Downtrodden Abbey: The Interminable Saga of an Insufferable Family (9 page)

Atchew is unglued. Now the issue looms as to whether he is being rejected by Lady Marry because there is a potential new heir to Downtrodden, or simply because he is an absolute cretin.

Mrs. Patmimore’s eyesight continues to be a problem, and the morning after she serves an apple-lamb-sardine pudding, Lord Crawfish makes an executive decision. Nana will accompany Mrs. Patmimore to the city, where—while the cook goes “under the knife”—she will track down Mr. Brace’s mother and “grill” her about the mysteries surrounding her son.

“What would an attractive young woman like you want with my son?” asks Brace’s mum. “This guy has more baggage than Paddington Station during rush hour.”

Loudmouth soup.

She explains that after an embarrassing incident in the war—he tripped on his helmet—left him incapacitated, Brace turned to the bottle.

“He didn’t just turn to it,” Brace’s mother recounts. “He drank it. And it was full. When he started, that is. Minutes later, it was empty. Then he would open another and consume it as well. This created vast complications in his emotional life, his work life, and his marriage. He tried to stop, but could not. He felt powerless, held captive by the demon rum.”

“So you’re basically saying that he became an alcoholic,” Nana suggests.

“Hey, that’s my son you’re talking about, missy. Who are you to judge?”

O’Grotten overhears a conversation between Flora and Roderick in which they mention “giving O’Grotten the ax,” “firing O’Grotten,” “handing O’Grotten the ol’ pink slip,” “sacking O’Grotten,” and “canning O’Grotten’s posterior.”

She asks Tomaine how best to interpret what she has heard.

“I’m no genius,” he says, “but I would say your days at Downtrodden Abbey are numbered. The writing is on the wall.”

“You’re right on the first count,” O’Grotten acknowledges. “You’re definitely no genius. I mean, who matches purple velvet trousers with a crimson wool vest? But, whatever.

“As far as my days being numbered and the writing being on the wall, I think what you are describing is commonly referred to as a ‘calendar.’
Duh
.”

“Point taken. Nonetheless, have you considered going back to school? There is all sorts of financial aid available to unattractive, humourless, chain-smoking housekeepers. Nor would I rule out a rugby scholarship. A heifer with shoulders like yours could get a full ride to Oxford.”

“I happen to have quite a bit of rapport with Handsom, the driver,” O’Grotten snarls.

But the notion of attending university does capture O’Grotten’s imagination, and she elects to enroll in a physics course at a nearby university.

O’Grotten attends a lecture explaining the history of using slippery objects as a means of sabotage, which gives her an idea for her final project.

Insisting that Countess Flora smells wonderful and delaying her need to bathe for several days, O’Grotten sneaks into Flora’s bathroom and takes its measurements. She returns the next evening to install a series of small pulleys and monofilament wires, which she attaches to a lubricated banana skin she came across in Tomaine’s bedroom. She then connects this apparatus to a lever on Lady Crawfish’s bidet.

As Flora takes her first bath in days, she remarks to O’Grotten about the smell of banana permeating her nasal cavity.

“I can even detect it over your incessant smoking,” she says.

O’Grotten shrugs. “How curious,” she replies.

“You take such good care of me, O’Grotten,” says Flora, offering a rare compliment to her maid as she steps out of the bath. O’Grotten hits the switch on the bidet, and the banana peel moves into place. But as Flora steps into her robe, she knocks into O’Grotten, who steps on the oily fruit skin. Her feet fly out from under her, and she lands on her buttocks.

Flora can barely applaud, her laughter is so overwhelming.

“
And
you keep me blessedly entertained. Bravo, O’Grotten! Who knew you could so expertly execute a pratfall? I may just write a part for you in the script I have in progress.”

As O’Grotten pursues Workman’s Compensation benefits, Tomaine is confronted by a furious Tyresom over his accelerating kleptomania.

The telephone originally frustrated its users, until a second unit was produced.

“You know, I really don’t need this right now,” Tomaine whines. “In fact, I have a back-up plan. I want to be around men primarily, wear a fetching uniform, and have access to unlimited medication. I am considering joining the war effort as a nurse.”

Meanwhile, telephones are installed in Downtrodden Abbey, to Countess Vile’s continuing confusion.

“Explain it to me again, Roderick,” she implores her son.

“It’s simple, mother. You place your index finger into the holes corresponding to a series of seven digits that will route communication to a waiting recipient, who has also installed one of these devices. Once connected, you and the other party are able to conduct a conversation of any duration.”

Idiot, c. 1918.

“How utterly ludicrous,” Vile snorts.

Lord Crawfish sighs, shaking his head.

“Jesus Christ. They’re setting up Call Waiting next week—but I’m not even going to bother trying to explain
that
to you.”

There are rumours in the village that storylines are getting wrapped up and the family and staff flit nervously about the abbey, certain they are in the Age of Innocence, but not so sure that they are in the Age of Renewal. They have finally figured out what “the Season” is—and this could be it for Downtrodden Abbey. Therefore, all concerned are heavily invested in creating as much melodrama and gossip as possible.

Tomaine slaps Fodder on his way out. Marry makes a mess of things between Sir Stallion and Enid. Atchew tells Marry that he is sick of waiting for her to make up her mind, and he wants nothing more to do with her.

The residents seem numb and exhausted, no doubt a result of the over-the-top theatrics and physical demands of their interpersonal relationships. They are so spent that they have no reaction to a telegramme Flora reads after dinner, announcing that England is at war with Germany.

The telephone rings, which gets everyone’s attention—especially Vile’s.

“What is that infernal ringing?” she asks.

“Mother, please,” Lord Crawfish moans. “Do we have to go through this again?”

Tyresom answers the phone. “It’s for you, Wren,” he says.

The diminutive housemaid scampers over and takes the receiver.

“Hello? Yes. Oh, you did, that’s grand. What did you think? Uh-huh. Right. I see. Okay…”

“Let’s get on with it, Wren,” says Lord Crawfish. “You’re holding up the serving of the potted grouse.”

Wren puts down the receiver.

“It was my agent,” she says. “I’m absolutely gobsmacked. I mean, he has some notes, but the bottom line is—he absolutely
loved
my screenplay.”

Tyresom and Flora try desperately to hide their jealousy.

“This does indeed overshadow the news of war,” Lady Crawfish exclaims. “But tell me—is he by any chance taking on additional clients?”

Part Two

The Second Part

VIII

Hair Apparent

“Why do they call it ‘The Great War’?” Atchew asks a compatriot as they share a foxhole in the British trenches. “I mean, what’s so great about sitting in a wet ditch and singing Irving Berlin songs?”

“You know something? I can see why you’re having so much trouble with women,” says his fellow soldier. Little does he know that Lieutenant Atchew is also hung like a gnat.

The year is 1916. At Downtrodden Abbey, the Crawfish family and their servants are also doing their part for the war effort. Fodder tries to enlist but is initially rejected for answering his recruitment interview questions in German. Roderick claims he would be willing to fight for his country, but instead forms a local organization in which members invent war stories and share them whilst imbibing huge quantities of alcohol. This, he believes, is how the aristocracy can best lend its efforts.

Weeks later, Isabich visits Downtrodden to make a startling announcement: her son Atchew is returning from the front, and will soon come back to the Abbey with his new fiancée … Slovenia Swine. Enid is all too happy to break this news to Marry, who responds by popping the inside of her cheek with her index finger and uttering the words “Big whoop.”

“For your information, I happen to be rather taken with a new suitor myself, Mister Dick Calamine,” says Marry. “He’s quite successful in the paper business.”

“Newspaper?” Enid asks.

“Not exactly. It’s toilet paper, actually. With advanced plumbing now commonplace, he smelled money, and he’s absolutely cleaning up. Started his company just a few months ago, and he’s already flush. He works his ass off, and—if things don’t tank—he should be rolling in profit soon.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Brace uses his yearly afternoon off to attend his mother’s funeral. He is doubly sad, as it is his fervent wish that his wife, Viral, would inhabit the grave as well. Viral does not even have the decency to leave Brace alone with his feelings during this difficult time. She not only attends the ceremony, but eats well more then her fair share of cold cuts afterwards, and attacks the dessert table with the fervour of a rugby fullback.

Upon his return to Downtrodden, Brace proposes to Nana, who reminds him that he is still married.

“How about this?” he suggests. “I give Viral my inheritance, and she grants me a divorce.”

“Oh, great,” says Nana. “So then I’ve not only got an old and crippled husband, but a destitute one. I’ve got a better idea—you give me the inheritance, and you can stay married to Viral.”

“Jeez, Nana, I was just spitballing.”

“Well, I’d just as soon tell you to murder your wife than marry a penniless valet—”

“Wait—what was that? Me, murder my wife?”

“Mr. Brace, relax. It’s just an expression.”

*   *   *

Atchew arrives with Slovenia Swine. She is skinny, pale, and sickly, and no one wants to touch her or give her so much as a glance, but aside from that she is welcomed to Downtrodden Abbey. Marry pretends to like Slovenia so that she can accompany Atchew back to the train and declare her unwavering love for him.

“How can you say it is ‘unwavering’?” asks Atchew. “You’ve changed your mind more often about me than Doozie McKay changes costumes.”

“Who’s Doozie McKay?”

“He’s a quick-change artist. He’s got a show playing in the West End. Drat! I really thought that was a clever reference.”

“Look, I think we could use a break,” Marry suggests.

Atchew reminds her that he is going back to fight in the war.

“Okay,” she says. “That’ll work. And by the way, take your time returning home.”

Viral arrives at Downtrodden to let Brace know that she has no plans to grant him a divorce, and furthermore, the garage is full of his odds and ends and needs to be cleaned out. She threatens to wait Brace out if he is not compliant.

“I can’t believe this. You’re actually going to compromise the future legal possession of Downtrodden Abbey over a dirty garage in South London?”

“It’s the principle.”