Chapter 5:37 the Dog and the Butler

The old dog lays in his bed in a corner of the crimson and gold dining room of a grand mansion. Framed art lines the walls. The dining room table is larger than a tree is tall. The candles of the chandelier illuminate a veritable feast: fruits, pies, breads, desserts. Every kind of sweet, pastry, indulgence or delicacy piled as high as wedding cakes.

At one end is Lord Grey, a portly man eating cockles, wearing a monocle and a tuxedo that's a few sizes too small for him; the buttons of his vest about to burst.

At the other end is Lady Madeline. A small woman who wears every piece of jewelry she owns at all times: rings on every finger, layers of bracelets, charms, chains and necklaces. Her bright makeup painted on. She has a tiara atop an oversized blonde wig and her bright dress fans out like a peacock.

"She never eats!" Lord Grey says with his mouth full. "Only consumes whatever's in her cup! She starves herself, the poor woman. There's absolutely no need for that. She gets so hungry sometimes I hear her screaming in her room. She's very loud. Eat something, darling!"

"No." Lady Madeline says coldly and sips her rosewater.

"She withholds from me because she knows I hate it." Lord Grey quips.

Hundreds of empty chairs are set around the table for all of Lord Grey's imaginary friends. Each spot has plates of delicious looking food set before it. All of their imaginary friends are so different: one's a professor, one's an actor, one's a doctor, one's a business man.

Lord Grey laughs and speaks with the empty chairs as if his friends are really there:

"You make me laugh, Samantha! Tell us another one!"

"Oh, Arthur's always a prude, isn't he?"

"Anton, thank you for coming!"

"You remember the professor, Dr. Barnes, don't you, darling?"

"Absolutely." Lady Madeline says, waving her glass.

"You don't but it's kind of you to pretend you do."

The butler brings more plates of food. Lord Grey tosses him two coppers and they clink in his hand.

"Don't you love that sound?" Lord Grey asks.

"I don't trust hun." Lady Madeline says, giving the butler a sharp glance.

"Oh, he's harmless."

"Rather dull, I'd say."

Mr. Bear tries to pick up silverware with his plush hands but drops it and it clangs on the table.

"You're using the wrong utensil, bear." Lord Grey says. "Use the terrapin fork. And make use of your napkin. Cleanliness is key."

Mr. Bear tries to tuck his napkin into his bowtie collar.

Lord Grey eats from another cockle shell. A button on his vest pops and hits the old dog, disturbing his nap.

"Ahh, le petit mort." Lord Grey says. "If dying is an art I do it exceptionally well. Why haven't you touched your food, children? What say you?"

In front of Theo is a sizzling pepperoni pizza. Maise has cupcakes with rainbow icing and sprinkles and neapolitan ice cream. Flowers and a pollen shaker for Oliver and bowls of honey and honeycombs for Mr. Bear.

"Eat up! It's a feast! Every evening we feast because life is grand! Lady Madeline regards the simple pleasures in life as boorish however there's no pleasing her."

"Stop slouching." she barks at Maise who quickly sits up.

"See what I mean?" Lord Grey says.

Maise reaches for one of the cupcakes and Theo stops her.

"Hey!" she pouts.

Theo points to a sign near the other plates with a skull and crossbones that reads: "Don't eat. Poison."

"Ahh, yes." Lord Grey says. "The strangest thing. Someone poisoned some of our food the other day."

Lady Madeline chokes on her rosewater. "Yes, the strangest thing."

Theo sees a framed portrait of a woman blink.

"Is that a real person?" he asks.

"Indeed!" Lord Grey replies. "My favorite piece! Museless. An artless artist. We pay to watch her frown."

"You pay her to make you sad," Madeline corrects him.

"Absolutely!" he says. "If great art is a reflection of society and a great artist lives their art then she personifies it sublimely, don't you think? How transcendent: to become art itself. Transcendent. Is that the right word? Transcendent. It's right but it feels wrong. Ahh the sweet agony of jamais vu."

"Insanity." Lady Madeline says.

"A beautiful insanity. That's a requisite for an artist! To pursue perfection— what an undertaking. And what is insanity but a miscommunication?"

"It's the inability to be wrong." Oliver says.

"I'm right and you'll never convince me otherwise!" Lord Grey laughs. "So tell me, children. Where are you headed?"

"To visit a friend." Oliver says.

"Where, may I ask?"

"Nearby."

Lady Madeline eyes them suspiciously. "I loathe secrets."

Unable to resist, Maise grabs a cupcake. It's preserved on the outside by poison but inside it's rotten and hollow and disintegrates into a putrid ash. Ants and spiders pour out, covering everything in rancid sugar and icing and crawl on their hands and arms.

Maise screams and jumps from her seat.

"Let's go!" Oliver shouts as he bats spiders away with a spoon.

They dart for the door.

Lady Madeline spills rosewater all over herself. Her makeup runs like watercolor. She tries to damp it off with a napkin and her wig slips off and she falls backwards in her chair.

"Don't leave yet!" Lord Grey shouts, spitting with his mouth full. "The party has only begun! Fetch them, dog! Servant! Bring my friends back to me!"

The butler and the dog chase after them.

Lady Madeline can't sit up under the weight of all her jewelry.