Jane Dougherty’s picture prompt is
The Painful Truth
I had to write to explain why I am currently on the way to Gretna.
As you know, I’ve been walking out with Reginald for six months, despite mummy’s reservations. We have ensured due propriety and modesty at all times and I had hopes of an early engagement.
Recently though things have become decidedly awkward.
First there was Clarisse Maxwell’s handkerchief. She ‘dropped’ it in front of him, the little slut, and mummy took exception to the way he ‘lingered’ as he bent to pick it up. The sweet thing was mortified and assured her he had no more feelings for Miss Maxwell than he had for his father’s goats.
Then last week after Church he forgot to take my hymn book and left me to hand it back to the sweaty-palmed verger with the boil on his neck. Mummy was livid and needed to be fanned for twenty minutes to regain her composure.
But today! Disaster! We attended the Jamieson’s musical soiree, but Reggie felt unwell after eating the mackerel surprise. Mummy decided to accompany us and we were just approaching the coaches when Reggie had a little ‘sulphurous accident’.
Mummy, of course, swooned. ‘How dare you fart in front of my daughter.’
Reggie must have had a psychotic moment – much like his great Uncle Jeremiah when he ate that mongoose in Nagpur – because he replied with, ‘I’m so sorry, mother, but I didn’t realise it was her turn.’
So we were left with no choice. Elopement. Though I wish we had chosen a carriage with windows that opened.