Poem: Dumka Bohuna; or, Ogniem i Mieczem in 16 stanzas

 because naturally when waiting for Kindle to get its act together one sits and turns an epic book into poetry. 

Dumka Bohuna

 

She was fair as the day, with her eyes dark as night;

He adored her, but filled her with fear!

To avoid his harsh love, she was forced into flight,

To escape and find her own true dear.

 

He rode through the night across all the steppe wild,

With his sabre loose, ready to draw,

And his heart hammered loud in his pain and his pride,

Until he could scarce bear it more.

 

He rode for his freedom, he rode for his love,

And the blood in his ears sang like steel

Which is hammered and quenched until it is proved;

Til his heart was too battered to feel.

 

He rode into battle; in frenzy he fought,

And his foes died like flies on his blade;

But still he was reft from the one whom he sought,

And vanished and gone was that maid.

 

She had fled to the arms of an enemy knight,

And the Cossack was shamed to the core;

He had fought to come home to his dearest delight,

Now there’s nothing left worth fighting for.

 

 

***

 

 

There’s a thousand long lances low to advance;

Behind face guards the visages grim;

And the line’s gaining speed as they move from the prance

To the gallop with vigour and vim.

 

The front rank of hussars meet hard-planted spears,

Though the shock knocks the pikemen aside;

Through the screams of the horses and stench of their fear

On into the foemen they ride.

 

The mud slows the horses, they falter and fall,

And their riders then tumble in mud;

The bright wings are taken, ‘No Mercy!’ the call;

Bright red clothing drips red with their blood.

 

But the knights of the wings rallied stronger again,

And they fell on the Cossack horde wild;

Showing the mettle of disciplined men

‘Gainst the rebels of honour defiled.

 

Yet the Cossacks fought on and they would not concede,

And belief in their cause drove them on;

Til the knight in the fortress in desperate need

Must then pray for relief from the crown.

 

They were caught in a trap and their glory brought low,

Of all that they needed bereft;

And the bravest of all was the first man to go

To bring aid to the ones who were left.

 

He died in a hailstorm of arrows they fired,

And his body displayed to his friends;

And hungry, despairing and terribly tired,

The maid’s knight to the king for amends.

 

Exhausted he fell when he reached his need’s goal,

And collapsed at the feet of the king!

Now relief might be sent, he had fulfilled his role,

And his fame assured, everlasting.

 

***

 

The battles were done, and the rebels made terms,

Too exhausted to fight any more.

Save the Cossack who loved and whose ardour still burns

And who rode singlehanded to war.

 

***

 

He was brought in a noose to his maiden’s true love,

Like a dog on a lead was displayed;

And though he prayed for death, cruel mercy was proved,

When released, for the love of the maid.

 

Penelope's Pups 16 bonus bonus bonus chapter

 

Chapter 16

 

“Well, young Penelope, wha’s tae dae wi’ ma bonny Daisy?” said Dr. Macfarlane.

“Come awa’ ben, and I’ll gi’ ye the whull bawr forebye,” said Penelope.

Graham raised an eyebrow. Penelope was not a girl to mock, for all her facility with mimicry. So she was using it to conceal what she said from anyone who was unfamiliar with his idiom.

“Aye, iph’m,” he said, with a nod.

Penelope waited until they were on the first landing before filling in Graham fully.

“And though it’s the shooting at Julian which has upset Daisy, that wretched bishop is downstairs, arrived before breakfast if you please!,” she finished.

“Is Daisy abed voluntarily?” asked Graham.

“No, she’s spitting nails, but Julian is very firm at times,” said Penelope. Graham heaved a deep sigh of relief.

“Ma bonnie ween, you relieve my mind wonderfully. I was sair worrit tae think of Daisy choosing bedrest.”

“Oh, I am sorry, Dr. Mac! I didn’t mean to worry you, but Julian didn’t want her killing a bishop or calling him any of the things in the works by Horace most of us aren’t allowed to read.”

Graham laughed.

“Definitely you set my mind at rest,” he said.  “Tell Lady Herongate I’ll join her in the breakfast room shortly.”

“Had you eaten? Only they were clearing.”

“I hadn’t, but I’ll manage.”

“Havers! I’ll put a sandwich together for you,” said Penelope, running off to leave him to tap at Daisy’s door.

Graham laughed. Penelope had come on no end, and had almost lost her stutter.

She found that Henderson was about to clear the table.

“I need to make a sandwich for the doctor,” she said, absently snagging a rasher of bacon to eat.

Henderson assisted as Penelope put together an egg sandwich, well peppered, from the left over buttered egg, and a bacon sandwich, putting both between two plates. She ran up with it, and a fresh cup of tea, and knocked.

Julian answered.

“For Doctor Mac,” said Penelope.

“Oh, good girl,” said Julian. “He’ll be down presently.”

Daisy was chuckling at something Graham had said to her, so Penelope felt much heartened.

Hermione stuck her head out of her bedroom.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“The bishop turned up,” said Penelope. “Get all the girls to wear demure muslins and loan Veronica one if she has nothing plain, hair in plaits, and tell Miss Wyatt to try to be dowdy. Lady Herongate is set on making the bishop feel as guilty as possible; she remembers him as a little boy.”

Hermione giggled.

“One gaggle of demure schoolroom misses coming up; shall I help you plait your hair?”

“Yes please: he rather took me by surprise,” said Penelope.

 

When she got back into the breakfast room, it was to find Lady Herongate and Sir Brabazon on high, uncomfortable looking high-backed chairs, which she knew by experience were more comfortable than they looked. They were back to the window, along with the other men. Henderson and a footman were putting out chairs for the other girls. A chair was set for the bishop, more or less facing the men and Lady Herongate. It was one of the delicate Louis Quattorze chairs Lady Herongate kept in the vestibule for unwanted visitors, being as uncomfortable as it was decorative, with a shiny satin seat which was hard to stay sat on without sliding.

Abby stared at the demure figure she made with shock.

Penelope beamed.

“I am sure Dr. Mac and Julian will be down shortly,” she said. “Should Henderson bring in a day bed and put it to the other side of the tribunal, with a chair for Julian to further conceal m’lud’s intentions?”

“You are a bad girl, Penelope,” said Lady Herongate happily. “Henderson!”

“I’ll bring in the bishop so he can witness Daisy carried in,” said Penelope.

Hermione would lurk for a good strategic time after the Bishop had been conveyed through.

Penelope privately thought it might be fun to do this to the vicar, but if the bishop was sufficiently intimidated, the vicar would suffer for it.

She went into the blue salon.

“Lady Herongate is ready to speak to you now, my lord,” she said, bobbing a curtsey.

“Are you the same child I met before? Miss Belfield? Surely you are not old enough to get married?” demanded the bishop.

“Oh, quite old enough in law, my lord, but Aunt Augusta wants me to have another year of schooling and a season,” said Penelope, who was well aware that her stunted size allied with wearing her hair in plaits made her look no older than twelve. “I am sorry that you caught me in relative dishabille this morning; I was not looking for visitors so early.”

“Er, no, indeed,” said the Bishop. He and his equerry  followed her meekly through, and Penelope went to take her place on one of the chairs set out for the girls, after the pattern of twelve good men and true.

“Take a seat, Tommy Trotter, and when my nephew and the guardian of the orphans is here, you can tell me your plans for hell’s vicar,” said Lady Herongate.

The bishop seated himself gingerly on the spindly chair and the equerry looked for a moment as if he was going to collect a chair for himself, received a glare from Lady Herongate, and stood behind his employer’s chair.

The other girls trooped in, shepherded by Miss Wyatt, whose auburn hair was strained back and hidden under an ugly cap. The bishop rose, perforce, as did the other gentlemen, but the bishop had to overcome the tendencies of his chair to slide him off rather than to rise. The girls sat silently and demurely, looking down at their folded hands. Then Graham Macfarlane stalked in and went to the empty seat, followed by Julian carrying Daisy, wrapped in a quilt. This necessitated the bishop rising again for Daisy.

Daisy had been outraged at playing the invalid, but Julian had pointed out that any woman with less fortitude might have lost a child from shock, and that she owed it to all womankind to get rid of Gore-Sheldon.

Daisy sank onto the daybed managing to look exhausted.

“Daisy, should you have come down?” Lady Herongate did not have to dissemble her concern.

“I don’t want to lie up there alone, not knowing if that horrid man is going to attack us again,” said Daisy. “He’s a madman! Suppose he chose to accuse us of not being properly married because we were married in Brighton, not by him? He has some unreasoning antipathy to the family! And I don’t know why, because my sisters and I never saw him before!”

“Sshh, my love, the bishop will get rid of him,” said Julian. “Perhaps he just gets a thrill out of attacking little girls, especially if he thinks them orphans and so unprotected.”

“I don’t suppose for one moment that the Reverend Gore-Sheldon intended to attack anyone ...” began the bishop.

“Oh, are you going to try to cover up slandering the blameless girls my aunt invited as company for young Pen?” demanded Julian, leaping up and louring over the bishop.

“How dare ye, ye shilpit wee sumpf, juist because ma girrrrls are orphaned and a’ alone in the worrrld, and nae doot ye think the same of wee Daisy, Mrs. Nettleby, that is?” demanded Graham.

“And I wonder at you condoning calling any young girl debauched and licentiouous, and to do so in front of the two of us who are fathers of two of the girls, implying that we have sold their honour takes defamation to the King’s Magistrate, namely me!” roared Sir Brabazon. “A ‘so-called house-party encouraging debauchery and licentiousness’ is what he said. How do explain that as not meaning an attack?  I wrote down his words at the time, and I asked every village worthy to sign that it was a true deposition of what he said.”

“The fine legal mind,” said Lady Herongate, approvingly. “So, Tommy, what are you going to do about him?”

The bishop was spluttering.

“I ... I did not realise it was so ... so bad,” he said. He so was dead when he gave the report to the Archbishop. “I ... I thought that if an apology was read out in church ...”

“Insufficient,” said Lady Herongate, coldly. “It will go to law.”

“But Lady Herongate! The scandal!” cried the bishop. “It ... it might damage the prospects of the young ladies ...”

“The scandal is in a malicious attack on the reputations of the young ladies in public,” said Lady Herongate. “I have to take it to law or there will always be whispers of no smoke without fire, and their prospects have already been damaged by your vicar, appointed by you, your representative.”

Bishop Trotter had never felt so much in need of Divine Intervention. He wiped his sweating brow with a kerchief.

“I ... perhaps your lawyers can meet with mine ... settle out of court ...”

“I doubt any court in the land would set damages at less than three thousand apiece for the loss of reputation,” said Sir Brabazon. “Including the unfortunate Miss Wyatt, a governess of impeccable character, who is essentially, along with Lady Herongate, accused of being an Abbess.”

“I ... yes, three thousand apiece for the eight ladies ...”

“No, my lord bishop, nine ladies; you forget Lady Herongate. Plus her niece by marriage and her nephew, whose heir is threatened by the stress and strain; myself and Wincanton for being accused of selling our daughters, and my son and the other four young men, including your own curate, another employment-affecting accusation, who are essentially called rakes,” said Sir Brabazon. “And I echo Lady Herongate’s question, what are you going to do about this fellow?”

“I ... my diocese could not afford that,” whispered the bishop, calculating rapidly.

“That’s not my problem,” said Sir Brabazon. “Remember, it might be more if it goes to court, plus the costs of the case. Mrs. Nettleby may be an orphan technically, but she is also the granddaughter of a duke, and can bring a lot of pressure to bear. I am not badly connected myself.  However, we might permit ourselves to be argued down a little if we know that the Gore-Sheldon fellow is going to be duly punished for his contumely.”

“I ... I was thinking of sending him to sea,” he said. “And I will personally apologise from the same pulpit next Sunday.”

“Why should poor sailors have to have him?” said Hermione. “My brother’s a midshipman and he doesn’t want someone like that horrid man.”

“Sea? The only sea I want to see him in is the Marshalsea,” growled Mr. Wincanton, naming the notoriously unpleasant debtors’ prison. “That’s my little girl he defamed, as well as essentially saying my son and I are debauchers.”

“I want him unfrocked,” said Daisy. “I want him to know what it’s like to be destitute, like the people he is always castigating as ungodly and blasphemous for caring more about where the next meal is coming from than in worrying about the right form in which to cast their prayers. And I want to make sure that he cannot hide behind the skirts of the Mother Church to spread his calumnies so that nil disputandum cui mendax est.”

“Nobody disputes who the liar is, my love, my flower,” crooned Julian.  His voice sharpened to address the bishop. “Send your lawyers to talk to ours; we will all be represented by my lawyers who also represent the orphanage, Mr. Andrew Embury, who has received the deposition carried by my friend, Matt Hobson, who came to see you. And see that Gore-Sheldon is unfrocked, and that the apologies comes from you, directly, on Sunday. I am sure your lawyers will extract as much as they can from Gore-Sheldon for his failure to fulfil his contract as a man of God.”

“Yes ... indeed,” said the bishop. 

He almost stumbled out, not daring to ask for another cup of coffee.

“Vae victor, vae victis,” said Daisy.

“You’re more interested in the ‘woe to the vanquished’ in getting him defrocked, than the ‘spoils to the victor,’ I know,” said Julian, “But it is right and proper that those people who could really suffer from his words, like Miss Wyatt, Mr. Golightly, Matt Hobson, and any of the girls should have compensation. And, for that matter, Miss Vane’s mother, who could be accused of sending her to a house of iniquity it could affect her remarriage chances. Sir Brabazon’s name as a magistrate is called into question; and no man wants to be called the unpleasant names which were implied. If I weren’t a personal friend, I could lose my contract to write children’s books for the orphanages, Abby and Sin could be unable to marry and carry on their family names, consider the insult if someone asked Mr. Wincanton how much he charged for a night with Sylvia! The money counts. It has to hurt the bishop to make sure he is more careful in future; if it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t count.”

 

Matt Hudson came into the room.

“Was that the bishop, leaving?” he said. “I filed all the paperwork. Mr. Embury was very pleased to represent everyone.”

“The bishop wants to settle out of court,” said Daisy.

“Of course he does, Mrs. Nettleby,” said Matt. “The clerk of the court was almost salivating at how much he might get out of such a juicy case, he didn’t think the damages would come to much less than five zeroes.”

“More than my estimate,” said Sir Brabazon. “Indeed, around twice as much, but a clerk of the court will know more about what sort of damages are set for such things than a country magistrate. Does Mr. Embury know?”

“Oh, yes,” said Matt, happily. “He was rubbing his hands gleefully.”

“We agreed to let him pay a little less for giving a personal apology and unfrocking the fellow,” said Daisy. “But that’s to be argued over by lawyers.  You look uncommonly happy, Matt.”

“I am; it was most enjoyable representing persons of standing in court, not being in a situation to be looked down upon,” said Matt. “Moreover, as I rode back up here, I heard a rumour that Ned Atherton is taken.  Only I thought I’d bring the news that I have completed my commissions before going out to verify the rumours.”

“Have you had breakfast, Mr. Hobson?” asked Lady Herongate.

“I had some gruel  and coddled egg some hours ago,” said Matt.

“Henderson will send you up coffee, and eggs and bacon,” said Lady Herongate.

“Thank you kindly, ma’am,” said Matt.

 

penelope's pups 10

 

Chapter 10

 

Penelope was glad the dance was not too prolonged; Miss Vane protested of course. Penelope however slipped to bed, to find that there was a set of male attire laid out on her bed. Mr. Rivers had come into her bedroom?  That was very forward of him! She ought to be shocked, but it actually gave her a delicious little shiver.

She went to bed and dreamed a deliciously naughty, if rather vague, dream that Mr. Rivers’ clothes at her side on the bed had become magically filled with Mr. Rivers.

Getting up, it was also rather a thrill to put on garments which, though obviously washed in the meantime, had been in intimate contact with Abby Rivers.

Hermione, poked into getting up, blinked.

“You’re surely not going down like that?  What if anyone sees you?” asked Hermione.

“I was going to p-p-pull on an opera cloak and cover it all,” said Penelope.

“Oh! Well that should do. I am not going to fight, and I might turn away if it is horrid.”

“You w-won’t; you’ll wonder if N-Nicostratus knows the m-moves,” said Penelope.

“You know me too well,” said Hermione.

They crept out of the house after drinking milk and cutting a lump of bread and cheese, for which the stable boy was later unjustly blamed, but as neither knew this, they could not own up. Then they sneaked into the barn and Hermione held the ladder for Penelope to climb up and lash it more securely so Hermione could climb up behind her. They ate their bread and cheese and waited for the cheerful voices of the men. 

All the men of the house party came in. Charles had overcome his attitude to be asking for some pointers. They duly paired off and sparred. Nobody seemed to be hitting too hard this time. There was much banter, not all of which Penelope and Hermione understood.

Abby glanced up at the hay loft and looked right into Penelope’s eyes and flushed red. The blush went all the way down his pale, but hard-looking torso. He had delicious little curls above the top of his breeches, Penelope noticed, which ran up in a line of softer hair between nicely defined muscles and trickled into a light fuzz on his chest. It made her catch her breath because she wanted to get her fingers into that curly hair below his waistline and fiddle with it.

She should certainly never think about anything to do with Mr. Rivers reciprocating such a liberty.

She stuffed the fingers of one hand in her mouth to stifle the urge to make odd noises.

The men sparred for an hour or so, resting, and changing partners, and then left in apparent conviviality. Except Abby Rivers.

Penelope swung her legs over the hay loft and ran down the ladder.

“Are you still keen?” asked Abby. “I’d forgotten we’d all be half-naked and talking in a way a lady should not hear.”

“I didn’t understand most of it and I don’t think Hermione did either,” said Penelope.  Hermione waved shyly from the hay loft. 

“Just as well,” said Abby, blushing again.  They had been teasing Matt Hobson rather hard about his reactions to Hermione Driscoll ... and other views on display. And Miss Driscoll up there listening ... “I’m sorry about the, uh, male talk ... nobody was watching what was said.”

“You were teasing Mr. Hobson about something,” said Hermione, accusingly. “I nearly came to tick you off; he isn’t very well born, but he’s trying very hard, having been coerced into being part of the party.”

“Er, yes, well, it would have embarrassed him no end if you had spoken up,” said Abby.

“I don’t think it’s fair,” said Hermione. “I know he’s got horrid scars on his back, which I never knew but if you were teasing him about that, it’s not nice.”

“Oh, no, it was about something from the ball,” said Abby, hastily. “They are nasty, aren’t they? He was apprenticed to a chimney sweep but he ran away and made himself useful to a Bow Street Runner, and got trained on the job as you might say. His old master was hard and cruel. He has burn scars on his legs too, apparently.”

“Poor man,” said Hermione, softly. “He’s very adaptable.”

“Yes, I have every admiration for him,” said Abby.  “Now, Miss Belfield, if you want to fight,  you have to learn how to make a fist, and how to punch from the shoulder not from the wrist or elbow.” He showed her how to make a fist, and manoeuvred her fingers.

He made Penelope punch bales of hay at first, and took her fist in his hand to punch, showing her the movements as well as explaining to her. Penelope was very aware of the scent of his sweat, and the heat of his body.

At last he pronounced her proficient to try to punch him.

“What if I hurt you?” said Penelope.

“What if you do? I’ve a number of bruises from this morning, and a few more will make little difference. Besides, I doubt you’ll be hitting me as hard as Julie can.”

Penelope conceded this and tried to punch him. Mostly she seemed to get his guarding arms.

Then he started jabbing at her, pulling his blows so he did not touch her at all.

“Did you ought to go easy on me?” asked Penelope.

“Yes; a man doesn’t touch a lady’s chest,” said Abby, flushing again. “Besides, you wanted to learn how to defend yourself; you weren’t setting up to be a female pugilist were you?”  

“No, I wasn’t. Do they exist?”

“Yes, and half the attraction to the crowd is that they fight bare chested too,” said Abby, grimly. “And it ain’t much in the way of science, more milling and hair-pulling.”

“It sounds silly,” said Penelope.

“Yes,” said Abby. “Now, you’re going by Broughton rules, which all bouts, amateur and professional, are fought under, but when we’ve got you punching hard, if you really need to fight, you’d do better ignoring the rule of no hitting below the belt and to concentrate ...” he winced and pointed, “...here on a man. It’s tender.”

“Oh, I see. And it is important to miss anywhere that important for ...er, recreational fights,” she said, blushing.

“Quite,” said Abby.    

“It doesn’t matter a lady touching a gentleman’s chest?”

“It’s not recommended but we don’t have ...hrrrrm... bosoms.”

“I think my bosoms come without the ‘hrrrm’, you know,” said Penelope. “It does go all the way down when you blush, I’m s-sorry, I shouldn’t r-really try to make it.”

“I suspect you are a bad girl,” said Abby, not objecting as she hesitantly put a hand flat on his chest. “I don’t think that’s a valid boxing move.”

“I’m a bit tired, and needed a prop,” said Penelope. “Actually, I am tired and I think I stopped learning. Can we do it again?”

“Every morning, if you want,” said Abby. “Now you need to slip back inside.”He removed her hand from his chest.

The barn door opened.

“Abby? Who ... Miss Belfield?” It was Julian.

“M-Mr. R-Rivers is t-teaching me to d-defend m-myself,” said Penelope, colouring up. 

“I’m here as a chaperone,” said Hermione, sticking her head over the hay loft.

“I see,” said Julian. “Do you have any other clothes, Miss Belfield?”

“I have a cloak,” said Penelope.

“Well, if you put that on while Rivers dresses, I’ll walk you inside and he can walk Miss Driscoll back,” said Julian. “I’m not sure what your preceptresses would say about this.”

“Mrs. Belvoir usually s-says to g-grab any educational advantage that you can,” said Penelope.

 

Penelope enjoyed a last look at Abby’s lean, muscular chest and belly as he pulled his shirt over his head. Stretching to do so revealed a few more of those delicious dark curls where his trousers covered the lower part of his torso. Then he was tucking his shirt in over them, and Penelope wished she was helping. His waistcoat went on unbuttoned and his coat over the top, and he changed pumps for top boots. Hermione slithered down with Penelope’s cloak, and Penelope put it on, pulling it about herself, pleased that Abby was taking a covert last look at her slim figure in his trousers before it was hidden.

Julian took her arm and they left the barn.

Julian stopped her, and as she turned her hood fell back. He looked seriously into her face.

“I like Abby a lot,” said Julian, softly, “And he swears he has given up gambling. But I want to keep an eye on him. Don’t go losing your heart to him, Pen, because he still needs to find himself. And he’s a bit of a rogue. Enough of one to be  attractive, I know. He knows you have no fortune, and it might be that he’s genuinely attracted to you. But be careful.”

“Of course, Julian,” said Penelope.”I appreciate the brotherly warning.”

“Well, I’m glad you take it so well.”

“There was no other way to t-take it,” said Penelope.

She and Julian were both unaware that they had been watched by Ned Atherton, who had found himself a vantage point from which to watch the house guests if they should venture out. Both were also unaware of the fact that Ned Atherton knew that Julian was married and that his wife was blonde and that she was pretty.

Julian’s solicitude for someone he considered a sister-in-law made Mr. Atherton leap to some wild and erroneous conclusions.

 

 

It was a fine day, sharp and crisp, with some high cirrus cloud, so Hermione, Sylvia and Laetitia decided to go out with Penelope when she went to walk the dogs.  Abby joined them, and so did Mr. Hobson.

“While that fellow is around, it’s not a bad idea to have men around when you go out,” he said.

“What fellow?” asked Charles.

“The one your father demonstrated a nice piece of science on, Mr. Kendry,” said Hobson. “Old schoolfriend of Mr. Nettleby’s; took against Mr. Nettlby for foiling an illegal scheme he had, and has tried to kill him already.”

“Oh, I’ll come then,” said Charles. “Golightly, fancy a walk with the chance of some sport?”

“Oh, rather,” said the curate. He and Charles appeared to have struck up a friendship.

“More pleasant out from under the d-dour nose of your vicar, I imagine,” said Penelope.

“Lud, yes,” said Mr. Golightly. “The choir call him ‘The Pharisee’ or ‘The Whited Sepulcre’ and he hasn’t yet realised that they think him a canting hypocrite. I, however, fear that he is perfectly genuine and serious, and every time he comes out with something which makes any ordinary decent Christian cringe, I almost hear another paving slab go down as he enthusiastically builds his own pavement to Hell.”

“P-perhaps Aunt Augusta should ask the b-bishop for a replacement,” said Penelope.

“Well, I would, in her shoes, but I’m not and it would be a cheek to ask it,” said Golightly. “He’ll probably thunder from the pulpit tomorrow about Mammon and the  sins of the flesh, by which he will mean Lady Herongate and her house party, so she might lose her rag.”

“That w-would be amusing,” said Penelope.

“Pen! How can you? Lady Herongate is terrifying!” said Laetitia.

“I d-don’t find her so,” said Penelope, amused. “I believe I l-love her very much.”

“She has a wicked sense of humour, which I missed before,” said Abby. “Here, Flurry, don’t go and roll in it again, once was enough.”

“Why do they always roll in fox dung?” sighed Penelope. “And then they look all hangdog and sheepish when they realise how badly they smell.”

“Let’s hope Sir Humphrey Eldhome and his hunt don’t decide to hunt Flurry because she’s the size and colour of a fox and now smells like one,” said Hermione, dryly.

“He’s in enough t-trouble with the courts for causing actual bodily h-harm to some of our girls when trespassing,” said Penelope. “I s-suspect that Aunt Augusta would b-bury him so deep in legal paperwork his s-skeleton would be found under it in fifty years’ time trying to crawl out. If she didn’t assault him with her parasol.”

“Like I said; terrifying,” said Laetitia.

“I’m l-looking forward to church now,” said Penelope, gaily. “I had b-been rather d-dreading it, but the th-thought of Aunt Augusta in f-full flow is an anticipation to be enjoyed.”

“You are a bad wench,” said Abby.

“You know I d-don’t permit people to call me a wench,” said Penelope.

“Lud, yes, she called me down for it,” said Charles. “Was in the wrong, mind. I ... well, nobody has made fun of my face.  Sorry to be a bit of a bear.”

“Well, that’s handsome enough,” said Abby. “Then I apologise for referring to you as Churlish Kennelled as an alternate name.”

“Churlish ... that’s damned witty, if pretty lowering,” said Charles, blushing.

“So, only one of our company renamed now,” said Abby. “Verruca Vanity.”

“Oh, how appropriate,” said Mr. Hobson, then flushed.

“What does ‘Verruca’ mean?” asked Sylvia.

“It’s a kind of wart,” said Abby.

Those who were similarly unsure of the vocabulary also sniggered.

“I like you more for naming people by personality not appearance,” said Charles.

Abby shrugged.

“Nobody can help their appearance,” he said.  “I dub the vicar ... what was he, Virgil Gore-Sheldon? Vinegar Bore-Sheepshead.”

Charles gave a crack of laughter.

“Sheepshead, someone who is all jaw,” he said. “I love it.”

“Vinegar as in someone sharp or in boxing cant, a man with a whip to keep people from invading the ring?” asked Hobson.

“Both,” said Abby. “I thought both appropriate, he’s sharp and seems to be smelling vinegar all the time, and I fancy he’s determined to whip any he can to keep from the kingdom of Heaven of his devising.”

It is a sad commentary on the vicar that nobody could take exception to Abby’s name and its explanation.