The Under-footmen of Harvey Hall

Miss Marisa Harvey, frequently switching from foot to foot; and her toes, very deliberately enclosing his nostrils for long periods, while with the toes of her other foot she sealed his mouth, ensuring he had no option but to inhale her pungent, vaguely cheesy-smelling, and increasingly potent foot-scent - Countess Sophia's youngest, and, thought David, most beautiful daughter, was awakening and bringing to vital, vibrant life, something within him that had until now been in slumber, sleeping quietly and undisturbed.

David found himself imagining what it would feel like to have the soles of Marisa's bare feet on his face, come warmer weather - and such heart-racing thoughts and pulse-raising anticipations were soon threatening to send him right over the edge.

David Donaldson was ecstatic.

Well, this was a turn-up! Whoever would have thought? Certainly not him!

And tomorrow, according to Marisa Harvey, Countess Luciana's stunningly beautiful daughter Isabella would also be availing herself of his Under-footman's services. Just the very thought of it elated him.

And then there was also Countess Sophia, and Francesca and Louisa, who, from time to time, were also sure to avail themselves of his Under-footman's services.

At these contemplations, a warm glow of contentment suffused David Donaldson's very being. He was euphoric.

Never before, had he experienced such overwhelming feelings, such uncontainable emotions - such exhilaration.

David didn't know how much more time had elapsed - but it had been much longer, this time, well over an hour, thought David - when for the final time Miss Marisa Harvey slid around on her seat, to sit sideways. As did her mother Countess Sophia, and her two older sisters Francesca and Louisa.

And for the last time tonight, too, were Footmen George, Albert, Edward and William in instant, reverent attendance at their respective Mistress's seat.

Where, under the ever watchful, supervisory gaze of the powdered-wigged, rouged Head Footman, who ensured the strict observance of proper protocol, the four Footmen knelt down on their left knee, and very carefully they put the sturdy, tight-fitting, block-heeled dancing shoes back on the four Harvey females' feet.

Having done so, the four Footmen, by means of dragging out the body-length hemp mats upon which the four Under-footmen lay supine, extricated them from their head-under-the-table positions.

It was now well after midnight. And after lying supine, on the hard stone floor with their heads under the banqueting table for more than five hours, it was with some difficulty that the four Under-footmen regained their feet.

Looking about him, David now saw that most of the nobles and gentry and the other well-to-do banquetting ladies and gentlemen had gone home.

Still present, though, in silent, ready attendance to the last, were the abundance of Footmen.

Miss Marisa Harvey, her face flushed from a night's energetic dancing, and from rather more of her father's top quality claret than probably was good for her, imperiously addressed David Donaldson: "You are dismissed, Under-footman David."

Miss Marisa Harvey did not, as far as David could tell, have the slightest inkling, as to the almost unbearably ecstatic and exciting feelings she'd been stirring up in him all evening.

Marisa Harvey, it seemed, did not have the slightest inkling, that she had tapped into his heretofore untapped, deeply shafted wellspring, and well and truly sprung it.

Marisa Harvey, it seemed, did not have the slightest inkling, that she had inadvertently and unwittingly triggered in him, his fundamental, radical change.

Marisa Harvey, it seemed, did not have the slightest inkling, that she had occasioned his heretofore, hibernating predilection.

Marisa Harvey, it seemed, did not have the slightest inkling, of his ... awakening.

But then, thought David: Why would she?

"Yes, Miss Marisa," said David respectfully.

Similarly proprietarily dismissed, were David's father, and his two older brothers Simon and Martin, by Countess Sophia, and by Francesca and Louisa, respectively.

*

Such was David Donaldson's great, urgent hurry to get home to do something about the unrelenting bulge in his pants, as occasioned by his initiation as Miss Marisa Harvey's Under-footman, that as he made his way through the by now long-closed kitchen he clean forgot to retrieve his birthday treat venison pie.

His father and his two older brothers Simon and Martin, whom he accompanied home, talked complainingly and resentfully and disparagingly of their evening's respective, under-the-table experiences.

But David didn't hear a word.

Nor did David even notice the gravel, sprayed up at them by the almost head-high spoked wheels of the two-horse carriages of the final departing nobles and gentry and the other well-to-do ladies and gentlemen banqueters as they sped by them on the driveway from Harvey Hall.

A big, bright moon lit their way. The night was windless, cloudless, and bitterly cold. Frost was already thick on the ground. The ornamental pond was frozen over, and long icicles depended from the water fountain.

But David didn't notice any of that, either.

For years, David Donaldson had been living in trepidation.

Living in fear, of his eighteenth, 'coming-of-age' birthday.

Living in dread, of his upcoming Under-footmanship.

But not anymore.

Because maybe, just maybe, being Miss Marisa's Under-footman, wasn't going to be so bad after all.

The End.