A Study in Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 4) (13 page)

The Italian avalanche slams into my chair with the velocity of a twelve-horse chariot at racing speed. The chair tumbles back fast and hard sending me and Signora Francesca Angelina Marianna Sforza tumbling in about five or six backrolls before we come to a stop. At that time she has a tight grip on a big handful of my hair. A dagger that I have a fleeting impression of being drawn from a place of intimate concealment high upon her outer thigh is pressed way up in the crook of my throat. The point maintains a steadily increasing pressure. Every voluptuous ounce of flesh is pressed hard against me. Her pupils are less than an inch from mine and closing fast.

“Wha, hah, hah, aht d,d,d,did you s,s,say?”

“Gllhgll-ope igll ingll ughgll oughkllgh..”

“Huh … ? Huh .. ? Hope? Hope-ah! HOPE-AH!!! HOPE-AH ISSA INNA DE HOUSE!!! Ah-Smooch, Smooch, Smooch-Ah! Ah, ha, ha, ha! Ah-Smooch-Ah! I ah loves this-ah guy!
Aaaaaaaaaaah
, hahahahahahahahaha!”

“If you say so, my dear! The little phrase sounds rather droll to my ears.”

Tossing the forgotten dagger aside, Signora Francesca Angelina Marianna Sforza interlocks her red nail-painted fingers to form a little platform. Resting her chin on the lovely digit dais, her eyes get a far-away look while flashes of ingenious schemes fairly pop from her peepers in violet discharges.

Beaming with an inner euphoria, the beautiful woman takes in a deep breath and then releases it with a content sigh, relaxing into an imaginary world, far away from the rest of us there in the parlor. She smiles joyfully as happy scenes play before her mind’s eye.

After a few, long moments, the laconic lady rouses from the little daydream nap. She unfolds her fingers and looks down.

“Hey! What are you-ah doing down there? It’s ah the times for ah youse to go now.”

Signora Francesca Angelina Marianna Sforza then gets up off of me from the floor and our hosts accompany us to the front door.

“Thanks for allowing us to drop by, y’all.”

“Of course, old boy, let’s do it again sometime soon.”

Mary takes a right at the gate. We soon hit upon the Great Gnarly Growth Passage and head back to Plumtartt Manor just as dusk catches us.

“I don’t see that lone bicyclist no more, Miss Plumtartt. I reckon he got bored and went home.”

“My word, Mr. Temperance, I see that the horticultural skills of the Sforza gardener do not extend as far as trimming shrubbery. If I am not mistaken, those Eleagnes are in worse shape than they were yesterday.”

“I’d have to agree, Miss Plumtartt. Funny how he did such a nice job every where else, but these Illy-Agnes are cut in almost haphazard fashion.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I see where our own Malachi Cruikshank has attempted to ply his hand on our side of the hedge. I must say that his efforts are as bad if not worse than his counterpart’s.”

Mary delivers us back to Plumtartt Manor. I am expecting Bishop RooksPawn to collect the horse and cart but he is not there. Manlington is standing by in his stead and sends Spike to find the cart and carriage steward.

“Did you enjoy your pony ride, eh hem?” Manlington’s black features express cheerful and polite curiosity.

“Yessir, Mr. Manlington. Did you all have a good day around here?”

“Oh yes, the job of running this household is an ongoing challenge that I relish. ‘One must always be driving a nail,’ my Grandfather used to say. However, in the future, I would greatly appreciate that if you hire any outside contractors, you will alert me to their coming. I must know who is about the property, after all.”

“I say, I beg your pardon, Manlington? Who was this outside contractor you speak of?”

“A rat catcher, Madame. He was a deplorable man, but as he said that you, Miss Plumtartt, had sent him, I allowed him entrance. His disreputable appearance struck me so I had our boy Spike glued to his shoulder the entire time he was in the house. Ah, here comes Spike and our errant Coachman, RooksPawn. Sir, you look as if you have just awoken. Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Sorry Mr. Manlington, Oi didn’t sleep well last night. I suppose I must ‘ave dozed off when Oi shoulda been watchin’ for the cart. I’m terribly sorry. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t, Mr. Rookspawn. That will be all for now. Well for Heaven’s sake, man. Take the pony with you!”

“How about that rat catcher, Spike? Did he catch a lot of rats?”

“Hunh? Dat’s funny. I followed him all over the mansion. He checked in the servants’ hall and around where everyone has been staying, but Oi didn’t see him catch so much as a sleepy mole.”

“Thank you gentlemen, that is all for now. Mr. Temperance and I will follow you in directly.”

“I liked all them neighbors, Miss Plumtartt. They seem like real nice folks. I thought that was really touching how emotional and sentimental they became whenever I mentioned ‘Hope in the House’.

Miss Plumtartt’s brows pull into a tight, though adorable, little knot.

“Hmmm, I wonder, Mr. Temperance.”

“Is it time to eat yet, Miss Plumtartt? I worked up a powerful appetite running around and meeting them folks in the neighborhood today.”

“Indeed, it is time for dinner, Mr. Temperance,” I answer. “I shall ask you to please escort me to the dining hall.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

I must say, if only to myself, I find Mr. Temperance’s easy exuberance in every activity an infectious, and endearing quality.
Perhaps that is why I find myself somewhat aflutter to see such frank and open affection in his hazel eyes.

“Thank you, sir, you are too kind. Though the dining room is ostensibly on the ground floor, navigation from our rooms can prove a difficult task, for those unacquainted with the house.”

“Don’t you worry about me none, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. Even with all the meandering up and down a few dozen staircases, oak lined passages, and fifty yard hallways, I find my sense of direction is up to the challenge.”

“You enjoy my every confidence, Mr. Temperance. Your unerring instincts have led us directly to our destination, for I see our buoyant loafered butler of unending glee, Manlington, awaiting us at the double door that leads to the main dining hall of the manor.”

“Ain’t he a friendly guy, Miss Plumtartt? Look at him there, keeping his wrists together as he gives a brief impulsive smattering of applause at our appearance.”

“Quite so, Mr. Temperance. I find it especially endearing as he now clasps his hands together and rests his head upon them deliriously gazing at us in an abject expression of adoration.”

“Oh, my, what a charming couple you two make. My heart is all a flutter to see such a delightful pair of Lovebirds.”

Our butler supreme manages to skip just a little as he escorts Mr. Temperance and me into the Dining Hall. He then goes to great pains, seating us in the traditional places at the Dining Hall table.

“Miss Plumtartt!”

In the distance I hear Mr. Temperance call to me. Efforts at seeing around the enormous and scandalously impressive central floral display prove fruitless. I attempt to reply to our Manor’s honored guest.

“Mr. Temperance?” I endeavor to make this rejoinder in as robust a voice as I can manage, but it is doubtful that the gentleman is able to hear my return.

“This sure is a heck of a Dining Room, Ma’am!”

I can just barely make out this voice from the wilderness.

“What’s that, Mr. Temperance? I’m sorry, sir, I can’t quite hear you.”

“Ma’am? Did you say something? I’m sorry, I can’t really hear you too well.”

“I say, Manlington?”

“Yes, Miss Plumtartt?”

“Would it be too much trouble if we broke with tradition, and I were to have Mr. Temperance dine at this end of the table alongside me? The many yards of intervening table are making conversation a tad difficult.”

Hurt and troubled sensibilities momentarily flit across the face of butlered perfection; however, the manservant’s manservant quickly rallies. His dark features reflect both the candlelight and an inner glow as he smiles with dimple popping joy.

“As you wish, Madame.”

Snapping his fingers at the many servants at hand, Manlington sees to the transference of dinnerware from the other end of the eighty foot table to this.

“I sure do like this big ol’ house and ever’body here, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am.”

“I am so glad, Mr. Temperance.”

“I ain’t one to complain, but I don’t think we’re a gettin’ a lotta work outta them upstairs maids. They can’t make up a bed worth a hoot. They ain’t gotta lotta enthusiasm for sweeping or straightening up none, neither. They just kinda flounce around in those fluffy little skirts that I barely even noticed them prancing around in and pretend to be dusting with them feather dusters of theirs.”

“Yes, the BumTwiddle sisters; I noted the same thing, sir. More than that, I confess, that I have been underwhelmed with the performance of our downstairs maids, as well. Though the KrunchGrippe sisters appear quite fearsome, I have not seen a lot of actual work from them. I cannot help but sense an aura of disdain for things so mundane as housework from the bevy of blond Bavarian beauties.”

“Those red-headed milkmaidens are okay as far as I know. That is, the cows ain’t complaining, ‘cause the WilloughSickle boys assure me that them girlies can surely work an udder.”

“Much of the household is afoot and about it seems. I spy our gardener of poor pruning skills passing by. Hello-oh, yoohoo, Mister Cruikshank! Might we have a word, sir?”

“Yes, Mum. Oi saw to them shrubs loikes you asked me to,” the leering wolf says with a toothy smile.

“Ah, yes. I am afraid to say that we were less than thrilled with the results.”

“No worries, mum! Oi’ll get back on ‘em tomorrow.” His grin never falters. “We’ll get those Boxwoods...”

“Eleagnes.”

“Whatevers they be, into the pinnacle of perfection. Don’t you worry none, mums.”

“I shan’t. Thank you, Mr. CruikShank.”

“Yes, mum!” Malachi CruikShank smiles broadly at us both and gives us a wink before hurrying along on his way.

“Do you smell something, Miss Plumtartt?”

“I think I do, Mr. Temperance. An odour most unfortunate I should say.”

“Yes Ma’am. Kinda a cross between rotten onions and smoldering sulfur.”

“I think you describe it most accurately, sir.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Thanky. I think it might be coming from these napkins.”

-sniff.-
“Ee-ew. You are correct, my astute friend. Come to think of it, I may have detected this smell in our sheets, pillows and towels as well.”

“Yes, Ma’am, this nauseous napkin has been folded into a little presentational tent, awaiting to be fluffed out into a small spread of protective cover from tiny food particles.”

“I say, my lurid linen, in a preposterous show of stubbornness, steadfastly holds its shape, my American paramour.”

“I’m gonna hold my uncooperative towel away from the table to give it a vigorous shake, Miss Plumtartt.”

-bhull-phuh-

“Your napkin disintegrates into a cloud of dust and falls to the floor in a neat little pile, Mr. Temperance.”

“Miss Purvey may have used too much starch, Ma’am.”

“I believe I see her amongst the bustle of tonight’s activities. Excuse me! Oh, hello, there! Let’s see, maybe I shall ring this little porcelain bell to gain the attention of our laundress.
~tinkle,tinkle,tink~
Yes, that’s better. Oh, Miss Purvey! Miss Condolescense Purvey! May we have a word, please?”

“Gee, just look at the happy and affable face of Miss Purvey light up at the call of her name.”

“Charming, Mr. Temperance, however, she need not hitch up her skirts, as she swiftly trots and/or skips across the room to us.”

Her back of the throat laugh that gurgles as she speaks is fully engaged.

“Huh, huh, huh, ‘uhlo, Mums, aye-vening, suh. Huh, huh, huh, wot, huh, huh, huh, can Oi doose for ya? Huh, huh, huh.”

Her eyes twinkle in merriment and her round cheeks frame an upturned bow of a mouth. She is the very picture and embodiment of a sweet, happy girl. Her constant deep throat chuckles are a consistent part of her loving exuberance.

“I am disheartened to report that we are less than pleased with the linen services to date. It would bring us such joy if you could see to improving your skills in the all important position of our laundry girl. This gravely serious position is often overlooked in its difficulties and complexities. I am sure you will be able to improve your skills, should you apply yourself, my dear.”

The upturned bow of Miss Purvey’s mouth is pulled to the floor. The cheeks wash into a deathly pallor and then flush again in ugly red splotches. The jolly eyes are now brimming, no, make that overflowing, with a salty river of tears. Her face is suddenly sopping wet with fluids gushing from every orifice. The perpetual deep-throated laugh now turns to a gasping, stuttered sob.

“Huh, huh, huh. Oh, no! Huh, huh, huh. You’re not ‘appy! Huh, huh, huh. Doin’ deh laundwey ain’t easy! Huh, huh, huh. It’s HAW-WAWD!!! Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, ehnnnh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh...”

“Condolescense Purvey just ran from the room in complete emotional distress, crying her pitiful, and sensitive heart out, Ma’am. That poor little ol’ thing. We’ll have to see what we can do to get Miss Purvey feeling better and help get her straightened out.”

“Of course, Mr. Temperance.”

~sniff, sniff, sniff~ “
Hey, h
ere comes the food!”

“Yes, I say, it appears that our footmen from the stable have been recruited to serve dinner. My conjecture is the downstairs maids may consider themselves to be above such menial service.”

“They’re a little on the snooty side, all right, Ma’am.”

“Our cook, Miss Millicent Wallaby, has prepared a batch of singing hinnies for you, Sir and Madame. We hope you enjoy them!”

“Thanks, Jabez! They smell delicious, buddy!”

“Quite so, thank you, Mr. WilloughSickle.”

“These pastries look mighty fine, Miss Plumtartt. Rrr. Um, I can’t quite bite into mine, Ma’am.”

“This is a distressing conclusion when even
you
do not posses the mandibular strength to bite into said biscuit, Mr. Temperance.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. I ain’t never met a food I couldn’t chew through. Let me try this here nutcracker. Oops! I just broke your cast iron implement on the uncrackable cracker! I’m gonna try the butt of my pistol.”

“Take a care, Mr. Temperance, for this is proving detrimental to your revolver.”

“Tee, hee!” giggles Horbaz WilloughSickle as the grinning Scotsman presents an enormous tureen of soup. “I be thinking the coook ‘as prepared ye a loovely sooup. Aye! Tee, hee! The coook is a clever lass and has loo-cated a specialty ladle for the dispensation of ‘er extraor-r-r-r-rdeenair-reelee theeck sooop.”

“Hey there, Mr. Horbaz, sir. That there device presented for the serving of the soup is one that I believe is normally used in the serving of frozen dairy treats. It has a six inch handle. The ladle is in-line with the handle as opposed to being at the ninety degree mark. It is constructed of a heavier gauge metal than most kitchen implements. A thumb-activated lever works to swing a thin blade along the ladle’s bowl, thus freeing the contents from their delivery system.”

“Eh hem, I see that a modicum of strength is required for our Mr. WilloughSickle to fill the scoop with the, indeed, extraordinarily thick soup. In fact, you must scrape at the resisting surface several times to fill each of our portions. These begrudgingly drop from the sturdy little ladle with the assistance of the thumb activated scoop release. The device does though form the gel into admittedly charming spheres.”

“May I have that utensil, please, Mr. WilloughSickle?” Mr. Temperance indicates the awkward soup ladle. “Its construction has given me an idea.”

“Tee, hee! I give it freely, boot dinnae tell the cook where ye got it. Tee, hee!”

“Um, Miss Plumtartt? I’m finding that a few cautious pokes of the ‘soup’ with the tines of my fork is producing a creepy effect. Shudders pulsate through the crusted, gelled and pudding-like form that is very much like a dis-en-shelled mollusk or conch.”

“Yes, Mr. Temperance, as I conduct my own tentative, investigative, probes, I too suffer from a deep loathing at the unidentifiable tubes that withdraw within this brave new life form.”

“Maybe we should hold off before we dive in.”

“I foresee fish as the next course, Mr. Temperance. Let us hope that Miss Wallaby enjoys more success with her aquatic culinary adventures.”

“Oh, I think she will, Miss Plumtartt. I heard the page boy, Spike McGilligin, saying that we got in a nice, fresh batch of mackerel today. Why lookey here, I think it’s coming up now.”

“Eh hem, I see that our course of fish being served is a baked dish. ‘Stargazer Pie,’ I think it is called. It is noted for having the fish’s tails and heads protruding from the crust to assure the diner of a positive, fish presence.”

“Yes, Ma’am, I see that, but I’m thinkin’ this one may be under done, as the heads and tails that protrude from the golden flakey upper crust are still quite mobile. The tails are just-uh swishing in excitement at being invited to the party.”

“I see. The eyes loll and the mouths gasp in wonder, eh hem?”

“I really am pretty hungry, Ma’am. Do you think Millicent will let me have a piece of bread?”

“Ah, the tiny porcelain bell at my disposal has the good-humoured Jabez WilloughSickle trotting forward.”

“Bread for Mr. Temperance, please.”

“Yes, Mum, I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

“I like those grooms, Miss Plumtartt. Jabez and Horbaz let me do barn chores with them this afternoon.”

“Are you sure they were not somehow tricking you into doing their work for them?”

“Hunh? Well, knowing Horbaz, I reckon there may have been a bit of that, but that’s just part of his charm. I wouldn’t mind if they did fool me a little; I still enjoyed my time with them. Hey, here comes Horbaz. He’s carrying a tray with a large, domed lid.”