The Christian Heroine Always Gets Her Man, With Knobs On

Madame's Nightshirt
Mrs. Peperium

"Basil, what a gorgeous day." said Mrs. P

"Hmmn." replied Sir Basil

"Sharing it with you makes it all that more gorgeous, you know. Thanks."

"I assure you the pleasure is all mine." said Sir Basil

"Oh Basil, you're such a beast."

"My dear Mrs. P. I assure you I am no such thing."

"Yes, you are a beast. And a perfect beast too."

"How?"

"Why, before the day is over you've already gone and claimed the pleasure for yourself. You're not going to allow me any. Nor let me share in yours. That's beastly. Frankly, I wouldn't have thought it of you."

Sir Basil stopped. Raising one of his eyebrows, he looked Mrs. P squarely in the face and spoke. "Am I to
understand it is pleasure you're after this afternoon?"

Looking straight into his eyes and trying hard not to laugh, Mrs. P responded, "Among other things...yes."

"Well, well then, we must correct my misstep, mustn't we? said Sir Basil. "Mrs. P, would you like me to give you some pleasure this afternoon?"

Mrs. P smiled. "Yes Sir Basil. I would. Actually, I would like you to give me a lot of pleasure this afternoon." she said with a giggle. "Wouldn't my mother be proud of my manners?"

"From what I've seen of your family, your mother has more than just your manners to be proud of."

"Why thank you. You are all kindness. Now, considering what little time we've got, would you mind if we got on with it?"

"Got on with what Mrs. P?"

"My pleasure."

"A gentleman must always honour a lady's request. Lead the way Mrs. P."

"Basil, I'm not on familiar ground. This is your turf. As much as I would like to lead you, I cannot. You must guide me."

"Very well then."

With that, Basil tightened his reins and gave his horse a quick but firm jab in the ribs with his spurs. The horse broke into a gallop and Basil steered him out into the open field. With a sharp crack of the crop on her horse's hindquarters, Mrs. P was soon in full gallop behind him. To the casual farm laborer working in the next field, Sir Basil and Mrs. P did cut an impressive swath as they sped through the tall grass. Especially when the casual farm laborer factored in their advanced ages. Sir Basil, clad in tweeds, on his large Bay with Mrs. P following him in navy blue on a grey mare. As the two neared the edge of the field Sir Basil yelled over his shoulder, "Jump seat Mrs. P" Upon uttering that instruction, Basil again spurred his Bay and they swiftly cleared the field gate. After his horse landed, Basil just had enough time to look back over his shoulder to see Mrs. P steady the mare with a much-needed nudge of the crop, lean forward in her saddle and safely clear the gate. "Basil that was marvelous." shouted Mrs. P as she tried to catch up to him. "Go into the woods and make up an obstacle course on the fly for us." With that command, Sir Basil steered his Bay to another gate across the field. After clearing it, he cantered off into the nearby woods. Before the causal farm laborer had time to blink his eyes in amazement, Mrs. P and the grey mare had cleared the gate too and were closing in fast on Sir Basil, who by now was deep into the woods.

Once in the woods, Mrs. P had to focus hard to keep her eye on Sir Basil's movements. Harkening back to his pilot fighter days, Basil was a fast but not foolish rider. As the first fallen tree approached he let Mrs. P know, "Steady old girl, keep the mare's ears forward and she'll do whatever you ask of her." Following his direction, Mrs. P applied the crop to the mare's shoulder. The mare's ears pricked forward and without hesitation the two sailed over the fallen tree. Neither the grey mare nor Mrs. P flinched at any hairpin turn or jump Sir Basil put before them that day. After about 45 minutes of hard riding, Mrs. P shouted "Basil, this splendid beast has earned a rest and so have you." Sir Basil slowed his horse and soon the two were trotting alongside each other with the horses still snorting and pulling on the reins, as if they wanted more.

"Once the horses have cooled, find a place with soft grass where we can pull over."

"Why Mrs. P!"

"Basil just do it. If there's a babbling brook near the soft grass, you will have outdone yourself."

The two rode on in silence for a while as their mounts slowly cooled down. Gradually, a clearing came upon them and just like Mrs. P had wished there was a babbling brook. Mrs. P stopped the mare, threw her leg over the back of the saddle and dismounted.

"Take care of the horses. I'll spread out the blanket.

With that she patted the grey mare on the forehead and kissed her nose. Then she loosened the mare's girth, undid the tartan blanket that was fastened to the back of the saddle and pulled off the saddle bags. Tossing the mare's reins to the now dismounted Sir Basil she said, "I like your tack."

"Most women do." he responded.

"Aren't you the lucky boy."

"The Countess is the lucky one. After all, it is her wedding tack."

"Basil, you are dreadful. Do see to the horses quickly."

Mrs. P spread out the blanket by the side of the brook and settled herself into it. Sir Basil soon joined her. He took off his hat and Mrs. P admired how the dappled sunlight shining through the trees made such nice patterns on the top of his shiny head.

"Basil, she really is a wonderful horse. I've never ridden a mare before."

"Am I to understand you've only ridden boys Mrs. P?"

"Yes Basil. I have only ridden boys. Gelded boys."

"Ouch."

"Do you know what? I think it was the riding of gelded boys that caused me to end up in art school."

"Not surprising."

"No, when you think about it, it really isn't is it?" said Mrs. P, laughing. "Oh, if only someone had had the foresight to mount me on a stallion during my school girl days, just imagine where I would have gone for higher education."

"I imagine trade school."

Mrs. P laughed. "Not the armed services?" "Basil, can I offer you a drink?"

"I thought you'd never offer."

"I have more than a drink to offer you." said Mrs. P reaching for the saddlebags. She pulled out a flask and and poured Basil a scotch. Handing it to him she said, "I'm so glad the British in you makes you not require ice. An ice bucket strapped to the saddle would have slapped the mare's rump silly over those jumps. She might have tossed me." Unlike the proverbial horse who has been led to water, Sir Basil took a long, deep drink. Then, adjusting his hat to be a pillow, he settled back on the blanket, muttered an "Hmmn", closed his eyes and took to enjoying warmth of the sun on his face. Soon the sounds of the brook made him sleepy. Mrs. P let him rest and busied herself with the other contents of the saddlebags. When she was done, she opened another flask, poured herself a sherry and settled back in the blanket to rest. After amusing herself by watching the shapes in the passing clouds overhead for a while, she spoke.

"Alright Basil, grub's on."

Basil, who was half asleep by now, slowly mustered enough strength to pull himself up to a sideways position. Resting his chin on one arm he surveyed the provisions laid out before him. "I hope there's meat somewhere in there."

"Of course there's meat. There's rosy roast beef, cheddar and Major Grey chutney sandwiches. There's also cucumber, ham and brie, and because you're so fond of it, Marmite on whole wheat."

"Why Mrs. P, you've outdone yourself."

"Not really. You can find Marmite in all the shops here. What you can't find is bologna. Or mayonnaise. Salad cream--uck-- everywhere, but no mayonnaise. I did so want to surprise the old midwestern farmboy that still lurks within you with some fried bologna and mayonaise sandwiches, but I couldn't. Besides fried bologna doesn't go with your magnificent tweeds or the Cotswolds, does it?"

"Humph" said Sir Basil just before tucking into a generous roast beef sandwich. While he was eating, Mrs. P rolled over on her stomach. Folding her arms in front of her and resting her chin on her hands, her face assumed a thoughtful look. She looked up at Basil. Basil, sensing unchartered waters ahead, reached for his scotch.

"Tell me Basil, what do you think of virgins?"

Basil, greatly relieved to find himself not in unchartered waters after all, took another drink of his scotch. He looked carefully at Mrs. P's face and saw the slight beginnings of crows feet at the corners of her dark eyes, the laugh lines deepening around the curves of her mouth and how her silver hair still contained the occasional streak of what must have been its once natural black color. In her day, she must have been a cute one, he thought. Which naturally caused him to think of himself back in his day. For reasons known only to him, perhaps it was the rareness of the roast beef, Basil went lyrical with his response.

"T'is lost but once, and once lost, lost for ever", except in America, where I think you can find it on ebay".

"I didn't ask you what you thought of virginity, I asked you what you thought of virgins. There's a difference, you know."

"There is?" asked Sir Basil. "Sadly, most of the women I've known, I met before they were virgins".

"Basil!"

"I think Joseph was the last man who could actually believe what he was told anyway".

"Why on earth do I try to be serious with you?" said Mrs. P laughing.

"Don't be. It's impossible. Let's have another drink instead." suggested Sir Basil while lighting up a cigarette.

"Another drink? It's a long way back to the barn, isn't it?"

"No. Pour me a drink. Be serious again. You might have more sucess this time." With that Sir Basil stretched himself out on the blanket and began to blow smoke rings as Mrs. P poured drinks. Upon handing Sir Basil his, she asked, "Basil, are you familiar with Cyrus McCormick of Chicago?"

"Cyrus? No. His farm machinery? Naturally."

"Did you know insanity ran through his family."

"My dear Mrs. P, insanity runs through every family. Look no further than your own and you know of what I speak."

Mrs. P laughed. "Cyrus' daughter killed herself and his son Stanley was nuts."

"All the Chicago McCormicks are either nuts, or like myself, eccentrics."

"Did you know that Stanley McCormick took his bride on a 9-month honeymoon tour of Europe where he never consummated his marriage. He and his wife bought paintings instead. Is that nuts or eccentric?"

"Depends. Was his wife attractive?"

"Katherine McCormick was 6 ft tall and very highly-educated. The first female graduate of MIT."

"Ah, it sounds as if Stanley was neither nuts, nor eccentric. Merely sane."

"Basil!" said Mrs. P laughing. "Actually you may be on to something because by marrying Stanley Katherine always said she did not fulfill her dream of becoming a doctor. But, here's the rub. After they blew the honeymoon, they lived apart. Him in Chicago. Her in Boston. For two years they lived like that until Stanley's mental instability finally caused him to be dumped from the family firm. Only then did he go live with Katherine in Boston. Then Katherine took him to Maine for the summer..."

"Ah, well that seals it. All people who holiday in Maine are insane." interrupted Basil.

"I'm ignoring you." responded Mrs. P. "Basil, they were never able to consummate their marriage when they were in Maine. Do you realize how impossible it is to do that? Yet these two screwballs --well screwballs is a poor word choice for the McCormicks--managed to pull it off. But it gets worse. Since Stanley McCormick could not fulfill his husbandly duty with Katherine after 2 years of giving it the old Ivy League try, what does Katherine do? She tells Stanley to not get caught up with the love aspect of the marital act : Just do it for an heir as their fortune requires one. Well, if the exploring of the honeymoon trousseau in Europe didn't make it happen, nor did the cavorting au naturel like harbor seals among the rocks in Maine didn't make it happen..."

"Did they cavort au naturel like harbor seals among the rocks in Maine?"

"No. I think that was the problem. If you cavort au naturel like harbor seals among the rocks in Maine your marriage will be consummated in 2 minutes flat. And chances are better than 50/50 9 months later an heir will be born. But Katherine was too educated to cavort. Heck, she was too educated to do anything. And no surprise here, Stanley could not perform his husbandly duty with Katherine for the sake of an heir either. So Katherine committed him to a very posh happy tablet academy. Stanley was eventually diagnosed as a schizophrenic. Then, after arguing with his mother and the rest of his family over Freudian analysis and control of his money (surprise, surprise), Katherine yanked Stanley out and bricked him up in a family estate in California surrounded by an all-male staff of doctors, nurses, cooks, and gardners. He was a prisoner there for the next 40 years and Katherine did not even see him during the last 20 years of his life. Now here is when it all gets really strange..."

"Oh, only now it gets strange?"

"Yes, only now." said Mrs. P laughing. "Katherine only really lived with Stanley for about one year of their 40-odd year marriage but she always blamed her marriage to him for preventing her from fulfilling her dream of being a doctor. But Basil there was never any marriage with Stanley. She had plenty of time and money to go to med school. Katherine McCormick was not religious either. She was a highly-educated, scientific woman. You would guess Katherine took on lovers and probably no one in her circle would have blamed her if she had, but she didn't. Ever. Basil, Katherine McCormick died a virgin. Do you know what Katherine McCormick did instead?"

"You mean instead of men?"

"Basil!"

"Arranged flowers and made petits fours?"

"No, said Mrs. P giggling. "First, her feminist ideology and her husband's money allowed her to be a prominent suffergette. Then, she moved on to be a Margaret Sanger smuggler. She smuggled diaphragms into the country. Not for her own use of course, but for other women. Poor women, naturally. Then when Stanley finally bought the farm..."

"Bought the farm? A little International Harvester Company humour there, Mrs. P? Very good."

Mrs. P giggled and continued. "After doing major battle with Stanley's family and having all Stanley's dirty laundry splashed across the front pages of the newspapers, the court awarded Katherine his entire fortune and she made Margaret Sanger's dream of a birth control pill happen. She used Stanley's money to fund the research for The Pill. A woman who never had sex with her husband, or any other man for that matter, was the woman who gave the world The Pill."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." said Sir Basil.

"You said it Toots. But here's the real irony with the McCormick marriage."

"What can be more real irony than that?"

"Because of her scientific education, Katherine believed Stanley's schizophrenia was the result of something wrong in his glands. But psychology in Stanley's day was more interested in Freud's theories. It thought schizophrenia was purely a mental disease. It was only a few years after Katherine's death in the mid-'60's where modern medicine finally decided that she was sort of right after all. Schizophrenia is a very complex condition but part of the disorder is glandular. Something is wrong with the pituitary gland. The pituitary gland is in the brain and it somehow determines the coping skills, or lack of coping skills, for stress. Before Stanley McCormick ever met his wife, it was known he couldn't cope. His pituitary gland had been on the fritz for years. Then he married Katherine and she sent his pituitary gland into overdrive. The real irony with the McCormick marriage is that it did have offspring : Stanley and Katherine McCormick's heir was The Pill. Basil, how does The Pill work?"

"Mrs. P, I don't know nothin' 'bout birthing babies!"

"I'm ignoring you. The Pill works by tricking the woman's pituitary gland into thinking she is pregnant. Thinking she's already pregnant, the pituitary glands signals the body to change its homorne level production to the accomodate the baby that does not exist. The changes in the woman's hormone levels does not prevent the woman from becoming pregnant. She's still as fertile as those fields we were riding through and able to conceive children. Only her pituitary gland thinks she's pregnant, no one else does, including the woman, trust me. The Pill prevents a fertilized egg, or the conceived child, from successfully attaching itself to the woman's womb. Because it can't attach, it can't be nourished, so the child dies and is flushed out in the course of her monthly cycle. If I understand all of this correctly, the offspring of the McCormick marriage, The Pill not only prevents other women from having the baby Katherine McCormick always wanted but never got, it messes bigtime --in a psychological way as well pharmacological way-- with the very gland which whose imbalance in Stanley McCormick's brain went on to destroy his marriage and his life."

"The path of civilization is strewn with cow plops from Beezlebub's own satanic herd!"

"Basil, The Pill is more than a cow plop."

"Ok, The path of civilization is strewn with the elephant dung of Beezlebub's own satanic 3 ring circus."

"Basil!"

"And dancing poodles in pink tutus."

"Stop please! My sides are starting to ache." said Mrs. P laughing. "Listen. There's more. Stanley McCormick, one of America's richest men, lived a pitiful existence as a hopelessly insane man for almost forty years. He went so bezerk everytime he saw his wife that Katherine didn't even see him during the last 20 years of his life. For 20 years he was left alone with just private doctors and nurses looking after him. No family whatsoever. Then he finally bit the dust and Katherine took his family to court and won control of all of his money. Remember how he couldn't perform on his wedding night? Well, that happened to be the night he wrote his will. In it, he left everything to her."

"No wonder she stuck around. Or never took on a lover. Stanley was giving her something better."

"My thoughts exactly. Well, not my thoughts exactly, but my thoughts about Katherine McCormick exactly. You know what I mean. Now that Katherine had gotten her money, she could fund The Pill. All she needed was one more thing : Women to test The Pill on. Guess where she found them?

"Radcliffe?"

"Close. The Massachusetts State Hospital for the Insane. Katherine McCormick paid for The Pill to be tested on mentally ill women."

"What a bitch." said Sir Basil.

"Feminists always are."

Basil lit up another cigarette and thoughtfully puffed it. "You know this is even more proof God is the best novelist. The tale of the McCormick marriage does cause one wonder how many female schizophrenics are walking this earth today courtesy of Katherine McCormick's largess."

"My point exactly. Thank you Basil for actually paying attention."

"I always do Mrs. P. I just act like I don't because I have found that life is easier that way. Now if you want to die a happy woman you must not ever expect modern science to study if The Pill causes any adverse effects on the pituitary gland, much less schizophrenia. Because if science has to admit that it does, then it will have to admit the Catholic Church has been right all along about birth control being evil."

"That will never happen." said Mrs. P

"That's a wise woman. Now be wiser and refresh our drinks."

"Basil, is that wise? We do have to be able to ride home."

"Mrs. P, I have everything under control. Just listen to old Basil and do what he says."

"I'm in no position to do anything otherwise. I have no idea where I am. Basil, if I didn't know you better, I'd think...well... maybe, it's best if we forget what I'd think, I think."

"We have. Now refresh our drinks."

Mrs. P laughed and refreshed their drinks.

"Basil, remember how you once told me psychology and whatnot was all bosh?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think you're right."

"Of course I'm right. I always am."

"Scotch does make you more confident, doesn't it? Or, tell me, is it your tweeds?"

"Humph. The wine is starting to go to your head."

"Basil, I know I always go on about Jane Austen but there's a reason. Unlike you, (ha,ha) she's always right. She has the most extraordinary passage..."

"at the end of Mansfield Park where she addresses what was wrong with the McCormick's."

"If I'm boring you, I can go home."

"No, you're not boring me and besides your arms will give out before you've made it across the Bristol Channel. Continue on. I'm interested in seeing if you know what I know."

"I don't think I'm interested in knowing if I know what you already know. Or whatever it was you just said."

"Oh, you're interested. You're a woman. Women are like cats. Curious about absolutely everything. Now continue."

"You are a beast. Ok beast, the passage I'm talking about is where Sir Thomas realises what a mistake he made with the rearing of his daughters. Sir Thomas, I mean Jane, gets very in depth about the ill-effects of excessive flattery and expensive educations. They make people believe they possess more consequence then they really do possess. Then Jane has Sir Thomas think something quite striking. About his daughters' troubles not being entirely his fault because something was lacking within them. That something lacking was active principle. I didn't understand what active principle meant so I looked it up. Active principle comes from a quote by John Tillotson. He was an Archbishop of Canterbury in the late 1600's --who by the way-- was an expert on Basil the Great. Tillotson said the soul of man is an active principle."

"That didn't come from Tillotson. That came from St. Thomas Aquinas. That piskie, Tillotson stole it from the Summa Theologica."

"Ignoring you again. Jane fixed on the problem with Maria and Julia as a problem with their souls. They had been taught their religion theoretically but never been made, or taught, to bring it into daily practice. As a result, they never learned to govern their inclinations and feelings. Then, add to that enormous fault, expensive educations, good looks, lots of money, bad society, and voila, the two crashed and burned. Just like Stanley and Katherine McCormick. Except Katherine McCormick wasn't good-looking. She looked like Eleanor Roosevelt."

"Eleanor Roosevelt was better looking."

Mrs. P snorted with laughter. "Ow! My sides are aching now. Be nice for my sake, Basil, please!" she said still laughing. "Did you know in the old days, before blood tests and whatnot, they used to diagnose schizophrenia by the look in the eye? And the eyes are the windows to the soul."

Yes, I recall you once writing that you liked the look in my eyes."

"So ignoring you now."

"Sure you are."

"Basil, Jane was on to it all back in 1804. The ill effects of wealth without religion combined with expensive educations. The McCormicks went to Harvard and MIT and about a half a dozen other posh schools. You cannot get much more educated than that. In Mansfield Park, Sir Thomas observes the contrast between his niece Fanny and his daughters. After Fanny came to live with him at the age of 9, she received most of the advantages his own daughters received. Yet those advantages did not ruin Fanny like they did his daughters. It was the opposite. The advantages did what advantages are supposed to do. They made her a successful woman. The difference was that Fanny had suffered what Jane called early hardship. Early hardship gave her discipline. Fanny, while still a small girl, through the daily practice of her religion, had learned how to struggle and endure. If you recall, throughout Mansfield Park, Fanny never did one thing wrong. Ever. Yet it is Fanny who ends up married to the man she had loved her whole life. The very man Jane Austen stated at the begining of the book that it was totally undesirable therefore impossible in the eyes of Sir Thomas himself that Fanny marry. Fanny silently waits, endures great pain and suffering throughout the story and in the end her man comes to her. He wins her hand. And Sir Thomas is more than pleased. He understands he has been given the daughter he had always hoped for. Fanny Price is the most overtly religious heroine Jane Austen invented. She is the archetypal Christian heroine, if you ask me."

"Yes, I know. That's why I never took much interest in Fanny, the little goodie two shoes. Now, give me the feisty Eliza Bennett and I'll..."

"...be flattened by Mr. Darcy in two seconds flat."

"Humph"

"Basil, you have to admit what I've told you about Sir Thomas is interesting."

"Yes, it is. Most interesting. Trouble is, I already knew it."

"Well then, I must tell you something about Sir Thomas you did not know. And you said the wine was going to my head..."

"My dear Mrs. P, this sounds as if it might actually be good."

"You know that I adore Mr. Knightley, Captain Wentworth, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Tilney."

"Yes, yes, yes. The entire world knows that."

"Well, the entire world does not know that after my youthful days slipped away, my tastes altered immensely. They matured. My favorite Austen hero became Sir Thomas."

"Sir Thomas? Why?"

"Because he's the most masculine of the lot. The others are boys when they come on the scene. They all mature into men with the help of their heroines. Well, Mr. Knightley was not a boy, he's different...let's put Mr. Knightley on a shelf for now, ok?"

"Consider Knightley shelved".

"Basil! Oh...gosh...ouch...my sides really do hurt." she said laughing and burying her head in her arms. Pausing to regain her composure she remained still until her giggling had subsided. She looked up at Basil and continued, "Sir Thomas is different. He begins as a man, and just becomes a better one. And, unlike the other Austen heroes, he does it without the aid of a woman. In fact, he does it in spite of all the women around him. Now that's a man. Do you, by chance, know how old Sir Thomas is?"

"How old?"

"About your age."

"Really?"

"Yes. And do you know what else?"

"What?"

"I'm quite convinced that beneath Sir Thomas' horsehair wig there was not much hair."

"Why Mrs. P."

"Basil, why are you looking at me like that?"

Basil had straightened himself up on the blanket and was smiling broadly. "Mrs. P, you are a vixen."

"I am no such thing."

"Yes, you are and you've revealed your cards."

"No I haven't!"

"Yes, you have."

"Basil, I haven't revealed anything."

"Oh yes you have. You have revealed everything."

"Are you going to start chasing me around the bushes? Because if you are, I'm warning you, not only am I going to run, I am armed."

"You call carrying a riding crop being armed?"

"I don't carry a riding crop. I pack one."

"My dear Mrs. P, in my younger days, I might have begun chasing you around the bushes about now. But no, I'm not. I am merely going to suggest we get back on the horses and ride a mile or so up the road where there is the most charming inn in all of the Cotswolds."

"An inn?"

"Yes, an inn."

"For dinner?"

"Yes."

"Do they take horses?"

"They take mine."

"Tell me Basil, has the dinner already been ordered?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Confident, weren't you?"

"Most women admire confidence."

"I'm not most women."

"I know."

"Hmmn...the most charming inn in all of the Cotswolds, you say?

"Yes, The late Nancy Lancaster did all of the furnishings."

"Basil, you really do listen to me...my favorite interior designer...I've never actually seen Nancy's work in real life...*sigh*...only in photographs."

"I know."

"Basil, I am intrigued. Tell me, what sort of dinner have you ordered us?"

"For the starter, the chef has procured us some native oysters from Mumbles."

"Native oysters...you say? From Mumbles? What the heck is Mumbles?"

"Mumbles is the seaside town where I went as a young boy with my grandparents during summer holidays."

"Ah, so the native oysters from Mumbles....they would taste of the sea you swam in as a child?"

"Yes."

"Hmmn...Do I really want to know what the sea you swam in as a child tastes like?"

"You will."

"Continue. What else?"

"I thought after our ride, game would be best so Chef will have roast pheasant with bread sauce for us."

"I adore roast pheasant with bread sauce."

"I know. It will be accompanied by baked apples with a red currant sauce, clapshot and carrots with fresh thyme."

"Basil, that sounds wonderful. Dessert?"

"Again, nothing heavy I thought. So fresh pears, walnuts, Stilton and..."

"Vintage port."

"Yes."

"Basil, my very favorite."

"I know."

"Basil, there's only one problem."

"What?"

"I shan't be able to ride home after that."

"I know."

"Ah, would there by chance, of course, be a room waiting upstairs for me?"

"By chance...yes."

"With an adjoining bath?"

"Yes."

"The bathtub large enough for two?"

"Why Mrs. P..."

"Basil, you cannot expect me to go into the dinning room of the most charming inn of all the Cotswolds, that the late Nancy Lancaster did all the furnishings for, smelling like a horse. I am not English you know. I require a bath and so do you."

"The bathtub will accomodate your desires."

"Good...How about the bed? Surely not twin beds?"

"Four poster the landlady has assured me."

"And the flowers waiting on my bedside table are?"

"A nosegay of Lily of the Valley and violets in a sterling silver stirrup cup."

"Basil, how beautiful...more favorites...but you knew that. You must have had to send to London for those.

"I did."

"Basil...how kind...Is there a fireplace?"

"Mrs. P, this is the Cotswolds. Every room in an inn has a fireplace."

And the view from the windows, tell me, will it be a memorable one? I would like it to be a memorable one."

"Most memorable. The Cotswolds hills and valleys with the River Severn in the distance. But I do hope you're not planning on spending much time looking out the window."

"No. I'm not planning to. But a girl never does know, does she?"

"Humph"

"Basil, it sounds as if you've thought of everything."

"I assure you, I have."

"Well then, you've put me in a position where I cannot say no, haven't you?'

"That was the general plan."

"Then Basil..."

"Yes, Mrs. P?"

"I shall be delighted to go to with you."

"Good. Let's go then."

"Basil, one more question first, if I may?"

"A gentleman must always honour a lady's request."

"Oh, you're becoming gallant now. I like that. Keep it up please. It goes very nicely with your tweeds and our dinner."

"Humph"

"Basil...

"Yes Mrs. P"

"What time are the Countess and Mr. P arriving?"

Sir Basil's face fell. "They're already there. They arrived on the afternoon train. How did you know?"

"The oysters. Basil, you know I only partake of oysters in the company of my husband. If you ordered them for our dinner, I knew somehow you had managed to get Mr. P there as a surprise. If you were really trying to seduce me, you would have chosen smoked Scottish salmon for our first course."

"Damn! You know me too well. I wanted to see your face when you..."

"Basil...aren't you glad I get you?"

"Very glad Mrs. P. And so is the Countess, I might add. Otherwise she would have to kill me and I don't think she'd spare you either."

THE END

Comments

[twm]

Having read Ethan Frome I know how this turns out.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Hahahahahaha But what about the horses? We are always kind to animals at PP....

[James]

Where's that picture from? Aughh. This paper would be much easier to write in the Shenandoah. ...Wouldn't it?

[Mrs. Peperium]

Yes, it would.

The artist is one of my very favorites, George Stubbs:

http://www.artcyclopedia.com/artists/detail/Detail_stubbs_george.html

I shall have to tell of the time I wandered into an ancient temperature controuled barn owned by one of the oddest, but most wonderful, British men I've ever met filled with George Stubb's work and the work of many of his contemporaries. It was that day, I understood on a much deeper level the work of PG Wodehouse. What PG writes about is completely true, just the names changed for litigation purposes.

[Mrs. Peperium]

I'm sorry James. As you can see by my response, I thought you were asking about the horse painting. You weren't. The photo is of Gloucestershire (The Cotswolds).