After many years of passionate, if fruitless, unrelenting coitus, Dilligence Dalliance took herself to Doctor Paunchbulb to see what he could recommend for her barren dilemma. No one would ever truly know the exact recipe of 'Paunchbulb's Elixir' but within a year Dilligence had given birth to an overwhelming glut of no less than five strapping sons. In truth, they were four boys and a girl, but this small detail was overlooked for the first three years of her little life, mainly due to there simply being no time to notice. A single girl too, would have created numerous distractions, not to mention untold economic inconveniences. Many an initially inquisitive nanny soon followed the unspoken rule that 'Silence is as silence does', and let it go.
Dilligence, though happily married, had no intention of allowing her reputable maiden name to be lost forever. She chose, instead, to breath new life into it, thus ensuring her beloved 'Thropquilliam' did not become obsolete, in what she saw as a typical example of the unfair usurpment of the so called 'weaker' sex. Dilligence's ever-logical mind hit upon the unique twofold solution of christening all five of her quintuplets 'Thropquilliam', which would also, in theory, avoid endless unnecessary confusion. In her innovative heyday she had been quick to trademark her much-plagiarised surname, and so the diminutive ™, took on the role of her progenies' middle names. Initially, she addressed each with a slightly different intonation; an accentuated emphasis on the 'q' for one, an exuberantly rolled 'r' for another, she even spoke one's name an octave higher. This system worked surprisingly well at first.
As time went by, however, they each developed their own personalities, and hence earned themselves idiosyncratic titles, which themselves came to be used as surnames. Thus, it was a common enough occurrence to find Dilligence Dalliance enthusiastically leading a lengthy but orderly crocodile of Thropquilliam™ Stropp, Thropquilliamm™ Solace, Thropquilliam™ Havoc, Thrrrropquilliam™ Brrrowse, and Thropquilliam™ Ffluxbucket with a faltering Nanny Nipples bringing up the rear, along the lanes leading to Slag-Grope Lake. With paper sacks of stale bread in hand, they were all equally eager to catch a glimpse of the innumerable thronging waterfowl, especially the year's maturing cygnets, goslings and ducklings.
It was on one such expedition that Dilligence Dalliance was to have a most auspicious reunion with an old school acquaintance, a certain Constance Bintwrangler.
Constance had instantly recognised her former dormitory partner from afar; her distinctive black hair, which began inordinately low on her brow, unnerving quick eyes, and diminutive height. Dilligence, in turn, was taken aback by how little her former classmate had changed; still the same haughty air to her posture, the same conceited demeanour, infused with vanity and spite. On drawing closer, an uneasy moment passed between them whilst each lady struggled with the sudden unexpected resurfacing of their respective memories, successfully repressed since their time spent together at the Vas Deferens Preparatory School For Girls. So much time had elapsed in the intervening decades since they last spoke, that at first there seemed nothing to say to each other, but gradually, despite their disparate personalities, their friendship was tentatively renewed. Within an hour of warming chat, neither lady could quite put their finger on the exact reason for the demise of their once firm friendship and their ensuing divergent lives. In truth, Dilligence's vigorous ambition had left little room for close companionship, and Constance's self-conscious primping and preening had always rankled the other girls. In Constance's defense, by fourteen, Dilligence had been a seething mess of pent up emotions, having traded her childhood innocence for success so readily, at a time when she was far too young to understand the full extent of her sacrifice.
Besides, they discovered that in Nanny Nipples they even shared a common governess for their appointed charges. As this revelation sunk in, they both paused in their chatter to eye said Nanny, who was busy fussing over the children's rain-mantles and coordinating bonnets.
‘That look of hers certainly is... an acquired taste, shall we say…?’ Began Constance, hesitatingly.
‘She’s quite the enigma, yes! She is very good with the children, though. Fair but firm. Very firm.’ Spurred on by Constance’s ruminations, she continued ‘I suppose, with a forcible stretching of the imagination, Prunce could perhaps be considered 'attractive'. To someone' was the most generous offer Dilligence could summon.
'Oh, kiss my clacking cloaca, Dilligence! 'Unusual,' perhaps, but certainly never 'attractive'!' scoffed Constance, a little less tactfully.
'Careful, she might hear you! Cautioned Dilligence at a whisper, her hand concealing an amused yet rueful smile at her friend's unconscious use of their old school vernacular.
With the breadcrumbs finally exhausted, Prunce was attempting to corral the children back in the general direction of the secretively gossiping mothers. Fortunately for all concerned, their indiscrete and inflammatory comments went unnoticed. With the benefit of hindsight, their words would seem perhaps a little cruel.
Straggling behind her brothers, Thropquilliam™ Ffluxbucket was searching the wet grass in vain for her dropped hat; an accompanying copious flow of unnecessary tears vexing her governess tremendously. As Prunce finally drew close, clutching little Ffluxbucket in her arms, she was distracted with handkerchiefs, great blustering nose blowings and conciliatory cooings. It was quite a departure from her usual austere demeanor, and a rare glimpse of the devoted and sympathetic individual within.
'Oh, good afternoon, Miss Bintwrangler, I had no idea you were in your full health again! It certainly is wonderful to see you looking so ruddy cheeked!' enthused Prunce.
'And a good afternoon to you, Nanny Nipples. Thank you for your concern, but I am well on the road, as they say, to recovery. I had no idea Mrs. Dalliance had bred quite so prolifically, or indeed, that you were also in Mrs. Dalliance's pay.' Constance remarked tersely, eyebrows raised, greatly needled by Prunce’s impertinence.
'Why, yes indeed. And aren't they're little darlings!' Prunce's transparent enthusiasm for the Thropquilliam five only served to exacerbate Constance's distaste for what in her opinion was little more than a trumped-up lackey. She had never shown so much as an ounce of alacrity and tenderness towards the young Monkeyspanners.
Walking on, now accompanied by Constance, the party started back the way they had come, once again following the track away from Slag-Grope Lake towards the village. A vibrant banner had been strung high above the path, festooned with highly coloured streamers of bunting. It advertised a forthcoming performance of 'Teasing Friesians- A Bovine Fable' at the Jacob’s Ladder Finger-Puppet Theatre-in-the-round, in nearby Farcy, named for its vertiginous spiralling stairways leading to innumerable balconies, an upper circle and dizzying gods.
Overhead, dozens upon dozens of starlings were jostling for position along the supporting wires, their dusk-blackened bodies clustered together like greedy ticks feeding on an exposed nipple of flesh. Back from their summer jaunt to the continent in reinforced numbers, they were crowded onto every branch, wing-to-wing, as wave after wave flustered down, squabbling amongst the bushes and trees surrounding the walkers. The combined flapping of feathers and bunting brought back stark, disagreeable images for Constance.
‘They appear to have lost their midseason momentum.’ Stated Thrrrropquilliam TM Brrrowse, a puzzled, far-away expression on his innocent face.
‘Come along now my little Thropquilliams™!’ Trilled Prunce, concerned. ‘This is no time to dawdle! Alas, we must be heading for home!’
‘Besides, children, young Prunce here has an appointment to keep. And no one likes to keep the good doctor waiting!’ added Dilligence, glancing back at Prunce and quickening her step to a determined and purposeful pace. Dutifully, the five younger Thropquilliams ™ fell into line behind their mother with well-rehearsed regimental ease, leaving Constance and the nanny trailing behind.
'I take it she means Doctor Paunchbulb? Why, are you ill?' Constance queried, attempting to keep a smile off her lips, if not the delight out of her voice. Swiftly running the full gamut of her limited range of facial expressions, Prunce chose to ignore the gratification she detected in Miss Bintwrangler's tone.
'Oh, no, no, Aubrey Paunchbulb is my Godfather' explained Prunce, immediately becoming of a great deal more interest to Constance. 'He is a good man, but I fear his integrity has strayed. Of late he has become most distant. Yesterday, I telegraphed that I might join him for afternoon tea. I must confess, though, that as the time comes sooner and sooner upon me, I have become quite nervous of him. I can only say, I shall be glad when this day is behind me.' Was that tears Constance could see welling in the corner of Prunce's partially averted eyes? Sensing that this could become a productive friendship, she chose a diplomatic approach.
'Here's a thought. Why don't we all go? We can take my carriage!' offered Constance in a rare moment of genuine benevolence. By this time their little tête-à-tête had aroused the attentions of an intrigued Dilligence, and at length they agreed on a plan of action.
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