"Good of you to venture across the pond," Lady Harding said, allowing Robin to take her hand. Robin gazed back at the pond on the estate grounds, not remembering having come that way. 

"She means across the Atlantic," Drew whispered under his breath, his English accent coming to the fore like a float attached to a fishing line, momentarily submersed by the weight of the anchor of all his American ways. In a normal volume directed at Lady Harding, he added, "I'm afraid she just speaks crass American." 

Lady Harding giggled furtively. "Well, that should make her popular with the boys. They love all things dirty." 

Robin didn't mean to be rude, but she couldn't keep her eyes off the estate grounds, manicured to perfection. "You'll have to show me around the gardens. I'm a nature lover," she confessed. 

"If you have a few days," Lady Harding said. "It's a safari." 

"It's a few thousand acres," Drew said under his breath, embarrassed. 

"You have your own national park?" Robin said.  

Drew explained, "She isn't English landed gentry, mother. I'm so sorry."  

"Nonsense," Lady Harding said. "I love showing commoners how good we have it, and what a pain in the ass all this wealth is. When I'm done, you'll be happy to let us keep it all. I've been curing envy for generations." 

Robin noticed Lady Harding looked well-broken in at sixty-some. Maybe supporting the weight of all those lavish clothes had taken its toll. Maybe the touch of arthritis she noted came from bowing, and curtsying, and glad-handing, and the repetitive motions common only to the ruling elite. Play nice, Robin, it's Drew's family. And besides, she probably felt embarrassed herself, being previously married to some minor duke or lord from which she took her title.  

Her latest husband was from Dubai, chosen for the latest infusion of wealth into the family blood line. The steep price we all pay just to keep hanging on to the old way of doing things. And just think, Robin, if Drew had been born male instead of female, you'd be enjoying even greater wealth at his expense, thanks to equally old-fashioned rules governing inheritance. She decided to show some charity, considering the vagaries of life.  

"Just how big exactly is this castle?" Robin asked, eying the stately edifice. 

"Technically it's a palace," Drew corrected her, "built for comfort, not protection." He could speak in a normal tone now without embarrassing himself, as Lady Harding had slipped into her car with the help of her chauffeur. Her arthritis forbade a walk the rest of the way. The car was an ultra-rare (only five made) 1914 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost Labourdette. Robin had never seen solid white tires on a car before. The fenders rising over the tires were obviously inspired by seafaring ships. As it drove off, Robin couldn't argue it held a lot in common with schooners setting out to sea.  

Drew, responding to Robin's question regarding the size of the palace, said, "The mummified remains of a few drunken guests have been discovered over the years, the poor souls having lost their way inside the house." 

"Ha-ha," Robin said. 

"I'm serious."  

"Designed for comfort, huh?" Robin said skeptically. 

"I suppose the notions of what constitutes 'homey' have changed over the years." 

Drew led them in through the servants' entrance, which Robin imagined was meant to dull the shock of transition from her world to the world of the uber-rich.  

Robin paused. "Drew, there's a man ironing the newspaper." 

"It's to dry the ink so it doesn't wipe off on the master's hands," Drew explained. 

"Just how many servants do they have?" 

"A few hundred. And please don't refer to them as the servants." Drew reined in his impatience with a deep breath. "There is a complex hierarchy of rankings that mirrors the ones separating the English royals themselves, and everyone is very proud of their station in life. Those that aren't, will kill each other clambering up to the next level."  

"How am I supposed to keep it all straight?" 

"Not to fear. I have books to help you boost your mind power," Drew replied. 

"I don't know if I can stomach this," Robin confessed. "This is an anti-matter universe to the totally egalitarian world I advocate." 

"You have no idea," Drew groaned, already sounding fatigued by Robin's predictable responses. "Just go with it, Robin. If you can surrender to every neurosis under the sun, you can surely try grandiosity on for size." 

"I suppose acting the part of the ruling elite will do a lot more for my understanding of what it does to the human psyche than simply judging them a priori." 

"Marvelous," Drew exclaimed. "As it turns out, if you don't lean on the staff for your every need, they feel very threatened, since you're putting their livelihood in jeopardy." 

"I suppose it is just a very colorful form of divine madness," Robin said, trying to talk herself into her upcoming role. 

"Just as well you play along before they slip something in your tea to end your life before you threaten their way of life." 

"I guess if this is to be a true vacation, that means a vacation from myself, as well." Robin was becoming self-conscious of just how much she was firing up the rationalization-machine.  

"Bravo. I knew I could rely on your transcendental logic to see you through this." Drew's muscles hardened and his tone grew more acidic. He lit a cigarette, presumably to burn off the source of the agitation. Maybe he bore scars left from his childhood that were harder to hide now that he was back home.  

One of the servants, whose actual rank and title Robin had not been briefed on, appeared out of nowhere, holding a tray for Drew to drop his ashes in. Maybe he had been standing just outside Robin's peripheral vision all along. Apparently, he intended to stand where needed until the end of time. He reminded Robin of the royal guards who never flinched or showed expression, guarding the queen's castle, which they passed on the way to Lady Harding's residence.  

"Dear God," Robin exclaimed. She just couldn't help herself. The idea of a man dedicating his entire life to holding out a tray to collect ashes.  

Drew just rolled his eyes. "I forgot it takes a trauma to get you to slip into character. Let's hope this is enough of one."