Erma followed the Baron along richly tapestried halls filled with all manner of precious things. But none could hold her attention as well as the Baron’s strange behavior.
“If I may be so bold, sir” she said haltingly, “Might I inquire as to your behavior with the, er…” and she stopped her own shoulders to demonstrate what she could not describe with polite language.
“Oh, I do apologize for that—all part of the show.” And he raised his eyebrows and gave a flourish with his hands.
Looking quite puzzled she began, “Sir Roderick, I really don’t…”
“I’m not Roderick.”
“But that woman, your mother? Unless she’s not your mother. But that would mean…”
“Hello, I’m Errol Goldenrod, Baron of the estate,” and he stopped to give a small bow.
When he resumed walking at a quick pace, Erma had to scurry to catch up, “Then who is Roderick?”
The Baron, whatever his name was, called back over his shoulder, “He’s my brother, er, was my brother. You see, his death was too much for dear father, so now I play the part.”