How have you been, George? Smythe asks. It has been quite some time.

Still trying to keep ahead of the lawn work. It seems to grow faster than I can mow it. Is that the new owner? George asks Smythe.

We do not know yet. He is here to inspect the premises before he decides. Smythe and George enter the garage. Smythe removes his chauffeur’s hat and jacket, rolling up his sleeves.

I have been checking the lube and starting them up at least once a week and making sure the petrol tank is filled. I have been using this one, with Mr. Shakspear’s permission, to take the missus for groceries and whatever else is needed. The other one scares me too much to drive it. You should not have to do too much to them. Both run fine.

When was the lube last changed? Smythe asks.

On that beast, just before Mr. Shakspear became ill. It has not been driven since, only started up. This other one I had serviced three weeks ago. Mr. Shakspear was most adamant that the lube be changed every three thousand kilometers.

*****

The house is larger than it appeared from the front, much larger. On my second time around, I have decided to see what’s in the garage. My jaw almost hits the floor. In front of me is a relatively new Bentley and, of all things, a Duesenberg, both in perfect condition. What year is that?

Year 1935, George says, introducing himself. It is a 1935 SL LaGrande Dual-Cowl Phaeton. The other is a 2003 Bentley Arnage.

I do not think there is anything I need to do on either of these vehicles. While George puts his tractor away, I will show you the inside of the house, and you can meet George’s spouse, Mrs. Ellie McCray, Smythe says.

Let’s go around front to the main entrance. That’s where I should enter for the first time, I say. We continue walking in the same direction I was headed on my second trip around the house before I stopped at the garage. I am just about ready to ring the bell when Smythe simply opens the door. Don’t the English lock their doors?

Yes, but we are expected.

I’m amazed at the huge foyer with its curved double staircases. Mrs. Ellie McCray appears from somewhere in the back wearing an apron as if she was doing some cleaning someplace else in the house. Smythe introduces us before I have a chance to say anything. So how is that fine Lord Fredrick Harris?

He is doing well, Ellie, and you? Smythe says.

Just peachy, she says. I put on some tea if you would care for a cup.

That will be nice, Smythe says. George will be right in after he puts the tractor away. After tea, you can give Mr. Shakspear a tour of the manor.

I hope George doesn’t track all kinds of stuff in here that I have to clean up.

He looked relatively clean when we left him in the garage.

Still, I am going to make him take off his wellies before he comes through the door.

I am very impressed with how clean everything is. Mrs. McCray, do you clean this entire house all by yourself?

Hardly, she says. And you can call me Ellie. I only do spot cleaning here and there. We have a cleaning staff come in once a month or so to do all the dusting, polishing, and general cleaning. They used to come in more frequently before Mr. Shakspear passed away. George and I don’t live in the manor. We have our own cottage. With no one to mess things up, there isn’t much cleaning to do. I would not be here today except I knew you would be coming. I usually just supervise the cleaning staff when they are here.

After tea, Mrs. Ellie McCray takes me on an excursion through the manor. What am I going to do with all these rooms? I think. There is a billiard room, a study, a library, a formal dining room, a formal lounge as Mrs. McCray called it, a not-so-formal lounge, a breakfast nook where George and Smythe are still sitting, talking, with George having no boots on. There is also an eat-in kitchen, a pantry that’s almost as large as my whole apartment back home, a walk-in humidor that I would never use. I have tried cigars but don’t like them. There are several bedrooms on the first floor, each with its own bath. There’s also a trophy room; it