A Study in Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 4)
Page 11
“Miss Plumtartt, did something about Mrs. Purrington look familiar to you?”
“You know, I think that there was a little something in her appearance that reminds me of someone we may have met recently.”
“I think it was her eyes. They seemed to favor somebody, but I’m not sure of who.”
“By Jove, Mr. Temperance, I knew there was something in her face that I felt I recognized, but I could not quite put my finger to it. I think you are on the correct track, sir.”
“Speaking of being on the right track, which way do we go now?”
“Please turn left onto the Ill-BeGotten ByeWay, Mr. Temperance.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
After about a hundred yards I look back. Sure enough, our bicyclical solitairian has turned in our direction.
Some distance down this lonely road we approach a handsome set of open, iron-barred gates set in a smart, red brick wall.
“Let us now pay an unscheduled visit to the WroughtteAufulle Estate. Shall we, Mr. Temperance?”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am.”
We enjoy our first glimpse of a primary color in fauna since our arrival in Crimpenmestylenshire as the clever horticulturist of the WroughtteAufulle Estate has managed to coax many rose bushes into bloom. Traveling up the clean white stones of the gently curving drive, we are taken with the serenity of this lovely English Home, bits of which peek out from an amazing amount and variety of happy fauna that threaten to strangle the home with invasive fragrant love.
Mary brings us to a stop before the front doors. I secure Mary and together, Miss Plumtartt and I trot up the three broad steps leading to the main entrance. We pause at the top on the spacious front porch, turning to look back across the landscape. The sun has availed itself of this timely opportunity to burn through the heavy gray masses of sad, dun-coloured clouds to warm our hearts and faces. Mary actually jumps and skips with a happy whinny of joy in the heart lifting sunshine. The clearing mists quickly dissipate into nothingness, granting us an unexpected expansive panoramic vision. We can see all the way to Plumtartt Manor, though she is probably almost a mile away. In this glorious view, she becomes framed in a sharp and vibrant rainbow that magically forms over the now picturesque valley. Dozens of birds burst into song at the joyous surprise of light and warmth.
Flowers, rainbows and cute, happy little ponies give way to an opening door that does not even wait to be knocked upon. Instead, a bright eyed young maid pops out.
“Hello! The WroughtteAufulle Estate has visitors! Ho, ho! I saw you through the window and beat you to the door, ho, ho! Come in, come in, my dearies.”
“Hullo? What’s this then? Do we have visitors, Lillie?”
A funny little fellow has wandered in to the chandelier enhanced foyer from within the house at the same time that we enter from outside. He is befuddled and bemused. Pausing at a glorious display of gladioli and phlox, he lazily stirs his tea and gives Miss Plumtartt and me a curious one sided smile from beneath his half lidded eyes but above the tiny pince-nez, clinging to his nose.
“Ho, ho, I think we, that is, you and the Signora, have visitors, you funny man!” Lillie laughs at her jolly employer. “But I have not even asked them their names or business! Ho, ho! Hee, hee! I shall go and fetch the Signora now and allow you to make your own introductions! Ho, ho, ho, hee, hee, hee!” Lizzie continues her giggle fit as she runs off in search of her mistress.
“Sorry about our girl, Lillie. She really is such a dear that we simply can’t bring ourselves to bring her in line. No harm done, with the silly thing though, I do hope you are not offended. My name’s Sforza. Actually my name is Persnicitus Snooteepahntz, but my wife is of such a strong willed nature that I felt it easier to assume her name as she was not as fond of my name, so much, so to speak, as she was, and is, in fact, you see, of me.”
“Howdy there, Mr. Sforza. My name’s Temperance and this here is Miss Persephone Plumtartt.”
“Not the Persephone Plumtartt! Isn’t this a surprise! What brings you to our door...”
A storm is heard moving through the house with strident velocity. The rustling of many layers of sumptuous fabrics fill the air as much as they fill the hallways, pushing a volume of air before them in a rising, perfumed wind. Building with intensity and charging the atmosphere with electric current, a loud, strong and vibrant woman’s voice makes itself known. The turbulent excitement quickly crashes on us as a side passage expels its hurricane hostess.
“Hey! Hello! What’s a this? I am-ah sitting in-ah my wonderful conservatory, how I loves that glass-paned, ornamental iron built domed circular room. It is like-ah the birdcage for-ah the-ah singing bird, but I am the singing bird and I sing not because I am sad like the caged bird of harsh reality. No! I sing-ah because I am so happy! Si! But then our little Lillie, she-ah comes to speak-ah to me. She says we have the guests. I say, ‘Who are these guests?’ and then she answers, ‘I don’t know?’ ‘I don’t know!’ Lillie, you welcome peoples into the house and you don’t know who they are? Maybe they are some tax collection service and I need to run them from the house with a riding crop? Henh? No? Are they the invaders from the Mars, maybe? But our silly Lillie, she just laughs, ‘hee, hee, hee,’ and says she-ah does not know! Bah! That impossible girl! It is a good thing I love her so much. Sometimes my-ah temper, she-ah gets the best of me-ah some-of-the-ah-times-ah. So I come and I look and what do I see? It is two wonderful little peoples-ah come-ah to see the beautiful Lady of ah the house, henh? The funny little chap in-ah the hat with-ah the goggles. And-ah the lovely girl! Oh! You are so pretty! Si! I must rush forward and grab you both up-ah in-ah the warm embrace? Si? Eezint dattah nice, henh? I must kiss you both. Ah-Smooch-Ah! Ah-Smooch-Ah! I just-ah got-ah hugg-ah you both some more, henh? My high heeled boots-ah grant me additional height and lever-ah-gey to my already delectable proportions! Si! In my great, voluminous dress, cinched waist, with corset worn on the outside allowing me to wear a very daring off the shoulder style of dress top, I am thinking I want-ah to hug these lovely peoples! I feel as if I have acres of flesh on display! Such wanton freedom! I am a happy woman! Come here my new little friends! I must crush you to my bosom in expression of my love! You two are so funny! Why do you struggle so? Resistance is futile! Ha, ha! I have you in my emphatically amorous embrace! Ha, ha! Ah--Smooch-Ah! Ah-Smooch-Ah! Ciao! my little English muffins, my name is Signora Francesca Angelina Marianna Sforza! Hello!”
I manage to wriggle my face free enough to draw breath and impart, “My name is Ichabod Temperance, this is Miss Persephone Plumtartt...”
“PERSEPHONE PLUMTARTT!!!” bellows Signora Francesca Angelina Marianna Sforza as she drops me to the floor and focuses her attention on Miss Plumtartt. “Oh! This is the girl for me, to be sure! She is-ah so smart! She is-ah so BEE-youteefull! Si! Oh! You and I, we are gonna be the good friends I think, si!”
With these words, Signora Francesca Angelina Marianna Sforza tucks Miss Plumtart into a cozy position under her arm and shoulder to sweep her into the parlor.
Mr. Sforza gives me a sleepy eyed shrug and nonchalantly strolls along after his volcanic bombshell of a wife. His multi-button rowed vest strains to contain the regally paunch pot belly upon which he balances his tea cup and saucer, as he eases along after his wife and Miss Plumtartt in a swaybacked pseudo-squire saunter.
Lillie gives me a disapproving look and shake of the head, then follows the others.
“I reckon I better get up off the floor and see where everybody went.”
Signora Francesca Angelina Marianna Sforza has Miss Plumtartt on a red velvet settee with her. Mr. Sforza has slumped into a peacock patterned wingback chair. I take the wingback opposite of Mr. Sforza.
“Oh Persephone, aren’t you the pretty girl, enh henh? You and me, sister, we are the full-figured girl, henh? I am happy to see corsets coming into the popular fashions.”
“I say, the effect is endearing to behold on the men in our lives, eh hem?”
“Oh, darling, behave, you precocious thing.”
“Ha, ha, I know what outfits you like, my little Snic-Snic!”
“I thought the tower of Pisa reminded you of your fourth husband, dear.”
“No, that’s the Eiffel Tower.”
“Ah, of course, darling.”
“Hee, hee, here I am, your Lillie, with the tea and crumpets. I hope you like them!”
“Lillie, crank up the Victrola for us please, dear.”
“Okay, Mr. Sforza, hee, hee!”
“I say, you have had much experience with matrimony, Signora, eh hem?”
“Ha, ha, oh yeah, sure, I knows all about marriage! Early and often, ha ha! I’ve been married more times than I can count! What number are you, Snic-Snic?”
“Officially, number five, but technically, number six.”
“Ha, ha, there you go!”
“Darling, look at the condiments with which this chap Temperance embellishes his drink. Tell me, do all Americans apply butter to their tea, old boy?”
“That’s-ah not-ah the all! He-ah puts the salt in there, too!”
“It’s just a little thing I picked up in the Himalayas, y’all. It’s kinda a local habit up there. The butter an’ salt make it easier to take in oxygen at high altitudes. Somehow, the habit kinda stuck.”
“That’s-ah very cutsey wootsey I thinks, you funny little U.S.A. man. I likes you. No! Signora Francesca Angelina Marianna Sforza tells the big-ah fib! Signora Francesca Angelina Marianna Sforza, she-ah loves this funny little guy that she can’t remember the name of, but she just-ah loves his funny little face! You and me, we have been around the world my friend, but you must ah-gree with me, there’s-ah no place, likes-ah the homes, eh henh?”
“Heck yeah, Mrs. Madame Signora Francesca Angelina Marianna Sforza, Ma’am, why Miss Plumtartt was just commenting how one of her father’s favorite sayings was, “Hope is in the House.”
Eee-Aye-rRoark!!!
Screeches the Queen of all Monsters.
A Milanese Mortar launches herself skyward. When the Red Angel of Naples reaches apogee, she extends her deadly talons to descend as a Tuscan Pterodactyl. I am as a mouse, transfixed by the awesome vision of my demise. Rapt by her terrible beauty, I am unable to move before the bloodlusty onslaught of the scarlet, Roman raven.
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.”
Chapter Seven.
Murder is Served.
“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. Temper
ance’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.”