Noblesse Oblige
Book Three
The Bells of Hell Go Ting-a-ling-a-ling

By: Pete Bruno & Henry Hilliard
(© 2014 by the authors)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 5
All Clear 

…Come, come drink some port wine with me

Down at the Old Bull and Bush.

Hear the little German band

Da, da, da, da, da, da-da

Just let me hold your hand, dear-ah

Do, do, do have a drink or two

Down at the Old Bull and Bush!

Bush! Bush!

The singers sang with appropriate gusto and, arms about each other, swayed to Corporal Quick’s mouth organ.  Mrs Smith, the housekeeper, executed a neat one step with Glass the butler.  Martin sat in a chair and hit a saucepan lid in time with the music while Stephen sat beside him in his wheelchair.

“Higgins,” said Uncle Alfred, “go up and see if they’re announcing ‘All Clear.’”

“It might be the last you see me your lordship if them heroplanes is h’overhead,” he said as he disappeared up the stairs and through the green baize door. 

***** 

The household of Branksome House had taken shelter in the wine cellar beyond the servants’ hall and had made themselves as comfortable as best as they could with blankets, cushions and kitchen chairs when the official motor car bearing the sign ‘take cover’ had slowly traversed Piccadilly, shouting a warning through a megaphone.

The household had swelled with the return of Martin’s uncle and his manservant from Croome.  Uncle Alfred was back in his old uniform and dividing his time between the Red Cross in support of Indian troops in London and his more personal support for Stephen’s Sans Culottes, some of whom were billeted in Branksome House itself.

This move had delighted Stephen who had a strong affection for all his men who had served him so bravely in the frightful conditions in France.  He was pleased that their new task for the Army Service Corps would be somewhat less a sentence of death and that, at present, his boys were enjoying leave in the great metropolis.  Uncle Alfred was also delighted for he saw in these young soldiers something of his own young self and all that was familiar from a life spent in the British Army.

The cook from Croome had been sent up to London along with two maids.  Both houses had lost many staff to the services and to the factories.  There were no footmen at all and the number of servants in Branksome house had been reduced from twenty to just three maids plus the Mr and Mrs Smith, the two valets and Glass the butler.

Four rooms had been set aside for the soldiers.  Each of the bedrooms was provided with an extra bed and Sgt Spinner had a room to himself.  The fourth room had become their mess where the men could comfortably sit around in their undershirts in the warmth of the steam heating, playing cards or reading, very often with other members of the Sans Culottes dropping in to partake of the conviviality.  No one was denied a bed and ‘a feed.’

“This place is like Buk’nam Palace,” said Quick who delighted in pressing the electric bell, only to then tell Glass that it was a mistake.

“Yes, better’n the Ritz Hotel” said Rugg sitting in a Bergere chair with his hand on the radiator.  “Blimey it’s hot in here.”

“That’s Lord Alfred’s doing,” said Stephen who walked into the room in just his lemon-silk pyjama bottoms.  The men all stood and saluted.  “He has it turned up to remind him of India.  I should have knocked men, I’m sorry.  I just wondered if you’d like some beer and a game of cards?”

“I don’t know that we are allowed to drink and play cards with an officer, sir,” said Sgt Spinner.

“I won’t tell Lloyd George if you don’t,” said Stephen, with a grin.

“Them’s very fancy pantaloons, Captain,” said Rugg, feeling the luxurious material that scarcely bothered to conceal Stephen’s arching cock and swinging balls. “It’s a wonder you could stand it out on the Somme when you’re used to all this luxury,” he said with a sweep of his hand that encompassed the Bergere armchairs, a Louis XV escritoire, a Tang vase, a small Gainsborough and Stephen’s dumbbells.

“Now you know, Rugg, that I wasn’t born to all this.  I came from a country cottage and I was adopted by the previous Lord Branksome when I was at school.”

“Could he adopt me, sir, I’m an orphan?”

“And me sir,” said West.  “My old lady don’t know who my real father is—least that’s what she tells him when her blood’s up.”

Stephen pressed the bell and the soldiers looked at each other.  Glass appeared and said slightly tartly: “Yes?  Oh it’s you Captain, I’m sorry.”

Stephen looked at his men and then turned to the servant and said, “Could you bring us some beer, please Mr Glass?”

Stephen produced a deck of cards.

“Sir,” said Myles, “could we see your Military Cross?”

“I haven’t got it here and I’m not wearing anything to pin it to.”

“No not that one; that one,” he said, pointing to Stephen’s patriotically pruned public hair, which was just visible above waist of the silk pyjamas.  Stephen stood and lowered it slightly to reveal Carlo’s skilful shaving to an outline carefully copied by Martin in an indelible pencil.

“I can’t see it all,” complained Quick “How many sides has it got?”

Stephen undid the cord and the garment cascaded to the floor.

“That’s a splendid sight, sir,” said Myles.  “I see you have other decorations too, sir — like General Robert’s chest it is.  That’s two bob you owe me, Spinner.”

Stephen pulled up his pyjamas and looked at Sgt Spinner just as Glass came in with the beer. “He bet me that he could get you to show him your privates, sir, before the end of the day,” said Spinner with a sigh.

“You of all people should have known me better, Spinner!” laughed Stephen.  “Sit down and we’ll play five hundred.  You might win it back.”

***** 

With difficulty, Stephen had made it to Wigmore Street in his wheelchair guided by Carlo. The former concert hall was not to be theirs alone, but they were to have a goodly portion of it and Stephen planned out on a piece of paper where the desks, cabinets and map tables should be placed.  Lt Toomey was good at requisitioning these sorts of things and Stephen also wanted him to get a special swinging display rack for the large charts that Stephen thought would be a feature of their work.  He also put in an application for a telephone.

“A desk over here can be for Lt Fortune,” he said to Carlo.  “He will need somewhere quiet to work.  I like to be in the centre of things so I’ll sit here.  The typistes can go over here and I think the men would be best in three groups—although they won’t all be in London together very often.” Carlo made notes.  “I will need shelves for reports, Carlo. I have been given some copies of other reports made by the army so I can see how to set them out and how to use Army language.”

“Right, Captain,” said Carlo writing, “Shelves, office-type, wooden, painted finish, cream colour, one set of.”

“Can you think of anything else we might need, Carlo?”

“No sir, but the chaps could be getting a bit restless in-between ‘flaps’ as they say, just sitting around like.”

“Oh I’ll keep them busy, Carlo.”

“I was thinking, sir, could they have somewhere to exercise?”

“That’s a good idea Carlo, perhaps not at the hall, but maybe at Branksome House.  I could set up some games and equipment in a room—or better still in the mews.  Could we make a gymnasium out there?”

“I don’t see why not, sir, there’s plenty of room. I’d like to see you riding again when your leg’s better.”

“So would I Carlo.  I’d have Aine brought up if there was someone here to exercise and groom her.”

“Send her up anyway sir and maybe another horse.  I’m sure someone would look after them.  Lord Alfred and Mr Glass is fond of horses if you and his lordship can’t find time do it.  It would do you good sir and some of the men can ride.” 

***** 

The Sans Culottes, with their skills in rapid construction, soon had the wall knocked out between the old harness room and a loose box in the mews.  The brick floor was re-laid in parts and soon all was in readiness for the exercise equipment that Stephen had Carlo order.  Martin went across to see the finished gymnasium where a group of the sappers was busy using the barbells and the punching bag.  They stopped and straightened into a salute, which Martin returned, telling them to ‘carry on.’  However they did not resume with their earlier enthusiasm and Martin, feeling that his presence was spoiling their fun, departed for Boodles where he met Lt Featherstonehaugh who was drinking gin.

“How are you Custard, you don’t look well?”

“A touch of malaria, Poole, I came down with it just after Homonodos.” Custard had been out in Salonika, attached to Major General Milne with the XVI Corps.  “We pushed the Bulgars back and prevented the Germans from descending on Greece, but the General doesn’t think we could ever get across the mountains to cut the railway to Constantinople, although the bloody French keep pushing us to.  I say how’s your pal Knight-Poole?”

Martin launched into a précis of Stephen’s activities and related the story of the Military Cross and Bar. “He has his men with him in London in preparation for special operations with the ASC.  He had a bad time of it in France but now he’s very happy, despite still being confined to the chair for another few weeks.  He thinks more of those men than he does of me.”

“I doubt that, Poole, but if you ever want to give him up, I’ll take him off your hands,” he said feeling a thrill at his own suggestion.

Martin decided that wouldn’t be happening and they moved on to discuss The Plunger and then launched into the depressing list of school chums who had lost their lives.

“Grandfather told me that Crumble copped it at Ypres and poor Topper and Fashom-Greene went down on the Britannic off Greece just a fortnight ago…”

Martin returned to Branksome House where Stephen was busy giving his men a foot inspection.  “There’s not too much trench foot in Tooting, sir” said Jarvis,” who had his foot up on Stephen’s knee while Stephen peered between the toes.

“You can’t be too careful Jarvis,” replied Stephen.  I’ve seen men from Clapham have to have their feet amputated because of gangrene.  Are you still itching?”

“Not much sir; that new powder seems to be better.”

“Let me see.”

Jarvis undid his trousers and his person was inspected for lice by his commanding officer, who then produced a fine tooth comb and gently combed Jarvis’s body hair for ‘nits.’ sIt was gentle and very loving- like affection shown to a pet—and Stephen was concentrating hard while Jarvis had a faraway look on his face.

“I’m a bit lousy, sir,” piped up Myles, “will you do me next.”

“And me,” said Quick, “I’ve been with some dirty tarts as well sir.”

Martin entered the room and the men all stood to attention and saluted, except for Stephen who remained seated.  Martin watched in fascination as the grooming continued and said: “Captain, would you like me to get Dr Markby to come up from Croome; he could give all the San Culottes a once over, if you’re worried?”  The men giggled at Colonel Poole’s use of their private name.

“That would be first rate, sir.  He could see them all here or at the Wigmore Hall, if he preferred.  I hope to have them fattened up and free from lice before their leave is up.”

“Your Aine is here and waiting for you.”

The men looked surprised. “Aine is my horse,” explained Stephen.

Martin felt he was intruding and left and went to the mews.  Stephen’s pretty mare was in her stall tossing her head and Sean O’Brien was putting straw into the next stall which housed Palmira, the grey mare that Martin often rode.

“Dey were as good as gold, your lordship.  Will you be able to manage them, for I have to go back tomorrow?  The Remount is coming to look at more horses on Tursday and Uncle and I will want to be having them in the best shape.”

“Oh yes, O’Brien, I think so.  I will take Pamira out every morning and one of the men will exercise Aine until Mr Stephen’s leg is better.  It cheers me up to see them,” said Martin rubbing Pamira’s nose.  She snorted her approval.

“Yes sir, horses and dogs do a power o’good for da soul, sir.”

“Yes, dogs…” said Martin.

Just then Private Myles wandered in. “Oh excuse me sir, I just wanted to see the animals.”

“That’s fine, Private Myles?”

“That’s right, sir,” said Myles, stroking Aine. “I was brought up on a farm in Norfolk and I miss the horses worse than anything.”

Martin looked at Myles.  He was the youngest of the Sans Culottes and was a solid lad and quite attractive in a gentle sort of way, with blue eyes and cheeks that still had some of the rosy hue that spoke of country life, despite his months in France.

“How old are you private?”

“18 sir.  I was not quite 17 when I joined up.  I’d been a surveyor’s assistant in Norwich but I grew up near Aylsham; lovely land along the Bure it is for riding, sir.

“That’s near my late brother’s friend, Philip Kerr’s people.”

“Yes, that’s right sir, Lord Philip is the third son of the Marquess of Lothian.  My father worked at Bickford Hall.  Lord Phillip is now working for Lloyd George, sir.”

By now they had both picked up currycombs and were intent on making circular motions on the flanks of Aine. “This is the Captain’s horse sir?”

“Yes, she is, but he won’t be riding her for a while yet.  She will need exercise every day. Would you like to take her to the park, Myles; you’d have to get up early?”

Oh that would be an honour, sir.  I mean an honour to take out the Captain’s horse sir.  We’d do anything to help the Captain sir.  And getting up is no problem for a county lad.  I’m up early for a walk even here in London sir.  I even see Mr Glass bringing your and the Captain’s tea first thing.”

Martin paused his brushing and pondered on what Myles’s last comment meant.  He resumed his motions and Myles repeated:  “Yes, nothing is too good for the Captain.  He saved my life in France, sir, did you know that?”

“Yes, I think so Myles.  We are all very lucky to have him.”

“When we’re with the Captain,” continued the sapper, “I know we are going to win the war. It’s not that he ever says anything about it; it’s just that you feel sort of confident when he’s with you—all the men feel it; it’s like riding a strong horse and you know he will make that fence—or perhaps it’s that we’re the horses and the Captain is riding us hard.  Do you know what I mean sir?”  They had changed to lighter brushes and they were both working on the same side of Aine now, their hands accidentally colliding.

“I bet the Captain rides hard, sir, when he’s in the saddle.” Martin thought that his was an accurate assessment but said nothing. “Will you be taking out Pamira tomorrow sir?”

“Yes, I think I will.  We’ll go together, shall we, Myles?  We’ll have to get to Hyde Park early before the traffic and so I’ll get private Sifridi to call me at six.  Shall I get him to wake you too Myles?”   

That night Martin slid into bed next to Stephen who had his hands clasped behind his head and was obviously thinking.

“Derby,” began Martin, “I think I intimidate your men, I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right Mala, I think they’re far too cheeky with me.”

“I like private Myles; we’re going to exercise the horses tomorrow in Rotten Row.  Myles loves you Derby.”

“Yes, he’s such a flirt, that young one.”

“So I’ve discovered.  He said I had a very fine seat.  You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, not at all.”  He motioned with his eyes for Martin to feast in his armpits.

“Oh, I hoped you would, just a little bit,” said Martin.  He plunged in and when he came up for air he suddenly said: “Derby, can I have a puppy?”

“Why, young Martin, we’ll have to ask Nanny first,” said Stephen laughing.  “What a splendid idea.  This house needs a dog—two dogs.  What breed did you have in mind?”

“Well, no breed actually. Miss Foxton was telling me about a woman in Whitechapel—a Mrs Dickin—who is trying to do something about the cruel treatment of animals in the East End.  She has all these dogs in her home in Hampstead and I thought it would be nice to get a stray— a mongrel; they often make the best dogs rather than the pure breeds, don’t you think?”

“You mean a bit like me?”

“Yes.  Now roll over!”

Stephen rolled on his stomach and Martin tongued the cleavage of Stephen’s strong, muscular buttocks, which still smelled of soap from his bath.  He then reached for the Spong’s Soothing Salve (by Appointment to H.M. King George V) and liberally applied it to Stephen and to his own plump cock.  He entered Stephen slowly.  “How does that feel, Derby?” asked Martin needlessly, for Stephen’s moans were eloquence itself.  Martin then rode him hard, almost thinking that he would not need to exercise in Rotten Row on the morrow. 

***** 

Martin drove Stephen , Carlo and Glass to Wigmore Hall.  He looked around at Stephen’s new headquarters and was impressed by how efficiently Stephen was setting it up and by his huge and complicated charts that traced the workings of the ASC.  He left him in the care of Carlo and with Lt Toomey.  They regained the motor, and with Glass reading the ABC, turned left into Great Portland Street and headed north to the breezy heights of Hampstead.  Martin pulled the Rolls Royce to a halt in front of a villa in Highgate Road and got out.  Mrs Dickin was at home the maid said and presently the lady herself appeared holding a white rabbit.

“Lord Branksome, I’m very pleased to meet you.  Miss Foxton said you would be by today and I have picked out two darling puppies for you.”  She took Martin out into the garden where a terrific sound of yapping was coming from wire cages.  Two ponies were tethered to a post and were lazily cropping the lawn while a goat feasted on a fragrant bush of Hamamelis mollis.  “I am hoping to set up a dispensary for animals right in the heart of Whitechapel and your generous cheque will help.  I would like it to be a Toynbee Hall for abused and sick animals, your lordship.  Here they are.”  She reached into a straw-lined box and drew out two wriggling little pups, just a few weeks old.  “Their poor mother I found beaten and abused by the Thames and she was pregnant.  These two survived from a litter of six and their poor mother died of exhaustion giving birth.  I raised these two on a baby’s bottle.”

The dogs were a boy and a girl of several noble breeds and Martin fell for them at once.  Instantly the bitch was to be Vesta—for Vesta Tilley—+and the boy was to be Billy after the late Billy Williams who always made Martin laugh with his comic songs such as ‘When Father Papered the Parlour’.

They were carried out to the Rolls Royce and into the care of Glass where they immediately began to climb all over him.  Martin swung the crank and the engine started.  Immediately the puppies cowered into their box, to the relief of Glass whose suit was already ruined, and Martin was off, waving farewell to Mrs Dickin who stood at the gate with a parrot on her shoulder. 

*****

Glass gave a butler’s cough.  Martin and Stephen were sitting in the drawing room—the Sans Culottes being out on the town, while Uncle Alfred was at Windsor with his friend the young Maharaja of Rajpipla.

“What is it Glass?” said Martin looking up from ‘David Blaize’.

“There’s been some trouble below stairs sir.”

“Go on, Glass,” said Martin.

“It’s Ruby, sir, the upstairs maid.  She thinks she may be in a certain condition.”

Martin sighed.  “Well give her a three months’ pay and make sure she has somewhere to go.”

“Very good, sir.” Martin returned to his book.

“Just a minute, Glass,” said Stephen who was reading ‘King of the Kyber Rifles’.  “Do you mind if I stick my oar in, Mala?”

“No, Derbs, this is your house too, but I tell you, my mother only gave them one month’s pay and they thought themselves lucky.”

“Tell us more Mr Glass,” said Stephen.

“Well sir, it seems she went out with Janet on their evening off four weeks ago and the silly girls had too much to drink at the Harp of Erin and then met some soldiers.  Sometime later she found herself separated from Janet and in a passageway where the—ah—intimacy seems to have taken place.”

“So is she sure that she is with child, Glass?”

The butler went red and said: “I don’t know about such things, Captain.”

“If she is, Derby, it sends a very poor message to the other maids.  Perhaps she can have it adopted out and I’m sure she could find a job in one of the munitions factories.”

Stephen said nothing to him but addressed Glass: “Could you bring her here and maybe Mrs Smith would like to join us too.”  Glass left and Stephen turned on Martin.  “Mala!  How can you be so awful?  Don’t you feel for the poor girl?  You can’t just give up a baby like that. My own mother had to marry again.  Should she have just given me to an orphanage and got a job in a munitions factory and forgot all about me?”

“But that was different, Derby…”

“No it wasn’t!” he replied quite angrily.  Martin was a little frightened and lapsed into a sulky silence.

Ruby appeared with Mrs Smith.

“Could you tell us what happened, Ruby?” asked Stephen.

“Well, she went out with that…” began Mrs Smith.

“No Mrs Smith, I’d like to hear it from Ruby—unless you were at the Harp of Erin too.”

The girl was crying but managed to give an account, albeit surrounded by a constellation of superfluous details.

“…and then I think I must have left them in the snug and gone out into the road—I remember feeling ill and I think I was sick in the gutter, sir.  Ruined my good puce blouse.  Then I went into the passage that led to the wood yard and I may have sat down.  Then the next thing I know this Tommie is with me…”

“What do you mean, ‘with me’ Ruby?”

“Well sir, I don’t like to say in front of his lordship”.

“Don’t mind me,” said Martin who was sulking.

“Well sir, he had my skirt up and my bloomers down and he was having his way with me.  I could smell his beery breath.  It were horrible.  He was horrible.”

“Was the man one of my men, Ruby?”

“Oh no, sir, they is all lovely—don’t even think it sir.  I’d know him if I saw him, I think.

“You mean he was not one of the men you were drinking with in the Harp of Erin?”

 “Oh no sir, they was sailors.  This man were in the army.”

“And you had never seen him before?” Ruby shook her head.

“Mrs Smith, Martin: this girl has been raped.  She cannot be blamed.”

“She shouldn’t have been the worse for drink, Captain,” said Mrs Smith.  “She brought it on herself.”

“That is not the punishment for having too much to drink, Mrs Smith, even if it is the result in this case.”

“Are you sure you are with child, Ruby?” Stephen said turning to her.

“I can’t be sure, sir,” she said, between sobs. “I’ve never had any experience.”

“I think she should see a doctor.”

“There’s one comes to the workhouse,” said Mrs Smith.

“Is he the one who took your tonsils out two years ago, Mrs Smith?”

“No, Captain,” she said, chastened.

“Perhaps you could leave us a minute, Mrs Smith.”  The housekeeper took a hard look at Ruby and then looked at Martin who offered no help and withdrew.

“Ruby,” began Stephen, “you might not even be with child.  I hope you’re not.  Do you want to have a child by this man if you are pregnant?”

“No sir, of course not.”

“Well maybe the doctor could make sure that you are not going to have a baby.”

Ruby looked bewildered at first and then said: “Oh sir.  I don’t think that would be right.  I couldn’t.”

“Well I don’t see why you should have to suffer because a stranger raped you.  He should be brought before the courts.  I won’t even ask you if you want to go to the police.”

“Oh no sir, not the police.  I’d die of shame.”

“Think about what I said, Ruby, and I’ll ask you tomorrow when you come and see me. Avoid talking to anyone—especially Mrs Smith—and make up your own mind.”

The girl left and Stephen waited for Martin to turn on him.  “Derby, do you know what you’re suggesting is illegal?”

“Yes it is illegal, like what we do in bed.”

“No, this is different.  This wrong.  It’s a baby.  The Bible…”

“It’s not a baby and the Bible says lots of things.  I’m sure it’s not in favour of inverts like us and I don’t think it condones rape from what I remember.  That girl is a victim, so I don’t want to hear the Bible mentioned again.”

Martin was silent for some time.  Then he said, “Well, what are we going to do.”

“Well, I want you to go and see your sensible friend Miss Foxton.  I think she could talk to Ruby and she’ll know a good doctor.  Maybe she should talk to all the maids—after all, an ounce of prevention…”

“Mrs Smith would never allow it.”

“Mrs Smith might have to give way.”

Martin walked over to Stephen and stood behind his chair and put his arms around him.  His kissed the top of his head.  Stephen had such lovely hair, he thought.

“So, you think I’m right?” ventured Stephen.

“I don’t know.  I was thinking of that time I got drunk in Cannes and those sailors had their way with me.  I don’t think I would have liked to have had their baby.  I’m no different to Ruby, I suppose.”

“Let’s go up to bed, Mala, said Stephen smiling at him, his hair falling down over his left eye, but not quite as luxuriantly as before he had an army haircut. “I want to try again to get you with child.”

*****

Martin sought out Miss Foxton.  She was at home in her mother’s house in Kensington.  Mrs Foxton dominated the conversation, retelling the story how she had been arrested with her friend Mrs Pankhurst in 1914.  At last she left to wrap parcels for the Red Cross and Martin had Miss Foxton to himself.  He blushed deeply, but managed to outline Ruby’s sad story.

“So you want me to find you a doctor who will perform an abortion on your housemaid.”

“That’s putting it very bluntly, Miss Foxton,” said Martin who winced at the word. “Although we don’t know that she is having a baby; it only happened four weeks ago.”

“I know a doctor.  The women in the East End always leave it too late and, of course, they do not have the money to pay for a good doctor or any doctor.  You know many die in horrible agony.” Martin had heard of it and he nodded gravely.

“Stephen says that all the maids should be made aware of their… of the dangers…of…”

“I fully agree, Lord Branksome, although it would not have helped Ruby if she was set upon by a rapist.” 

“Mrs Smith, my housekeeper, might not approve, but I think I can work something out.  Can you come to Branksome House?  We’d have a donation to make to Toynbee Hall.”

Miss Foxton made an appointment then said: “Now tell me all about Vesta and Billy.”

***** 

Ruby shyly came and spoke to Stephen that evening.

“I’d like to see the doctor, sir, and I don’t want to have this man’s baby.  I’d like to have a baby with someone I love.  I don’t care if that is wrong.”

Four days later Ruby, in the company of Janet, went to an address in Farringdon Road.  It was a small hospital.  The doctor received Ruby while Janet waited.  An hour later Ruby emerged looking a little pale, but she managed a small smile.  “I have to sit here for another hour and then we’re to get a cab home.  I wasn’t gone, Janet.” she said with relief.  Janet hugged her and gave her a toffee from a paper bag she’d been clutching.

Miss Foxton’s talk to the maids was conducted the following week.  The male servants had been given the afternoon off and the maids, chaperoned by Mrs Smith, sat in the servants’ hall where tea and cake provided some levity.  Miss Foxton brought some charts and diagrams with her and the girls looked on.  Even Mrs Smith, a married woman, had to admit that some of the information was new to her.  There was some hesitation in asking questions, but the refreshments helped and Miss Foxton was skilled in drawing out women of this class.

At precisely 3 o’clock the drawing room bell rang.  Mrs Smith was annoyed but excused herself and left the class as Miss Foxton smiled at her and pressed on.  It was Lord Branksome who rang.

“Oh Mrs Smith.  I wanted to discuss the dinner on Friday evening.  I will have Lt Thayer and Lt Fortune coming and I think my uncle will be back from Windsor, is that your understanding?”

Mrs Smith looked agitated and clearly wanted to get back downstairs to hear what was being said to her maids, but Martin was insistent and went over every detail of the menu, often changing his mind. “Oh no, I forgot Mr Thayer is now a vegetarian, we will have to start again, Mrs Smith…”

Forty minutes later she was released and rushed down the stairs two at a time just to find that Miss Foxton was rolling up her charts and the maids were rising from their seats.  With a deft movement, Miss Foxton put her foot over one of the new latex condoms that had dropped to the floor where Janet had flicked it.  She retrieved it when Mrs Smith turned to ask Clara what they had been talking about.  Clara was suitably vague and Mrs Smith, sensing some deception, could have slapped her.  

***** 

“…so pack up your troubles in you old kitbag and smile, smile, smile.”

Cocoa was poured from a big jug and the maid Clara was busy passing it around in around in thick china mugs.  She gave a sly smile to Private Rugg who grinned back from under his mop of curly hair.  Corporal Quick banged his mouth organ on his palm and replaced it to his lips and played the verse then began the familiar chorus of ‘Lily of Laguna”.  The San Culottes began:

“He has a foot of love,

And that’s whole damn lot to shove…”

“That’s enough, Quick!” commanded Sgt Spinner, “You have forgotten there is ladies present.” He looked at Martin. “and gentlemen too.”

Just then Higgins returned to the wine cellar.

“The “h’all clear’ ’as just been hanounced!”

To be continued…

Thanks for reading.  If you have any comments or questions, Henry and I would love to hear from you. 

Posted: 02/28/14