Mr. Smee, Esquire

Many of the family traits that rise in December are full of joy, delight, and enchantment. The long-lasting traditions of the holidays often surprise and inspire the very best in everyone and set a shining standard for the whole of the New Year. Some family surprises, however, might be more than they appear.

The law firm of Cedric and Smee was one of the oldest in London. They were easy to find on the Internet. Many would argue that a proper English solicitor with a powdered wig in a high court could find a reason for the ocean tides to stop moving and a moonrise to postpone.

When a new technology with a DNA search engine happened to find a long lost group of family relatives living on a tropical island in southwest Florida, the official English invitation, airline tickets, and explicit instructions came by the unmistakable Royal Mail.

After the letter from England was opened, the family was in shock. No one knew of the distant relatives from across the ocean, but apparently, the tiny strands and double helix of DNA did not lie. During the previous Christmas holiday season, an ancestor swab kit was an exciting part of the presents under the tree, but the family of five older siblings living in southwest Florida did not especially want to travel to a remote section of England on the darkest and shortest calendar day of the year. The money that was in the promise inside the letter, however, was something the five kids from Michigan - who were no longer kids - could hardly ignore.

The airline tickets with the letter were first class, the car and driver service were impeccable, and the three-hour ride through the British countryside was quietly exciting. Nevertheless, none of the three men and two women living in Florida wanted to admit they were thrilled with the possibilities of the unexpected, international, and enriching intrigue.

Soon after the winding and rural road became gravel, a lowering woolen sky began to shower snowflakes. The manor house, when it did appear was large, rambling, and impressive, but to anyone living in Florida, the aging palace of stone and bricks was overdue for a thorough pressure washing.

Mr. Smee was waiting inside the great room beside a roaring fire and quickly began to inform the five family members - who were traveling without their concerned spouses - that a codicil from their late benefactors required an in-person presence for the reading and bequeathal of the family legacy and estate.

After an elderly manservant in a tuxedo began serving warm brandy beside the huge fireplace, Mr. Smee settled down to business. As the fire crackled in the grate and the brandy began to flow, the immaculate lawyer from London began to pace in front of the newcomers and explain the legacy.

The manor house, the adjoining farm and stables, and the guest homes had been in the English family for generations. Apparently, an earldom had been granted somewhere around the 14^th century, somewhere between wars and plagues, and derivative of that acquired royalty did qualify for the bloodline descendants of the original English clan.

Mr. Smee went on with his droll and quite proper accent to explain that despite the newcomers from Florida believing they were from an ancestry of anywhere but England, they were, in fact, and without a doubt, the qualifying recipients of the estate - the DNA test was proof; they were indeed a distant family from Britain. After all, the lawyer laughed, the Vikings did invade the British Isles, the Spanish Armada left hundreds of Spaniards shipwrecked, and French smugglers from the Napoleon era could have originated from almost anywhere.

As the brandy continued to flow, the manservant in the tuxedo began to serve hors d’oeuvres, and Mr. Smee continued with the details of the family's wishes.

All five of the family members were to spend the night in the manor house. The codicil was unequivocal. The ghost of Lady Margaret Berkshire was indeed in residence, a member of the distant family, and because of her supernatural and sometimes demanding presence, any distant family member who was to inherit the estate and the grounds was indeed obliged to spend at least one full night at the manor house.

Before any pertinent questions could be entertained, Mr. Smee explained that Lady Margret had gone missing before her Christmas wedding while playing hide and seek in the manor house. This was over two hundred years prior, and she had been missing and hunting the estate ever since. Foul play was the unwavering suspicion to explain her absence. 

Before expressions of panic could cross the faces of the brandy-washed Floridians, Mr. Smee quickly explained that on the following morning, the drivers and the cars would return, and the deed to the estate would undergo formal bequeathal and registration with the nearest local magistrate. This was very typical under English Law. Afterward, Mr. Smee explained, the Floridians would ride back to the airport, or a hotel, or whatever they wished to do after inheriting the centuries-old family property in the English countryside.

After more brandy, more hors d’oeuvres, and Mr. Smee speculating on the actual value of the multimillion-dollar estate, the major-domo in the tuxedo walked everyone to a room and said goodnight.

After a few hours of the Florida residents nervously trying to find sleep and not Lady Margret haunting their rooms, Mr. Smee and his partner in the tuxedo wirelessly hacked all of the phones of the five siblings. Over the next five hours, every credit card, bank account, and dollar stolen while the American banks were open was just another con job for the imposter, who was Mr. Smee and his associate, who always looked great in a tuxedo.

Tom Williams is a Marco Islander and the author of two books: “Lost and Found” and “Surrounded by Thunder - The Story of Darrell Loan and the Rocket Men.” Both books are available on Kindle and Nook.