When Lady Octavia Berridge steps onto the stage at the annual Pageant of Virtue, she expects to deliver a rousing speech on modesty—not to find herself embroiled in a scandalous mishap orchestrated by her own niece. What follows is a tale of moral outrage, theatrical missteps, and one very public brush with discipline—literally. The Velvet Curtain Scandal is a cheeky lesson in artistic excess, familial correction, and why one should never mix Greco-Roman studies with a morality play.

Lady Octavia Berridge would sooner be caught reading a scandalous paperback novel—in public—than allow the annual Pageant of Virtue to descend into chaos.

For forty-three years, the event had proceeded without scandal, disruption, or so much as an improperly positioned petticoat. Which is why, on a bright Thursday in spring, as she mounted the village hall stage to deliver her customary speech on the perils of modern behaviour, she had every reason to expect yet another triumph.

When a daring Parisian chemise collides with the rigid standards of Mayfair society, Celestine Langley and her mischievous accomplice find themselves on the sharp end of Lady Renshaw’s formidable resolve. The Fitting Room Scandal is an exquisitely tailored tale of silk, scandal, and lessons stitched firmly into memory.

Act 1 — Temptations of Silk

In the heart of Mayfair, where the streets were as prim and proper as a vicar's sermon, stood Maison Bellamy. It was a sanctuary of sartorial elegance that could make even the most modest of gowns seem fit for a queen. The shopfront, with its polished brass fittings and discreet signage, was a beacon of understated opulence. Its reputation, like its hemlines, always tailored to the most exacting of standards.

The air shimmered with anticipation as Lady Renshaw entered, followed at a more languid pace by her niece, Celestine. Her honey-blonde curls were perfectly arranged, though her cherry-red lips were slightly too glossy for early afternoon appointments. The girl had charm, Lady Renshaw conceded, but charm applied in the wrong direction was often no better than wilful disobedience.

Doctor’s Orders is a tale of novel diagnosis, firm corrective remedies, and one young woman’s regrettable visit to the Netherby surgery. When Miss Patricia Featherstone seeks a cure for her chronic ennui, she discovers that Dr Blythe’s prescriptions are far more hands-on than she ever anticipated. Treatment is swift, but recovery costs her dignity, and complicates the seating arrangements.

Act 1 – Diagnosis and a Dreadful Prescription

The village surgery of Dr Algernon Blythe was a place of respectable gloom. The oak furniture was heavy and dark, the shelves filled with vials that suggested unspeakable cures, and the anatomical posters looked suspiciously outmoded.

Into this scene swept Miss Patricia Featherstone. Known as Patsy to most, and to some as “Oh— Not Her Again”. Her arrival was heralded by the unmistakable scent of Chanel No. 5, underscored by a hint of indignation. Her sunglasses perched unapologetically upon her head, and she carried herself with the air of a young woman on the cusp of either scandal or redemption — though not necessarily in that order.

When a genteel tea party at Thistlewood Grange descends into mayhem, the blame can (as usual) be traced to Arabella and Georgina Worthington. A misjudged jug of lemonade, a toppled cake stand, and an ill-timed flirtation send the nieces headfirst into the ornamental fountain—and directly into a rather damp reckoning. With wet bloomers, rattled china, and one deeply conflicted vicar, Fountain of Misfortune is a spirited tale of toppled decorum, toasty buns, and traditional discipline, applied with rhythm, conviction, and more than a few droplets of moral clarity.

Act 1 – Tea, Bickering, and the Baptism of Battenbergs

The garden terrace at Thistlewood Grange had long been a battleground and the scene of countless skirmishes. Most of these campaigns were launched by Lady Worthington's nieces, Arabella and Georgina, whose antics ranged from mere border raids on the biscuit tin, to full-scale sabotage of afternoon tea.

While these forays occasionally yielded temporary gains, Lady Worthington maintained the upper hand with her fearsome arsenal — of which the hairbrush was both first resort, and final recourse. It was said to have quelled more uprisings than the Home Guard, and even had its own campaign medal.