Ladies with weapons

The memsahib had one of her little turns last night. One became aware of this as several heavy calibre bullets punctured the summer house where one had sought refuge from cooks sticky bloater pudding. God knows how the mem' managed to get hold of ones service revolver but it rather brought ones post-prandial musings to a sudden halt as ones years of experience on the North West frontier came to the fore and one sought cover behind a wickerwork chaise.

It was over an hour before the lady of the house could be subdued during which time she had taken pot shots at several servants, the vicar who had called to discuss ones judging of the jams at this years Christmas fete and a pair of hikers who had the misfortune to be crossing the lower meadow at the time.

Fortunately one had the presence of mind to send Blenkinsop sprinting at high speed across the rose garden...or at least at as high a speed as a one legged retainer can muster...to draw her fire whilst several of the houseboys and the under gardener stormed her room in the west wing.

Luckily there were no casualties barring Blenkinsops wooden leg which stopped a round during his dash through the rose bushes and even now, Utterthwaite has been set to whittling him a replacement from an old kitchen chair. Heaven knows what would have happened if one of the other servants had been hit. In the old days you could have amputated a limb and they would have been up and about the next day, black leading the range with a smile and a small plaster. Nowadays, anything more than a flesh wound and you're up to your neck in lawyer chappies and the bounders are suing you for industrial injuries. A jolly bad show!