5: 35 AM: Crumpetworthy Park
Up at The Hall with its dark labyrinthine corridors, the residents sleep. The only sounds, the hiss of the steam pipes from the beast, a gargantuan early-Victorian boiler deep underground. Even the steaming tiled bathtubbery with its exotic plants is silent.
Outside, an owl hoots behind the gardener’s hut. Mr. Doggy Doofus, on some nighttime mission of his own, stops sniffing the ground and howls in return. Dog and owl have much to say to each other in the dark.
Beyond the trees, and down Crumpetworthy Park’s long driveway, there is a light on in the gatekeeper’s lodge.
Inside, old Ken Hopkins, resplendent in his hand-made nightcap and gown, puts the kettle on for his first cup of tea and lets the cat in. He lights a fire and settles down in front of it to make a list of all things he won’t do today.
6:12 AM: North Rompshire School of Manners
With bodice-ripping intensity, proprietor, Ms. Pettigrew dreams. She rolls over in her soft pillowiness and breaths a deep sigh. Now in her dreamy-dreamland, she is cantering sidesaddle across open country to where Brandon Manly, in red riding jacket and extraordinarily tight breeches, stands beneath a vast oak tree, his strong hand gripping the reins of his still-panting black stallion.
6:45 AM: Dingle
Above the wool shop, in the remote village of Dingle, Maxine Watson rises before dawn to do her exercises. Her flat is small. But there’s just enough room for an exquisite sofa on which she now reclines and concentrates on the slow path to not much.
She is making progress.
7:55 AM: Nitwittington-on-Thames
The golf club secretary, Julian Makepeace, finishes off the last of his toast and marmalade and considers what he should say at the memorial service for Arthur Sprocket later today. Another fatality in such a short time, he thinks. Major Blister died after being lost for nine days in the wood on the 14th. Muriel Robinson died of boredom, waiting for her husband to tee off on the 8th. And now Arnold Sprocket, struck by lightning in mid-swing. The golf club’s cemetery is getting full.
10:30 AM: Tea break at the Groundskeepers’ Lodge, Crumpetworthy Park
As usual, Ted Brinkley has spent the morning talking to his cauliflower in the greenhouse. He now puts the kettle on for tea as the rest of the crew arrives. After all, they deserve a break after working for more than an hour and a half.
Fred (technically Ted Brinkley’s boss) has spent his working morning removing a pebble from his boot. Still, he’ll be ready to get mobile right after tea-break, or after lunch at the latest — probably.
Fred recounts the same joke he told yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.
The crew giggles dutifully.
Cautiously, Stanley, the under-gardener, examines his lunchbox for a mid-morning snack.
Relief! Audrey has made him a cheese and pickle sandwich— something he recognizes.
Audrey’s day off at home. She stands at the sink cup in hand. She thinks how Stanley just doesn’t feel the same way about food as she does. He likes predictability.
But she seethes with an unrequited culinary desire. She tasted a French macaron last Friday at The Cauldron, and she knows she will never be the same again.
Stanley will want baked beans on toast when he comes home from work later in the afternoon. Audrey finishes cleaning the kitchen.
11:00 AM: North Rompshire School of Manners
Ms. Pettigrew, 42, now fully awake, is dressed in a black Jaeger pleated drape dress and pearls. She addresses the girls in the lecture hall. Mr. Barry Plumb will be giving this year’s Sofa Etiquette lecture at 2 p.m. on the 16th. The girls receive this news with delight. A well-thumbed copy of his book Sofa and Sensuality has been covertly passed around among the older girls.
Ms. Pettigrew warns of the dangers of hurrying and the importance of deportment. The School will not tolerate poor posture or unnecessary rushing about.
Relaxing properly, she tells them, will allow them to discover their own mellow vocal tones. If they are to achieve elegance and grace, they must avoid all nervous strain and practice minimal effort in speech, thought, and posture.