The Duchess of Faint Heart

My mistress, Annabelle de la Plante

Was the Duchess of faint heart,

She was always prone to the vapours

And would faint at a passing cart,

The cruder odours brought on a fit

When they’d permeate the room,

So the fabric crepes and the window drapes

Were doused in a strong perfume.

 

She rarely ventured into the street

But would seek her own boudoir,

Where scents so strong had seemed to belong

Brought back from the Indian Raj,

I wore a mask to protect me then

From the essence of musk and fern,

Camphorous oils and sandalwood

That would choke my throat, and burn.

 

She bathed in essential oils and rubbed

Cologne well into her skin,

There wasn’t a day went by that she

Did not smell as sweet as sin,

But she grew suddenly weak and frail

And took to her sickness bed,

And lay for days in a sort of haze

Her eyes rolled up in her head.

 

The Lady Mirabelle often called

With a dress, or a hat and gloves,

And asked that Annabelle try them on

So she could adjust the cuffs,

But every time that she wore the gloves

She’d suffer a brief relapse,

And I caught the scent of peach in them

Before her sudden collapse.

 

Mirabelle long had been engaged

To my lady’s cousin, Tom,

He’d not been wise with his small stipend

And now it had nearly gone,

But he stood to inherit a fortune if

And when the Duchess died,

So I was more than suspicious then,

Stuck close to my lady’s side.

 

I took the gloves to a chemist who

Conducted some tests on them,

Told me the heart of the problem seemed

To be the peach blossom,

They yielded cyanic acid when

The kernels, wet, were squeezed,

And poison would leach into the skin…

So I went home, more than pleased.

 

The day that Mirabelle married, I

Was standing by the aisle,

Watching her slow approach, I

Caught her eye, and saw her smile,

But up at the altar, she collapsed

With anaphylactic shock,

And died with the scent of bitter almonds

Leaching from her frock.

 

My Duchess came to the country where

The air is clean and clear,

I managed to wean her from cologne

No need for perfume here,

I married her in a little church

And she’s found a strange delight,           

To walk with me in the country lanes

And make love every night.

 

David Lewis Paget

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Veronica Chandler]

A very delightful read from your masterful pen, and once again I went on a trip escorted by your creative mind spilled out upon the page. I especially enjoyed the mix of sad and happy ending. Sad for the Mirabelle and happy for the Duchess and as usual from your pen twists and turns to keep it light.

[Phantom Heart]

Ah, this made my afternoon. Great ending. Thanks for sharing.

[TL Boehm]

ah the perfect little crime. Another wonderful, masterful tale.

[A Soap Mess Stories]

A very delightful story.! :-)

[Robert James Parfett]

Black humour at its best. I enjoyed that very much and it was the sort of poem I would choose to read. A wonderful combination of poetic talent and storytelling.

[Marie]

So Mirabelle got her just desserts, not in peach but in bitter almonds...
The Duchess found a better life, free of faked air...

[Patricia B. Hepler]

Well told story with a wonderful twist at the end~ !
I so much look forward to reading your works, my friend.
~pat

[Clayton Bardwell]

Good grief that was funny, but why didn't you rhyme cart with fart? Of course then where would perfume be?

[Valentine]

Fantastic ending...reading this brought back memories of the years I had seizures...perfume was one thing that triggered them..they would spray that in the testing rooms at the hospital and off I would go..I still do not wear it..Maybe I need to move into the country next to you two..Kathie