Dizzy Dilemmas

by Mary Beeken

  “Must you be so annoying?” she sighed, closing her eyes again.

  “Yes I believe I must,” he replied once again tickling her with the strand of grass.

  “Go and annoy someone else then!”

  “It would not be nearly as much fun as it is annoying you, Gherkin. Besides they are all over by the lake trying to catch a fish.”

  “Catch a fish? With what?” Dizzy sat up in time to see Robert plunge a fishing net into the water.

  “An angler must have left it behind and so they are having a competition to see who can be first to net a fish,” Glenmore said, leaning back on his hands and watching his friends as they squabbled over the rules of the challenge.

  “Do you think it will end in tears?” Dizzy asked “I would not put it past Genevieve to push Robert in; or he her for that matter!”

  “That would be incredibly funny if it were not for the fact that we have to share a carriage with them all the way back to town! Not only would they be all wet but in all likelihood they would smell as well.” Glenmore held his nose to emphasize the point and Dizzy laughed.

  “Then let us hope that they stay dry although it would be amusing to see them fall in!” she added.

  “I do believe there is a wicked side to you, Lady Dizzy!” Glenmore pretended shock.

  “If you knew how often it is me that falls in or trips over or bumps into and so on; you would forgive me if I secretly hanker to see someone else do it for a change,” Dizzy explained with a grin. “Admit it. You would find it funny too.”

  “I was about to suggest we join them but I am rather afraid you may topple me in,” he said

  “You have my word, Your Grace that I will not push you in,” she announced solemnly then ruined it by saying “Mainly because I know that you would not hesitate to dunk me were I to serve you such a trick.”

  Whilst the servants packed away the remains of the picnic, they each took it in turn with the green net; all the while arguing techniques and all singularly unsuccessful.

  “You are all making too much noise!” complained Erica when it was her turn. “You are frightening the fish!”

  “Just admit that you are as bad as the rest of us, sweetheart,” urged her husband and laughed when she shot him a glare.

  A couple of minutes later, Erica grudgingly admitted defeat, much to Ross’ delight who could not resist poking fun. Erica smiled angelically at him and strolled towards Dizzy whose turn it was next but before she reached her she suddenly swung around in an effort to catch Ross behind the knees with the net. Just as it looked like he would be toppled over, he nimbly jumped away; landing safely on his two feet.

  “My darling girl, I know you too well to be felled by such a trick. You will have to try harder if you want to beat me,” he crowed.

  “Humph. You will not be crowing at the annual swimming gala when I pound you out the boat in our next pillow fight!” she said.

  “We shall see, sweet pea; I have been practising and am confident that this year I shall be the victor. Besides last time I went easy on you!”

  “Such lies!” Erica was outraged.

  “Such blatant lies indeed,” Robert added. “Several witnesses spoke of your defeat last summer, my friend and they all said you were well and truly defeated despite your best efforts. I was told that the honour of the men rested on your shoulders, and you lost!”

  “Alright; what you say is all true!” Ross said, grabbing Erica around the waist and giving her a quick kiss. “You are a like a demon in a pillow fight!”

  “And do not forget it!” she warned him, returning his kiss.

  Dizzy began making her way to the water’s edge with the fishing net firmly clasped in her hand and her attention fixed on the task at hand and therefore she missed the significant glances that passed around the others. Glenmore gave an understanding nod and went to join her just as she leaned over and plunged the net into the water and he immediately clasped a handful of material at the back of her dress.

  “Just a precaution, Gherkin!” he said when she turned her head to glare at him. “We do not want you falling in.”

  She ignored the others as they all voiced their assent. “I am clumsy but I am not that bad!”

  “Yes you are, Dizzy,” Genevieve told her bluntly. “And stop growling; I can hear you from here and as Grandmamma would tell you it is not acceptable for a lady to growl when fishing!” at which everyone laughed including Dizzy in spite of herself.

  “When is it acceptable for a lady to growl?” asked Erica intrigued.

  “We don’t know,” Dizzy called over. “I have been trying to find out for years but am none the wiser.”

  “Concentrate on what you are doing, sweetheart lest you have us both in!” warned Glenmore, who tightened his hold on her dress.

  Dizzy sent him a fierce look and retuned to fishing, this time leaning further out causing Glenmore to utter an expletive before throwing his arm around her waist and holding her tight to him. He realised the error of his move as soon as her rounded bottom made contact with his body. Because she was bending forward it thrust her bottom snugly into his groin sending lust coursing through him and making his unruly body harden with desire.

  Ross turned to Erica and whispered “Bad move! It will definitely cause him some discomfort!”

  Marcus was thinking the same thing but if he let her go she would fall into the water. ‘Cold water is surely the answer’ he thought but when he tried thinking about cold water it did nothing to cool his desires because he then imagined her with wet clothing clinging to her delicious body. He groaned.

  Dizzy who was about to rebuke him for holding her in such a fashion, changed what she had been about to say to ask him if he was alright.

  “Please sweetheart, for both our sakes, stop wriggling.” he murmured.

  “I was not aware I was, Glenmore. I am just trying to catch something and succeed where the rest of you have failed. I think you should let go of me!” she told him and went on with what she was doing.

  “I cannot let you go because you would fall in,” he explained then though clenched teeth; “You are wriggling again!”

  “Are you saying that my wriggling is hurting you?” she asked, puzzled.

  “No sweetheart I am saying that it is making me want to ravish you. It is taking all my willpower to stop me taking you here and now. It is sweet torture but torture nonetheless.”

  “Oh so when I do this,” Dizzy deliberately wriggled her bottom, “it drives you mad with desire?”

  “Careful Gherkin,” he warned, tightening his arm around her and grinding the evidence of his arousal against her. “It works both ways.” He was pleased when he heard her gasp and correctly interpreted it as rising desire in her.

  “I get your point, Glenmore,” she said breathlessly. “I believe I have had enough of fishing so you can release me now.”

  “Wise girl!” he said much relieved that his torment was nearly over. “But before I let you go I need to warn you that I want you and I will have you.”

  Dizzy was glad he did not seem to expect an answer. This was a dilemma indeed for she had been raised following a strict moral code whereby young ladies did not give their virginity to anyone other than their husband. She knew that many women of the ton had extra marital affairs some even before they had produced the requisite heir but she held very strong views on the subject and believed that one should abide by one’s marriage vows. Thus she was determined to marry only for love. Glenmore had made it perfectly clear that he was avoiding marriage and so she had no doubts about his intentions; he wanted her and planned to have her without any binding ties. The dilemma was that she wanted him too and was not sure she was strong enough to say no; strong enough to withstand him when he demanded what she wanted to give, even though it went against everything to which she adhered. It would be a betrayal of her moral code and yet if she found the strength to stand firm would that not be a betrayal of her own self and would she come to regret it for evermore
.

  It was agreed that everyone was as bad as each other when it came to fishing with a small net. The picnic hamper and blankets had been packed back onto the coach but when they approached it there were no servants to be seen.

  “Isn’t that your coachman lying down there by the lake?” Genevieve asked pointing to a spot a hundred yards along the shore than where they had been attempting to fish. “Do you think he is ill?”

  “No. The other servants are close by and they do not seem perturbed in any way,” Robert answered.

  “I wonder what he is doing?” said Erica. “Perhaps we should go and see.”

  “No wait and watch!” Marcus; having a very good notion of what he was doing, stopped them.

  They all watched and waited and a few moments later their patience was rewarded when the coachman suddenly flipped over and a fish flew through the air to land on the grass.

  “That is amazing!” Dizzy exclaimed as they rushed over.

  “Nay, my Lady.” said Greaves the coachman “It is called fish tickling and just takes patience that’s all. My Da taught me how when I was a nipper. I’m glad I still have the knack mind because it has been many a year since I last caught a fish that ways.” He then added with a decided twinkle in his eyes; “Of course with all the noise you were making it made it easier for me because the fish all swam down here out of your way!”

  “I told you, you were all making too much noise!” Dizzy pointed out.

  “So you did, darling,” Ross said.

  The journey to Strawberry Villa was soon accomplished and they were greeted at the door by the housekeeper Mrs Harris; a friendly soul who soon led the ladies off to a room in which they could refresh themselves leaving the butler to sort the gentlemen. Twenty minutes later and they were all gathered back in the entrance hall ready for the tour.

  Horace Walpole along with a group of friends designed the villa in the gothic rather than the fashionable classical design. They took their inspiration from the architecture of cathedrals and abbeys and built the house with arched doorways, rose windows and intricately carved plasterwork. Unlike the original medieval builders however, instead of using stone they used wood, plaster and papier-mâché.

  The hall and stairwell was rather gloomy with grey stony wallpaper painted with gothic arches

  “The Earl based this on the tomb of Prince Arthur in Worcester Cathedral” the housekeeper told them as they looked around, taking note also of the balustrade with its antelopes and shields. They ascended the stairs and entered the library with its arched bookcases and intricately patterned ceiling. The window too was arched and incorporated stained glass.

  “What a fantastic room!” exclaimed Genevieve rotating slowly so that she could take everything in. “A great place to study history do you not think?”

  “Or to set a murder!” Dizzy said which earned her a strange look from their guide.

  “We shall move onto the gallery next,” she announced, leading the way.

  “The Earl did most of his entertaining in here,” she informed them as they went in. The room was long with a dado reaching the height of the window going all the way around the room. Several arched windows along one wall allowed light to flood the room displaying its rich crimson damask wall coverings to advantage. The papier-mâché ceiling; heavily sculpted and resembling convex fans, was ornately gilded.

  The Holbein Chamber also sported an intricately sculptured papier-mâché ceiling and was modelled on one that could be found at Windsor Castle. Around the purple walls were hung several works of the German artist.

  “This is called the Tribune and was where Horace Walpole kept all his most valuable pieces of art from paintings to statues. He also had a priceless collection of miniatures,” The housekeeper explained. “Only his closest friends were allowed in here and anyone else could only view it through the grilled door.”

  They finished their tour in the round room with its fine, gilded fireplace; the design of which was based on the tomb of Edward the Confessor in Westminster Abbey.

  “If you ladies and gentlemen would like to take a stroll in the gardens, I will serve afternoon tea in here at four, if that suits you.”

  “That would be lovely, Mrs Harris,” Erica assured her and they made their way out into the warm afternoon sun.

  The landscaped gardens were extensive; covering around nine acres and extending down to the river Thames and as well as flower beds it boasted a grove of lime trees, a meadow and fields.

  “What a beautiful house!” Dizzy stated as the turned to view the building from the outside. It rather resembled a castle crossed with a cathedral with its castellation, arched windows and twisted chimneys.

  “It is certainly a novelty,” Glenmore said, “When Walpole was alive it was a popular place to come and view. He liked to take people of a tour and wanted it to be quite a theatrical experience for them.”

  “It certainly compliments his writing: very gothic!” Erica commented.

  “And it can certainly inspire a writer too. I can just imagine a body hanging in that gloomy stairwell; blood dripping onto the floor below to form a puddle,” Dizzy said.

  “Gruesome.” muttered Ross. “Have you got a murderer in mind and a motive?”

  “Not yet but give me half an hour and I am sure it will all be taking shape in my mind,” she smiled then after a short pause continued. “Although did you see the portrait in the gallery; the one of a young woman who was some relative or other of the Earl?”

  “There were rather a lot of pictures and a few were of young women,” Glenmore pointed out.

  “She had a mark around her neck if you remember, and Mrs. Harris explained that it had somehow been damaged by damp although no one understands how it could have happened.”

  “Oh yes and also according to Mrs Harris, she died tragically young and is purported to haunt the house. It is said she glides soulfully through the rooms on just one day a year; every fifteenth of November which is the anniversary of her death,” Erica added.

  “Does she? I did not hear that part!” Dizzy said.

  “You and Marcus had wandered over to admire the view from the windows and so missed her telling us the story,” Erica explained.

  “Then she has definitely got to be a character. What if her death was believed to be a suicide but then the markings mysteriously appeared on her painting and showed that it was not suicide at all but murder!” Dizzy said excitedly; warming to her theme.

  “So who killed her?” Robert prompted.

  “And why was she killed?” Genevieve added.

  “And does the mark on the painting appear supernaturally?” Ross wanted to know.

  “Oh goodness, you are a demanding audience are you not? Well let me see! She had stumbled onto a secret; one of long standing which would cause terrible trouble if it became common knowledge.”

  “That would certainly prompt someone to murder if the secret was terribly damaging,” Erica agreed.

  “What if the stained glass windows held that secret? Each leaded light has a small clue that when put together tells of a devastating truth and our victim had been clever enough to discover it,” Dizzy said.

  “She was not that clever for she got herself murdered!” Genevieve scoffed “But do go on.”

  “Why was she murdered? What was the secret?” Dizzy pondered. “She was the daughter of the steward who in turn had been the son of the previous steward, who had been the son of the steward before that. What if the secret was that their family were the rightful owners? In can be a crime of greed!”

  “Why were they then acting as stewards?” Robert asked.

  “I am coming to that!” Dizzy retorted. “The steward at the time was married to a beautiful woman who was pursued relentlessly by the lord of the manor who thought he was entitled to anything or anyone he desired but the wife, who loved her husband denied him.”

  “It sounds like it is turning into a tragic love story,” Ross stated “with the lord of the manor suff
ering from unrequited love; languishing after another man’s wife. Should I get a handkerchief out ready?”

  “He did not love her. He just thought it was his right to have his wicked way with her,” Dizzy said emphatically. “He was so wicked that he threatened to turn her husband off without a reference unless she agreed to warm his bed.”

  “You are the Dowager’s granddaughter that is for sure!” Glenmore smiled. “No dainty hedging but say it like it is!”

  “So she gave in to his demands to save them from penury?” Genevieve asked.

  “She was by this time expecting and worried for the child she carried, agreed to his terms; she would be his mistress and he would continue to employ her husband. The lady of the manor was also expecting and it came to pass that the children, both boys were born within hours of each other. Sadly the steward’s wife died in childbirth and their baby not long after, but feeling the need to confess before she departed this life, she told her husband all.”

  “I knew I should have got my handkerchief out!” Glenmore said, pretending to sniff back the tears.

  “Here you are old chap, you can borrow mine!” Ross said dabbing his own eyes before handing the white square of linen to Marcus. “Such tragedy!”

  “My heart is breaking!” cried Robert.

  “Oh stop it will you,” Erica frowned at them and told Dizzy to go on.

  “Angry beyond belief, the steward wanted revenge and what better way than to take away the man’s heir so he swapped the babies.”

  “So why is the secret in the windows?” Genevieve asks “Surely he should have kept the information to himself.”

  “He always intended to return the child to its rightful place but not until he had made its childhood miserable and deprived. He was overseeing the construction of the house you see before you, and hence hid the clues in the window designs so that the truth would always be in plain sight for all to see. It gave him a sort of malicious satisfaction to know that everyday his enemy would be looking out of those windows without realising that they were telling him his heir was alive.”