In which our heroine sees London
Previously a wedding and lots of peeps show up.
The newly wedded couple, Lord and Lady Wimpleseed-Prissypott, headed across Trafalgar and passed the statues of Lords Wellington and Nelson. As their carriage bypassed the great men, Prissypott saluted them with a right good salute, hearing a “well-done” whispered in his ear by the two greats. After all, in his younger days, he too had been an officer of the military persuasion and quite a good sportsman too, running the hounds and all. Then it was on to the Palace for the Queen and her blessing.
However, that wasn’t to be. Dunny and Marye, Lord and Lady Wimpleseed-Prissypott of Haggismarshe, were stopped by two Guards at the Gate of the Palace.
“I say, old boy,” Lord P. P. insinuated, “we’re here to see the Queen. We’re to receive her blessing.”
The tallest of the two tall guards, the one on the right, a rather good fellow responded, “There’ll be no queen-seeing today. Her Majesty is unavailable, sir.”
“She’s off dusting, you see,” the second of the two added. “The Queen’s prerogative, you know. Besides it’s Thursday, her day off. And you know how upset the Queen gets when she doesn’t get her day. It’ll be freaking nuts around here, that’s what it’ll be.”
“Perhaps that’s why she’s always sniffling with the sneezes,” Marye piped in. “From the dusting off. Leastways that’s what I have deduced from the papers.”
“I say, dear,” Lord P. P. offered, “ingenious deduction. You may very well be right. And I always induced that it was because Her Majesty was in mourning from the loss of her dear Albert.”
“Ain’t that a hoot?” Marye laughed. “I mean, my deducing.”
“A hoot?” the tall guard, the one on the right, the rather good fellow questioned. “What’s a hoot?”
“That’s American for … “ Marye started to say but didn’t. It would’ve spoiled the ruse they’d been rusing.
“Never you mind, old chap,” Dunnie piped in instead. “It’s a word in her ladyship’s native vocabulary. It is untranslatable into God-Save-the Queen English.” Turning to his ladyship, the old gent said, “Well, I know how disappointed you must be.”
“I am,” Lady P. P. said. “Disappointed, that is. What else would I be but disappointed?”
“How true, how true. I completely forgot Thursdays are Her Majesty’s day off. If we can’t see the Queen, we can’t see the Queen. Her Majesty will be so disappointed. She was looking forward to meeting your bosoms. I mean, your beautiful smile. I mean you. Well, you know what I mean?”
Lady P. P. most assuredly did know what he meant. His eyes had not removed themselves from her since that morning when they had done their “I doeses.”
Dunnie leaned out the window of the carriage and spoke to the driver. “Leavers, turn this thing around and take us home.”
Marye smiled, then laughed. P. P. was amazed.
“I am amazed,” P. P. said to his virginal bride.” Your optimism and all in the face of such disappointment. One could say that Her Majesty was rude if she weren’t Her Majesty and one were to say it. But she is Her Majesty. Therefore, she cannot be rude. She can only be majestic. How do you Americans keep up your optimism? I am always astonished that you in the colonies can be so cheery in the foggiest of Londons. All we English can do is keep our upper lips stiff, old girl.”
“Practice, I guess,” Marye said, admiring the sights as the good lord glanced approvingly at his pulchritudinous bride. “Besides it’s all a hoot anyway.”
They, the two of them plus Leavers that is, returned to Lord P. P.’s London residence. There the servants gathered up his luggage and his medications and his walker and his canes and her stuff too, and off they went down to the docks. They were to ship off on the Queen. Not The Queen Victoria, but the Queen Victoria, Empress of India, a ship of the Britannia line. Aboard the ship in their suite, the servants left the two and their luggage and went back to close-up the London residence.
Next week: The Honeymoon Suite