The Oxford Set
Most people are afraid of going to the dentist, but for Ambrose Perceville, 9th Earl of Waering, his dentist is scared of him.
In fact, everyone at his local is afraid.
It was just one such day in late August when Ambrose sauntered through the white doors and approached the reception desk.
The Receptionist gazed at her laptop, typing away, before glancing at the Earl with a start.
“Lord Waering,” the receptionist said, laughing darkly. “Lovely to see you.”
”Yes,” Ambrose said, observing the woman before him over the bridge of his nose. “I have an appointment with Dr Thompson at 14:30.”
”Ha, ha, ha, 14:30,” the receptionist said, quickly getting to work when she saw that Ambrose was not amused.
Dr Thompson was not the dentist that Ambrose had booked with, but he was the only patient the dental practice had granted the agency to choose whichever dentist he fancied having, even at the last minute.
“All done, Lord Waering,” the receptionist said, gesturing to the seats next to her. “Please sit, and he’ll be with you shortly.”
Ambrose daintily perched himself on a seat and watched the montage of fish swimming in the sea on the wall-mounted TV beside him.
After a while, he got bored and decided to stare at the stairs ahead of him instead.
The sounds of drilling and people screaming on the first floor did not perturb him, nor did the sudden cessation of the cacophony, replaced by Paul McCartney quietly strumming on his guitar and singing Yesterday.
It reminded him of the recently released special edition of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds, which was no different from the original except that the Beatles Blackbird played during the credits after Tippi Hedren was marauded by a flock of feathered menaces.
Of course, he wasn’t actually there performing a live gig; it was a recording on the radio.
Ambrose’s eyes widened when heavy footsteps made their way down the stairs.
He leaned forward, awaiting his cue to sit in the dentist’s chair, but it never arrived.
Somehow, the footsteps were disembodied, seemingly teasing the arrival of his dentist but instead making him wait even longer than he already had.
Ironic, he thought, smiling to himself as he sat back in his chair.
He gazed at the receptionist, who shuddered, as she sensed he was watching her even though she wasn’t looking at him.
Eventually, Dr Dale Thompson trotted down the stairs and beamed at Ambrose, clinging to the bannisters.
”Lord Waering,” he said, as Ambrose parted himself from his seat and followed him up the stairs.
”Plonk yourself on there, sir,” Dale said as Ambrose slid onto the dentist’s chair.
”I enjoyed visiting the castle for Heritage Open Days, Lord Waering,” Dale said, slapping on his rubber gloves. “The Chinewrde Bedroom is beautiful, isn’t it?”
Ambrose glared at Dale. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
Dale handed him some sunglasses to wear, and Ambrose lay back on the chair as the dentist lowered it.
”The castle is no longer in partnership with Heritage Open Days,” Ambrose said, staring at the bright overhead light.
”Oh, that’s a shame,” Dale said as he wheeled his seat closer to Ambrose’s face. “Any particular reason, why?”
”Yes, I didn’t like the idea of the peasants storming the castle walls and leaving their muddy footprints on the floor.”
Dale giggled before going through the routine questions about the Earl’s current health and his brushing technique.
”You have a bizarre fellow on your chest,” Ambrose said, glaring at the design on Dale’s T-shirt.
”Yes, it’s Admiral Ackbar from Star Wars,” Dale said. “You know, ‘it’s a trap!’”
Dale chortled at his own reference; Ambrose merely scowled at him.
“Gone are the days when I could have you executed,” Ambrose said, adjusting his position on the chair.
Dale chuckled as Ambrose opened his mouth wide and the dentist entered with his mirror.
Ambrose didn’t mind the feeling of the dentist examining his pearly whites; in fact, he quite enjoyed it.
He described the sensation as dystopian ASMR.
Just after he’d examined the top row of teeth, Dale got a ping on his phone.
He glanced at his phone and read the email he had just received. He smiled.
”Ahhh, my crush has just confirmed my affections are returned,” Dale said, pocketing his phone. “Now all I have to do is find somewhere for us to eat.”
”I don’t suppose it’s possible to put me under a General Anaesthetic, is it?” Ambrose said, staring at the light beaming down on him.
The dentist wheeled himself closer to Ambrose and examined the bottom row of teeth.
”There’s no need for that, Lord Waering, the procedure will be over in a few minutes,” Dale said, placing the mirror back into Ambrose’s mouth.
Ambrose groaned as his check-up continued.
Dale finished inspecting Ambrose’s teeth with the mirror and swapped the mirror for a scalpel his assistant handed him.
“Some of my other patients say they miss you at the Cathedral on Sundays,” Dale said as he cleaned the mirror.
Ambrose grimaced, still gazing into the light. “Yes, I decided to worship in the chapel we have at the castle after the Cathedral got taken over by a shameless heretic who believes God is genderless.”
Dale smiled and nodded as he scratched away the small amounts of plaque between Ambrose’s teeth.
Ambrose thought he could see a dark figure in his peripheral vision as his teeth were being cleaned, but he couldn’t move his head to get a closer look.
”Almost finished now, Lord Waering, Dale said. “You’re doing very well.”
Ambrose grunted, occasionally seeing a shadow in the corner of his eye.
A plastic cup flew off the work station and onto the floor.
Dale laughed, focusing on cleaning the Earl’s teeth. “Ooh, careful!”
”That wasn’t me,” his assistant said, picking up the plastic cup. “It just flew off the shelf on its own accord.”
”You keep telling yourself that,” Dale said, scratching at Ambrose’s canines.
“It actually did, though,” the assistant said, washing the cup. “I was nowhere near it when-“
Her eyes bulged and she screamed, pointing a finger in front of her.
Dale jumped and glanced up.
”What is it?” he said.
Ambrose growled, really just wanting to go home.
”There’s a thing in the room, a black thing, staring at me,” the assistant said. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s evil.”
Dale scanned the room, which seemed very ordinary to him.
”Whatever it was, it’s gone now,” Dale said, finishing his handiwork. “Either that or it’s in your head.”
“No, it’s there, grinning at me, like it’s enjoying this,” the assistant said, shaking. “I think it’s going to-“
The assistant shrieked, leaping out of the way as if a wasp was flying at her.
She accidentally bumped into Ambrose.
“Could you calm down, please?” Dale said, moving away from Ambrose. “Just ignore it.”
”I’ll try,” the assistant said, eyeing the creature that only she could see.
Dale wheeled away from Ambrose, beaming at him. “There we are, all done, Lord Waering. It’s like magic.”
Ambrose scowled at him as Dale lifted the chair.
”Your teeth are very healthy, no areas of concern or fillings required,” Dale said. “All I will say is keep up with the routine and stick to the three sugar units daily.”
Ambrose drank and spat out the mouthwash before easing himself off the chair.
”You’re free to go,” Dale said. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
”Anything nice planned?” Dale’s assistant said.
”Yes, I’m going to return to the confines of the castle and pretend no one else exists,” Ambrose said, without a smile.
The assistant laughed. “Sounds like a plan to me, hell is other people after all.”
Ambrose grimaced at the assistant before bowing to her and Dale and vacating the room.
Dale sighed and gazed towards the heavens. “Thank goodness that’s over.”
His assistant plopped herself into a seat and rested her head. “Indeed.”
”Are you sure the creature you saw wasn’t caused by the horror of having him in the room?” Dale said, taking a sip of water.
His assistant scanned the room; she was the only person in it besides Dale.
”It might have been,” the assistant said, laughing shakily.
With that, Dale exited his seat and returned to the waiting room to get his next patient.
Ambrose strode to the reception desk and cleared his throat.
The receptionist gazed up at Ambrose, smiling sweetly.
”Hello, Lord Waering,” the receptionist said. “How can I help you?”
”I’d like to book my next appointment,” Ambrose said. “But I should let you know that I’m considering changing my practice to Harley Street.”
” Aww,” the receptionist said, frowning. “Please don’t do that, we’d hate to see you go.”
Ambrose stared at the receptionist as she gave him a book.
”Please select which date you’ll be free for your next appointment,” the receptionist said.
Ambrose flicked through the diary, sifting through the dates with his finger.
As he was doing so, a pale man entered the dental practice.
The man was pale, and judging by his dress, seemed to have stepped right out of the 19th century.
The receptionist locked eyes with him, her face as pallid as his.
”There,” Ambrose said, passing the diary to the receptionist. “I shall decide after my next appointment whether it is my last.”
He noticed the receptionist staring blankly behind him, unmoving.
Ambrose tilted his head and pivoted behind him.
The stranger turned away from the receptionist and stared into the Earl’s soul.
Ambrose examined the man before him. “You must be one of those ridiculous ghost tour guides who convince people the souls of the dead inhabit this town.”
He turned back towards the receptionist and snapped his fingers before her face.
The receptionist was still entranced, so Ambrose clapped loudly, bringing her back to reality.
He pushed the diary closer to the receptionist, who examined the date and then entered the order on the card reader.
Ambrose paid what he owed, bid the receptionist and the stranger farewell and slipped out into the town of Waering.
The receptionist closed her eyes and shook her head, then took a deep breath and helped the stranger who had just entered.
Ambrose marched down the small, narrow streets of Waering towards the castle.
He bumped into a woman on the way there.
They only knew each other by sight, but the woman was somehow daring enough to converse with him.
”Oh, Ambrose, how are you doing?” The woman said with a wide grin on her face.
Ambrose grimaced at her. “Traditionally, only close friends and relatives refer to me by name; everyone else is expected to address me as ‘Lord Waering.’”
The woman laughed. “Of course, silly me.”
Ambrose began to march past her, but the woman jumped before him.
”You remember me from the Cathedral, don’t you?” the woman said. “And my daughter, of course.”
Ambrose glared at the small child using her mother as a shield.
”Vaguely,” Ambrose said. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I have a hectic schedule.”
Ambrose raised his chin and attempted to break away from the woman, but she was determined.
“We have a picnic at the church on Sunday, if you’re interested,” the woman said. “You and Lady Waering could bring a salad if you’d like.”
“I’ll suggest it to Maggie,” Ambrose said. “Now, good day.”
Ambrose sauntered up the street, moving faster than the woman could catch up with him.
She waved him goodbye and went somewhere else with her daughter.
Ambrose checked his watch.
It was three O’clock.
Ambrose’s eyes widened. Time passes so fast that most of the day has passed in seconds.
He glanced into the window of an antique furniture shop.
The Earl’s eyebrows flashed up at the sight of an old carpet, not unlike the one Aladdin rode, selling for just £300.
He tilted his head to the side to get a better look, then grimaced and continued his journey once he realised it was stained.
Ambrose quickened the pace when he saw the austere castle walls running alongside the main road in Waering, which to him meant he had come home.
Making sure no one could stop him for a chat, Ambrose jogged towards the main castle entrance and sprinted down the wooded path until he was safely in the confines of the castle courtyard.
Ambrose decompressed after a stressful day interacting with people beneath his station by strolling around the grounds.
He gazed at the island on the other side of the River Abona, which he owned, and kept his trebuchet, which sadly he couldn’t use on anyone.
The view prompted Lord Waering to visit the man the council had forced him to allow to live on the island, so he crossed the wooden bridge across the river and went to a wooden hut in the centre.
He gave a few raps on the door, and a dishevelled man opened it.
The man did a double-take, not expecting his landlord to make an appearance.
”Lord Wearing,” the man said, rubbing his head. “I know my rent’s a bit late this month.”
”Relax, that is not the reason for my visitation,” Ambrose said, gazing at his lodger from the bridge of his nose. “Although I would like to see what I am owed by the end of the month.”
“Sure,” the man said, his head bowed to the ground, but his eyes meeting his landlord’s. “If that’s the case, why are you here?”
”I had a strange urge to visit,” Ambrose said. “Something I am not usually in want of doing.”
The man laughed. “No, no.”
He opened the door wider to his wooden hut. “I’m just about to put the telly on, if you’re interested.”
Ambrose scanned his surroundings and cleared his throat. “If you insist.”
The Earl checked that no one was watching before he stepped over the threshold and entered the living room.
”It’s funny, I’m sure the council insisted I lived here rent-free originally,” Ambrose’s tenant said, easing himself onto the sofa and turning on the television.
”That was when you were a layabout on the street being of no use to anyone,” Ambrose said, opting for an armchair adjacent to the sofa. “But now you are working on my grounds. I want something in return for allowing you to live here.”
”Of course, sir,” the man said, laughing.
They sat silently for a few hours, watching a Sci-Fi film about the fragments of an Unidentified Flying Object discovered in the Roswell Desert in 1947.
Ambrose glanced out the window and saw a large black dog roaming the woodland in the island’s centre.
He was not afraid of the dog; he knew who it was, but he didn’t want to accept it as something outside his mind.
”Blimey, that bloke’s got a lot of children,” Ambrose’s lodger said, pointing at the TV screen and the family of fourteen. “I don’t think I’d be able to cope with one, let alone fourteen.”
Ambrose gawped at his host and nodded, unsure what else he should do.
His eyes wandered around the living room of his lodger until they landed on a closed door on the far side of the house.
Ambrose slowly rose and lumbered over to the door.
His lodger didn’t notice until he was lightly touching the doorknob.
The lodger leapt up and raised an arm.
”Do not open that door,” he said, making Ambrose freeze and slowly pivot around.
The lodger relaxed and smiled at the Earl. “The film we’re watching is more exciting than whatever’s behind there.”
Ambrose gawped at him and shrugged, before floating back to the armchair he was on before.
”If the film’s boring you, there’s a documentary coming up on the other channel about this rocker I like,” he said, pouring himself a cup of tea.
Ambrose gazed at the clock and shot out of his chair.
”Actually, I think I should get back,” Ambrose said. “My wife will begin to wonder why I’m late for the dentist.”
The lodger smiled at the Earl. “Of course, sir.”
He stepped over to the front door and opened it. “Nice of you to drop by at any rate.”
”The pleasure’s all mine,” Ambrose said, brushing off his Midnight Blue suit before being ushered out of the house.
”The rent will be with you first thing Monday morning,” the lodger said, bowing his guest before closing the door.
Ambrose stared at the wooden hut for a moment, unsure of what had just happened.
He turned round and made his way towards the bridge and the cosy confines of his castle.
But then Ambrose froze and scanned his surroundings.
A young girl in a white dress skipped around the island, her laughter echoing in the atmosphere.
Ambrose wasn’t sure who the girl belonged to, but his son, Harold, convinced him to let her roam the castle grounds, as that was where she lived now.
He gazed up at the imposing castle walls towering over the river.
The Earl made a few steps towards the castle.
But instead of returning home, he went for a walk.
The Robinsonverse 