Flash Fiction

Marlena’s home was perfect: soaring coffered ceilings; exquisite Victorian decor; roaring fire flanked by Rothschild, the designer dog. An extensive staff — poorly paid but impeccably dressed — brought round the cucumber sandwiches.

But every staff has secrets.

One day the mayor came to tea… 

and Marlena observed a dried crusty spot on his saucer. 

The hand bell was fiercely rung, the servants assembled, an angry diatribe delivered to the stone-faced audience, the maid fined. Expectations were made clear.

“It won’t happen again,” they said.

“See to it,” she said.

It was from then on that Rothschild did the dishes.