Merry,
Forgive my expostulations ab irato on the matter of Pru Fitz-Hump-Humphrey – I was suffering greatly from the timezone change and was not feeling my usual self. I am also suffering from a slight case of Atmospheric Avia-vasodiliation syndrome (so Physick Grote tells me after my health exam now I am returned), which is responsible for my rather terse manner as the cerebral pressure build-up is ruddy dashed unpleasant. I am now only just relieved of the high pitched whine of the inner ear, so characteristic to the affliction. Yet I must respond with a due Mea Culpa.
However I am somewhat taken aback to read your missive, when I collected my memos on Monday at the Club after Baynham-Chepps' Neuro-Telebabulator tutorial, wherein you illumined me to the Peke’s Pru’s alleged love-letters from yours truly while in Zananialand. As you were aware I was only in Greater Thrombat range and did not, however much she may have wished, entertain the lady’s amorous sensibilities with caducous affections – Meredith, whatever you think of me and my weakness for the gentler sex, you know I am not that man. No matter what your cuz, Roderick Duskford-Robbins would have you believe, I am not one who would trifle with a lady’s affections so flippantly – that would be grobianism in the extreme!
Indeed, though I am agreeable to admitting to conversing with the lady aboard Pangolin, I had more fondness for her father, in all his barbate glory. His daughter, while light of heart, was also thusly in wit and attention and I believe her misinterpretation of my quotation of Yeat’s ode to the perils of love meant she took it as challenge and that I was suggesting perhaps I should prefer to ‘nod by the fire’ across from herself in our dotage and held my poetic adducement to be that of romantic interest and not one merely of politeness and erudition. I think it may have been that second verse that did for it...
Thus if she had been paying closer attention to proceedings she would have not ended up with the lobsters in her hair in the first instance, nor have sent those poor attendants across the dessert trolley and into the quartet. Quite ruined their moving rendition of Fauré's Pavane. The Colonel and I spent more time conversating than did Prunella and I... What you may not know is that Rodder’s old Rugby chum, Herodius Effington-Peen was also aboard the Pangolin. I believe Effers still harbours ill will towards me after I soundly beat him at cards the preceding Lammas at Wroxeter and believes that sabotaging a young lady’s heart is payment instead of the forty pounds, eight shillings and fourpence he owes.
I shouldn’t wonder that old Effers didn’t mentioned the gel’s simpering doe-eyed looks while I disentangled her from the violas. I mean, who puts up a parasol at dinner? The coy giggles and the peoration of repeated”La, Sir!”’s combined with enthusiastic fan-smacking upon my arm were borderline grounds for strategic seat-changing at least – now I understand why the Orientals hold the damned things as weapons of war!
As to Miss Fitz-Hump-Humphrey’s assertions at Yule (how I did dream of Mrs Carfax’s famous Danver’s Cup iced dessert whilst in the jungle! Lady Emilia is most fortunate to have such an accomplished artiste in the dessert department) ... I digress - back to matters dark - these letteras amorosas; I am sore vexed and may hazard a guess that RDR has employed his scurrilous minion to forge my hand in said epistles to poor Pru. You may recall the Automated French Polisher incident of two years ago – I think we all recall how it was eventually proved that Gilpmed had altered the machine’s instruction-feed in what appeared to be Wendell-Sprot’s own hand? That Queen Anne drop-leaf table was never the same after that... I do believe Mrs Pettifer’s wounds have all but faded; no char should ever have to fight the gyrating mechanicals of housekeeping instruments for control of her own duster.
I implore you to reconsider your view, dear Merry, and allow me to prove my ingenuousness in this matter, which has rather tainted my happy homecoming. Thus appealing to your sense of fair play, I ask you to be my dinner-companion at Duskford-Robbin's Kensington apartments at the end of the month when he provides me (plus one) with said promised repast in reparation for his rebuttal of my sp. Blerisinia discovery. This may give us recourse to uncover evidence of the fell deed for which I suspect Gilpy is responsible.
Wil
PS On a separate note: Ced is to visit Watty on the morrow, if you have a moment to spare, would you be a darling and 'bat him a copy of that Aetherfonic recording of Mahler he's so fond of? Cedric confides he is still unresponsive and we're hope the musical emanation may do much to lift him from his fugue...
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