The dowager duchess (the lady B’s Dear Mama) passed me in her horseless
carriage tonight. I think she must have been suspicious of the reason for my
nocturnal perambulation, because she stopped to remind me that having seventeen
small mouths to feed, however insufferable an obligation, does not entitle me
to an interest in the salmon swimming the river, the hare roaming the heath,
or the deer grazing the woodland. ‘Give your trust to God and your betters, Mr
Jeffrey,’ she said kindly, ‘and your reward most assuredly awaits you in
heaven. Wouldn’t want to see Mrs Jeffrey and the seventeen little ones waving
you off to Van Diemen’s Land, would we?’
I made that up. Actually, she didn’t even lower the window
and yell ‘What the hell are you doing out here in the dark, you imbecile? I
could have run you over and that would have caused me no end of inconvenience.’
I suspect she didn’t even know it was me. Probably thought I
was some nefarious ne’er do well and turned the radio up.
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