Hard Cheese
Story #2. Yeah!
I
Henry and Martha had an exceedingly unimportant marriage, born of convenience. It was noticed by no one outside of the society pages, barely by themselves, until it made the headlines.
Henry Kennington had been an only child, and accordingly due one day to receive Northridge Manor. It was a middling estate, and rather dour. It drew only the sort of tourist who finds it a valuable use of the day to travel out into the country to see a hare hedge sculpture at the center of a rather moderate hedge maze. Henry took to tending the hare personally, in addition to the usual sport of hunting. He had somewhat of a nice stamp collection.
Henry had been familiar with Martha since her first season. He met her while studying classics at the Kent School. She was last-born of the Last family, the third daughter of four children. As she had no desire to remain on the family estate into her later years, she planned for little but to marry into another family.
They frequently were thrust together at parties by lack of alternative. Henry was too busy lecturing on stamps ever really to seek a dancing partner, while Martha’s position as last Last, combined with her soft nose, typically left her out.
“I suppose we should dance, then,” Henry would say, as they were left alone by the punchbowl.
“Mm, rather,” Martha would reply.
They were again left standing as their social circle began to marry off. Henry found the prospect of going abroad dull, while Martha was uninterested in men from the business class. Their marriage seemed the only reasonable decision.
Henry proposed, as it were, at a Christmas party he threw at Northridge, the year of his twenty-third birthday. The dance floor had filled with the waltzing mass of married couples. A modestly ornate Christmas tree stood at the center of the room. Tuxedos and bright dresses swirled to the sound of a string quartet. Henry and Martha were again left standing with the man tending the punchbowl.
Henry admired a near-by tapestry, depicting Peter’s third denial of Jesus. It had been in his family for generations.
“I suppose we should get married, then,” he said, scratching his jaw.
“Mm, rather,” Martha replied, swirling her punch.
Henry summoned his butler. “Edwin, do fetch the champagne. Martha and I are engaged to be married.”
“Very good, sir.”
The couple had a quiet toast, and then joined the waltzing. After all, such an announcement would only complicate the course of the party. The dancing continued around the Christmas tree.
The wedding was quite proper in all respects, and received its due notice in the society pages, if little other attention.
Their honeymoon was no less passionate. Plans for a week at the Southern estate of an aunt of Martha’s were made. They would enjoy some privacy, a comparable social set, and slightly warmer weather.
“It’s not terribly exciting, I suppose,” Henry said, “but, really, saves the expense and bother of going abroad.”
“It’s quite reasonable. I recall how difficult the holiday of the Meldings was, losing their luggage and all, for the sake of idling in Paris for two weeks.”
“Hard cheese, really.”
Henry was delayed in joining Martha by the inconvenient passing of his Aunt Brenda, to whose affairs tending was required. He met Martha at the train station, strolling up as her trunk was being loaded.
“Do go on, Martha, no sense in both of us rescheduling our train passes. I should be up in a day or two.”
Five days later, Henry wired Martha of his intended departure, and arrived quite promptly on the 6:10. No one met him, so he took a cab out to the country, arriving just in time for dinner.
“Oh, I forgot to send a driver, didn’t I?” Martha said, greeting him.
“No bother, really.” They sat down to a meal and quiet conversation with the evening’s guests.
After dinner, Henry enjoyed a cigar and brandy with the gentlemen in the library, while Martha conversed with the ladies in the drawing room. Later, they retired to their private quarters, a quaint cottage out towards the edge of the property.
“I suppose we should get to bed, then,” Henry said, hanging up his suit.
“Mm, rather,” Martha replied.
II
Over the years, their marriage lost little of the passion of their courtship and wedding. Naturally, they took to separate chambers on their return to Northridge. Martha thought it best that Henry gave up tending the hedge hare, and installed her own gardener, who promptly shaped it into a hedge Cupid. Henry took to riding and hunting with renewed interest. Martha had turned to novels to fill the small time in which she was not around other people. She spent most of the morning on the telephone, had lunch in the kitchen, and then visited the gardens. Afterwards, she read on the sofa in the sitting room until her plans for the evening demanded her attention. Henry and Martha frequently spoke at dinner, and occasionally even in the morning.
Henry typically awoke at half past eight. He would dress and inquire of the paper, only to learn Martha had taken it in her chambers with her breakfast. On one such day, as Henry requested his usual breakfast in the kitchen, he faced an urgent desire to read the paper. Accordingly, he left the table and walked to Martha’s room. It was at the east end of the house, second-largest of Northridge’s five bedrooms. Its last steady occupant was Henry’s Aunt Brenda, her expiration well-timed at least in vacating the room for Martha. Henry entered without knocking.
“Henry, what is the matter?” Martha asked, looking up from her breakfast.
Henry said nothing. He took the paper, still folded, from her tray, and glanced at the front page. “Spot of trouble in the colonies, I see.” He looked around the room. “Mm, clowns. I forgot how vulgar Aunt Brenda’s taste in art was.”
“Well, I rather like it.”
“We really should have this room done over immediately.”
Henry returned to the kitchen. He laid the newspaper, refolded, on the oaken table. “Edwin, have the staff put Aunt Brenda’s art in the attic.”
“Very good, sir.”
Henry sipped his coffee. “I do believe I’ll go hunting today. Notify the stables and fetch my shotgun.”
III
One year later, Henry and Martha both had breakfast in the kitchen. It was odd chance, really, that neither had wished to have breakfast in their chambers. The winter did tend to bring out the drafty side of Northridge.
“I say,” Martha said, “we should do something with my room. It’s getting rather tedious.”
Henry was reviewing the staff Christmas bonuses. He looked up. “I’m planning it out. No sense rushing these things, you know. And with Christmas expenses, I don’t know that it’s quite in the cards at the moment.”
“Oh, I suppose that‘s fair enough.” Martha poked at her hard-boiled egg with her fork.
Henry crossed his legs. “Quite the bonus the gardener is getting, I notice, for his five years. Only a pound short of Edwin, and he’s been serving for thirty years. And Edwin never saw fit to question the hedge hare.”
Martha stared into her coffee. “Well, he is rather valuable to the estate.”
“I should think, the amount of time you spend in the gardens.”
Martha quite speared her egg. “It would get a bit a wearisome in here all day.”
Henry buttered a piece of toast. He then took a bite, chewed twenty-five times, and swallowed. “I suppose you’ve been consorting with the gardener, then,” he said.
“Mm, rather,” Martha replied.
“Well, that won’t do, will it?” He motioned Edwin out of the corner. “See the gardener’s struck off the rolls. And prepare the car. I believe I shall go to the club today.”
Arriving after lunch, Henry found Bond’s Club nearly deserted. The lunch crowd had departed, and it would be hours until the evening crowd came for lubrication before their trips back home. Henry was rather fond of the place. There were always a few ruddy men telling tales of the colonies as they put drinks away under well-groomed mustaches. And as a proper Englishman, Henry felt most comfortable in that sort of company.
Henry took a seat at a window and ordered a brandy and ginger ale. He sipped his drink, admiring the finely paneled walls and brass fittings. An old man in a corner lit a cigar and got on a tear about coolies.
Henry was on his third brandy and ginger ale when Jack came in. They had boarded together at academy and maintained irregular communication since. Jack had spent his early twenties serving in the colonies, a fact he rarely failed to bring up. He had rather missed out on the prime marrying season, but his hawk nose and impeccable dress did him little harm in finding company in the evening.
“Ah, hullo, Henry old boy. You’re here rather early.”
“Mm, hullo, hullo. I rather wanted to spend some time with the lads today. Do join me, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Jack sat down, took a cigarette from his case, and lit it. He ordered a mint julep. “How’ve you been, old boy?”
“Oh, can’t complain, really. I’ve just learned Martha has been taking with the gardener, but otherwise rather cracking.”
The old man pounded on the wall with his cane, then slumped over on his table, mumbling to himself.
“Oh, hard cheese, that business.” Jack’s drink arrived. He stirred it. “I recall a time in the colonies when Polly rather left me in the lurch. Have I mentioned her?”
“The blonde?”
“Ah, quite. Silly thing left me out to dine alone that evening. Still, life goes on.”
“Oh, rather.”
It was a few hours and several rounds later that Martha called the club. Henry took the call at the hall phone, noting a curious stain on the hall rug.
“Mm, hullo, dear.” He faced the portrait of a rather drowsy-looking Benjamin Disraeli.
“Hullo. Are you coming back here for dinner tonight? The Waughs are coming over, you know, and you’re rather expected.”
“Ah. S’pose. I shall. It’s only just gotten interesting here. But, would hate to disappoint the Waughs. Dear.”
“I say, are you tight?”
“Positively stinking, dear.”
“Well, do come round, if it’s not too much trouble.” She hung up.
“Hm. Bye, dear.” Henry walked back to the dining room.
“What was all that about, Henry?” Jack had three cigarettes going.
“I must be going now. Dinner with the Waughs.”
“Well, toodle-pip, Henry old boy.”
“Mm, cheerio.” Henry walked out, pausing only to pat the club’s stuffed spaniel. He found it most prudent to hire a cab for the return.
Henry fell through the door just in time for dinner.
“Hullo all,” he said, the words somewhat muffled by the rug into which his face was pressed.
A dinner guest helped him up. “Henry, are you all right?”
“Quite. Rather tight, but all right.” Henry giggled. “How’re the Waughs? Delightful, I should hope. Dear?”
“Really, Henry.”
Henry joined the company at the dinner. “Rather stinking, in fact.”
The soup was brought out. Henry slurped at his.
“I heard the most wonderful joke the other day,” one gentleman said, twisting the tip of his moustache.
“If it’s the vicar and the starlet, I’ve only just heard it. Let’s see…” Martha kicked him under the table. “Ah, right, dear.” He resumed his soup.
The gentleman resumed. “It seems one lad had this dog…”
“Yarp,” Henry said, getting sick upon the table.
Martha motioned for the butler. “Edwin, have that tidied up.”
“Very good, madam.”
“Henry, how beastly.”
Henry left the table. “Mm, rather,” he said, stumbling off.
The sound of a Maurice Chevalier 78, played at top volume, soon could be heard.
IV
Henry woke up at half past eleven, feeling rather dreadful from the effects of the previous day. He dressed and went into the kitchen, where coffee and Martha awaited him. His shotgun was on the table.
“Good morning,” Henry said.
“Good morning,” Martha said.
“Well, I suppose we’ve things to discuss,” Henry said, wanting coffee.
“There’ll be time.” Martha put two lumps of sugar in her coffee and stirred it. “I’d rather like to learn hunting.”
“Mm, nothing to it.” Henry looked at the coffee. “Find something, point that at it, cock it, and pull the trigger.”
“Mm, rather.” Martha sipped her coffee and took up the shotgun.
Henry was quite surprised when Martha shot him. Understandably so, really. It was decidedly impolite.
“I say,” Henry said, bleeding. “That wasn’t very sporting. I do believe you’ve done me in with that one.” He died.
“Mm, rather.“ Martha replaced the shotgun and returned to her coffee. “Edwin, have that tidied up.”
“Very good, madam.”
“Mm, rather.”
I decided the murder bit works better at the end. That'd be my attempt at ripping off Evelyn Waugh, then. Specifically, "Love in the Slump" and A Handful of Dust.
I'm pretty sure "And Edwin never saw fit to question the hedge hare" is my favorite sentence of ALL TIME.
I
Henry and Martha had an exceedingly unimportant marriage, born of convenience. It was noticed by no one outside of the society pages, barely by themselves, until it made the headlines.
Henry Kennington had been an only child, and accordingly due one day to receive Northridge Manor. It was a middling estate, and rather dour. It drew only the sort of tourist who finds it a valuable use of the day to travel out into the country to see a hare hedge sculpture at the center of a rather moderate hedge maze. Henry took to tending the hare personally, in addition to the usual sport of hunting. He had somewhat of a nice stamp collection.
Henry had been familiar with Martha since her first season. He met her while studying classics at the Kent School. She was last-born of the Last family, the third daughter of four children. As she had no desire to remain on the family estate into her later years, she planned for little but to marry into another family.
They frequently were thrust together at parties by lack of alternative. Henry was too busy lecturing on stamps ever really to seek a dancing partner, while Martha’s position as last Last, combined with her soft nose, typically left her out.
“I suppose we should dance, then,” Henry would say, as they were left alone by the punchbowl.
“Mm, rather,” Martha would reply.
They were again left standing as their social circle began to marry off. Henry found the prospect of going abroad dull, while Martha was uninterested in men from the business class. Their marriage seemed the only reasonable decision.
Henry proposed, as it were, at a Christmas party he threw at Northridge, the year of his twenty-third birthday. The dance floor had filled with the waltzing mass of married couples. A modestly ornate Christmas tree stood at the center of the room. Tuxedos and bright dresses swirled to the sound of a string quartet. Henry and Martha were again left standing with the man tending the punchbowl.
Henry admired a near-by tapestry, depicting Peter’s third denial of Jesus. It had been in his family for generations.
“I suppose we should get married, then,” he said, scratching his jaw.
“Mm, rather,” Martha replied, swirling her punch.
Henry summoned his butler. “Edwin, do fetch the champagne. Martha and I are engaged to be married.”
“Very good, sir.”
The couple had a quiet toast, and then joined the waltzing. After all, such an announcement would only complicate the course of the party. The dancing continued around the Christmas tree.
The wedding was quite proper in all respects, and received its due notice in the society pages, if little other attention.
Their honeymoon was no less passionate. Plans for a week at the Southern estate of an aunt of Martha’s were made. They would enjoy some privacy, a comparable social set, and slightly warmer weather.
“It’s not terribly exciting, I suppose,” Henry said, “but, really, saves the expense and bother of going abroad.”
“It’s quite reasonable. I recall how difficult the holiday of the Meldings was, losing their luggage and all, for the sake of idling in Paris for two weeks.”
“Hard cheese, really.”
Henry was delayed in joining Martha by the inconvenient passing of his Aunt Brenda, to whose affairs tending was required. He met Martha at the train station, strolling up as her trunk was being loaded.
“Do go on, Martha, no sense in both of us rescheduling our train passes. I should be up in a day or two.”
Five days later, Henry wired Martha of his intended departure, and arrived quite promptly on the 6:10. No one met him, so he took a cab out to the country, arriving just in time for dinner.
“Oh, I forgot to send a driver, didn’t I?” Martha said, greeting him.
“No bother, really.” They sat down to a meal and quiet conversation with the evening’s guests.
After dinner, Henry enjoyed a cigar and brandy with the gentlemen in the library, while Martha conversed with the ladies in the drawing room. Later, they retired to their private quarters, a quaint cottage out towards the edge of the property.
“I suppose we should get to bed, then,” Henry said, hanging up his suit.
“Mm, rather,” Martha replied.
II
Over the years, their marriage lost little of the passion of their courtship and wedding. Naturally, they took to separate chambers on their return to Northridge. Martha thought it best that Henry gave up tending the hedge hare, and installed her own gardener, who promptly shaped it into a hedge Cupid. Henry took to riding and hunting with renewed interest. Martha had turned to novels to fill the small time in which she was not around other people. She spent most of the morning on the telephone, had lunch in the kitchen, and then visited the gardens. Afterwards, she read on the sofa in the sitting room until her plans for the evening demanded her attention. Henry and Martha frequently spoke at dinner, and occasionally even in the morning.
Henry typically awoke at half past eight. He would dress and inquire of the paper, only to learn Martha had taken it in her chambers with her breakfast. On one such day, as Henry requested his usual breakfast in the kitchen, he faced an urgent desire to read the paper. Accordingly, he left the table and walked to Martha’s room. It was at the east end of the house, second-largest of Northridge’s five bedrooms. Its last steady occupant was Henry’s Aunt Brenda, her expiration well-timed at least in vacating the room for Martha. Henry entered without knocking.
“Henry, what is the matter?” Martha asked, looking up from her breakfast.
Henry said nothing. He took the paper, still folded, from her tray, and glanced at the front page. “Spot of trouble in the colonies, I see.” He looked around the room. “Mm, clowns. I forgot how vulgar Aunt Brenda’s taste in art was.”
“Well, I rather like it.”
“We really should have this room done over immediately.”
Henry returned to the kitchen. He laid the newspaper, refolded, on the oaken table. “Edwin, have the staff put Aunt Brenda’s art in the attic.”
“Very good, sir.”
Henry sipped his coffee. “I do believe I’ll go hunting today. Notify the stables and fetch my shotgun.”
III
One year later, Henry and Martha both had breakfast in the kitchen. It was odd chance, really, that neither had wished to have breakfast in their chambers. The winter did tend to bring out the drafty side of Northridge.
“I say,” Martha said, “we should do something with my room. It’s getting rather tedious.”
Henry was reviewing the staff Christmas bonuses. He looked up. “I’m planning it out. No sense rushing these things, you know. And with Christmas expenses, I don’t know that it’s quite in the cards at the moment.”
“Oh, I suppose that‘s fair enough.” Martha poked at her hard-boiled egg with her fork.
Henry crossed his legs. “Quite the bonus the gardener is getting, I notice, for his five years. Only a pound short of Edwin, and he’s been serving for thirty years. And Edwin never saw fit to question the hedge hare.”
Martha stared into her coffee. “Well, he is rather valuable to the estate.”
“I should think, the amount of time you spend in the gardens.”
Martha quite speared her egg. “It would get a bit a wearisome in here all day.”
Henry buttered a piece of toast. He then took a bite, chewed twenty-five times, and swallowed. “I suppose you’ve been consorting with the gardener, then,” he said.
“Mm, rather,” Martha replied.
“Well, that won’t do, will it?” He motioned Edwin out of the corner. “See the gardener’s struck off the rolls. And prepare the car. I believe I shall go to the club today.”
Arriving after lunch, Henry found Bond’s Club nearly deserted. The lunch crowd had departed, and it would be hours until the evening crowd came for lubrication before their trips back home. Henry was rather fond of the place. There were always a few ruddy men telling tales of the colonies as they put drinks away under well-groomed mustaches. And as a proper Englishman, Henry felt most comfortable in that sort of company.
Henry took a seat at a window and ordered a brandy and ginger ale. He sipped his drink, admiring the finely paneled walls and brass fittings. An old man in a corner lit a cigar and got on a tear about coolies.
Henry was on his third brandy and ginger ale when Jack came in. They had boarded together at academy and maintained irregular communication since. Jack had spent his early twenties serving in the colonies, a fact he rarely failed to bring up. He had rather missed out on the prime marrying season, but his hawk nose and impeccable dress did him little harm in finding company in the evening.
“Ah, hullo, Henry old boy. You’re here rather early.”
“Mm, hullo, hullo. I rather wanted to spend some time with the lads today. Do join me, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Jack sat down, took a cigarette from his case, and lit it. He ordered a mint julep. “How’ve you been, old boy?”
“Oh, can’t complain, really. I’ve just learned Martha has been taking with the gardener, but otherwise rather cracking.”
The old man pounded on the wall with his cane, then slumped over on his table, mumbling to himself.
“Oh, hard cheese, that business.” Jack’s drink arrived. He stirred it. “I recall a time in the colonies when Polly rather left me in the lurch. Have I mentioned her?”
“The blonde?”
“Ah, quite. Silly thing left me out to dine alone that evening. Still, life goes on.”
“Oh, rather.”
It was a few hours and several rounds later that Martha called the club. Henry took the call at the hall phone, noting a curious stain on the hall rug.
“Mm, hullo, dear.” He faced the portrait of a rather drowsy-looking Benjamin Disraeli.
“Hullo. Are you coming back here for dinner tonight? The Waughs are coming over, you know, and you’re rather expected.”
“Ah. S’pose. I shall. It’s only just gotten interesting here. But, would hate to disappoint the Waughs. Dear.”
“I say, are you tight?”
“Positively stinking, dear.”
“Well, do come round, if it’s not too much trouble.” She hung up.
“Hm. Bye, dear.” Henry walked back to the dining room.
“What was all that about, Henry?” Jack had three cigarettes going.
“I must be going now. Dinner with the Waughs.”
“Well, toodle-pip, Henry old boy.”
“Mm, cheerio.” Henry walked out, pausing only to pat the club’s stuffed spaniel. He found it most prudent to hire a cab for the return.
Henry fell through the door just in time for dinner.
“Hullo all,” he said, the words somewhat muffled by the rug into which his face was pressed.
A dinner guest helped him up. “Henry, are you all right?”
“Quite. Rather tight, but all right.” Henry giggled. “How’re the Waughs? Delightful, I should hope. Dear?”
“Really, Henry.”
Henry joined the company at the dinner. “Rather stinking, in fact.”
The soup was brought out. Henry slurped at his.
“I heard the most wonderful joke the other day,” one gentleman said, twisting the tip of his moustache.
“If it’s the vicar and the starlet, I’ve only just heard it. Let’s see…” Martha kicked him under the table. “Ah, right, dear.” He resumed his soup.
The gentleman resumed. “It seems one lad had this dog…”
“Yarp,” Henry said, getting sick upon the table.
Martha motioned for the butler. “Edwin, have that tidied up.”
“Very good, madam.”
“Henry, how beastly.”
Henry left the table. “Mm, rather,” he said, stumbling off.
The sound of a Maurice Chevalier 78, played at top volume, soon could be heard.
IV
Henry woke up at half past eleven, feeling rather dreadful from the effects of the previous day. He dressed and went into the kitchen, where coffee and Martha awaited him. His shotgun was on the table.
“Good morning,” Henry said.
“Good morning,” Martha said.
“Well, I suppose we’ve things to discuss,” Henry said, wanting coffee.
“There’ll be time.” Martha put two lumps of sugar in her coffee and stirred it. “I’d rather like to learn hunting.”
“Mm, nothing to it.” Henry looked at the coffee. “Find something, point that at it, cock it, and pull the trigger.”
“Mm, rather.” Martha sipped her coffee and took up the shotgun.
Henry was quite surprised when Martha shot him. Understandably so, really. It was decidedly impolite.
“I say,” Henry said, bleeding. “That wasn’t very sporting. I do believe you’ve done me in with that one.” He died.
“Mm, rather.“ Martha replaced the shotgun and returned to her coffee. “Edwin, have that tidied up.”
“Very good, madam.”
“Mm, rather.”
I decided the murder bit works better at the end. That'd be my attempt at ripping off Evelyn Waugh, then. Specifically, "Love in the Slump" and A Handful of Dust.
I'm pretty sure "And Edwin never saw fit to question the hedge hare" is my favorite sentence of ALL TIME.