Truelove at Eldred Estate

      Vicarage Truelove was precisely the sort of chap you would expect with a name like his. With long, dangling limbs, and the complete inability to use them, he gallivanted through life, his mind running at about the pace as the tortoise in the age-old tale. But with that being said, he wasn’t a bad sort of fellow, by any means. The attic lights were a bit dim, true, but he had a heart of gold. That, or he lacked the faculties to produce a malicious thought, or any thoughts at all for that matter. To borrow the colloquial phrase, he wasn’t the brightest light in the proverbial harbour. To further your understanding of Vicarage, he was the reason folks have to put ‘danger’ signs and fences by exceedingly high cliffs. But then again, failing to erect these structures may strengthen the gene pool just a tad. But here I go being all negative on the poor pal. To tell you the truth, old Vic is a dear friend of mine, despite his short-comings. But as I’m sure an intelligent reader like you can guess, his deficiency in little grey cells could get us into spots of trouble, especially considering his habit of catching feelings for every girl with a pulse, rather like a lepidopterist catches butterflies. On one such occasion he adopted the impression of a butterfly catcher rather profoundly when he did in fact attempt catching a girl with a net, but that is a story for another day. 

The story I do wish to tell you, dear reader, are the particularly diverting events which occurred at Eldred Estate. My aging Aunt Rudolphina- the sort of elderly blood relative that pinches your cheeks and comments on how much you’ve grown, despite you’re going on twenty-four- had invited me to join her there, as her old friends Lord and Lady Novella own the Estate, and she had popped over for a wee visit. And with Vic and I being such good pals and all, I brought him along. In those golden years of our friendship, I acted as a sort of emotional and physical bodyguard to dear Truelove, making sure he didn’t kiss random girls on the street, or nick his jugular while shaving, that sort of thing. Anyhow, I was rather excited to visit Eldred. It’s a lovely old castle type place, with a nice cool lake to take dips in, and I’m no history buff or tour guide or anything, but I’m certain a great many murders, marriages, and melodramas took place in the vicinity. 

Vic and I arrived at Eldred Estate on a rainy Saturday afternoon, which was far from ideal, considering we had to sit inside all day long, and couldn’t pop in the lake for a swim. But our arrival was formidable for another reason: Perusa Novella, Lord and Lady Novella’s niece, which dear Aunty failed to tell me would be present, or else I would never have come. Now as I’ve mentioned before about Vic, he falls in love rather easily, a bit like how one might fall off a rabid horse. He proposed to every gal within a socially acceptable age range, no matter how detestable to look at or to converse with. He even carried his grandmother’s wedding ring on a string around his neck, just in case he felt the need to profess his undying love for a girl he didn’t even know the name of, and this custom turned out to be both a blessing and a curse for old Truelove and I.

After an afternoon of our little group moldering inside, sipping tea and discussing weather and politics like so many trained monkeys, poor Vic looked apoplectic trying not to get onto one knee. Thanks to his fear of my Aunt Rudolphina, he was held off for a time, but the poor bloke looked on the brink. 

“Theo, ol’ boy, I don’t think I’ll last the week, let alone this ghastly evening,” he said to me once we had a moment alone in a deserted corridor of Eldred. He wrung his hands in despair. “I just got to propose… I won’t be able to keep it up much longer, I just won’t.”

“Well you’ve got to try,” I told him. “Profess your love to a mirror or something and get it out of your system.”

You see, normally I let the poor chap just go for the gals and just help clean up the wreckage later (it’s a bit like trying to restrain a wild and mentally incapacitated mule), but you see, dear reader, I couldn’t let him this time, because Perusa and I were engaged. Well we weren’t particularly fond of each other or any of that hogwash, in fact, for some bizarre reason she seemed to take more of a liking to Vicarage than my dapper self, but it was no matter. We were expected to be married. The facts are, when old chums Olympia and Rudolphina had their niece and nephew in a matter of days of each other, they decided that we would be married, and while an affectionate lot, old Rudy was strict, and didn’t spare the rod by any means, as the good book says. And before you ask, intelligent reader, she would not see reason. I had been trying to convince Aunty to allow me to marry any other girl since my adolescent years, with no luck, else I would be sacrificing any smidgen of an inheritance. Not that Perusa was hard on the eyes or anything like that, but just that she had the personality of cardboard left out in the rain, and had about as many interests and hobbies as a particularly dormant moth. But as you can now understand, I could not allow Vicarage to propose. Aunty Rudy’s wrath was not something I wished to aim upon myself, and any shenanigans involving a proposal from Truelove would likely only get us kicked out of Eldred and hasten my own nuptials with the bore, which I had been doing my best to postpone. I led Vic through some deep breathing, confiscated the ring from around his neck, and we returned to the little party. 

I gathered they were discussing how the rain was good for the garden, or perhaps how we could take a turn about the grounds tomorrow, for the group looked about as riveted as when I left them. Perusa sat primly, balancing her tea cup like Miss Muffet with her curds and whey, Lord Novella read a newspaper and followed the conversation in muted mumbles, but his wife and my aunt looked almost amused, which I’ve found to be a most disturbing quality. 

“Theodore, dear, Olympia and I were just chatting,” Aunt Rudolphina said. The ends of her rouged mouth contorted slightly. “How about you and Perusa marry in August? It’s just a few months away, and the ceremony will take place here in the gardens. It will be simply lovely.”

My stomach lurched, threatening to rid itself of some recently digested finger sandwiches. A look at my bride-to-be, who broke off her longing gaze at Vicarage to gag slightly, told me she was just as thrilled at the prospect of our being married. 

“Well, Aunty,” I faltered. “I actually won’t be here in August. I’m leaving post haste to West Africa to study worms,” I lied. 

Olympia and Aunt Rudolphina laid frosty eyes on me. If looks could kill, I’d be a cold bag of bones beneath a populated necropolis. Aunty rose to her full height. I received most unpleasant death threats from those finger sandwiches. She reminded me a tad of Lady Macbeth, but- I hoped- less murdery. 

“That’s it,” she bellowed. “I brought you two here in hopes of sparking some kind of organic affection, so we could do this the proper way, and this is the thanks I get? Perusa, all you’ve done today is giggle like a silly schoolgirl at this lanky man-child. And Theodore! What a silly ninny you are. I’ve provided a suitable wife for you and you make up excuses. Worms my backside.” A large blue vein pulsed in her heavily powdered forehead. We sat in petrified stillness. “William! You can come out now.”

Out of a shadowy doorway in the corner of the sitting room emerged a bearded fellow. All hope of living out my blissful bachelor days in a tranquil beach cottage dissipated when I saw a crisp white collar beneath his black suit.

“Perusa, Theodore, stand up, if you want a shilling when I die from disappointment,” my aunt ordered. We obeyed. One does not defy an aunt with the frame of an ox and the voice of a drill sergeant. “We are doing this here and now.”

“Theodore Tuttle, do you take-” William the clergyman began in a monotone voice. But he was interrupted. Vicarage jumped out of his seat, as if his pants were on fire, and fell onto one knee in front of Perusa. As was ineluctable, the poor chap had caved. He could not withhold his proclamations of love any longer.

“Perusa Novella,” he said. “You are the light of my life. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you since I met you…” he checked his wrist watch. “Since I met you four hours ago. My love for you will never be weary, never grow old, never cease to admire upon your lovely face. Will you do me the utmost honour of becoming my wife?”

She looked at the ring, then at Vicarage, her Aunt, and then back to the ring, her face flushed. 

“Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes,” she cried. 

They embraced. Rudolphina fainted. Olympia cried. Lord Novella returned to his newspaper. William stood, dazed, and likely regretting his choice in career.

“Mother, Father, Mrs. Tuttle,” Perusa said, arm in arm with her new fiancé. “I shall not be marrying that poor excuse for a man you call Theodore, even if I don't get any money when you old prunes die. I shall be marrying Vicarage-” she faltered for a moment as she tried to recall his surname. “Truelove. Vicarage Truelove. William, marry us.”

William obeyed. Old Rudolph fainted again. Olympia fled in an eruption of waterworks. I cheered, despite the blow to my ego. 

A few minutes later the happy couple, and I, a happy Theo, pranced outside with a bottle of celebratory champagne. The rain had ceased, as if in anticipation of this joyful occasion. Vicarage Truelove had finally landed himself a wife (without the use of a net, no less), and I was relinquished of a personality deficient fiancée. All was right in the world. Vicarage opened the bottle with a jovial ‘pop.’

“Bone apple tea!” he grinned, and kissed his new bride.