Teacups & Tentacles | ONC 2022

18. Did I Eat That?

Two hours later, a messenger boy on a bipedal that had seen better days screeched to a skittering halt in front of the entrance of 12 Rustlespoon Street. He let down the prop, jogged up the front steps to the black lacquered door and yanked the bell cord.

A dough-faced servant woman opened. 

"Message for Miss Amelia!" the lad chirped, holding up the brown envelope so she could see the lady's name and address hastily scribbled across the front.

The servant held out her hand to take it, but the lad shook his head. He knew through hard won experience not to hand notes to servants, any servants. They never tipped, not even a ha' penny, the cock-browed misers, and he'd already had five doors slammed on him without so much as a good day.

"Regrets ma'am, it's to be delivered personally to the hand of the lady."

Perhaps this Amelia would be more generous, he speculated, seeing as how the message was from a good looking bloke who'd paid extra for immediate delivery. He might even get a whole penny out of it. Women in love were often like that and this Miss Amelia could be one of the affected.

"Who is that at the door, Constance?" inquired an authoritative voice from the depths of the entrance hall. The servant woman stepped quickly aside to allow a matronly woman in a complicated dress to peer out at him. "Messenger boy with a note."

"Yes, I can see that," the matron said, as if the servant had just inferred she couldn't tell a saucepan from a walrus. "Who is the message from? Mr Dinglehythe is expecting no depeches today."

"Message for Miss Amelia," the messenger boy said again. "To be delivered personally!"

"Miss..." The woman hesitated, her mouth opening and shutting a few times as if it couldn't determine which position it wanted to be in and kept changing its mind. Finally, it settled on closed and the rest of her face took on a proud, determined set.

"You may return to your duties, Constance," she said. 

The servant nodded and disappeared.

Then turning to him, the woman said,  "I am Miss Amelia," and held out her hand for the note, a right clunker of a diamond wedding ring glittering on her finger.

And I'm the King of Jerusalem, thought the messenger lad. "That'll be a penny, then, Miss."

"A what? A penny!"

"Here you are, young man," said another female voice. The matron's head whipped to the side in surprise as a taller, younger, but not especially better looking, woman appeared behind her. The new arrival was grinning in a slightly crazed fashion. 

But she held a shiny penny out to him, which took the direct route strait into his pocket. 

Sane or insane, a penny was a penny! 

"Amel...that is highway robbery! You cannot go supporting these people's larcenous business practices. A ha' penny would have been more than plenty. Here, give the note to me, boy. I'm the lady of the house." Again the hand with the sparkler reached out, palm open. This time accompanied by a few impatient snaps of the fingers.

The messenger boy shook his head as if he were truly apologetic. 

"Sorry, ma'am. The gentleman gave instructions that this here Miss Amelia was to pay for the delivery. That's how they arranged it and that's how I'm to carry it out, begging your pardon, and that's how it's been done." He touched the envelope to the brim of his cap in a salute.

"Rose, if you would step aside, please. I should very much like to collect my post."

The matron huffed and snorted, but ceded in the end. Clearly the word gentleman had a magic effect on her. A hard glint of  interest burned in her eye as she tried to decifer the words on the envelope, craning her neck this way and that.