The Bodice Ripper
When the ladies
entered the drawing room, the Honourable the Reverend Hewbert
Robinson was standing by the ornate marble hearth with his back to
the fire and a crystal glass of ruby-red madeira in his hand. He was
clothed all in black, save for the white cloth around his neck which,
as like his grey wig, betokened his clerical state.
Like his friend
the Earl of Grunstane, Hewbert Robinson had retained the slim figure
of his youth, but his skin was tanned and lined from the hardships of
being a Piskie priest (if priest he were). His flaming ginger
eyebrows provided a strange contrast to his brown skin and dark eyes,
and he considered it an irony of fate that so far age had not
silvered a single hair on his blazing head. The young viscount,
Egbert Charles Edward Pewsy, and once wondered allowed if his hands
would burn if he reached under the reverend gentleman's wig.
“Aye,” had
said that worthy man, 'for your hands would immediately receive six
of the best.'
'Oooh,' young
Egbert had replied. 'Six of the best what?'
'This you shall
soon discover at Eton,' said the Reverend Hewbert, and indeed this
proved to be true.
So it must not be
said that the Reverend Hewbert Robinson was entirely deprived of a
sense of humour although his dark eyes often blazed with holy wrath
against sin and generally held a wistful melancholy as if he had
expected better from life. He had a special horror of loose women,
and although he himself had founded it, he dreaded his pastoral visit
to the Edinburgh Home for Indigent Slappers.
Visits to
Grunstane House, however, he fulfilled with alacrity, for the Earl
was his best friend. After religion and music, their friendship was
his principle solace in life. The Reverend Hewbert was the second son
of the Earl of Bough, so he had been accustomed to moving in the
first circles until his calling to the priesthood (if priesthood it
were) had forced him to rub elbows with all kinds of dodgy people. Meanwhile,
he had grown accustomed to the Countess and even to like her
somewhat. Although he could not see the attraction, even he had to
admit that she was a woman of sense.
'Good evening,
Lady Grunstane,' he said now as she swept into the room with Prudence
modestly behind her. The Earl had been playing a piece by Handel on
the fortepiano in the corner, but now he stopped.
'Good evening, my
dear wife. Ah, and here is our lovely daughter Prudence. Prudence, you
remember my dear friend Mr Robinson.'
Prudence stepped
out from behind her mama and curtsied.
'How do you do,
Uncle—I mean, Mr Robinson?'
The Reverend Hewbert bowed as solemnly as if he had never seen Prudence before.
'Good evening,
Lady Prudence. Er. Um. Er. My, you have grown since I saw you last.'
'Yes,' said
Prudence. 'Goodness, why do grown-ups always say that? Can you
imagine if I hadn't? How shocking that would be! And then what would
you say?'
'Ah ha ha ha,'
said Prudence's mama. 'How droll! Prudence, darling, why do you not
go to the fortepiano and sing for us?'
'Certainly, Mama,
although I cannot sing so well as you.'
Prudence walked
swiftly to the fortepiano while the Reverend Hewbert's melancholy
eyes followered her from under his fiery eyebrows.
'How well she
walks, Mr Robinson,' said the Countess, sitting down on the Chinese
silk settee.
'Aye,' said the
Reverend Hewbert.
'What shall I
sing, Papa?' whispered Prudence in her fond parent's ear.
'What about a folk
song?'
'O goodie! What
about Black is the Colour of my True Love's Hair?'
'No, not that one,
I think,' said her father firmly. 'Perhaps we will let Mr Robinson
choose—not something that might get us arrested, though, Hewbert.'
'Oh,' said Mr
Robinson. 'I collect Wha'll be King But Charlie? won't do
then.'
'I think we can
get away with The Bonnie Bonnie Banks,' said the earl and
struck up the melody on the black keys.
Prudence sang the
good old song very prettily.
'How well she
sings, Mr Robinson,' said the Countess.
'Aye,' said the
Reverend Hewbert, 'Only not so well as you.'
'Fie,' said
Prudence's mama, whacking him with her fan. 'What matters that?'
'Well, quite a lot
from a musical point of--.'
'Hewbert!'
interrupted the Earl. 'Hewbert, I insist you sing a duet with
Prudence.'
'What an excellent
idea,' said the Countess.
'Aye, alright,'
said the cleric, crossing to the fortepiano. 'A folk song makes a
nice change from your modern high-brow chapel service settings.'
'What about Missus
It's Cauld Outwith?' said the Earl as he rummaged amongst his
music books.
'Tut tut, Charles. That would be unbecoming to my cloth. What about Barbara Allan?'
'Tut tut, Charles. That would be unbecoming to my cloth. What about Barbara Allan?'
“Goodness, what
an old song,' said Prudence. 'That one has whiskers on it.'
'Folk songs are
like great men in that they better with age,' said the Earl frowning.
'Barbara Allan it is.'
' How well you and
Prudence look together, Mr Robinson!' cried the Countess.
The Reverend
Hewbert looked down at Prudence and then at her mother. His eyes were
more melancholy than ever. It was as if he could see the '45
happening right then and there.
'What? Like Vulcan
and Venus, I collect'
'Fie, Uncle—Mr
Robinson,' said Prudence. 'You are not ill-looking, only old.'
'Ah well, you
should have seen me twenty years ago. Then I was something to see.'
'Ahem,' said the
Earl and struck the keys rather too forcefully. Handel would have had
something to say.
The couple sang
very well, and the Countess dabbed again at her eyes with her lacy
handkerchief. Prudence's eyes sparkled, and even the inky wells of
the cleric's eyes lost their habitual sorrow.
'That was barry,'
he said, and might have said more had not the butler just then
appeared in the door. He bowed.
'Supper is served,
your Lordship, your Ladyship'.
The Earl stood and
offered his arm to his daughter. They followed the Countess and the
Reverend Hewbert into the dining-room.
'La,' thought Prudence. 'How marvellous it is to be a grown-up woman and get so much respect.'
The dining room had windows on both sides, the eastward view looking towards the sea, and the westward view showing the fine courtyard built by the third Earl. The evening sunlight was supplemented by banks of candles and paraffin lamps. A footman stood behind each chair as the family and their guest ate from the many dainty dishes on the table. Prudence listened with interest to the adult conversation.
'La,' thought Prudence. 'How marvellous it is to be a grown-up woman and get so much respect.'
The dining room had windows on both sides, the eastward view looking towards the sea, and the westward view showing the fine courtyard built by the third Earl. The evening sunlight was supplemented by banks of candles and paraffin lamps. A footman stood behind each chair as the family and their guest ate from the many dainty dishes on the table. Prudence listened with interest to the adult conversation.
'I ken what you're
saying,' said the Reverend Hewbert. 'But I still ha'e my doubts about
the northward position.'
'Nonsense, man. It
is in the Prayer Book.'
'Yes, it seems so,
but that might be the wrong interpretation, just as the edict
against candles--.'
'Don't tell me you
are still moaning about candles, Hewbert. Surely two are enough for
any altar.'
'It's all very
well for you, Charles, you have two whole candelabras over the organ
. I assure you that it is no joke trying to read the Prayer Book by
the light of two measely tapers. If I had my way, I'd have at least
ten.'
'Shocking,' said
the Earl. 'What Piskie priest besides yourself could afford that
number?'
'I am not saying
that everybody must have ten candles. I am just saying that I think
it no outrageous heresy if I have ten. My eyes are not what they
were, and I am having increasing difficulties in reading my sermon.
By the way, my dear Lady Grunstane, I thought I should warn you that
this coming week begins with 'Death Came Into the World Through a
Woman' Sunday.
'Dear me, Mr
Robinson. Must we hear that sermon again?'
'Yes, it is the
most frequent request. In fact, women ask for it most of all.'
'But it cannot
help the spiritual lives of women for them to be told that our
tresses are the nets of Satan and our other attractions the
fish-hooks of hell. Really, Mr Robinson, you are too severe.'
'I do admit,
Hewbert,' said the Earl, 'that your homily does seem to preclude the
fact that women can be taught to become reasonable and virtuous
companions. Why, I have been reading a very interesting treatise by a
lady name Mary Wollstonecraft and—!'
'Eeeee!' exclaimed
the Reverend Hewbert with a terrible grimace as if he had been burnt.
'Don't tell me you
know her,' cried Lady Grunstane. 'We have corresponded, and she is a
most intelligent and amiable woman.'
The Earl looked swiftly from the curious faces of his wife and daughter to that of his old friend. He cleared his throat and frowned.
The Earl looked swiftly from the curious faces of his wife and daughter to that of his old friend. He cleared his throat and frowned.
'Do you know Miss
Wollstonecraft, Hewbert?'
'No, I don't,'
said the priest (if priest he were), 'but I have met--cough, cough,
ahem—a certain Mr Imlay in France.' His dark eyes rolled in the
direction of the port bottle.
'You don't say,'
said the Earl. 'The port, Mr McAuliffe.'
The footmen pulled
back all the chairs, and the gentlemen stood expectantly.
'Oh dear,' sighed
the Countess and stood up. 'It's like that, is—ow!'
Her face went as
white as newly fallen Highland snow.
'Gracious, Mama!
What ails you?'
But without a
word, Hermione, Countess of Grunstane, fell senseless to the floor.
Haha! I miss the inner child's spelings, but the humor still persists. I forgot that bodices caused so much trouble so early.
ReplyDeleteI really love how Catholic weird stuff (aka "Laetare Sunday", "Stewardship Sunday", etc) are sekritly referenced here.