Okay then, MrsLNP, batten down the hatches.
<strong>The Trials of Tansy, &c</strong>
<strong>Parte Ye Seconde</strong>
Summary: In our Firste, we made the acquaintance of Tansy, a buxom but guileless young serving wench who has come up from the West Country to the Big City in search of Fame, Fortune and something a bit more up-market than a fumble in the cow-shed with Farmer Tumbleweede?s swyne-herde?s seconde-beste apprentyce..,
Following a less than stellar performance under duress in the busy kitchens of Nottamun castle, she promptly learned that the wages of synne are sometimes paid uppe fronte. An en-angered Mistress Pennyecuick, the head cook, has packed her off with a canister of bath-water to the lair of the local Ogre and Wolfie, Sir Guy of Gisborne, a dark brooding presence whose reputation for dastardly deedes (most of them beginning with an ??r??) makes Bluebeard sound like a sweet fluffy pussycat.
We left our heroine as she paused at the kitchen door, asking a Questionne that would be on all our lips in her position, apprehensively or otherwise.
Will Tansy get to the dragon?s denne before her canister goes off the boil ? And if so, who will end up in hot water? Sir Guy or ?. herselfe?
Now read on:
??Stupid girl! As if the Quality would stoop to notice the likes of you, never mind think of such ?folderols! ?? Mistress Pennyecuike indicated her contempt for the idea by aiming her ladle with fiendish accuracy at the doorjamb above Tansy?s sweating head. She did not want it to actually make contact and brain her, thus losing an inferior, but all too necessary, pair of hands, in her Houre of Neede.
Tansy heaved a tremulous sigh, for she had heard different on the subject of Quality and folderols, and set off with her cart on the long trek towards the rear ramp, talking care not to slosh the water out of her can. She was all for conservation, especially of her own energy. If she was careful, she might avoid having to make a second trip. But that too was set in doubt as a shout from behind caused her already jittery arms to jerk and tip a good third of the precious water out on the stone floor.?? ?Airy Piers, ?ee?ll be the death of Oi?? she said, clutching at her heaving bosom, as the kindly manservant came up to her, his arms full of linen towels, with a large cake of soap resting pertly on top of them.
??You forgot these, me dear??, he said, mildly. ??Mistress Pennycuike says you?d forget your own head, if it hadn?t been screwed on for thee.??
Tansy nodded her thanks, stowed the towels and set off again on her long pilgrimage, reflecting grimly that any sane body might be ?spected to lose ?er ?ead as were bringing bathwater to Ol? Nick ?isself. Or as near as made no odds.
The journey on up the ramp and to the upper level, pushing the laden cart, seemed to last for ever, and she couldn?t decide whether she was relieved or terrified to find her perspiring and palpitating self outside Ye Chambre of Horrores at last. She rapped timidly on the rough oak panels. With any luck, Sir Guy would still be Abroade.
?Ee wasn?t.
??Come!?? yelled a voice that managed to be granite and silk velvet at one and the same time.
To be continued?