Mr. Olderglough sat before his vanity in his rumpled sleeping attire, his cap askew, his face unshaven. He was speaking to Peter through the bars of the bird’s cage, this resting upon his lap. When Lucy greeted him he peered up in the vanity mirror. “Oh, hello, boy,” he said. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”
“Hello, sir. I apologize for my disappearance, but I fell down the Very Large Hole, and was forced to fight tooth and nail to reclaim my freedom.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You fell all that way but lived to tell the tale?”
“I have lived, sir.”
“And you stand before me now as one who has cheated death?”
“I suppose so, sir.”
“One who has rerouted the fates?”
“Perhaps, sir.”
“And was this a very difficult exercise for you?”
“It was, sir, yes.”
“Was it tedious?”
“I don’t know if I would use the word tedious specifically, sir.”
“Well, it certainly sounds tedious. But, what do I know, eh? With my head full of stuffing? Happy to have you back, at any rate.”
“Thank you, sir. But I’ve not come back.”
“Haven’t you?”
“No, sir. In point of fact I’m here to tell you I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?” Mr. Olderglough said, as if the very thought were an eccentric notion.
“Leaving, sir, yes, and just now.”
“But why would you do that?”
Lucy said, “It seems to me there is no longer any reason for us to stay, sir.”
“Oh, but that’s not true at all, boy.”
“Is it not correct that the Baroness has left again?”
“It is correct.”
“Then is it not likely the Baron will once again devolve, as before?”
“It is more than likely. But I don’t see what that has to do with the abandonment of my position, and so no, I shan’t so much as entertain the thought.” Mr. Olderglough shivered and sniffed, and he returned his attentions to Peter, who had, Lucy noticed, gone quiet once more.
“Has he misplaced his tune again, sir?”
“Hmm,” Mr. Olderglough replied. He shivered and sniffed a second time, and in looking at him, Lucy could see that all sense had left the man. He was making a kissing noise at Peter now; and as if speaking to the bird, he said, “I will perform my functions. I will do right by my master.”
“But if your master cannot do right by you, sir?” said Lucy.
“That is none of my affair.”
“It is every bit of it yours.”
Mr. Olderglough shook his head and lapsed into silence. Lucy could think of nothing more to say, for there was nothing more, after all, and he was turning to go when Mr. Olderglough called after him, and in a tender tone of voice, “Do you know, Lucy, I’ve come to think of you as the son I never quite knew.” Now he set the birdcage onto the vanity, and folded his hands on his lap. Looking out at the village, and the green-forested hills running away and to the horizon, he said, “I believe I could spend the rest of my days simply peering out a window, boy.”
“Any window, sir?”
“Any one, yes. This one, for example.”
Mr. Olderglough stared. Lucy left the room.