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.
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.
The final instalment of Clementine’s misadventures sees an attempted double prank spiral into damp disgrace, thorough hay bale justice, and a very itchy finale. A soggy tale of sabotage, sisterhood, and shared regrets.
Just Desserts
Clementine writes from the heart to confess a failed act of vengeance, and a lesson learned the damp way.
I write today from the comfort of an extra-soft cushion, clutching a moist handkerchief, and nursing a wounded sense of dignity. I'm reporting what I hope shall be the final chapter in this regrettable saga of vengeance, miscalculation, and aggravated posteriors.