The only problem Richard foresaw was how to explain to Stephen that he would have to park in the middle of nowhere, and that the young lord would somehow disappear after crossing the boundary of the Weasleys' yard. Richard could not refuse the services of his driver-bodyguard and put Mr. Potter in his place, since his father had insisted on the arrangement.
After some thought, Richie concluded that this was not his problem. If his father had decided so, then he could deal with his subordinate himself and explain the oddities however he pleased.
The journey to Devon was not a short one—slightly longer than the drive to London. Since they needed to purchase presents, it was decided to travel via Birmingham, the center of the West Midlands region and the second most populous city in Great Britain after London.
In fact, in Birmingham, one could find almost anything one's heart desired. In addition to being an industrial city with developed food, metallurgical, and engineering industries, it was also famous for its jewelry craftsmanship. Jewelry bearing the hallmark of an anchor was widely known and distributed throughout the world. The city boasted numerous restaurants, cafes, art galleries, and shopping centers. To one of the latter—naturally, the most prestigious—Steve drove the young lord.
Paying visits in England is, in some sense, akin to a Japanese tea ceremony. There are rules for everything—unwritten and unspoken—but if you break them, at best you will be considered a barbarian and will never see those people again. Yet every rule has an infinite number of exceptions.
One should not arrive empty-handed. Flowers or chocolate are best forgotten. One ought to bring a bottle—a bottle of wine or champagne. A gift, however, is never refused.
Although Richard was still too young to drink alcohol, he had learned to understand wine fairly well. Such knowledge was required by the status of a lord. Scott purchased an expensive French wine, since it would not have been sold to a child.
In case the Weasley family turned out to be non-drinkers, Richard also bought a box of premium exotic tea—a universal gift for those who do not consume alcohol. Moreover, it was insurance in case it turned out that wizards did not drink tea. He could always drink the familiar beverage himself, since any British hostess would have no trouble serving a guest what he had brought along.
As presents, the boy purchased modestly priced items corresponding to the presumed number of family members who would be home at the time. A chronometer for Arthur. Board games for the children. As for what to buy Mrs. Weasley, he had to think hard. But a solution was found—a small bottle of pleasantly scented perfume, not cheap, yet not outrageously expensive. Such a gift, though somewhat personal, ought to please most women.
Stephen might easily have driven past the correct house, but Scott told him when to stop. The driver did not show the slightest sign of surprise.
Richard remained seated in the car a little longer to ensure he would arrive at precisely the right time.
"So, kid, how are you going in?" Detective Potter asked.
"Mr. Potter, I was invited alone," Richard replied. "It would be improper if I arrived with someone."
"That's what I thought!" the detective grinned. "But, lad, we're responsible for your safety. So you'll have to wear this thing."
The detective pulled a small microphone and a battery-powered radio transmitter from his leather briefcase.
"A listening device?" Richard guessed.
"Yep. You'll have to walk around with this thing on you. Don't worry—I'll be the one monitoring it. The information won't go any further than me. But if something happens, we'll be able to help."
"I understand, sir. Safety first."
The detective bared his teeth in a pleased grin.
"That's the spirit, lad! It's good you don't create problems for us. Working with a ward like you is a real pleasure."
He climbed into the back seat and helped discreetly secure the microphone beneath Richard's clothing.
The house truly looked as surreal as in the photograph. Five chimney stacks jutted at odd angles from the red-tiled roof. By the entrance, hanging slightly askew on a pole, was a sign that read The Burrow. Beside the porch, next to an enormous rusted cauldron, stood a heap of rubber boots in various colors and sizes. Plump speckled hens wandered about the yard, pecking at something.
No sooner had the young Grosvenor approached the threshold than the door swung open. Arthur Weasley stood there in a brand-new black suit—affordable, yet respectable.
"Good evening, Mr. Weasley," Richard said, giving a polite bow.
This time, Arthur appeared more confident. Within his own walls, he seemed braver.
"Welcome to the Burrow, Lord Grosvenor. Please, make yourself at home. Allow me to introduce my wife, Molly, and our children: Ron and Ginny. My dear, children, this is Lord Richard Grosvenor."
Molly Weasley was a short, plump red-haired woman with brown eyes and the kindest face, adorned with a warm smile. She wore a festive green dress belted with a light-green sash.
Ginny was a petite, slender, beautiful girl with bright light-brown eyes and straight red hair. She wore a blue dress and shyly hid behind her brother while studying the guest with keen curiosity.
Ron Weasley looked like an entirely ordinary boy with fiery red hair and blue eyes. He wore a well-worn brown wool suit in an early twentieth-century style that, judging by its appearance, had likely been passed down through more than one generation of children. He examined the guest with curiosity. His gaze flickered enviously over Richard's suit, lingering on the gift bags in his hands.
Despite their poverty, none of the Weasleys seemed ashamed of their home. It was a wonderful place, filled with warmth and an easy, unpretentious atmosphere.
(End of Chapter)
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