Adding another coin to the guano-stained mooring post, Peggy Powler continued her reflections on the newly-entrenched
occupant of Seamarshes as she disembarked from the little coracle. Dawn was almost here and the dark-red lambency of
a late-summer sun promised more blue skies and a warmth one's skin will lament when the leaves fall from the trees.
Gretna Grindylow had played her cards well. After learning the fundamentals of who-was-who in the village from young Clem
Willard, the Merethon had somehow transformed herself into a female human and confident Peggy would win such a wager
on her next assumption, was currently inching her way into the favour of some of Seamarshes residents. Leaving the decaying
jetty, the waddling visitor losing her sea-legs would have to admit that the snoring boat-renter in shadows of the dilapidated
deckhouse might argue that suggestion.
Arriving at the junction where the unpaved track split to offer a way to the Willard's home and the alternative -to downtown
Seamarshes, the Last Witch of Underhill slowed her pace as she demanded her acumen to produce a way for the Merethon
to transmogrify itself from a lizard-like form to a full-figured female with an ear for gossip. Turning in the direction that would
take her to the village, Peggy felt last-night's maritime exploits lightly eroding her thought-processes about the creature called
Gretna Grindylow but who currently resided under the appellation of Muriel Gump.
With the first rays of sunlight breaking the horizon, the unshod sorceress knelt down into the tall grass that fought for space with
reeds along the sandy path and plucked her early-moring pick-me-up, a tonic that would get her through the day. Chewing on the
juicy stem of a St John's wort, the weary spell-worker stepped towards Seamarshes and resisted the need to use Myrddin's Ignis
Dust-seeing spectacles to locate Miss Gump's destination.
.................................................................
"Really...? I had no idea" exclaimed Henry Bunker in a whisper to his first and only customer to his tearoom. The shapely lady in
the tight red gown nodded primly and lifted her cup to her ruby-toned lips to hide her discomfiture of what she had just disclosed
to the little bald round-faced man in the apron.
She'd been at his door as he'd rolled-up the canvas blind and politely introducing herself as Miss Muriel Gump, Henry had steered
the curvaceous middle-aged woman to a table just near the large sheet of well-washed glass advertising his spouse's business.
'Customers bring customers' -were the unassertive man's favourite words and certainly endorsed by his slumbering hectoring wife
upstairs. Such a patron of obvious quality would surely serve his motto by being seen in the eminent position of his front-window.
Muriel Gump produced a small handkerchief from her tiny seashell-shaped purse and daintily dabbed the corner of a her left eye.
"I feel trusting you with this sudden divulgence puts me at a disadvantage with your glaring ethical disciplines, Mister Bunker..."
she said as Henry glanced down at his client's bulging decolletage and sucked saliva from his mouth. "...It is not a revelation
that one should make between strangers" she added and lackadaisically revealed a selection of jewels sparkling in the darkness
of her pearl-adorned clutch.
Drawing a chair from another table, Henry sat down beside the attractive woman and gently patted her un-gloved hand. Weekdays
were usually humdrum in Seamarshes, but here in the early morning, the henpecked breadwinner of 'Victoria Bunker's Victuals &
Beverages', had found some scandal that would make his day much easier to endure. "There-there Miss Gump, these rustics are
always ready to take advantage of such a refined damsel as your good-self" he mourned quietly so that Victoria didn't hear him.
Maybe this well-endowed sexpot was a rich widow...? the hairless bringer of weak pekoe thought as he dared himself to caress
the tearful lady's wrist. Maybe -with a confession of his own, he may create an intimate bridge of trust between them that might
lead to who-knows-where? Sighing through his nose, Henry furtively checked the staircase that led to their living-quarters and
surveyed the closed door of his wife's establishment before he began his trade of gossip with Muriel Gump.
Moments later, Mister Bunker rose to his feet and nodded again at the wide-eyed curvy customer that what he'd just imparted to
her was true. His wife's tearoom was quiet and the battle-axe upstairs didn't know the secret he'd fused with Muriel Gump, another
positive tick on his list to sustain his struggling self-reliance. This day was turning out to be a grand one, he thought as he gambled
another glance at the swell of the woman's exposed cleavage.
"Who'd have thought that of Saul Pritchard?" Henry whispered with a wink to Muriel and scurried off to prepare the woman's chosen
breakfast of lightly-buttered toast. He felt confident that -if narrated properly and with certain facts omitted regarding the provocative
woman currently sitting at the front window and himself, Victoria would no longer purchase produce from that filthy-minded bumpkin
with the wandering hands.
occupant of Seamarshes as she disembarked from the little coracle. Dawn was almost here and the dark-red lambency of
a late-summer sun promised more blue skies and a warmth one's skin will lament when the leaves fall from the trees.
Gretna Grindylow had played her cards well. After learning the fundamentals of who-was-who in the village from young Clem
Willard, the Merethon had somehow transformed herself into a female human and confident Peggy would win such a wager
on her next assumption, was currently inching her way into the favour of some of Seamarshes residents. Leaving the decaying
jetty, the waddling visitor losing her sea-legs would have to admit that the snoring boat-renter in shadows of the dilapidated
deckhouse might argue that suggestion.
Arriving at the junction where the unpaved track split to offer a way to the Willard's home and the alternative -to downtown
Seamarshes, the Last Witch of Underhill slowed her pace as she demanded her acumen to produce a way for the Merethon
to transmogrify itself from a lizard-like form to a full-figured female with an ear for gossip. Turning in the direction that would
take her to the village, Peggy felt last-night's maritime exploits lightly eroding her thought-processes about the creature called
Gretna Grindylow but who currently resided under the appellation of Muriel Gump.
With the first rays of sunlight breaking the horizon, the unshod sorceress knelt down into the tall grass that fought for space with
reeds along the sandy path and plucked her early-moring pick-me-up, a tonic that would get her through the day. Chewing on the
juicy stem of a St John's wort, the weary spell-worker stepped towards Seamarshes and resisted the need to use Myrddin's Ignis
Dust-seeing spectacles to locate Miss Gump's destination.
.................................................................
"Really...? I had no idea" exclaimed Henry Bunker in a whisper to his first and only customer to his tearoom. The shapely lady in
the tight red gown nodded primly and lifted her cup to her ruby-toned lips to hide her discomfiture of what she had just disclosed
to the little bald round-faced man in the apron.
She'd been at his door as he'd rolled-up the canvas blind and politely introducing herself as Miss Muriel Gump, Henry had steered
the curvaceous middle-aged woman to a table just near the large sheet of well-washed glass advertising his spouse's business.
'Customers bring customers' -were the unassertive man's favourite words and certainly endorsed by his slumbering hectoring wife
upstairs. Such a patron of obvious quality would surely serve his motto by being seen in the eminent position of his front-window.
Muriel Gump produced a small handkerchief from her tiny seashell-shaped purse and daintily dabbed the corner of a her left eye.
"I feel trusting you with this sudden divulgence puts me at a disadvantage with your glaring ethical disciplines, Mister Bunker..."
she said as Henry glanced down at his client's bulging decolletage and sucked saliva from his mouth. "...It is not a revelation
that one should make between strangers" she added and lackadaisically revealed a selection of jewels sparkling in the darkness
of her pearl-adorned clutch.
Drawing a chair from another table, Henry sat down beside the attractive woman and gently patted her un-gloved hand. Weekdays
were usually humdrum in Seamarshes, but here in the early morning, the henpecked breadwinner of 'Victoria Bunker's Victuals &
Beverages', had found some scandal that would make his day much easier to endure. "There-there Miss Gump, these rustics are
always ready to take advantage of such a refined damsel as your good-self" he mourned quietly so that Victoria didn't hear him.
Maybe this well-endowed sexpot was a rich widow...? the hairless bringer of weak pekoe thought as he dared himself to caress
the tearful lady's wrist. Maybe -with a confession of his own, he may create an intimate bridge of trust between them that might
lead to who-knows-where? Sighing through his nose, Henry furtively checked the staircase that led to their living-quarters and
surveyed the closed door of his wife's establishment before he began his trade of gossip with Muriel Gump.
Moments later, Mister Bunker rose to his feet and nodded again at the wide-eyed curvy customer that what he'd just imparted to
her was true. His wife's tearoom was quiet and the battle-axe upstairs didn't know the secret he'd fused with Muriel Gump, another
positive tick on his list to sustain his struggling self-reliance. This day was turning out to be a grand one, he thought as he gambled
another glance at the swell of the woman's exposed cleavage.
"Who'd have thought that of Saul Pritchard?" Henry whispered with a wink to Muriel and scurried off to prepare the woman's chosen
breakfast of lightly-buttered toast. He felt confident that -if narrated properly and with certain facts omitted regarding the provocative
woman currently sitting at the front window and himself, Victoria would no longer purchase produce from that filthy-minded bumpkin
with the wandering hands.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.