Chapter 1; Humbert von Gikkingken

The crash reached his ears with, admittedly, little clarity, but a lot of volume. The sound of the lid falling off a bin does not have to be clear in order to be recognised.

Humbert von Gikkingken left his electric mixer – he'd been making scones – to see what had disturbed the tranquillity of his yard. Flicking on the porch light, the tin bin was illuminated, on its side, garbage falling out, and a pathetic little mewling noise coming from nearby.

Humbert sighed. This was just what he didn't need. His mother was coming to visit, and she would give him an earful if she saw this. The man unhooked his gardening gloves and, still wearing his apron, started to tidy up the junk.

A distressed mew sounded as he righted the bin. Surprised – he hadn't realised the source of the sound was actually in his bin – he peered in and carefully withdrew a small brown kitten – and it was brown, completely, from ears to tail. The only hint of any other colour was a little bit of white on it's nose, and some green stuff that was sticking to it's side. Humbert recognised the pickle relish that he had thrown out. He didn't like the stuff, but his great uncle always gave it to him for Easter. Why, he had no idea.

The man sighed again, and put the mess-covered feline down, dumping the junk back in the bin, where it belonged.

"Well, you're something else for mother to criticise me about," he told the kitten, picking it up again and carrying it into his house.

Humbert von Gikkingken was twenty-one. He'd only just left his mother's house two years ago, and was still more than just a little in awe of the woman. Woman? No, matriarch. She ruled the family, and ruled it with an iron … everything. Andrea von Gikkingken cooked, cleaned and gardened like no one else. Every woman and their daughters who had lived in their street had gone to Andrea for lessons in cooking and housekeeping. Andrea von Gikkingken even made money from her embroidery – and then made more money in investments!

He was the better for it of course; living with his mother was an education, so was working on the antique car in the garage with his father. The man was a mechanical whiz, but that was where the old man's skills had come to an abrupt halt. The only real trouble was that Humbert, having to face his mother's monthly visit, always felt like he had to be perfect, and wore himself out trying to meet the standards Andrea held for her own household. It never occurred to him that she might not notice the minuscule bit of dust on the top of the kitchen cupboard – because she would.

Humbert left thoughts of his mother to consider the kitten in his arms. It was a she, and she was as much of a mess in his arms as she had been in the bin. He headed for the bathroom. Humbert knew that cats did not generally like water, and licked themselves clean, but he also knew that water, and soap, would be required to clean up this little one.

"Baron!" the call came from his front door. There was only one person who called him Baron. Dropping the kitten in the empty tub, he ran for the door.

"Louise, w-what are you doing here?" he stammered, wishing he didn't look like someone who had left his cooking to clean up a spilled garbage bin.

The first time she'd called him Baron, he'd asked why.

"Simple," she'd answered. "Marry money, live comfortably, become a Baron, less trouble than a Lord or Duke or Prince. It suits you, don't ask why."

There wasn't anything he could say to that, so he'd said nothing.

"What do you mean 'what am I doing here?' You twit," she said, walking past him into his house. "I came to vacuum before your mother gets here, and then I'll dust, and disappear. You have scones to make," Louise added, examining his apron. "And then you need to have a shower. Come on, let me help, that's what friends are for."