Ernestine Strothnuttle

Tonight I had the misfortune of making the acquaintance of a Miss Ernestine Strothnuttle, daughter of Lord Albert Strothnuttle and future claimant to the title of Duchess of Durn. Father feels that our meeting was a momentous one, and that Miss Strothnuttle will come to play a significant role in my life. And while I do not share his enthusiasm in this prospect, I do have the uncomfortable sense that he may be right.

The occasion of our meeting was a masquerade ball, hosted by the Strothnuttles and conceived as a means of raising funds for the Tuttle Village Diphtheria Hospital. It was this last point that should have aroused my suspicions, for father has never suffered from diphtheria (the gait he walks with is the result of a ghastly case of the gout). So why would he put a shilling towards combating an illness that has never befallen him? The underlying illogic seems apparent in hindsight, but at the time I did not give it further thought; I was consumed instead with excitement at the opportunity to model my new silk slipper pumps.

Thus, it was with some deal of enthusiasm that I set off with father in our private carriage, my feet clad in my silken pumps and my Puccinella mask in hand (and, incidentally, my fears of impending civil unrest temporarily quelled after a discussion with father and Ms. Myrtleberry). And my sense of fervor doubled upon arrival at Strothnuttle Manor,  for we entered the estate to be greeted by a vision which I feared would never grace my eyes again. Weakened by my steady regimen of rhubarb rolls and turnip stew, I nearly buckled at the sight of a wondrous spread, encompassed of all those delightful delicacies that Prudence has banished from our household: puff pastries, buttermilk pie, cream cake, and a bowl crammed full with sour pips, spogs, treacle dabs, and a host of other sweets!

At this juncture in the evening, my mouth gobbed with banana whirls and many a lad's envious eye cast upon my pumps, I could not have been more mirthful. But as you know, dear reader, earthly pleasures are short-lived -- in my life, particularly so. And no sooner had I summited the peak of contentment than I came tumbling down it, as father's true intentions began to reveal themselves and I found myself presented with Miss Ermestine Strothnuttle.

Though her countenance was at first largely concealed by a Scaramuchi mask, I could detect that Miss Strothnuttle's face was not an especially fair one. A weak chin and rather excessively generous brow domineered her visage, and her eyes did little to detract attention from them, being spread so far apart as to closer approach her ears than her nose. All of these features were accentuated through their placement atop a disproportionately diminuitive frame, which in turn was brought into relief by the comparatively hulking figures that flanked either side of it -- those of father and Lord Strothnuttle, both their faces frozen in sinister grins.

From thence, my evening was in absolute shambles, wasted in attempts to elude the company of Miss Strothnuttle. This proved a rather formidable task, as father and Lord Albert were both continually in tow, attempting to foist our conversation upon one another. And while I succeeded in avoiding any meaningful exchanges with the Strothnuttle heiress (largely by keeping my mouth stuffed with blackcurrent gums) on this evening, I know not whether my resolve can endure this latest quandary that fate has visited upon me.

Father seems quite determined in this cause, the desired ends of which he gave voice to during our carriage ride home when he looked at me and pronounced, "Perhaps one day Miss Strothnuttle shall be your wife." These words hit me with such a force that I could not muster up a reply, and remain completely frazzled even as I write this. I want no part of the wretched Strothnuttle bloodline, one more despicable than even mine own!

Comments

[Bubba Gump]

Hey, if you don't want Ernestine, can I have her? She's purty!

[Bubba Gump]

If you don't go for her, may I? She's a purty thang

[Duke of Spankington]

I daresay that I find Ms. Strothnuttle to be an exquisite prize, unfit for your barbaric hands. It is well that you keep your distance, scurrilous tramp!