Lord Walpole felt himself moved as he sauntered across the parlour, Mademoiselle Fille's naked and fleshy rear displayed brazenly---nay! Wantonly, in his fevered path, her voluminous, satin gown, and multi-layered, crinoline petticoat (the whalebone band, in outermost hem, of which created a most, bewitching presentation...that of a glorious aureole...extending 'round her comely behind---in all directions---by nearly four feet!). Ever the master of restraint, Walpole abruptly halted his approach to take in this stunning, and ever so, long-awaited view, all the while drinking in, with smug delight, the conquered maiden's soft whimpers of desire, blessedly audible to his callous ears from the satin pillow the little hypocrite had pressed desperately to her moaning lips in a failed effort to muffle the disgraceful sounds and to assuage her systemic, upper-class, abject shame.
As he pondered whether or not to employ the fireplace poker which seemed to offer up its services so serendipitously at hand, that was when he heard it! A strange, rhythmic, yet, familiar sound...emanating from between the gargantuan, man-sized, Venetian vases beyond the harpsichord...and then, he saw them, his fury rising in direct proportion to his absolute and utter revulsion---the lust-emblazoned and bloodshot EYES of Winchley, that craven, grotesquely-disfigured, septuagenarian Deville!
As he pondered whether or not to employ the fireplace poker which seemed to offer up its services so serendipitously at hand, that was when he heard it! A strange, rhythmic, yet, familiar sound...emanating from between the gargantuan, man-sized, Venetian vases beyond the harpsichord...and then, he saw them, his fury rising in direct proportion to his absolute and utter revulsion---the lust-emblazoned and bloodshot EYES of Winchley, that craven, grotesquely-disfigured, septuagenarian Deville!
Aghast at his discovery, the old man gave a start, upsetting the vase nearest to him, sending it toppling, as he frantically moved to pull up his trousers all to the piercing accompaniment of the young Mademoiselle's horrified and blood-curdling screams! Walpole, now, with poker in hand, strode with steely-eyed and murderous intent towards the stumbling, wretched, old caretaker (whose main vein, now, quite flaccid---but still unbridled---flapped hither-and-fro in wide and spastic arcs, like a hapless snake disturbed by a gardener's hoe, and desperately seeking refuge back within its burrow against the blinding light of day).
"I...shall...E-VISC-ER-ATE you...you...you---wretched, foul and FILTHY miscreant of a misbegotten, snivelling CUR!" fumed the furious Lord of the manor as his servant, still moving, but failing miserably to pull up his trousers, stumbled, yet again. "AHHHHHHH!!! AHHHHHHHHH!!! AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" screamed the young maiden hysterically---her abrupt return to full standing position having sent the whalebone band of her petticoat violently to the floor, only to have it reverberate back up again, slapping the backside of her powdered wig with such force of magnitude that it flew several feet through the air, landing perfectly atop the poker held aloft by Walpole, momentarily halting him. "AHHHHHHH!!! AHHHHHHHHH!!! AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" the bald beauty shrieked, as her hands flew from her cheeks to the exposed wig cap.
"Nay...M-m-master---M-M-M-ERCY...!" sputtered Winchley, furtively poking his head out from behind the remaining, standing vase and waving his arms frantically about. "Ugh...!!!" grunted Walpole
Turning his head towards her, Walpole breathed in deeply through his nostrils, and quietly commanded, "Young lady, if you persist in this cacophony of ridiculous caterwauling, I shall use this instrument upon your person and directly within that delicate region which surely, no doubt, is the origin of your most foolish and monumentally-silly, ‘intellect’ so-named...." Gasping, the perplexed, child-woman, although, not altogether certain what the Lord had just communicated, made connection 'twixt the pointy object in his hand, the understated malevolence in his voice, and strangely, curious glint in eye, compelling her to freeze all sound and movement after both hands flew to mouth and cheek in petrified obeisance.
"Master---I din' know Ye was in 'ere...!" simpered Winchley, moving backwards, away from the vase, one hand ever attempting to raise the dirty trousers while the other held the wig over his privates.
"You dare to patronize me, you scurrillous, HIDEOUS wretch?! You---a profligate, pitiful, PEEPING TOM...as well as, a shameless, sordid, and sneaking LIAR...!" sneered Walpole
"Nay...nay...! 'Twas only takin' 'ere solitude, Master, from this cruel, mid-day's 'eat," he whined, nearly stumbling backwards "Sire---beggin' Yer lordly indulgence, Sire---'ave pity on an old, ugly, crippled man 'om Th' Good Lard, 'eemselfs 'as sorely forsaken! I BEG of Thee, Sire!" cried the cretinous, reptilian Methuselah.
"Ha! How very thoughtful of you to suggest ---you reprehensible, damnable, rebrobate of a worm-riddled wart! You shall, indeed...beg...!" leered the Lord, finishing silkily, sibilantly...all the while advancing, parrying, and thrusting....
(to be continued)
