Jack of All Maids (Hawthorne Hall Book 2), page 1
Jack of All Maids
HAWTHORNE HALL
BOOK TWO
PARKER ROBERTS
Copyright © 2025 by Parker Roberts
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Partying is Such Sweet Sorrow
Chapter 2
When the Levee Breaks
Chapter 3
Double Trouble
Chapter 4
The B.U.G.
Chapter 5
A Grand Entrance and a Great Escape
Chapter 6
Intervention!
Chapter 7
Of Tosser and Twit
Chapter 8
A Whale of a Tale
Chapter 9
Pieces From the Past
Chapter 10
Broken Reputations
Chapter 11
Honesty at the Chesil Rectory
Chapter 12
I Hope You Realize This Means Worcestershire
Chapter 13
Filthy Little Mudblood
Chapter 14
Par-Tae!
Chapter 15
Come on, Irene
Chapter 16
Spilling the Beans
Chapter 17
Mizz Zuri
Chapter 18
With or Without You
Chapter 19
Instead of Saying So Long
Chapter 20
The Last Laugh
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
Jack Adamson dreaded the thought of his ever-approaching summer. With his first year of full boarding at Summer Fields Preparatory Academy winding down, it was time for holiday, and under typical circumstances, the idea of a month in Monaco would have been heavenly to an eight-year-old. However, with Thomas Burke’s family leaving for Capri, Jack felt even heaven would be hell without his newfound best mate. He briefly considered stowing away in his pal’s luggage. Unfortunately, Thomas’ arms proved too weak to pull off Jack’s grand design. Next, he concocted a plan to have himself shipped to the Burkes’ island hotel, but when he learned about something called customs, he went back to the drawing board.
Jack had never been considered bright…witty maybe, but not bright. And he didn’t care. What use was intelligence when he was the sole heir of a nine-figure family fortune? Through no fault of his own, he’d been spoiled rotten and thus became masterful in little more than the arts of goofy hijinks, riding coattails, and cutting corners. The same high-society privilege led to a lack of empathy and many accidental incidents of causing offense. But for everything he lacked in mental acuity and decorum, he made up for with a very big heart. Jack Adamson truly meant well, even if it wasn’t obvious.
“I don’t know about this, Jack,” Thomas said as he sat crisscrossed and cautious on Jack’s dorm room bed.
“What’s there to know, Thomas? You want to feel like I’m right there in Italy with you, right?”
“Of course.”
“You want to be literal blood brothers, right?”
“Yes…I suppose…”
“Well, then, it must be done! Now, give me your finger.”
“Wait!” Thomas shouted. “What is that?”
“A spork,” Jack replied.
“A spork?! But it’s duller than a fork”!
“And sharper than a spoon! Plus, it’s the best they had in the cafeteria.”
“Well…why are we doing this now only after you’ve bloodied your elbow? Why couldn’t we have done this last week when I scraped my knee on the pitch? Or two weeks ago when I stepped in between your face and Joel McGowan’s fist? We could have become blood brothers then - with you getting stabbed by a spork.”
“Because Thomas…I didn’t think of this ‘til now. Plus, you know you have a higher pain tolerance than I do.”
Thomas’ eyes dashed back and forth as if he were trying to piece something together in his mind.
“Ohhh… I know what this is all about!” Thomas said as he looked at his mate with a tilted face of skepticism.“You think my blood running through your veins will make you part black, don’t you?”
Jack’s young mind had never considered it.
“Would it?” Jack asked excitedly.
“No!” Thomas exclaimed. “And what about the germs?”
“What are you on about? I haven’t even removed the spork from the plastic yet.”
“I meant rubbing our two open wounds together.”
“For goodness sake! It’s just a little…oh, great! Would you look at that: my cut’s already starting to scab. If we don’t do this soon, we’re both gonna need to get stabbed. Is that what you want? Your best mate stabbed?”
“Fine!” Thomas said as he gave Jack his finger and looked away.
“Alright…deep breath in…hold it…”
With that, Jack plunged the tiny plastic prongs into Thomas’ digit, but the pressure caused the spork to snap at the handle – leaving Thomas’ pointer finger with little more than a few indented skin dots.
“Ouch!”
“Oh, stop. It didn’t even go in.”
“Well, maybe this is a sign that we shouldn’t be doing this. I mean, have we even thought through the implications?” Thomas asked.
“What instamations?”
“Well, Jack, it didn’t seem like you were very fond of my father when he came to visit…or my sister, for that matter.”
“Yeah? So? He had bad breath, and she got her grubby little fingerprints all over my comics! Including my pristine number one issues of Daredevil, Man-Thing, and Royal Roy. They’re all worthless now!”
“Exactly! Think about it; when you become my blood brother, you become his blood son and her blood brother, too.”
Thomas was right. Mr. Burke’s breath was terrible. And Zuri’s insufferable lack of manners made his brain run the entire gamut of silent obscenities. Still, Thomas was one in a billion and worth all the unwanted familial baggage he came with.
“You know what…I don’t care!” Jack exclaimed with such inspiring confidence that Thomas immediately conceded his hand and waited for Jack to pick up the sharper half of the broken utensil. “Alright…you ready?”
Thomas nodded. Jack punctured.
“Owww!!!”
“A drop! Quick…touch my scrape!”
Thomas thrust the tip of his bleeding appendage into Jack’s scabbing elbow with more force than was necessary.
“Ahh! What was that for?”
“For stabbing me, you prat!” Thomas shook off the pain in his hand and asked, “So, now, what do we do?”
“I don’t know…do we have to say something to make it official?”
Thomas appeared to deeply consider the most viable options before saying, “How about… ‘Blood brothers, blood brothers…one blood…different mothers?’”
“Not bad. What about…‘Through thick and thin…always kin?”
“You know, now that I hear it coming from your mouth…the rhyming…and the blood…it feels…kinda gross. Kinda like witchcraft or something.”
“How dare you, Thomas! Why…I’d stab you with a spork if I hadn’t already. You know how much I hate witchcraft.”
“As do I, Jack. Which is why I steered us back to the safety of a blood oath that didn’t include any rhymed couplets.”
“Hmm…that you did. Thank you, mate.”
“You’re welcome.”
“How about we just say, ‘Blood Brothers!’ on the count of three.”
“Far less witchy.”
“Far less witchy, indeed.”
“Alright…ready?”
“Yep.”
“One…two…”
Chapter One
PARTYING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER…
“Three, two, one…bottom’s up!”
Jack threw back his head and emptied the contents of his neon green shot glass into the readied depths of his inhaling esophagus. It burned. He winced. Then it was gone. But the burn returned when Jack glanced over and saw his drinking buddy’s glass still full and glistening with bright liquid luck.
“What the…Mick?! What are you doing?! We’re supposed to be drinking!” he shouted over the party music.
“I know…I know. I’m sorry, Jack! But your country’s so friendly! I promise…one last selfie, and we’ll get ourselves hecka lit, as the youngsters say! Alright, ladies: cheese on the count of three. One, two, three, cheeeeeese! Perfect! Oh!” he exclaimed at seeing the photo. “Would you look at that?! My dears…I need that picture! Would either of you be willing to text it to me?!”
Two girls clad in what appeared to be some futuristic rendition of alien swimwear nodded as Mick gave them his number. Surprisingly, Jack wasn’t jealous of Mick, but he did envy the girls for stealing Mick’s attention.
“Hey, Benny!” Jack yelled at the hulkish man he thought he’d paid to guard their VIP room.
Benny abandoned his post, ran inside, and knelt in close before asking, “Yes, sir?”
“Benny, what am I paying you for, man!?”
&n
“That’s what I thought too. But here I am…watching the escapees from Area-51 swarming my Oscar-nominated chum completely unabated by your fearsome size!”
“What, sir?!”
“The girls, man! Why did you let the girls in?!”
“Because they’re…they’re hot, sir! And…and…Mr. Morris waved them in, so I thought…”
“You thought?! I told you never to do that! And Mick…” he exclaimed with a turn of his head, “you waved them in?!”
“It’s my fault, Jack!” Mick said. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t aware that you wanted Guys Night to be so X-Y-exclusive! Ladies, I think it’s time to clear out!”
The pretty pair pouted their persuasive lips, but they had no effect on Jack.
“You’ll be fine… that’s right…the exit’s this way. If you’re too drunk to drive, please remember to ET phone home and have someone pick you up, Okay? Okay.”
“You have my number! Feel free to call if you ever feel so inclined!” Mick shouted after them.
As Benny escorted them out, Jack followed closely behind, closing the sliding, soundproof door as soon as the threshold cleared.
“There we go,” Jack said at normal volume as he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out, set it to silent, then immediately put it away.
“Who was that?” Mick asked.
“No one.”
“Oh! Was it Thomas? I do miss the old bloke. Will he be joining us?”
“Nope. Now…where were we?”
Mick grabbed one of the fifteen remaining shot glasses from the circular, golden platter on the table in front of them and said, “I believe I was about to catch up to your one drink lead…”
“Haha! That’s more like it!”
“Cheers,” Mick said before softly placing the glass to his lips and sipping it like a scalding cup of tea. “Ooh! That really kicks.”
It was at that moment Jack first admitted to himself how much he missed Thomas.
“Mick…what are you doing?”
“Pacing myself. We’ve got a long night ahead of us. And besides…I want to remember this. It’s not every day an old chum calls you out of the blue, flies you out to London on a private jet, and gets you into a VIP room at the Luxx.”
“But, mate…it’s not about how much we remember…it’s about remembering forever how much we forgot.”
“What?”
“Never mind. You’re too sober to understand.”
With that, Jack – consumed by depressing disappointment – withered into the room’s black leather booth and dissolved into his own chagrin. He never intended to guilt trip Mick Morris with his childish sulking, but based on the downtrodden demeanor of his American drinking buddy, Jack knew he’d failed to hide his true feelings. After a minute or so of somber silence, Mick’s posture changed. His brow became sturdy and strong. And his eyes glowed with an inviolable fortitude.
“To forgetting!” he said before downing his drink.
Jack smiled. The night was afoot…
“You…you know…brrrrp…‘scuse me. You know what I’m gonna do?” Jack slurred.
“Hmmm?” Mick inquired with drooping eyelids.
“You…er…I’m gonna tell you something…okay? Okay!?”
“No way!” Mick exclaimed. “You d’n’t have…the authority!”
“Do too…”
“Oh yeah…? From who?”
“From…I d’know…yo mama! Maybe…”
Mick thought for a few moments before bursting into laughter.
“It’s not funny. It’s just truth and such.”
“Fine…fine. What er you saying she said you could say to me? Jack? Jack, what’d she say?!”
“I forget…but I do have a question.”
“Well, take a picture; it’ll last longer.”
“Of what…? My question?”
“Yeah!”
“Okay…cleeeeeeek,” Jack said while pretending to take a photo with his invisible camera only drunk people could see.
“Let me see. Oooh! Sexy picture! Now…what did you want to question me about?”
“Right. So…y’know how you’ve been walkin’ around all day talkin’ with that Wilba…Wil…”
“Wilberforce?”
“Right! Thank you. With that Wilmsheshesh accent that almost won you the Academy Award?”
“Mmhmm…”
“Well…why are you doin’ that?”
Mick appeared to think deeply for a few seconds before humming the theme song to Final Jeopardy. After hitting the final note, he made the sound of a buzzer and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. It appears time’s expired. I guess that means I don’t have to answer the question.”
“Crap!” Jack shouted with dissatisfaction, but then a slow smile crept over his face as he asked, “But is that your final answer?”
“Oh no. I hate when you do this, Regis! Now’m second…hiccup…second guessing myself!”
“I don’t blame you, Mick. If that’s the wrong answer - and it is - you walk away with nothing. BUT! If you guess right, you win…a crap ton of British pounds!”
“How much is that in…hiccup…California dollars?” Mick asked nervously.
“That’s not my job…to be your money calculator like that. My job is to ask…the…questions! ‘Kay?!”
“Well…hiccup…do I have any lifelines?”
“Yes,” Jack said as he handed Mick the last of the tequila shots. “One more.”
Mick pounded it back like water and said, “Alright…this is my final answer: I stay in character, so when they call me for th’sequel…I’ll be ready! And this time…I’m gonna take home that gold, naked man statue.”
“Wait, wait, wait…you told me Wilmsheshesh died in the movie. How can you be in the sequel?”
“As a ghost…obulously…”
“But Mick…I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Oh Jack…don’t say that,” Mick said with sudden sorrow.
“Why?”
“Because every time someone says, ‘I do not believe in ghosts, somewhere there’s a ghost that falls down dead.”
Jack thought for a moment, remembered the line from Hook, and screamed, “I do not believe in ghosts!”
As the evening peaked and bled into morning, and their livers had time to metabolize the toxins, all the warbled ramblings gave way to sobering honesty.
“Jack, am I ever gonna work in Hollywood again?”
“Probably not.”
Mick sighed and said, “I know.”
“I mean…you open-hand slapped Walen Stone on live telly.”
“I knowwww.”
“Why’d you do it, mate? Why?”
“Because, Jack…I loved her.”
“But Walen’s a man.”
“Not Walen, Jack. Bonnie.”
“Bonnie? What does she have to do with it?”
“Everything…absolutely everything. You don’t know what living in that world is like, Jack. It’s so turbulent. I went from a washed-up has-been to being nominated for best actor seemingly overnight. But the machine giveth, and the machine taketh away…doing its corrupt imitation of the god I’d let it become.”
“Deep, Mick. Super deep. But what does it have to do with Bonnie?”
“Well, despite losing best actor, I still had plenty of Hollywood influence, and I used some of it to get Bonnie a part in MaidHeart.”
“Oh yeah. The all-female recasting of Braveheart. That was ace! And she was so haawwwwww…” Jack said, catching himself mid-sentence, “haw…nestly believable in that role.”
“Yes, well, from there, she blew up. Her agent called almost daily with parts she’d been offered, and…”
“And you got jealous the phone wasn’t ringing for you, eh?”
“No, actually. Not in the least. I was happy for her. I truly was. But eventually, she recognized that Hollywood wanted its pound of flesh - literally - before she’d be offered any serious roles.”
“I don’t follow…”
“Flesh…a nude scene…a ‘love’ scene, to be more precise. So she filmed...”
“The Viceroy!” Jack said before once again recognizing the beauty of keeping his big mouth shut. “Never seen it.”
