Is She Already Married? (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Returning to a point raised some chapters ago, Chapter CXXXII of Oy, Rodney has author Violet Crepuscular devoting some time to the man who supposedly married Lady Margo Cargo by proxy many years ago. Unfortunately for all concerned, Mr. Proxy cannot be found.

The man in question addresses the crowd of inebriated villagers in the taproom of The Lying Tart:

“I am Colonel Fildebert Blemish, of the East Bunkingham Blemishes. In the year 18-something-or-other, while serving with Her Majesty’s 8th Hussars in Africa or somewhere, I married Lady Margo Cargo by proxy. This marriage has been valid all along; she is not free to marry anyone else.”

In the crowd, Willis Twombley whispers to Lord Jeremy Coldsore, “Don’t worry ’bout him, Germy. I’ll bushwhack him when he leaves tonight.”

“He isn’t going to leave! He has a room upstairs in this establishment.”

“Then I’ll have to do what I once did to some snake in the grass from Babylonia,” says Twombley. He still believes he is Sargon of Akkad. Lord Jeremy does not want to hear what he did to the snake in the grass from Babylonia.

Conspicuously absent from the gathering is Lady Margo herself. On her way out the door this evening, her wooden leg fell off again. It being his night off, Crusty the butler is not available to re-attach it. He has gone all the way to Plaguesby to attend a lecture on the mating habits of literary men.

Crawling about in the dark, Lady Margo soon loses her way–until suddenly, as the moon emerges from behind a cloud, the dreadful shape of the vicar’s backyard wading pool looms up in front of her.

She just has time to say “Uh-oh.”

Here the chapter concludes with Ms. Crepuscular’s recipe for cat food casserole.

6 comments on “Is She Already Married? (‘Oy, Rodney’)

  1. All this talk about casseroles is making me hungry. But it’s my humble opinion that Crusty the butler might have been more entertained, and possibly even enlightened, had he chosen rather to study the mating habits of a hermit crab.

  2. Curse you, Ms. Crepuscular! You gleefully dangle us over the cliff and push cat food casserole dishes under our noses when all we want to know is: WHAT IS UNDER THE WADING POOL????

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