Travails of the 6th Earl of Studley

UPON THE OCCASION OF the 49th anniversary of his nativity, Robert Montmorency Brougham Grenville, 6th Earl of Studley, resolved to take his life because his wife, the ever-lovely Lady Raine Elizabeth Margaret Cummins, daughter of the Duke and Grand Duchess of Wetherby, had, for the third year running, taken to the bed of another.

He was moved to such drastic response because, instead of satisfying herself with another commoner possessed of a mighty tallywacker, this time she had coupled with Lord Studley's ferret-faced second cousin Reginald Arbuthnot Baldwin Elliot-Baldwin, 2nd Earl Baldwin of Bewdley, who couldn't even see his unremarkable tallywacker for the enormous gut that hung over his belt.

Lord Studley sat in the darkened library of his baronial manor house, Studley Abbey, drinking a vintage Armagnac whilst toying with his grandfather's .455 Webley Mark VI. He lost track of how many times he had cocked the heavy revolver, only to carefully release the hammer, place the handgun back in his lap, and take another drink from the snifter.

He hated the disrespect his wife displayed for all to see, he despised his fatassed cousin, but most of all he loathed himself for being a feckless cuckold unable either to put a stop to the philandering or end his worthless life. He couldn't put out of his mind his confrontation earlier that evening with Lady Raine. He had barged into her bedchamber as she was preparing for her bath. Banishing the lady's maid with a lordly wave of his hand, he fixed his wife with what he hoped was a hateful look. "How could you betray me with that pig Reggie?"

Standing before the dressing table clad in her undergarments, Lady Raine smiled wickedly. "Actually, it wasn't at all difficult, Robbie." She knew he couldn't stand it when she called him his childhood nickname. "Quite easy, in fact. I simply lay down, spread my legs, and told him to fuck me. Lord Baldwin of Bewdley was only too eager to comply." She smirked, then reached down and caressed her mons through the undergarments. "Not for the first time, I might add."

There are no secrets from a household staff, of course, but no staff at Studley Abbey had presumed to tell Lord Studley of the indiscretions. The gulf between staff and owners was too great to permit that sort of intimate conversation, Lord Fellowes' fairy tales notwithstanding. Robert learnt of her unfaithfulness when he overheard a too-loud whispered conversation between Anna, the shy upstairs maid, and Thomas, the cynical footman.

The memory was so painful he once again cocked the Webley, this time raising it to his temple. Before he could pull the trigger, the library door burst open. Maisie, the toothsome scullery maid, dropped her bucket and brush and dashed to his side. Snatching the Webley from his hand, she broke it open, shook the cartridges on the floor, and tossed the revolver in the waste bin.

Crying out "Oh Robert!" she cuddled Lord Studley to her ample bosom. Taking no offense at her use of his Christian name, he burrowed his face between her fulsome breasts and appeared to start sobbing.

"How did I fail her? What could I have done to prevent this tragedy?"

"Don't think of it as a tragedy, Robert." She freed one of her magnificent breasts and fed the nipple to his mouth. "It could prove to be for the best."

When he tried to pull his head back, she clutched it the more tightly. "In fact, think of it as an opportunity." With that, she released him, stepped back, and raised her skirts, baring her lady bits. Lord Studley gasped, his face flushed, then he burst into raucous laughter. Maisie joined with a giggle that quickly morphed into a belly laugh, and raised her skirts further to hide her face.

"CUT! CUT GODAMMIT! Bloody hell, Sean! What's happening? And you too, Gwen! This set is costing me a hundred quid an hour!" Gerry, the director, stormed past the camerawoman, who happened to be dressed at the moment.

Instead of trying to explain, Sean/ Lord Studley said "You'd best come take a look yourself, Gerry."

Gerry marched up and peered at Gwen/Maisie's lady bits. There, proudly protruding from her furry fanny, was a miniature flagstaff flying the Union Jack. "For fuck's sake, Gwen! We can't afford this!"

Gwen/Maisie peered out from behind her skirts with an innocent grin. "Oh cool your tits, Gerry, it's St. George's Day, isn't it?"