Downtrodden Abbey: The Interminable Saga of an Insufferable Family by Gillian Fetlocks

Author:Gillian Fetlocks [Fetlocks, Gillian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2013-12-03T07:00:00+00:00

Proposals of marriage often led to stress-induced hallucinations.

“What do you see in Brace?” she asks. “I mean, on paper it’s a complete mismatch—a young, naïve waif and a middle-aged, married, been-through-the-mill personal valet.”

“I like it,” says Nana, thinking.

“What do you mean, you like it?” asks Marry.

“Well, it’s a meet cute. I’ve been looking for something I could develop as a story for—”

Marry moans. “Please don’t say what I think you’re going to.”

Nana confesses that she, too, has been working on a screenplay, but a dearth of marketable ideas has stopped her cold.

“I tried the whole ‘fish out of water’ thing, with a character based on Clang—you know, the dunderheaded valet. But it just seemed like a series of unconnected incidents.

“Then there’s the sad story of Tomaine, and his latent sexual identity issues. Wasn’t sure that would sell. I mean, does anyone actually read Gertrude Stein, or does everyone just buy the book and sit around in cafés pretending to care whether she’s getting it from a bloke or a lass?

“I noodled around a little with Lady Crawfish’s pregnancy, and the entail, and how one affected the other, and the this whole thing with you and Atchew, and that Calamine fellow.…”

How dare she turn my family’s life into fodder for a gossipy melodrama, Marry thinks. But against her better judgement and despite this accelerating ire, Lady Marry finds herself becoming curious.

“And where did that go?”

Nana shrugs. “It just felt more like a theatrical drama, not a full cinematic experience—”

“I am appalled. Firstly, that you have joined the ranks of what appears to be half the inhabitants of this house—delusional screenwriters. And secondly, that you have reduced the goings-on at Downtrodden Abbey to the level of insipid entertainment of the type one would find broadcast on the radio as a source of prurient popular entertainment.”

“What’s a ‘radio’?” asks Countess Vile, overhearing the conversation.

Lady Marry explains to her grandmother the intricate matrix of vacuum tubes, wiring, and electronic signals that mesh to form radio, one of the more important advances in communication of the nineteenth century.

“Sounds like a lot of poppycock to me,” Vile snorts. “Next you’ll be telling me that a system of receptors in the sky can beam down driving directions for motorcars, both visually and spoken, on small screens in the vehicles themselves.”

Marry listens to Vile gas on for several minutes prior to suggesting that such wild thoughts are undoubtedly the product of sleep deprivation. When the dowager countess leaves the drawing room, Marry shakes her head sadly.

“Honestly, that woman is madder than a snake,” she says.

“There is something wonderful about her imagination,” says Nana. “I mean, that whole thing about the interconnected system of receptors—I must give her credit—that is really inventive.”

A passel of returning soldiers file into Downtrodden Abbey, whose rooms are converted into stations to shampoo, rinse, cut, and blow-dry the men’s hair before determinations are made regarding the larger issues of scalp treatment, hairpieces, and surgical follical replacement.

Under Isabich’s direction, Tomaine takes over as a consultant, conducting intakes on each of the officers and diagnosing his individual styling needs.

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