Tea with Lord Winterbottom

Written for a writing club challenge for flash fiction of approximately 1000 words in a historical setting.

I visually appraised Lord Winterbottom as I spoke to him over a delicate china cup of Darjeeling, my eyes peeking through lowered lashes. Here was the fine man my parents had betrothed me to, our finances sufficient to lure his corpulent form into a worthy match. I discreetly assessed him with an intellect far beyond his, if I say so myself. His short lardy frame supported a neckless potato-shaped head with a large grey moustache and bulbous red nose. No, here was not to be a meeting of intellectual minds. His dull and droning voice gave no hint of anything intelligent driving his words which comprised solely of pompous, self-opinionated twaddle.

One hand holding my teacup at just the right angle with just the right little finger positioning, I let my other hand stroke the hidden bejewelled spider brooch that I had worn, despite Mother’s disapproval. I had stoutly informed her that I would not have tea with Lord Winterbottom without my lucky piece. Finally consenting to me pinning its onyx and gold body to the waist of my lilac taffeta dress where a cascade of ruffles fell from a too tightly cinched corset, she had firmly instructed that it should remain unseen.

“We don’t want him to see you favouring that monstrosity!” she had hissed, conceding. “That large black body and, well, frankly icky golden legs is an eyesore, let alone those tiny cogs that look like, well, spines! Whatever were we thinking to allow you the means to construct that! Your father has a lot to answer for! Now keep it concealed, we will have words!”

No one understood my obsession with all things mechanical. It was deemed unladylike and, dare I say it, aberrant. I was not allowed in my workshop now, and was firmly instructed that I was a grown woman and should put such childish pursuits aside. There would be no time for indelicate pastimes, as I should marry and what better to fill my days with than a multitude of young Winterbottoms? It wasn’t enough that I had to wear voluminous dresses, which hindered my free movement about my workstation. I was now to put aside all ‘trivial’ thought and lay my clockmaker tools down. I had been indulged for far too long, or so I was told.

I replayed mother’s words in my mind and couldn’t help a little smile sneaking up the sides of my delicate mouth. Of course, Lord Winterbottom, thought my little secret smile was for him, and harrumphed and rearranged himself in his seat.

I carefully placed my cup onto its saucer with precision and reached over to a plate of fancies. I placed one onto a tiny side plate the delicately bit into it, sure not to take too small or too large a bite. Of course, I would not eat the entire thing, for that would be unladylike. I swallowed the miniscule nibble I had taken and patted my lips with a small lace-edged napkin set to the side for just that purpose.

“Would my Lord like me to serve him on of these fine delicacies?” I spoke softly, with a demure glance up at him, then dropping my eyes again and flicking my fan flirtatiously to conceal my lips.

“You are a little minx, aren’t you?” chortled Lord Winterbottom. His beady little eyes darted around as he ran his finger inside his necktie as though it were suddenly a little tight for him. Mother was embroidering on the far side of the elaborate blue and gold drawing room, present to ensure there were no improprieties but unable to hear our conversation. Lord Winterbottom glanced at her, then leaned forward and gave a conspiratorial wink. “I heard that you could be a tad flighty, and I will take great pleasure in taming you. Yes, indeed! Please do serve me your delicious… little fancies.”

“Of course, my Lord.” I murmured politely. Smiling, but not too widely, for that would be uncouth, I shifted to the edge of my seat. Leaning over I selected a fancy with slender white gloved hands. I placed it onto a side plate, giving him a slightly coquettish glance from the corner of my eyes. I leaned a little too far over to hand him the delicacy, and his eyes dropped to the white brocade panel stretched tightly over my bosoms. As my hand reached over the arm of his chair, I dropped my palmed  spider brooch onto its velvet cushion. Lord Wigglyslug breathed heavily as he took the plate. I was careful not to let his fingers touch mine, even though he tried!

‘My Lord!” I said scandalised. “Don’t be impertinent!” I mock disciplined him, but with a small smile.

He chortled. “What a delight you are!” and settled back against this chair with his tiny morsel, too small for his stubby fingers.

With almost no sound at all, the legs on my spider brooch unfurled and it quietly climbed its way up the cushion. It wasn’t for nothing that I had read the works of Walter A Scott, which gave a detailed insight on how to create simulacrum. He was the premier scientific author in this age of cogs and steam, and I had avidly read all of his works. I leaned back and away from the lardy Lord and smiled again.

The mechanical spider sprung off the cushion. As it jumped, cogs whirred, and a long needle formed under the onyx spider body, parts shifting, joining the leg segments and brooch pin into one long slim spike which aimed straight into Lord Wobblybottom’s ear.

“What the blazes?” he said and slapped at his ear which helped to drive the spike straight into his brain. The Lord spasmed, dropping his plate and I shrieked, “Mother, Mother!” feigning distress.

Unseen by my panicking mother, the spider retracted its spike back into segmented legs and went inert, dropping into the cushions. Mother dashed over, gasping. I fainted, of course. It was to be expected.

I was revived with smelling salts and the surgeon was summoned. The old idiot deemed it an unfortunate incident, stating that it must have been Lord Winterbottom’s heart at fault. Later, when all of the hullabaloo died down, I quietly retrieved my spider, wiped it down with my tiny pocket square, and pinned it back onto my gown.

Walter A Scott would have been so impressed if he had seen how efficient the spider simulacrum was!

© Catherine Knee 2024, All rights Reserved

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