Friday, November 30, 2012

Choose Your Own Romance

** A Long Tail note to the readers of posterity before we begin: when you're done with this one, if you like it, evidence suggests the odds are good you'll also enjoy my conversion of A Dark And Stormy Entry up here. **

Here we have what appears to be the final game written by David Dyte, a decade ago in 2002, for the RomanceNovelComp. Also penned in Adventure Book, it's a fun piece of work and a nice companion for Love's Fiery Imbroglio.
This also marks my (for the bean-counters) having posted more CYOA conversions to this blog (and, really, anywhere) between November 1st and 30th 2012 than between November 9th, 2009 and October 31st, 2012. I have entirely the slightly overlong offline coffee break at my clinical internship to thank for this anomalous blip of activity, the likes of which we will never see here again as the internship ends December 7th. Shortly activity here should slow down to one post a week, or perhaps even monthly, or perhaps ... even slower. But with those expectations inversely my hopes rise that I'll be spending more time on more satisfying and substantial works (such as this one) rather than with the cheap-and-easy throwaways some of which I've been plaguing you with this week. More translations. More delicious text liberated from game data files. More transcriptions. And much, much more slow of a pace. You'll be able to savour the posts. And yes, probably more "spacer" posts where I talk about ongoing trends in gamebook-dom without necessarily converting any for you. (Did I mention Ian Livingstone's new Fighting Fantasy, only the second in the Horror genre, both set on contemporary Earth, and its iPhone app, released in honour of the Fighting Fantasy line's 30th anniversary? Well, I just did. Also, go check out Choice of Games' The Fleet, hot off the presses this morning!)
Thanks to the readers, whoever you are. On a post-by-post basis this blog actually nets more activity than my other, more easily-accessible (and admittedly, somewhat disposable) blogging project; it has higher numbers overall because I have made 80 posts there (as the posts are much, much easier to make there), not just 27. It is haunted by a couple of commentors (well, one fool and my voice echoing back at him hollowly), while this blog gathers no moss -- or replies. I am interested however in learning more about who you are, what brought you here, and what you'd like to see more of. Who knows, someday I might happily host guest posts here -- you're welcome to save me the sweat, blood and tears!
Or just silently read and enjoy, that's cool, too.

. . .
Choose Your Own Romance, a love story in variable parts
by David Dyte
-- created using Adventure Book (c) Jon Ingold 2001/2002
You are reading a new type of novel. This is called a Choose Your Own Adventure book. Instead of passively reading a traditional romance novel, here you will have the chance to make vital decisions for our heroine -- the power to make or break true love is in your hands!
And so, our story begins...
Lady Constance D'Ellicott lay asleep in her bedchamber, dreaming -- once more dreaming of her one true love, Sheldon Huskey, far away overseas, serving his country as a Captain in His Majesty's Royal Navy.
She dreamt of his ship, swiftly cutting trough the waves, until it encountered an enemy destroyer. The battle was swift and decisive -- the bang, bang, bang of the guns ensuring victory for Captain Huskey yet again. Yet the noise did not stop as the battle ended. Still the rhythmic rapping sound rang in her ears...
By and by, she began to stir and realised that someone had been knocking at the door for some time.

. . .
With a casual air, determined to make light of every day, Constance resolutely ignored the temptations of whatever news may have awaited at the front door, and ventured to the kitchen.
Alas, times were hard in D'Ellicott Manor, and our Lady had been forced to let go of the staff some time before. Nevertheless, she was a strong woman and not without the ability to fetch herself toast, marmalade and a jolly good cup of tea. She had just finished the last bite of toast when she reached for the milk and realised, to her distress, that it was all out. Terror gripped her British soul -- facing the morning without her one true love, the dashing and brave Sheldon Huskey was one thing, but facing it without a spot of milk in one's tea was unthinkable.

. . .
Pulse still racing at the thought of Sheldon's return, Constance forced herself to remain calm and think only of her breakfast. A day's events, she mused, will always play themselves out in a greatly satisfactory manner if one is willing to take the time to properly fill one's need for sound nutrition.
Although she had long ago been forced to let her servants go, times being hard at stately D'Ellicott Manor, Constance was no mean chef herself, and soon had her toast perfectly browned and marmaladed to a turn. There remained only the matter of the tea -- here an exact helping of orange pekoe, there a kettle boiled to precisely the correct temperature, no more and no less. Which left the milk.
The milk...
In her reverie over the expected reunion with her one and only true love, the greatly admired naval hero Sheldon Huskey, Lady Constance had quite forgotten that she had run out of milk, completely. And it must be said of Lady Constance D'Ellicott that the only thing she loved more than her joyful times with Sheldon was a cup of tea -- but always with a spot of milk added.
Our heroine was in very much of a quandary -- would she...
. . .
With a heavy heart, Lady D'Ellicott paid for the Cheddar, a good cheese to be sure, but not perhaps the royal feast with which she had hoped to woo her beloved.
As she toured the market thereafter, a guilt began to overtake our Lady. She felt that she was somehow letting Sheldon down -- for he was a returning war hero, a naval Captain whose years of service to His Majesty deserved something more than a simple Cheddar. He deserved a Brie.
It was fortunate, the, that just as she was about to be overwhelmed by such irrational feelings, a voice carried across the market to her upturned ear. It seemed at first some kind of daydream, but no, as the voice grew louder Constance knew -- her very own Sheldon Huskey was here, in the market, and searching for her that very moment!
Fortunate, too, that she had quite misread one simple item in Captain Huskey's personality -- his undying love for the cheeses of his native England. As Sheldon spotted the mighty block of Cheddar in Lady Constance's arms, he gave an involuntary yelp of joy. Around the fermented curd they embraced, hot enough to begin to melt the very edge for a moment.
But this was not a scene to play out in public view of the marketplace -- decorum demanded that the delerious couple return to D'Ellicott Manor, and, beneath the glowering countenance of the late Lord Hardly D'Ellicott's various portraits, make gloriously real their long awaited reunion.
Which, of course, they did.
THE END
. . .
With some part of her mind still struggling mightily to let reason prevail, a confused Constance agreed to go with Doctor Hartwell to the village clinic. With careful sedation, and hypnotic therapy, she was soon released into the care of her newly returned beau, the dashing and brave Sheldon Huskey, Captain (retired) in His Majesty's Royal Navy.
The wedding was a curious one, with Lady D'Ellicott insisting on the presence of flamingos (imported from across the Atlantic at no small expense) and doves to assist in the ceremony. A short thankyou speech was even chirped in their general direction at the reception, a sumptuous affair attended by folks of title, humble villagers, assorted sparrows and pigeons alike.
There never were down pillows in D'Ellicott Manor again. But for all that, Constance seemed to give birth every spring, like clockwork (or calendarwork, perhaps, for a yearly time scale). She and Sheldon finally agreed to take separate rooms to halt the madness after some fifteen children had joined their nest. It was a happy, but hectic ending to both their adventures.
THE END
. . .
In that instant, for no good reason except a sudden whim, a random choice seemingly out of nowhere, Lady Constance decided to become completely loopy. What good was the manor to her? What good any of this?
She ran to the front gate, making odd bird noises, and begging passers by for seed to see her through until feeding time. Word of such queer goings on at D'Ellicott Manor was swift to spread to the village, and in the fullness of time Doctor Hartwell was dispatched to the scene.
He surveyed Lady Bird D'Ellicott with some dismay.
"Shall you come with me quietly, m'lady? We can take good care of you in the village clinic."
Lady Constance found herself faced with a sudden, urgent choice. Would she...

. . .
Lady Constance had been strong for so many years, but in this one moment she could stand things no longer. Returning to the bedroom, she bawled long and loud and inconsolably. For hours and hours she cried, never once stopping until...
"My love, what matter of madness ails you?"
"SHELDON!"
Indeed it was Sheldon Huskey, now returned from war and here to comfort the love of his life, the inestimably beautiful and perfect Lady Constance D'Ellicott.
Her pulse racing, Constance choked back the last of the tears and beckoned Captain Huskey closer. At last they could consumate his return to Blighty from the awful horrors of war. A familiar warmth stirred between them for the first time in forever, or so it seemed...
And so it was that Lady Constance D'Ellicott came to be with child, born in wedlock, albeit barely, and fathered by Captain Sheldon Huskey (retired) of His Majesty's Royal Navy. Young Hershey Huskey would grow up fine and strong, a credit to his family.
Not so Sheldon, alas. For although this homecoming was indeed joyous, the sight of his love in such distress over the small matter of his absence at war disturbed him for years to come. He would never get over it, eventually turning to philandering ways in his later years, bringing disgrace and even divorce to the family D'Ellicott-Huskey. Lady Constance was to finish unhappy, after all.
THE END
. . .
In time, the noise abated, leaving Lady D'Ellicott to her reverie. As she drifted off, reveling in her silken sheets, she imgined that Sheldon was there beside her, whispering sweet (and not so innocent!) nothings in her ear, his warm presence seeming ever more real with each thrilling moment...
After a while, Constance awoke, properly refreshed and ready (if she ever truly could be) to face another day without Captain Huskey to hold close.
Her morning business taken care of upstairs, she ventured through the hallway, dominated by portraits of her father, the late and unlamented Lord Hardly D'Ellicott, and downstairs to the parlour. Would she...

. . .
The powerful, bronzed messenger took no mind of Constance's words, as he was already turning away to catch his wind, and return to more routine deliveries.
Lady D'Ellicott, then, stood alone as she gently broke the seal and unfolded the telegram within. It read, in full:
CAPTAIN HUSKEY WOUNDED STOP NOT SERIOUS STOP CAPTAIN HUSKEY HONOURABLY DISCHARGED TO RETURN HOME IMMEDIATELY STOP
Even as Constance's heart leapt, her spirits fell. The cupboard was quite, quite bare, and she should prepare a wonderful welcoming feast for her beau on the occasion of his return from war. And before that, ensure that she had a good, proper cup of tea to fortify her for the day's cooking ahead.

. . .
It is tragic to relate the final moments of Lady Constance D'Ellicott. Afflicted, for no visible reason, with the most remarkable delusion of avian form, she attempted to fly free of poor Doctor Hartwell, as he vainly gave chase with a net more normally used for capturing such butterflies as may take his fancy of a summer's evening.
Presently they came to a well, and our Lady, sure that her takeoff was iminent, simply kept running until she found herself poised, in midair some one hundred feet above the cold water, questioning her ability to fly a precious half second too late. The arrival at the Manor of her lifelong love, Captain Sheldon Huskey, was also, therefore, too late by the merest feather. Everyone had always thought it was he, the naval hero, who risked an aquatic burial. The irony was not lost -- but true love was, that day at D'Ellicott Manor.
THE END
. . .
A momentary madness, a suspension of sanity, a crazy instant of criminal intent. Call it what you will, but there was nothing rational about Constance's idea to grab the Brie, clutch it tight as if it were her very lover (Captain Sheldon Huskey, lest you have forgotten, dear reader), and take flight.
In short order Lady D'Ellicott tripped over her own skirts, and found herself with a face full of mud, and a bust full of Brie. In such a manner the local police constable found her, and demonstrating admirable impartiality, took her swiftly to the local station house for incarceration, pending an investigation of cheese theft allegations.
While at the station, Constance received a visitor. It was, to her considerable dismay, her one true love, Captan Huskey, lately returned from His Majesty's Royal Navy, and back to claim his betrothed.
Captain Huskey, a man of great principle, and, it turned out, a hater of French cheese, was enraged beyond reason. Out of loyalty to his once beloved Lady, he bailed her out of gaol, but left the village forthwith, never to return.
Lady D'Ellicott, for her part, made good her debt, and returned to respectability. But she never again found true love, dying alone many years later in hollow and empty D'Ellicott Manor.
THE END
. . .
Constance was but half way home when she spotted, in the distance but moving at a gallop, the all too familiar figure of Sheldon Huskey, the man for whom she had faithfully waited these lonely years.
As the naval hero espied his Lady, he redoubled his pace at once, and soon the betrothed copule found themseves standing face to beautiful face for the first time in many a long day.
They cried out with joy, and fell into one another's arms at once. They embraced passionately, lips locked together with long repressed ardour finally allowed release.
Gathering the Lady Constance in his powerful arms, Captain Huskey (retired) carried her back to D'Ellicott Manor, where they consummated his return with a passion bounded only by their mutual lack of a good cup of tea for fortification.
The lack of tea apart, however, it was an altogether satisfying reunion, leading at once to marriage, and, in time, a happy life for them both, along with several junior D'Ellicott-Huskeys who were to follow in the years to come. A long and fruitful future for all.
THE END
. . .
Perhaps, Lady D'Ellicott wondered, the mysterious caller at the door brought news of her betrothed and beloved, the one and only Sheldon Huskey. The thought had scarcely crossed her mind than she became convinced of its truth. Why, then, had she wasted precious moments remaining with her dreams? (Astute readers will, of course, suggest that she remained with her dreams in order to be, in some sense at least, with said Captain Huskey, the object of Constance's affections. Such readers would be perfectly correct, but the author reminds readers also that the good Lady has been apart from her beau for some years now, and is not altogether in a rational state of mind. But I digress.)
With great haste Lady D'Ellicott opened the door. Her caller was, of course, long gone, but an envelope was left on the doormat, a plain brown envelope but for the seal of His Majesty fastening it tight.
Surely, then, this envelope held news of Captain Huskey at war!

. . .
Lady D'Ellicott, never one to begin her day's activities without her breakfast, and knowing full well that a proper breakfast consisted of sensible portions of toast and tea, set forth with alacrity for the village market to find milk, the better to make a perfect cup.
Nearly at the market, she spied a new cottage, just finished. A brand new sign, gilt at the edges, advertised the presence within of Jane Grey's Tea House, a Welcoming Meeting Place for All and Sundry who are Sober of Disposition.
Now, perfect as Constance's own brew of orange pekoe was bound to be, something within her nagged to once again taste a cup prepared for her by a servant, even one of the retail trade.
But also the possibility of news awaiting at D'Ellicott Manor preyed on her mind. Perhaps she should fetch her own milk for tea and hurry home.
. . .
So many things were rushing though Constance's mind as she arrived at the market. Captain Huskey, and his expected arrival. Food for a great feast of welcome. And, perhaps most important, milk for her tea. In such a state, and being a precious young thing, it is scarcely surprising that matters began to overwhelm even the very Lady D'Ellicott who had been so strong and patient for these many years.
Confused, she dithered between the various stalls of the market.
Now, cheese. Now, meat. Now, milk. Now, parsley. It was in the midst of this whirl of emotions and purchase decisions that she began to feel quite faint. Our heroine began to move quite unsteadily.
. . .
We shall draw a discreet veil over Constance's ablutions -- I am quite sure the gentle reader will appreciate the need for even a fictional character to maintain a certain level of dignity and privacy.
Suffice it to say, presently Lady D'Ellicott made her way through the hallway, pausing briefly to venture a resentful look at a portrait of her father, Lord Hardly D'Ellicott, late of this manor, a burial well remembered for the celebratory mood of all concerned. Barring, naturally, the deceased. But enough family history. After the hallway, the stairs, and to the front door.
Constance opened the door, half expecting that her caller may still patiently be waiting. No such luck, but a small brown envelope lay there on the doormat, sealed with His Majesty's own stamp.
. . .
Hurrying on to market, Lady Constance heard a voice behind her, out of breath and ragged.
"Lady D'Ellicott! You never got your telegram!"
She turned to see a young man, a messenger, handsome and strongly built, with steely grey eyes. He bore an envelope, plain brown but sealed with His Majesty's own stamp.
"I went back to make sure as you got it, but you never did. Then I saw you hurrying off towards the village, so's I followed you. Hope you don't mind me taking the liberty, Ma'am, only with the King's seal and all, I felt as this might be an important message."
He proffered the envelope, even as he caught his breath.
. . .
As well as we have come to know Lady Constance D'Ellicott, I must, dear reader, draw the line here. I do not, in fact, believe that our heroine, even after years of pining for her one true love, would perform such a strange and demented act. So once more you are offered a choice:
. . .
Bidding the messenger a polite farewell, Lady Constance closed the door, and although still dressed in her nightgown, broke open the seal and quickly fetched a telegram from within the envelope. It read thus:
CAPTAIN HUSKEY WOUNDED STOP NOT SERIOUS STOP CAPTAIN HUSKEY HONOURABLY DISCHARGED TO RETURN HOME IMMEDIATELY STOP
Constance's heart leapt as she read the glad tidings -- Sheldon was to return home, and soon! Her mind raced to think of what preparations must be made. The bed should have fresh linen, for a start.
Gathering herself together, she ascended the staircase in a manner significantly more dignified than her earlier descent, and dressed herself for the day. Fresh silk sheets, the very finest, were laid out in welcome. But much more remained to be done as Lady D'Ellicott returned downstairs once more.

. . .
Lady Constance took up the envelope, turning inside and closing the door behind her. Scarcely able to wait, she broke open the seal and quickly fetched a telegram from within the envelope. It read thus:
CAPTAIN HUSKEY WOUNDED STOP NOT SERIOUS STOP CAPTAIN HUSKEY HONOURABLY DISCHARGED TO RETURN HOME IMMEDIATELY STOP
Constance's heart leapt as she read the glad tidings -- Sheldon was to return home, and soon! Her mind raced to think of what preparations must be made. The bed should have fresh linen, for a start.
Gathering herself together, she ascended the staircase to attend to the matter of the boudoir and its finery. Fresh silk sheets, the very best, were laid out in welcome. But much more remained to be done as Lady D'Ellicott returned downstairs once more.

. . .
It seemed an unusual moment to recall this, but Constance D'Ellicott was nothing if not fastidious about the keeping of her family home, D'Ellicott Manor. She may have been the last remaining member of the family, but she was quite sure, what with her beloved Sheldon returning home at any minute, that more family would be on the way momentarily. And it simply would not do to be with child, and have terrible drafts whistling through the upper floor of the Manor at all hours of a cold winter's night. Certainly not.
So Constance fetched a sturdy ladder from the shed, and began to climb her way up to the roof, made of finest slate many years before. She had simply to adjust one tile, a little this way, a little that, and all would be well, so she could return to the pressing matter of a cup of tea. And a welcoming feast for Captain Huskey. Captain Huskey! The thought struck Lady D'Ellicott with some force -- would he want her to be up here, taking foolish risks, when he would return so soon and be able to carry out such a repair with military precision and ease? Of course not!
She began to effect her descent accordingly, when a familiar voice, almost forgotten, beckoned her from below.
"Lady Constance, I flatter myself the pleasure of completing this work should belong to the Lord of the Manor?"
"SHELDON!"
She tried to rush down, a little too fast, perhaps, but all's well that ends well, as they say, and Sheldon Huskey was waiting with strong arms and safe hands to catch his lady love as she fell. Their eyes locked together, soon followed by their lips. And with such a kiss was sealed a union that has lasted to this very day.
THE END
. . .
Scarcely noticing her lacy wisp of a nightgown, Lady Constance leapt from her bed, rushing through the hallway and practically taking the stairs at a single leap. Breathlessly she swung the door open, to see a messenger bending to place a brown envelope on the doormat.
The messenger paused, startled at the sudden appearance of scandaously bare ankles before his lowered eyes. With infinite care not to place his gaze amiss, he picked up the envelope, slowly straightening to greet Lady D'Ellicott.
"Mornin' Ma'am."
She looked him up and down, maintaining a noble bearing despite her present state of semi-dress.
"And to you. You bring news?"
"Just this envelope, ma'am."
He extended a strong hand and broad wrist, offering Constance the envelope in question.

. . .
Jane Grey's turned out to serve quite the finest cup of tea Lady Constance had consumed for some time. She found that one cup was not enough, and the hour grew late as she tried first the English breakfast, then the lemon scented, then the jasmine, then the Irish breakfast, and finally the camomile teas.
During this time, a veritable storm was brewing outside -- not of the weather variety, but rather of the manner of human events creating a buzz of rumour and conversation. It seemed that Lady Constance D'Ellicott's one true love, the naval hero Captain Huskey, had been discharged from his service to the King and had at once returned home. Naturally, he was all over the village searching for Constance, having already tried at D'Ellicott Manor, her ancestral home.
As Lady Constance drained the last of her cup of camomile tea, Douglas, a local barley crusher, burst into Jane Grey's and noticed our heroine. Saying only, "Wait here, M'Lady." he turned on his heel and ran out, shouting incoherently. Constance found herself quite perplexed.
. . .
Returning to the front door, by now curious indeed, Lady Constance opened the door wide and fetched the envelope left by a mysterious and unknown messenger earlier that morning. Turning inside and closing the door firmly behind her, she broke open His Majesty's seal and was unsurprised to locate a telegram within. It read thus:
CAPTAIN HUSKEY WOUNDED STOP NOT SERIOUS STOP CAPTAIN HUSKEY HONOURABLY DISCHARGED TO RETURN HOME IMMEDIATELY STOP
Constance's heart leapt, even as her stomach growled from lack of a good cup of tea to begin the day. Sheldon was to return home, and soon! Her mind raced to think of what preparations must be made. The bed should have fresh linen, for a start.
Gathering herself together, she ascended the staircase to attend to the matter of the boudoir and its finery. Fresh silk sheets, the very best, were laid out in welcome. But much more remained to be done as Lady D'Ellicott returned downstairs once more. A proper cup of tea was one item that played on Constance's mind at that moment.

. . .
Constance's eyes arose from the envelope, as smart as His Majesty's seal appeared to even the most jaundiced of noble eyes, and found herself lost in the countenance of the young messenger who had been so concerned for her welfare as to nearly cause himself a nasty turn.
Waiting momentarily for his breath to return, she clasped him close, feeling his warmth thrill through her as they kissed, at first cautiously, then with reckless, passionate abandon.
It was just as well, although Lady D'Ellicott was not to know it at the time, that the messenger lived a short way nearby. For even as Bill (the messenger's name -- Constance would learn this a little later, but I may take the reader into my confidence now, the end of our story growing near as it does) and Constance made love throughout that day, her former love, Captain Sheldon Huskey, had arrived home from the war and was eager for a reunion.
His spirits sank as he found D'Ellicott Manor empty, and a search of the market, the new tea house, and much of the village proved fruitless. Eventually he heard an all too familiar cry -- it was his beloved Constance, apparently in a state of some distress. Racing towards the sound, Sheldon realised, as a well trained military man is trained to do, that the cry was not one of distress after all.
Resigning himself to this fate, he returned at once to war, despite his minor wounds, and as hostilities ended he found himself mutually attracted to a young French lass. Her parents approved of this thoroughly English hero, and together they lived a long and blissful life.
As for Lady D'Ellicott, she did eventually marry Bill, but they were never truly happy. Children followed, each a dimmer dullard than the last. And Bill's rippling muscles soon turned to lard, as he was promoted to a desk, directing messengers about the shire from his sedentary position. It was a less than joyous ending.
THE END
. . .
Gathering her skirts, Constance thanked Jane Grey for her hospitality, and politely made her exit. To her amazement, the light of her life, Sheldon Huskey, was making his way in her very direction. It turned out he had been discharged from His Majesty's service, as everyone in the village knew but Constance, and was home to reclaim his fair Lady and, of course, take her hand in marriage.
As they rushed to embrace, the once familiar passion between the Lady and her Captain flowered once more. At first, the couple gazed deep into one another's eyes, unable, unwilling, to look anywhere else. But soon, of course, they had to kiss. Electricity flowed between their lips, and a need began to arise in them both.
Fortunately, Lady Constance had noticed, Jane Grey's had a very comfortable looking chaise in the front room. Paying the proprietress for an hour of time in the room, the heroic couple, never more in love than now, allowed their mutual longing to reach a glorious fruition. Before long, of course, Sheldon and Constance were to marry. Many nights of wonder followed, and together they lived happily ever after.
THE END
. . .
On her way to market, Lady D'Ellicott mulled over the possibilities for a welcome feast for her beloved Sheldon. By and by, she arrived at the thought of a fondue. Not for any particular reason, you understand, but nevertheless, a fondue was her thought.
And so it was that our Lady arrived at a stall selling the finest of cheeses, some imported from around the continent, some made here at home. The two finest blocks, large enough for a fondue, seemed to be the English Cheddar, a tempting thought to be sure, and a French Brie. A small taste of each convinced Constance that the Brie was delightful beyond compare, and must be the one for her.
But as she learned the price from the elderly lady keeping the stall, Constance's tender heart fell. The Brie was too expensive -- hard times had indeed befallen the family D'Ellicott (of which she was sole survivor, at present) and bank accounts were cruelly low.
The old lady, unwilling to bargain, insisted that Constance either settle for the Cheddar or take her business elsewhere.
Constance gave the matter a deal of thought. Some cheese, at least, was necessary. Would she...
. . .
Years of waiting for Sheldon to return finally proved to be too much for Lady Constance D'Ellicott. Faced with a sculpted, albeit naive messenger from the village, she could withstand the temptations of a man's company no longer. Abandoning all discretion, she took the surprised young buck in her arms, and locked her tender lips to his...

It was an unfortunate course of action, for little was Constance D'Ellicott to know that this very day was the one that her one true love, the much decorated Captain Sheldon Huskey, would return from war to her boudoir. Had she known, surely Constance would have had the foresight to be alone in said boudoir at the moment of Sheldon's arrival. Especially with him being such a renowned marksman and military man. Constance D'Ellicott and her young lover (she never knew his name) were buried in an anonymous paupers' grave. Captain Sheldon Huskey was imprisoned as a guest of His Majesty for the term of his natural life.
THE END
. . .
The messenger looked at Constance curiously, but she did not notice. He may as well have been 6 inches tall and a million miles away at that second, for Constance realised that she had quite forgotten to mend the roof of the Manor the previous week. To his utter astonishment, she rushed from the scene to hurry home.
It took her a moment to register as the young man shouted to her.
"It's Captain Huskey, Ma'am. He's been discharged! He's coming home!"
She thought to turn back, but again the matter of the roof intruded.
It seemed an unusual moment to recall this, but Constance D'Ellicott was nothing if not fastidious about the keeping of her family home, D'Ellicott Manor. She may have been the last remaining member of the family, but she was quite sure, what with her beloved Sheldon returning home at any minute, that more family would be on the way momentarily. And it simply would not do to be with child, and have terrible drafts whistling through the upper floor of the Manor at all hours of a cold winter's night. Certainly not.
So Constance fetched a sturdy ladder from the shed, and began to climb her way up to the roof, made of finest slate many years before. She had simply to adjust one tile, a little this way, a little that, and all would be well, so she could return to the pressing matter of a cup of tea. And a welcoming feast for Captain Huskey. Captain Huskey! The thought struck Lady D'Ellicott with some force -- would he want her to be up here, taking foolish risks, when he would return so soon and be able to carry out such a repair with military precision and ease? Of course not!
She began to effect her descent accordingly, when a familiar voice, almost forgotten, beckoned her from below.
"Lady Constance, I flatter myself the pleasure of completing this work should belong to the Lord of the Manor?"
"SHELDON!"
She tried to rush down, a little too fast, perhaps, but all's well that ends well, as they say, and Sheldon Huskey was waiting with strong arms and safe hands to catch his lady love as she fell. Their eyes locked together, soon followed by their lips. And with such a kiss was sealed a union that has lasted to this very day.
THE END
. . .
As matters turned out, it was of no consequence whether Lady Constance gave in to her faint spell or otherwise, for just as the feelings reached their apex, she noticed, at the other end of the market, the statuesque bearing that could only be Captain Sheldon Huskey, recently retired from military service, and here in the village to find and forever stay with his beloved Lady.
In the next instant, Sheldon returned Lady D'Ellicott's gaze and ran to her. His progress was briefly thwarted by a fallen stack of fresh red apples, which he paused to rebuild, and then by an old lady hawking an overly expensive block of Brie (for which he expressed a bitter distaste), but with as much alacrity as he could reasonably muster, he arrived to embrace his own true love.
And embrace they did, with great gusto. Neither Sheldon nor Constance had besmirched their lips with those of an interloper during their long wait, and at this moment every aching day of that time seemed worth its weight in gold. A raging torrent of need, interrupted only briefly by the spilling of some freshly ground best flour, built within the ecstatic couple, and together they made their way, as rapidly as possible, back to D'Ellicott Manor.
Having attracted a great deal of attention, Captain Huskey and his intended found themselves at first followed by well-wishers anxious to cheer them on, but as the villagers realised that the reunion was to be more of a private gathering, one by one they fell away from the procession. Old Gumbleton, the town drunkard, was last to go.
And so the lovers were reunited, and for the longest time. The wedding was a triumphant occasion, children followed, and everyone reveled in the D'Ellicott-Huskey family's joy and success.
THE END
. . .
Oblivious to goings on outside, Lady D'Ellicott proceeded to drink her Japanese tea. She was aware that the custom in this particular case was not to add a spot of milk to one's beverage, but her personal taste overtook the need for correct manners, and milk she took.
Meanwhile, of course, brave, indomitable Sheldon Huskey had been alerted to the whereabouts of his beloved Constance. He made his way to Jane Grey's, drew himself to his full height, squared his jaw, and walked in the door, ready for the reunion he had craved for so long.
If he expected Lady Constance to leap to her feet and rush to his arms, he was, alas, mistaken. For our heroine had quaffed one tea too many, and was at that moment indisposed in a back room of the establishment, attending to an urgent need for relief.
But the proprietress, whose name was not Jane Grey, a historical figure of tragic circumstance, but rather Shirley Forward, was ready to greet our returning hero. For although the tea served in Jane Grey's was of the finest quality, Constance had not suspected the true nature of the establishment she had chosen for her refreshments. Shirley Forward, under her assumed name, was, not to put too fine a point on it, a lady of the evening. She advanced on the unwitting Sheldon, whose resistance was soon overcome by years of pent up passion, having spent such a long time with only the company of other sailors.
When Lady D'Ellicott returned, at last, from the back room, she was shocked to the core at the scene before her. The proprietress and her long lost beloved, Sheldon Huskey, lay, mostly undressed upon the chaise, in a pose considered indelicate in even the most ribald company.
Barely able to contain her rage and grief, Constance fled the tea house, the village, and even the Manor, never to return. She was to serve out her days in a Glasgow patent office, filing forms quietly and never, not even once, being tempted into the company of a man. For deep down she knew them all to have black hearts, filled with betrayal.
THE END
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