9. THREE FRAGRANT TRIBUTES

On Ursula's sixteenth birthday she receives gifts a-plenty.

Ursula may not have been quite sure that it was her sixteenth birthday before her mother, standing by the small front room window of their Swanspottle cottage, exclaimed:

“What on Earth’s a car like that doing down our little road?”

And Ursula looked out of that same window and sighed.

The car belonged to the Squire from Snooty Manor who had recently returned to be with his sophisticated and disgruntled lady wife, Patience Snootnose. Any hope of him sorting out his domestic problems was made a tad more difficult when Lady Patience discovered that he had decided to employ a lady chauffeur, one Angela Tightbottom who was just about all the things that a middle-aged squire might want in a chauffeur.

And here she was, majestically drawing the Squire’s limousine to a standstill not ten feet from the Spandex window, and there was Squire Snootnose sitting next to her. Yes, on the front seat next to her and not on the rear seat where he properly belonged, him being a squire and she being his underling.

“It’s the Squire,” sighed Ursula.

She’d had a few lucky escapes from the squire since the time she’d met him in the rain whilst trying to disentangle herself from Lady Patience’s amorous chauffeur. She’d learned to keep a wary eye open for him and his inquisitive hands.

“What’s he carrying some flowers for, then?” asked Mrs Spandex of her daughter, who hadn’t the slightest clue why either.

And then,

“Why’s he knocking on our door, then?” demanded Mrs Spandex, though she was perfectly sure that Ursula didn’t know the answer to that question either.

“You’d better open it, mum,” said Ursula, knowing what her mother’s response would be.

“It’s your birthday, so you go,” urged Mrs Spandex. “What will your father say of this when he comes home caked in mud? He’ll be right thrilled that we’ve got gentlemen callers, and when I say gentlemen I mean gentlemen!”

“There’s only one, and he’s no gentleman,” sighed Ursula, and she opened the front door which, as was common in time of yore, opened directly onto the front room where Mrs Spandex stood still with her eyes glued to the window.

“Hello, young lady,” smiled the Squire, and Ursula couldn’t help wondering why he gave the impression of being nervous to the point of almost shaking when he was standing on so lowly a doorstep.

“Sir,” replied Ursula, and she attempted a curtsy, which was something she was never any good at, largely because she thought it absurd that a man like this should be worthy of her ever bending her knees.

She knew too much about the Squire to hold him in anything but mild contempt.

The squire looked back at his limousine. He could see, quite plainly, that his chauffeur was doing her best not to scowl at him, but not succeeding.

“I like to honour our villagers when they have a special day,” he said, almost booming.

I’ve not heard of him doing that sort of thing before, thought Ursula, but “yes, sir,” she said with enough obsequious deference to make her feel like vomiting.

“I think it’s the right thing to do,” he continued, “after all, where would any of us be if it weren’t for shop girls...”

He said that as if I, working in a shop, was a mile beneath him… thought Ursula, but, “we’d probably starve,” was what she said, adding “sir” as if it pained her to pronounce the monosyllable.

“So I bought you these flowers,” he said, holding the bunch towards her, “as my way of wishing you a happy birthday, my dear...”

Ursula started wondering how on Earth she should reply to that tribute when a loud squawk from her mother made them both jump.

“Why, there’s another!” she shrieked.

Because there was.

Lady Patience Snootnose’s limousine was pulling up just behind Lord Snootnose’s, and when it had stopped its chauffeur leapt out, removed his cap, produced a much larger bunch of flowers than that proffered by the Squire, and covered the few feet to where the Squire stood in three nimble strides.

“Morning, sir,” he said to Squire Snootnose, “nice day for it...” and then he smiled broadly at Ursula and thrust his huge bunch of flowers into her hands.

“I thought it might be the right thing to do, seeing as it’s your sixteenth,” he said, and winked.

Ursula had no idea what that wink meant. She couldn’t remember ever having been winked at before, but it did cross her mind that there might be something adult about it, something that was meant as an acknowledgement of her new age.

And Mrs Spandex removed any awkwardness from the situation by squawking again.

“Heaven help us, it’s a charming man on horseback, with flowers...” she screeched.

Because it was.

Like a dashing hero from one of those Hollywood films that were all the rage, Charles Snootnose jumped off his grey horse and pulled the bunch of flowers that Ursula’s mother had noticed from where they stuck out of a saddle bag.

“What will your father say...” dithered Mrs Spandex, “Oh father, what has the world come to, with limousines and horses at our door?”

“Happy birthday, Ursula,” said a nervous Charles, removing his riding hat in tribute to the confused girl.

“Who’s Ursula?” asked the Squire, feeling quite put out that he wasn’t the only gentleman bearing flowers, not that he looked on his wife’s chauffeur as any kind of gentleman, but she swore she wouldn’t get rid of the young man whilst the Squire had Angela Tightbottom driving him around the county. And the Squire rather thought he might be in love with Angela, though it had crossed his mind that a reserve filly might be no bad idea, and the shop girl’s chest had attracted his attention more than once recently.

“I’m Ursula,” she told him, very nearly scornfully, “do you often give flowers to girls before you learn their names?”

Which would have put many a man in his place, but not the likes of the Squire.

“I don’t bother with names,” he said, “not unless it’s someone important.”

“You’re important, and I know your name,” put in Tony Nonesuch to Ursula, who may have been perky and full of life but was certainly out of his depth when it came to competing with the aristocracy for the attention of a pretty girl.

Then Mrs Spandex gave another squawk.“Why, it’s her Ladyship!” she screeched.

And it was. Striding along with a hat made of half a summer garden perched on her head and striking the low brick wall bordering the small gardens of the houses on the street with a silver-handled walking cane she strode like majesty itself.

Then Patience Snootnose tapped her chauffeur on the bottom with her walking cane’s business end.

“I need the car!” she snapped, “come along before I fire you!”

“Yes dear,” mumbled the Squire, who’d got completely the wrong end of the stick, and he slung his bunch of flowers (which Ursula hadn’t yet taken) at the girl, muttered “happy birthday, young lady,” and turned to face his wife.

“You!” hissed Lady Patience at Tony Nonesuch, for it was he she wanted, “I want the car, and I want its driver and I want them both right now! We’re off to London to see the King!”

And within mere moments the two limousines pulled away, leaving just Charles and his horse and three bunches of flowers by the Spandex front door.

“Ursula, I think I love you,” he said, “what about being etched?”

© Peter Rogerson 18.07.18