Closed Misplaced in the Manor
CW: Ableism

Of course Gordon had known going into the job that [Lord] Madswitte was something of a recluse, but he had assumed this was due to being of a nervous temperament. Or at least disposed more to quiet and solitude, which suited Gordon quite well, as his previous employer had been happy to spend his evenings in front of the fireplace, with his books and antiquities, rather than gad about to the clubs and parties.

What Gordon had not expected, what he suspected someone had purposefully neglected to mention to him, was that his lordship was completely barmy. He had not been at the manor for more than a few days, when Madswitte complained of a ghost making a racket somewhere above him, and sent Gordon to go tell it to be quiet.

Certain that the culprit (Gordon hadn't actually even heard the noise) was naught but the wind or perhaps some vermin in the walls, he had gone out to hunt them out and if nothing else, alert the Butler or Housekeeper that they'd need to set out traps or poison.

Instead, Gordon had found himself lost somewhere in the passageways in the upper floors of the Manor. Retracing his steps hadn't helped; he was beginning to think that a wrong turn while doing so was in fact to blame for his current predicament.
Florian came from the parlour, holding the tray with remains of the ladies’ tea, some friends if Lady Muzuran. He saw a strange man in the hallway, and he hid behind a flower pot. Oh, wasn’t that the new valet? He stayed hiding anyway; hiding from embarrassment about hiding.

Surely he had been seen, or now heard, as the cups on the tray clinked together and scraped against the wall. He cleared his throat and shuffled back into the middle of the corridor.

“Good afternoon.” He’d also forgotten his name. Sigh
While he knew that there had to be a way back, since he'd wandered this way in the first place, Gordon was beginning to worry that he'd be wandering all night.

A hint of movement at the corner of his eye, and he stopped, waiting. Hearing the sound of items rattling together. Then, out from behind one of the large flower pots, emerged one of the Footmen. What was his name? Lucien? Dorian? No, that was some lurid novel...

"Good afternoon;" Gordon attempted to make his tone casual, as if he hadn't been growing desperate over the past hour or so. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd succeeded. "Er, I'm sorry I startled you."
“Not at all, sir.” He tried to sound like it was true. “Do you- require any assistance?” He then used both hands to grip the tray. There. No spills. He was improving?
Sir? Oh no.

"Please, just Brandt is perfectly fine. Or Gordon," he said. "There's no need to call me 'Sir,' I'm not a lord. I'm not even a Butler."

Now, how to let the man know he was lost without actually saying he was lost. "I was trying to find my way to the rooms above His Lordship's chambers..."
“Yes right! Brandt.” Being too polite. It’s own faux pas. “Above? It’s not far from here. But it isn’t so much a room as.. the hall. There is a servant passage, er, an alcove...” he started toward it, trying to think of what His Lordship might mean. It was the hall to the left, with a notable burnt area in a corner. No one knew why it was there or why it hadn’t been repaired.
It seemed there might not be any need to mention that he had been lost. Only that he was unfamiliar with where his destination might be. Gordon began to follow the other man, still considering what his name might be.

Orrin? Ian? Owen?

"I hope I'm not keeping you from your duties," Gordon said. "Florian."

He really hoped that he had actually remembered the man's name.
He was flattered, being remembered. And guilty, for not remembering. "No, but I'm sure Her Ladyship will ring for something or other in due time." He stood in the next hall and put the tray on the table inside the alcove. "Why here?"

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