Sunday

Sunday 25th May 1808

Dear Diary,
The congregation at Chapel this morning was assailed by the voice of Mrs Norris. Indeed it is plain to see she has the housing for a good set of lungs and the voice that issues forth is much like a cat being beaten with a bassoon. The Parson looked quite startled and I think the omission of the third hymn was quite a deliberate act.
To get some rest for my poor assaulted ears and to enjoy some peace, I walked ahead of the others, back to the Grange, when I was confronted by a red faced and flustered Titty Clamp. Since working in the Scullery with Mrs Crutchlow she has certainly grown into her role, quite literally and is no longer the delicate girl she once was.
"Oh Mr Austen, come quick! There has been an unwelcome visitor to the Grange," she gasped.
"Who?" I enquired.
" We don't know, but they have broke the parlour window," she went on. I indicated for her to stay and inform my parents who were following on behind and I quickened my pace towards the Grange. Ned, was picking up some of the glass from below the window as I approached.
"Did you see who did this?" I asked him.
"No Mr Austen, we were in the back but we heard the stone come through." I surveyed the damage carefully and was aware that Ned was still staring at me intently as if he had more to say but did not know how to begin.
"What is it Ned? Is there more bad news?"
He nodded curtly and bit his lip. "It's Python, Mr Austen. He's gone!"
I don't know why I rushed to the stable as there was nothing to be done. His stall was empty but his scent was still in the air. I sank wearily to the floor and put my head in my hands and was just about to sob when I heard the clattering of hooves approaching and Python cantered back in, his eyes wide and nostrils flared. I stood and held up my hand and he whinnied and came forward to nuzzle it. I stroked his neck to calm him and spoke soothing words and lead him back into his stall.
Whoever had tried to take him must have been cursing I know not what is afoot but I fear we have not heard the last of it.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

Hmmmm, another mystery!
You do know the art of titillation Wayne.

B.

Wayne Austen said...

My dear mysterious Mr B,

I must confess I do like to tease the narrative 'nipple' with words that trip off my tongue, but you are a mystery too.
I once knew a Bastard from Bolton, I pray you are not he!

Yours warily,

Wayne Austen.

Anonymous said...

"Bastard from Bolton", indeed not sir! I am a countryman of Canada.

Yours amicably,

B.

Wayne Austen said...

My dear mysterious Mr B,

Please forgive my misapprehension, those Bastards bred like rabbits in Bolton and are quite common.
So.... you hail from Canada...pray tell when was the last time you ate beaver?

Yours enquiringly,

Wayne Austen.

Anonymous said...

My dear Wayne,

No beaver for me thanks, it is not to my taste.

Yours cheerfully,

B.