The Burgundian's tale

As I opened the street door, Elizabeth and Nicholas hurtled downstairs, screaming at the tops of their voices, in full cry after Hercules, who had someone’s shoe betwee his jaws. Also joining in the chase was Margaret Walker’s black-and-white mongrel, yapping and snapping like the fiend he was. In the kitchen, Adam was indulging in one of his tantrums, while from upstairs came the sound of Margaret Walker — she was still with us, God save the mark! — banging with her stick on the bedchamber floor. Adela — looking, not surprisingly, overwrought — appeared in the passageway, saw me and said, ‘Oh, you’re back. I wish you’d control that animal of yours.’

I leaned against the door jamb and, suddenly, began to laugh. I laughed until the tears ran down my face, and in the end I wasn’t sure whether I was laughing or crying. But one thing I knew for certain:

I was home.