Today we follow up with a continuation of the wildly unpopular dialogue piece about some very questionable British nobles.
Batilda: (Waving a spoon abover her head) Ohh! This tomato bisque is to die for!
*Reginald barges into the dining room, slightly out of breath*
Reginald: Eh-hmmm! Sir Reginald Hunt-
Batilda: Oh enough! I know it is you Reginald. Honestly, I’ve never understood why you insist on introducing yourself every time you step in a doorway. Additionally, why is it you have barged into my dining room? I’m enjoying a splendid tomato bisque lunch.
Reginald: Well, you see, it is that confounded butler of yours again.
Batilda: My butler? Again Reginald?
Reginald: Oh my, that bisque certainly does look enjoyable. I fear my nephew would despise it though.
Batilda: (drops her spoon in frustration) Reginald! On with it. Every second you stall my bisque grows colder.
Reginald: My lady, I fear your appetite might soon fade as well once you hear what I have to tell.
(Batilda shakes her head and groans)
Reginald: Yesterday morning I rose and commenced to my own dining room to partake in what was supposed to be a peaceful breakfast. I was reviewing a recent paper when the food was set down and when I looked I noticed something peculiar. The toast had been burnt, the coffee wreaked of alcohol, and the eggs were poorly scrambled.
Batilda: Then it sounds as if you have an amateur cook in your household.
Reginald: Yes, that it is what I first thought. That or perhaps my dim witted nephew took a hand at cooking. So I looked up to face the person serving me this sub par breakfast and found myself looking into the mischievous eyes of your butler. My first reaction was shock quickly followed by disgust once I realized he was wearing nothing more than an apron and a chef’s hat.
Batilda: My word! Can this be true?
Reginald: Oh yes, and someone, presumably the butler, had crudely written “Kiss the Cook” in charcoal on the front of the apron, thus destroying it. As he walked away was the worst of all, I noticed and quickly averted my eyes from his bare bottom walking away.
Batilda: Why that does it! Butler! Come in here at once!
Butler: Yes, m’lady? What is… (see’s Reginald) Oh, it’s you. Come to make some more charges?
Reginald: (Glares back) I will prove that horse faced child is yours.
Batilda: Butler, Reginald here has brought it to my attention that you served him breakfast the other day. In an apron with “Kiss the Cook” written on it.
Butler: Yes, quite true. That is how I advertise.
Batilda: In the nu- wait, advertising? Whatever do you mean Butler? Is there some other lucrative business you are involved with?
Butler: I was merely trying to persuade Sir Reginald into hiring me for part-time Butler services. As a way to bury the hatchet.
Reginald: Surely in an attempt to legitimately get into my quarters to murder me.
Batilda: Reginald, don’t be so dramatic. Now Butler, what say you of these charges that you were nude?
Butler: Oh Lady Batilda, I certainly wasn’t nude. You know I never remove my butler wardrobe.
Batilda: (nods, looking to Reginald) It’s true, he tends to sleep in them.
Reginald: Oh this is preposterous! Again you fall for his silver tongue. One of these days I will find a way to prove these accusations true. You’ll see!
Batilda: Thank you for your clarification Butler, you are excused. And Reginald, I must excuse you as well so I may return to this glorious bisque.
(Reginald looks to the Butler who once out of sight of Batilda, makes a throat cutting gesture at Reginald)
Reginald: I will take my leave, but know this Lady Batilda: This will not be the end of my claims against your Butler. I speak only the truth and one day you will see it with your own eyes.
(Batilda begins eating the soup and without looking up waves off Reginald)