The grange had got it's new tenants at last
Swiftly approaching it's great gates
They were a beef eating bunch of a bloodline
horse and carriage and all
Driven by a shirtless whip in sunburnt skin and an ivy cap
The sun above a dreadful shade of burning peach and sky of sickest sea blue

The master twiddled his thumbs as he leaned out the window
Watching the gate part
The letter open on his desk
Not as much as an telephone call
Just a stack of notes and a newspaper clipping
Smartly closed in red sealing wax
Did they not know what had happened here just a year before?

_________

At lunchtime in five weeks
All was not well
Not one bit
The garden swing hung off it's hinge
Creaking in a minor key
Drops of blood the same shade as sealing wax disrupted the floral wallpaper which lay abandoned on the garden path
lumps of earth were roughly dispersed
Four lumps
For that one bloodline  
One year, five weeks and a few lonely hours