The Private Secretary

The Private Secretary

Lord Altrium Mountbatten dared to move from his comfortable, spacious flat in London to a mining village in South Wales.

Despite constant warnings from his family, he moved to work as chief private secretary to James Arthur George, Earl of Swathmore, one of the wealthiest men in south Wales, with influence in Parliament, the European Courts, and the U.S. Congress.

His friends and family shared with him the rumors that the Earl was involved in some global coup. M16 once opened an investigation, but it could not be verified.

Mountbatten did not care for rumors, nor to entertain them. This job was too good to be turned down, even for a recent Oxford graduate.

On his first day of work, Mountbatten peered out his window at the Welsh mining village. A thin ominous fog slowly crept through the air.

Perhaps it’s an omen, he thought. Wouldn’t that be perfect. It would prove his family right; that something horrible would happen to him because of this job.



The Earl’s car waited out front for him. The driver, leaning against the car, looked around in disgust at the decrepit flat building Mountbatten lived in.

Mountbatten’s living arrangements do not meet the standards of aristocratic living, but it is all he can afford. If the Earl, or his driver, do not approve, one or both can allocate more to Mountbatten’s living stipend.

“Good Morning, Sir,” the driver, whose name, it should be noted, is Jeeves (somewhat stereotypical, I know).

“Morning, Jeeves,” Mountbatten said cheerfully, giving him a tip of his hat.

Jeeves sneered. Mountbatten must have messed up somehow. He couldn’t figure it out. Maybe he didn’t do it wrong and Jeeves just doesn’t like him.

Whatever Jeeves’ personal distaste for Mountbatten, he maintained a chivalrous attitude, opening the back door to the car and taking Mountbatten’s top hat and briefcase.

The drive to the Earl’s estate was tranquil. With the Welsh mining village in the distance, the air was clearer, crisper.