they knock down the whole place," I quipped.
Benson strode to the door and opened it to find a small bespectacled man on the doorstep who looked to be the age of dirt. He had a cane in one hand and he wore a clean suit that matched is skin; both were wrinkled. My employer's face dropped faster than a cannonball out a window. "Mr. Carlyle," Benson greeted the man.
Carlyle pushed past him with all the speed of a turtle, along with the grace. "I heard you lost your girl again. What was wrong with this one?"
Benson rolled his eyes. "She didn't suit me, sir, and I've found a better replacement."
The old man noticed me and pointed the end of his stick at me. "Is this her?" Carlyle asked in a tone that showed he didn't think much of me. I didn't think much of him, and neither did my boss.
"It is," Benson replied through clenched teeth.
"Couldn't you have found someone older than eighteen? Are you sure she's even legally allowed to be employed?" he spat out.
Benson stepped in front of Carlyle and glared at the old man. "Sir, I appreciate your kindness in seeing me, but I assure you I have this matter under control."
"Nonsense, boy. Your father left you in my care for a reason, and I won't let up on my duty," Carlyle countered. "And that duty means making sure you're around the right sort of people." Judging from his few acquaintances that list must have been pretty short.
"I'm perfectly fine, sir, now if you'll excuse-"
"Perfectly fine?" Carlyle asked. He prodded the end of his cane into Benson's chest. I was glad to see the old man bounced back from the solid muscles. "Just look at yourself in a mirror."
"I try not to..." Benson grumbled. That explained the lack of mirrors in the place.
"What's that?" Carlyle asked as he cupped his hand against his ear.
"I said we were just going out and can't speak with you," Benson replied in a louder voice.
Carlyle waved away Benson's excuse with his empty hand. "Nonsense about going out, not when it's so sunny. Besides, we have matters to discuss and another secretary to find." He toddled off to the living room without giving Benson time to argue.
The poor man turned to me with an apologetic smile. "I can't apologize enough for his behavior," Benson told me.
I glanced over his shoulder at the living room. "You can start by telling me who he is."
"One of my father's old friends who has taken it upon himself to be my guardian," he replied.
"But I thought your uncle was your guardian."
"He is, legally, but Carlyle has made it his duty to be my guardian in duty, if not in title."
"So he's a busybody who wants to run your life?" I guessed.
"Exactly."
"What's taking you, John? I'll die at the rate you're going," Carlyle called from the living room.
Benson glanced heavenward. "If only," he whispered.
"Did you want me to come with you? I might annoy him enough he'll leave," I suggested.
A bright grin lit up his face, and he offered his arm to me. "I won't be able to find any way to thank you enough."
I took his arm and sweetly smiled at him. "What are friends for?"
Benson led me into the living room, and Carlyle wasn't happy to see both of us. He pointed that cane at me; I wished I could grab it and chuck it out the front door with him close behind. "What's she doing here? Get her out of here!"
"She has a right to hear why you object to her," Benson countered. At that moment we both heard a ring from the study. He worriedly glanced down at me, but I smiled and shook my head.
"I'll be fine," I whispered to him.
"What was that?" Carlyle cried out.
"There's a phone call I need to take. I'll be right back," Benson replied. He hurried from the room, leaving me with grumpy gramps. To show how firm I was in staying, I sat down on the couch beside the chair Carlyle inhabited.
The old man fumed, and his cane shook with the fury of a thousand jello jigglers. "Someone that young being a private secretary for a Benson? I won't stand for it!"
I tried to keep a serious face. "If it's
Benson strode to the door and opened it to find a small bespectacled man on the doorstep who looked to be the age of dirt. He had a cane in one hand and he wore a clean suit that matched is skin; both were wrinkled. My employer's face dropped faster than a cannonball out a window. "Mr. Carlyle," Benson greeted the man.
Carlyle pushed past him with all the speed of a turtle, along with the grace. "I heard you lost your girl again. What was wrong with this one?"
Benson rolled his eyes. "She didn't suit me, sir, and I've found a better replacement."
The old man noticed me and pointed the end of his stick at me. "Is this her?" Carlyle asked in a tone that showed he didn't think much of me. I didn't think much of him, and neither did my boss.
"It is," Benson replied through clenched teeth.
"Couldn't you have found someone older than eighteen? Are you sure she's even legally allowed to be employed?" he spat out.
Benson stepped in front of Carlyle and glared at the old man. "Sir, I appreciate your kindness in seeing me, but I assure you I have this matter under control."
"Nonsense, boy. Your father left you in my care for a reason, and I won't let up on my duty," Carlyle countered. "And that duty means making sure you're around the right sort of people." Judging from his few acquaintances that list must have been pretty short.
"I'm perfectly fine, sir, now if you'll excuse-"
"Perfectly fine?" Carlyle asked. He prodded the end of his cane into Benson's chest. I was glad to see the old man bounced back from the solid muscles. "Just look at yourself in a mirror."
"I try not to..." Benson grumbled. That explained the lack of mirrors in the place.
"What's that?" Carlyle asked as he cupped his hand against his ear.
"I said we were just going out and can't speak with you," Benson replied in a louder voice.
Carlyle waved away Benson's excuse with his empty hand. "Nonsense about going out, not when it's so sunny. Besides, we have matters to discuss and another secretary to find." He toddled off to the living room without giving Benson time to argue.
The poor man turned to me with an apologetic smile. "I can't apologize enough for his behavior," Benson told me.
I glanced over his shoulder at the living room. "You can start by telling me who he is."
"One of my father's old friends who has taken it upon himself to be my guardian," he replied.
"But I thought your uncle was your guardian."
"He is, legally, but Carlyle has made it his duty to be my guardian in duty, if not in title."
"So he's a busybody who wants to run your life?" I guessed.
"Exactly."
"What's taking you, John? I'll die at the rate you're going," Carlyle called from the living room.
Benson glanced heavenward. "If only," he whispered.
"Did you want me to come with you? I might annoy him enough he'll leave," I suggested.
A bright grin lit up his face, and he offered his arm to me. "I won't be able to find any way to thank you enough."
I took his arm and sweetly smiled at him. "What are friends for?"
Benson led me into the living room, and Carlyle wasn't happy to see both of us. He pointed that cane at me; I wished I could grab it and chuck it out the front door with him close behind. "What's she doing here? Get her out of here!"
"She has a right to hear why you object to her," Benson countered. At that moment we both heard a ring from the study. He worriedly glanced down at me, but I smiled and shook my head.
"I'll be fine," I whispered to him.
"What was that?" Carlyle cried out.
"There's a phone call I need to take. I'll be right back," Benson replied. He hurried from the room, leaving me with grumpy gramps. To show how firm I was in staying, I sat down on the couch beside the chair Carlyle inhabited.
The old man fumed, and his cane shook with the fury of a thousand jello jigglers. "Someone that young being a private secretary for a Benson? I won't stand for it!"
I tried to keep a serious face. "If it's
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