morning becomes a cleaning lady

Dawn at the Chateau de Healy.
The young squire and his mother are supping coffees in the kitchen.
"Mama," says the son delicately, "I wonder could we get rid of Cleaning Lady."
His aged parent pondered a mo.
"No," she answered. "Murder is wrong. And anyway she likes it here."
My handsome preraphaelite features became a bit gothic.
"The cleaning lady's happiness has ceased to be of paramount importance to me," I muttered darkly. "And I wasn't actually suggesting murder. Although now that you mention it, perhaps some sort of accident with the hamster cage could be arranged."
"What has you so upset?" enquired the Lady known as Lil.
My newly gothic macho features drifted back towards poignancy and preraphaeliteism.
"Mama," I said in a strangulated voice, searching for the right words. "Mama, she took my curtains. She took my curtains from the bedroom upstairs. And she never replaced them."
"Oh that."
"Five years ago. She took my curtains five years ago."
"And why didn't you mention it until now?"
"Well I suppose at first I just assumed Paddy Pup had eaten them or something. I didn't want to get him into trouble. Then I figured out that six curtains would be too much even for Paddy Pup. And he always leaves traces of debris. You know I've been sleeping for five years in a room without curtains. I'm woken at first light by the dawn in my face. At night time sexxx starved groupies are peering in at me as I get undressed. I mean what the hell did she do with them?"
The Mammy smiled.
"There are a number of theories," quoth she.
"Enlighten me."
"She may have taken them away to wash them and they were so old they probably just fell apart."
"Is that it?"
"Maybe."
"What are the other theories?" wondered me.
"Maybe she just kept them," postulated the Lildebeest brutally.
"She wouldn't dare."
"Or sold them."
"My God."
"Or gave them to charity."
"My curtains! The devil woman."
"Anyway they're gone. You should buy new ones."
The Mammy exited stage left pursued by a robin.
I sat alone.
If you could have seen me at the moment gentle voyagers of the internet, you might have thought me some dangerous Byronic anti hero, soul in turmoil amid the coffee cups and cornflakes bowls, face black, thunderous and malevolent, contemplating an act of wild and dangerous heroism.
The single burning thought creasing through my wayward spirit was this.
I think I'll have another cup of coffee.