There was a pretty woman in London. Not exactly a groundbreaking statement, as there has been a large number of women, and decent amount of them were pretty enough to warrant the compliment. London has had a great multitude of pretty girls, which would probably explain why people tend to flock there and not, for example, Abingdon, a town that unfortunately did not have as high of a pretty woman to people ratio that London had. It was a darn shame, really, as not many people know that the lack of a plethora of these woman that had led to the closing railway station, a feature that has not been truly replaced. Too many faults in life can be traced back to the pretty women in London. This pretty woman was absolutely not an exception to that tendency to trouble others, and may be used as an example of why good Samaritans are more likely to get shot in the back nowadays, after being drained of money and medical supplies of course.
Woman may come in all shapes and sizes, unless she is considered to be beautiful by many; at that point she is almost certainly one specific size. This woman, who shall hence be known as Mabel Kipling, was, all things considered, quite a good person at heart. She was kind and courteous, and never stepped out of line. Actually it is more correct to say that she never stepped out of line publically, but that is inconsequential. If Mabel had worked a day in her life, she would have probably gotten a helpful job to benefit the community, like putting her flower arranging skills to work by setting up the most exquisite little gardens on the balconies and porches of London for the sole purpose of making the commoner's day just a smidgen more pleasant. Instead she had settled for the common upper class hobby; searching for a husband.
Today she was doing just that, and was minutes away from a marvelous visit from a man her father knew. Mabel 's father, who is so barely involved with the series of incidents soon to follow that he is only referred to as Mabel's Father. Same for her mother of course, except she is called Mabel's Mother and not Mabel's Father, as calling her Mabel's Father is only done by the foolish, the nearsighted, and the obscenely drunk. Together the two had the creative title of Mabel's Parents. The nice young man she would soon be introduced to was ever so slightly more important than Mabel's Parents, so he gets a name, which shall be Charles.
Charles was in that odd time in between being fashionably late and being annoyingly late, and time dictated that his position would be slowly shifting to the latter while Mabel sat patiently. It is important to note the difference between normal patience and forced patience. Normal patience was usually a sign of good character, as they would have to have a degree of sympathy that would allow them to overlook an error in punctuality. Forced patience was when someone would rather like to be angry at the latecomer, but is inhibited from doing so by a malevolent force; a rather revolting and distasteful example would be an Ugly Stepmother, who is better know by her other name, Mabel's Mother.
Given that Mabel's Mother had won her previous hobby, if you consider winning to be finding an upper middle class husband willing to marry you, she had since turned her time to a most horrendous activity; talking.
"I know that you father said that they would be there at six, however I'm sure that there is a perfectly good reason for his tardiness." Mabel's Mother spoke in a lofty tone, as If she were speculating to the winds and expecting them to carry her words over to her step daughter. These words, taken out of context, would point to Mabel possessing forced patience, a statement that is both right and wrong. She was being forced to be patient, though it was her own self that was exerting the force. Her good half wanted to be patient, and was making her private, more snarky half agree to her terms. The snarky half had of course acquiesced to the terms, as if there was something that both halves wanted, it was a husband. That was why the good half remained in control, as her more interesting half talked far too many words than what was culturally acceptable, as everyone knew that a husband did not want a chatterbox for a wife, because no man wanted to go to his wedding bed the night he tied the knot and get down to the more physical pursuits of marriage while listening to an audio soundtrack.
"I know mother." Mabel spoke in a voice that suggested that she was tired, but perfectly willing to carry on. So it was an accurate summarization of how she felt at that moment. "I just wished that father would be a bit more accurate when he gives us his estimated time of arrival. I wouldn't mind him showing up latter, as long as I am not sitting here waiting as if he were to arrive any second now."
'Any second' turned into 'this second', for the sound of a heavy front door closing was heard throughout the house. The common father would have announced his presence, run up the stairs and taken a sharp right turn next to the tea stain that had be so tastefully covered up by one of Mabel's flower pots, and apologized to his family why he had been so late. This goes to show the majestic difference between the common father, and an upper class one like Mabel's Father. He instead opted to send the housemaid, who shall never be mentioned by name or given a wondrous title like Mabel's Parents, as her main purpose was to send messages in the comfort and safety of someone else's home.
The women of the house, or at least, the Kipling women, walked out of the sitting room and down the stairs. It was there that Mabel greeted her father, and, in her eyes, the most important person on the planet, her potential husband. Charles was a rather well dressed man, if well dressed meant he knew how to put a bowtie on the right way. The bowtie test was the simplest test that the men of London used to reveal a man's dressing ability. It was also the most complex test, for getting a bowtie on is considered far beyond the skills of any non-Londoner.
Charles also had a few other attributes, none of them worth mentioning. What was worth mentioning was the eagerness inscribed on his eyes as they run up and down Mabel's body; examining every twist and turn of her body.
"I absolutely adore your dress Mabel, haven't seen anything quite like it before." Charles spoke as if his words were falling out his mouth like a waterfall, only his teeth stopping him from speaking what was truly on his mind. That was the real primary purpose of the teeth; otherwise anyone would go around saying anything they thought, and that meager clerk down on Bank Street who constantly attempts to get one to follow up on their interest payments, but is always to meek to pose any sort of authority would be hanged for treasonous and verbose remarks against Her Majesty and one of her rather voluptuous feather dusters.
"Thank you, though it would be difficult for one to see it again, as I am the only one in all of London who owns such a dress." Mabel spoke in a somewhat boisterous, yet partially subdued voice.
"That just means I will have to visit you again." Charles then flashed a smile so charming that everyone in the room, nay, the house, had to look away for fear of being blinded by its uncanny nature. It was a smile that he practiced in one mirror everyone morning; in fact he had even patented it, "The Smile that Sings", because like a song it expressed his emotions with the same grace and fervor that existed in that drunk man attempting to sing along to the orchestra located in the party that he crashed. The wonders of song are truly inexplicable. The reason it was only one was that his maids had expressed a slight displeasure over finding multiple replacement mirrors every day, so he was forced to resign himself to one mirror a day.
"I will certainly look forward to it." Mabel curtseyed before remembering that not only were her parents blatantly listening to her rather deep and complex dialogue, but her father was making grunts similar to a drug induced bulldog that were obviously intended to get her attention.
"Well I would certainly look forward to all of us going up to the drawing room, and I would be quite disappointed if we didn't." Mabel's Father mumbled under his breath just barely loud enough for Mabel.
"Ah yes!" Mabel exclaimed before following her father up the stairs to the aforementioned drawing room. She stole quick glances back at Charles, who seemed to be rather preoccupied with the folds of her dress.
The drawing room is the most important room in the whole house, and is usually a vast chamber meant to entertain. Many historians and English folk believed the term to come from the phrase, "Withdrawing Room", which was a place that the owner of the house, his wife, and one distinguished guest may go to for more privacy. This is a completely untrue statement, as the actual beginnings of the word-phrase were far simpler than that. The drawing room was called that only by the residents of the house, and its purpose was only to entertain. The owner and his guest would go into the room, and they would immediately begin the rapid consumption of alcoholic beverages commonly referred to as a 'binge'. Little did the guest know that only his drinks were actually alcoholic, and that the owner was merely drinking water. Once the guest had passed out, the owner would take out his quill and ink and begin to artistically draw on the poor man's face. Then he had a sketch artist, a thing that can be picked up off the street for anywhere from two to two and a half pence, sketch the face down on a piece of parchment. Then the guests face was rubbed off and he was sent on his merry way in the morning, albeit with a horrible hangover and the distinct feeling of having needles stabbed into their face. The sketch would be both a souvenir of the good times, and also excellent blackmail material.
Alas, that was not the case for this particular incident, for the blackmail strategy had already been tried by countless women, and had a limited success rate, including but not limited to Mabel's Mother.
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