Lincoln House Chapter 3

An audible woody creak and a resigned velvety wheeze were forcibly squeezed from Lady Monica's favourite chaise longue. The poor old thing was desperately trying to support the sizable and weighty posterior of a stern looking Mel O'Hara. Reaching for her sherry, another wave of moist, sweaty flesh clad in finest silks ushered yet another groan from her straining seat which throbbed discordantly against the angelic tones gently rising from the music room as Lady Delores and Sir Flatcher whiled away yet another hour pining for their beloved Monica.
"Hah! This will all soon be mine", Mel smirked to herself.
Dizzy Monica now otherwise engaged, all she had to do was rid herself of that sickly sweet, "Princess Frosty" Delores.
"Ohh and I have the connections to do it too", she smiled.
Detective Inspector Borman, the stone faced, barrel chested, never-averse-to-a-bribe, enforcer of local "law" had been her ally for many years. The estate was rightfully hers anyway, her late father had said she'd be Lady of the House but she'd been cheated out of it, she mused to herself.

"Delores, your spirit seems to be elsewhere today", Flatcher enquired with some concern.
"Lincoln House is empty without my Monica. I miss her so much."
A firm, reassuring hand came to rest on her shoulder.
"You know I'll do everything I can to find her Delores. I swore to your Papa I'd always be there for his girls. Without him I'd not be here to day, he risked his life for me. Side by side we fought for 30 days and nights in Oudougou Gorge against those savage pygmies armed with particularly pointy, unripe bananas. He carried me 50 miles to safety, a large banana wedged deep within me".
He scratched at his violently twitching eye as his mind conjured up that operating theatre, the rubber gloves, the guffawing medical team, and that feeling of emptiness after the banana was taken away on the stainless steel trolley. Allegedly it was stuffed and now takes pride of place in the African War Museum in Londinium.
"Never fear Delores, I shall return with Monica, I promise", he smiled disarmingly.
With a swish of his crop and click of his boot, he was gone, leaving the flirty blue twinkle in his eye spinning in the air before her. That wasn't all he left. She held her nose.
"Flatcher by name ......", she thought.

The atmosphere in the seedy Mancunian bar was tense and humid as the impatient, sweaty crowd aimed their displeasure at the still half dressed and frustratingly decent "Lola". Monica's fingers fumbled at the ridiculously tight laces on "her" corset, she was most definitely "stuck"! Her head spun more quickly than the revolving door at the local brothel and her breathing came in gasps shorter than her skirt. She collapsed to the floor.

Detective Inspector Borman had been ambushed by a love struck smile which now proudly sat beneath his sweaty brow. His enamoured gaze was fixed on the mountainous, wobbly, trifle-like buttocks of his true love, her words seeping into his head and engraving themselves as commands.
"So you know what to do Detective Inspector?" she demanded. "A little hypnotism on that ugly Delores, and you do your "thing"".
Her tone softened, "And then, Normey, all this will be ours".
Amidst his visions of being softy enveloped, he managed to utter "Tonight is the night Miss O'Hara, and by tomorrow morning they'll both be outcasts shunned by society."

Like a hippo out of water, Borman lumbered his way down to the music room.
"How reassuring to see you again Detective Inspector. Is there any news of my sister" asked Dolores forlornly, unaware of the peril she was in.
"Indeed there is Maam. We must leave for Manchester immediately. A reliable source has told me there have been several sightings since her disappearance", Borman sneered smugly.
Dolores donned her bonnet and whisked Borman into his own carriage faster than Sweeney Todd could seat a particularly bristly and rich client.

Further down the road in sight of Lincoln House, a gentle whinny tiptoed from the trees. A sparkly blue twinkle caught the afternoon sunshine.

One hour, twelve minutes and thirty three seconds was all it took to herald the arrival of the Detective Inspector's carriage complete with an excited Lady Delores. Dolores looked around at the filthy streets of downtown Manchester and the even dirtier people. She shuddered.
"Not a pretty sight for a Lady is it?" Borman's teeth gleamed. "Unfortunately for you this is where your precious sister has run to and soon you'll be joining her."
"Why Detective Inspector, I really don't know what you mean." she said uneasily.
Borman reached to his pocket and produced a handkerchief. As quick as a flash he was on Delores. The carriage to and froed as the pair struggled.
"I think not my dear Detective Inspector". The familiar swish of Flatcher's crop neatly snatched the handkerchief from Bormans sweaty fat hand.
"Now please remove your grubby little hands from the Lady."
"Oh, Flatcher thank heavens you're here". Delores' beaming smile lit the carriage.
"Come on Delores, we need to hurry if you're to be reunited with Monica."

Backstage, Monica recoiled and awoke as a kindly showgirl wafting her smelling salts mopped her brow.
"What happened? Where am I?" Monica stammered. "Why am I half dressed in my sisters corset?"
"Shhh now Honey, you'll gonna be fine."
Then the door burst open in flew Delores and Flatcher.
"Oh Monica! Thank God you're safe" Delores exclaimed, arms outstretched.
Monica struggled to her feet to embrace her sister and Sir Flatcher and promptly burst into tears.
"Hey xXx Sis, we're going home."
"Indeed, all three of us" said Sir Flatcher.

Several months later Lincoln House reverberated with the usual laughter and merriment to which the Ladys had become accustomed. It had been an eventful few months. Mel O'Hara had sailed to America to elope with Detective Inspector Borman but sadly she fell overboard and a Japanese whaler mistook her enormous backside for a rare white humpback. Borman was last seen diving over the side and giving chase. Choir practice was going splendidly well and Sir Flatcher had found a cure for his flatulence.
The Ladys were now being invited to numerous balls and events and Sir Flatcher always watched over them.

As the Sun set, bathing the House in its warm golden glow, Delores turned to Monica and said, "Sis guess what?"
"What Dolores?" asked Monica.
"You never did wash my corset!!!!"
Both girls laughed and ran to the piano, where a proud and smiling Flatcher flexed his fingers.
"Shall we begin ladies?"

The harmonies danced around and around and around the three friends, playfully sashayed towards the open window and made a dash for it ! They froze in their tracks as the crispy crackle of oak carriage wheel on gravel greeted them. 'Twas no ordinary crackle either: the lighter-than-air, glossy black coach delicately crept over shingle as it slipped past Lincoln House, it's darkened windows muffling a leathery rustle. It headed off into the woods towards the derelict, and allegedly haunted, Lickety Hill Rectory .......