Chaos has descended on Much Malarkey Manor, so nothing new
there, then. The duckling numbers continue to grow exponentially, according to
Mrs Poo and her scientific calculator. Mrs Hare is now comfortably installed in
the Lady Rosemary guest suite and is steadily popping out more eggs, a picture
of peace, calm and serenity, with the blessings of the Goddess Ostara in
abundance. Mrs Miggins, however, is moving ever closer to the end of her tether
and thinks it’s going to need more than the protection of a pagan deity to see
her through this particular set of circumstances. To distract herself, she’s been pondering her Gladiator name. She thinks she would probably choose
‘Livid’. Or maybe ‘Explosion’.
‘I still don’t know what we are going to do with all these
ducklings,’ she says. ‘And whilst I’d like for them all to stay here forever
and ever amen, I can’t help but feel it will be wholly impractical. And what if
it all happens again this time next year?’
She is in the kitchen with Mrs Slocombe, who is making hot
cross buns in preparation for tomorrow, which is Good Friday and the ONLY day
upon which a hot cross bun should be consumed. There are many bun orders to
fulfil for the village – it seems that Easter celebrations are going to be big
this year. Mrs Slocombe has given Mrs Miggins the task of piping the flour
paste crosses on the top of each bun and Mrs Miggins is making a right pig’s
ear of it, so distracted is she with plan ‘What To Do With The Ducklings?’
‘Have you ever considered just living in the moment?’ says
Mrs Slocombe, trying to resist the urge to snatch the piping bag from Mrs
Miggins and do the job herself. ‘How about not fretting about the future and
living for the day? My Zen teacher says it is the only way to be, in order to
calm thoughts and worries about the future over which we have no control.’
Mrs Miggins raises an eyebrow at Mrs Slocombe. ‘I didn’t
know you had a Zen teacher,’ she says.
‘I bet you didn’t know I can ride a unicycle and recite
‘Paradise Lost’ in its entirety either,’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘We don’t all feel
the need to broadcast our lives to the greater Universe, you know.’
Mrs Miggins nods. ‘Probably a very wise approach these
days,’ she says.
Mrs Slocombe turns to look out of the large window which offers
a good view of the walled kitchen garden. ‘Look,’ she says, ‘today, at this
moment in time, all the ducklings are happy. Mrs Poo and Mrs Pumphrey have them
all organised and they are having lots of fun. Isn’t it lovely to see?’
Outside, the ducklings are busy helping Mrs Poo and Mrs
Pumphrey to tackle the first tranche of weed growth in the vegetable beds.
Their tiny beaks are especially adept at picking out the tiny green nubs of
growth. They are also collecting slugs, and Mrs Poo has created a tally chart
which is pinned to the toolshed door, to record who collects the most slugs as
there is a prize on offer for Top Slug Picker 2024.
Mrs Miggins rises from her seat and heads for the kitchen
door which is wide open, welcoming in the scents and the warmth of early
Spring. She looks out on the activity in the garden and nods.
‘Yes, I guess you are right, Betty,’ she says, raising her
face to enjoy the heat of the Sun. ‘Just for today, all is well.’
‘And I’m sure,’ says Mrs Slocombe, bringing her friend a cup
of tea, ‘that all will be well. A solution will present itself, just you wait
see. Patience is a virtue.’
‘And a jolly good card game, too,’ says Mrs Miggins.
(N.B What the Lady Author especially likes about this
storytelling lark is that she is wholly in charge of the weather – the Much
Malarkey Manor climate is currently warm and dry, and has been so for the last
three weeks allowing for much pleasant gardening activity to occur. Gentle
overnight showers have cleared by morning, and small, ginger dogs plastered in
mud from their walks do not exist. Unlike in real time where it continues to
hiss it down with rain like it’s never, ever going to stop and dog bathing is
becoming a slightly less fractious event on account of its frequency…blah…)
The day continues apace. The ducklings come inside for
lunch, exhausted from their gardening activities and spend the afternoon
napping in the Orangery. As the sun begins to dip in the sky, the lady hens and
Mrs Hare take them for a long walk across the Manor grounds and into the
woodlands where they play hide and seek and generally race around like loons.
And then, with night fall, a calm settles on the Manor, as
all the occupants take to their beds, looking forward to the start of the
Easter festivities on the morrow.
However…
…in the dark small hours, the slow crunching of tyres on
gravel is heard, but only by the night-time creatures – fox, badger, hedgehog,
owl – and they can do nothing but watch and listen as footsteps approach the
back of the Manor, and the Orangery door, carelessly left unlocked, is opened
and the pitter patter of tiny webbed feet on wet grass indicates the start of a
whole new, and rather unwelcome adventure…
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