Part one of the Mrs Lords review:
It was a cold winter’s morning as I trudged forlornly down the long drive… now an outcast from a warm and loving country house. I could hear the quiet cackling laughter floating down from on high as that vaping bounder Don Gourmand revelled in my sudden misfortune.
I knew in my heart of hearts that he had stolen Mrs Lord’s e liquids but could not prove how and so I resolved to have my revenge. Instead of taking the first train up to London, I elected to return to the manor later that night to quietly purloin some new juices from Mr’s Lord’s laboratory. Then with the help of a friendly station master, some brown paper, a length of twine and two first class stamps I managed after a fashion to take the 5.20 am mail train to London.
I secured employment and lodgings at the Andorran gentleman’s club (an oxymoron if ever there was one) and within weeks had been promoted to head butler, quietly spending my days off tracking down the elusive Don Gourmand.
The cad seemed to spend his days travelling around Europe sampling juices, enjoying fine dining at the expense of others and his nights seducing foreign beauties when not imbibing far too much claret or playing at cards. The man was a chancer, but I must admit quite the character to boot, damn his rotten soul.
I finally discovered where he called home, late one dreary February evening, when after a long stay in Paris he returned to a modest townhouse in Earl’s court. I spent the rest of the night observing him settling in, from an uncomfortable sycamore tree in his back garden.
It was then I realised, just how I was going to repay his dastardly deeds in full.
I finished work just after midnight and made my way back to the Gourmands garden where I slithered up inside a large Rhodedendron bush and made preparations to enact the first part of my plan.
Carefully filling the lemo to the brim with a bottle labelled Summer pudding, I began to vape heartily enjoying a fruity dessert liquid, blowing the billowing plumes right underneath the bounders bedroom window. It was a glorious vape, full of sun ripened brambly fruits of the forest and perhaps the meadow? I must have vaped the entire tank before the bedroom window was flung open and my falstaffian foe appeared.
I stopped vaping immediately and watched as the rambunctious rogue sniffed and snorted, vainly trying to identify the source of such wonderous aromas. “I say, what is that pulchritudinous pong assailing my hooter? It’s like a frolic through the woods in summer, it almost smells familiar?” muttered the most perplexed plonker.
Unable to accurately locate the source, the frazzled fop soon retired to his boudoir once again and I once again filled my lemo with a bottle of the delicious Gringrods Parkin. A clove studded treacly treat long celebrated in the North of England, it was sure to provoke insatiable curiosity and uncurable insomnia in even the most unconscionable blackguard.
Sure enough after only ten mouthwatering minutes, the louche lecher’s head appeared out his window, his snout snorting the air in the most porcine manner. “I say, that smells divine, almost like those curious breakfast oatcakes I tasted when I last visited Mrs Lords. Damn and blast it, where is that smell coming from?”
I lay back against the bough and chuckled quietly into my sleeve, waiting until the larcenous lothario had retired to his bed once more before I fired up the lemo and vaped away with unparalleled abandon.
The window slammed open against the wall with such a clatter, I almost fell from my perch in fright, as once again I heard the lounge lizard loudly demanding to know where these wonderful smells were coming from? After several minutes of pleading entreaties ending in some unrepeatable cursing he once more returned to his bed.
Feeling peckish, I unwrapped a ploughman’s supper and supped on a bottle of Mr Guinesses finest porter listening to my nemesis pacing up and down awaiting another opportunity to discover the source of such scintillating scents.
When he finally relaxed and the first small snores reached my ears I refilled the lemo with some Seville marmalade and proceeded to vape what seemed to be an entire preserved orangerie. It was marvellous, personally I should have preferred a little more carmelized peel, but then I was accustomed to the cheaper marmalades and not the high quality fare that the Lords loved.
The window slammed open once more but this time it came off its hinges with a nerve shattering shriek and fell into the daffodils. “Blast it… these bloody magnificent miasma’s are driving me round the bend!” I watched with undisguised glee as the gormless gourmand groaned in despair as his nose inhaled that superb Seville marmalade and yet still could not identify its source.
Again I waited until he went to get dressed and rescue his broken window before I quietly slipped out of his garden through the back gate and made my way through the sleepy streets of central London back to my lodgings.
I resolved to return again the following night and torture the gourmand with the remaining liquids, he would never sleep soundly again, his dreams haunted forever by unknown delights, never to be tasted, sampled or enjoyed.
Big Ben struck 4 before I fell sound asleep, the taste of Sevillian sunshine still reverberating blissfully on my tongue.
To be continued…
Mrs Lords liquids are now available to all discerning clients and light fingered itinerant butlers via website at http://www.mrslord.co.uk/index.php/mrslordandco
Rating: An original JS Lowry