As the butler walked along the corridor, he adjusted the tea tray he was carrying; a cup of tea, a blueberry muffin and strawberry jam. He heard the sound of rain echoing on the dull slate roof. He imagined the Crows crawing above the hills surrounding the river valley, now there would be daffodils and crocuses, later there would be bluebells too.
He dreamt of a carribean holliiday; turquoise seas, sunny days, suntans and blue skies. Then he thought of his bank balance.
The weather looked angry, thunder clouds danced across the sky, which had been so blue the day before. No sunset tonight, he thought. If it got any colder it could .
He reached the library but before he knocked on the door he had noticed a trail of blood on the carpet. He dropped the tea tray, his face with shock.
As he opened the door, he saw Lord Gorblimey on the parquet floor, a dagger in his back.
"Crikey!", he gasped, "I'll have to call the Police”.
He thought to himself, "This will be embarrassing”.
He was frightened; "They always blame the butler!"
(a don't stop till you drop production)