When Daisy the housemaid spills a bottle of Ruby Rouge nail varnish on a priceless Persian rug, she finds herself at the mercy of Lady Worthington’s unyielding brand of domestic discipline. A painful and humiliating spanking with a heavy wooden hairbrush ensures that the redness soon spreads far beyond the carpet. The Ruby Rouge Calamity is an exquisitely upholstered tale of blemished rugs... and blistered seats.

In the well-upholstered calm of post-war England, where domestic staff still curtsied while polishing the silver, there resided in a grand Mayfair mansion one Lady Henrietta Worthington. She was a buxom, formidable creature, discreetly entering her fifties, and possessed of the stature of an Edwardian sideboard — with a similar air of uncompromising permanence.

Her floral-print dresses billowed with the pomp and ceremony of garden parties long past, and the pearl necklace she wore was not so much an accessory as a warning label. A descendant, or so she claimed, of minor nobility, she viewed the world as one might view a naughty puppy in need of correction.

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.

A Fête Worse Than Death is a tale of bunting, buttercream, and one young lady's spectacular miscalculation at the Little Dithering summer fête. When debutante Clementine Beaufort-Smythe crosses paths with the formidable Mrs. Poppet (and her prize-winning sponge), tradition and impropriety collide behind the WI tent, with results neither the bishop nor the cake stand will soon forget.

A Fête Worse Than Death

It was the sort of summer afternoon on which nothing dreadful was ever supposed to happen. Sunlight danced on bunting, bees hovered near sponge cakes and, in the parish of Little Dithering, the annual fête was in full swing.

Elderly gentlemen, with silver hair and weathered faces, wore panama hats with the sort of conviction that could only come from a lifetime of public school tradition. Ladies in floral summer frocks carried parasols like they were royal sceptres, ready to fend off both sun and scandal. The air was filled with the hum of cheerful chatter and the thock of coconuts tumbling in the shy.

Confessions of a Vicar’s Daughter is a tale of toasted buns, exposed hypocrisies, and one young lady’s intimate education in accountability. When the vicar’s golden-haired darling engineers a scorched teatime scandal, she anticipates a delicious view through the keyhole. But, what follows is a brisk turn of events, an unflinching lesson in consequences, and the most unwelcome use of a hairbrush.

Act 1 — Through the Keyhole

At first glance, Tabitha Bloom seemed like the very embodiment of virtue, a beacon of sweetness and light. As the beautiful, twenty year-old daughter of the vicar, her smile could make the sternest of hearts melt like butter on a warm crumpet. She was always ready to lend a helping hand, whether it was arranging the flowers for Sunday service, handing out scones at vicarage garden parties, or assisting her father in his duties. Her halo shone so brightly, no one noticed the horns hidden beneath her golden blonde curls. In every way, she should have appeared to be the perfect daughter.

At second glance, those who looked beyond her angelic façade might discover a more complex and intriguing personality, one that belied her initial purity. Perhaps slipping an occasional stinging-nettle into one of the flower arrangements, or contributing a splash of hot chilli sauce when spreading jam on the scones, or even replacing her father's sermon notes with a recipe for currant buns. Tabitha's fertile mind was like an iceberg: smooth on the surface, treacherous beneath, and always drifting toward someone else’s misfortune.

When an ill-timed remark, and a cheeky glimpse of red silk delicates, cause a stir at the most respectable event of the parish calendar, Clara Pimm finds herself under the unyielding supervision of Miss Rosalind Fairleigh — a governess with a reputation as polished as her hairbrush. A tale of lace, lemonade, and lessons delivered with impeccable form.

Act 1 — Miss Pimm's Mischief

The vicarage garden party, highlight of the parish's social calendar, had reached its fragrant, bustling peak. Under a marquee adorned with bunting, the ladies of the district clustered like brooches on a pillow. Lace parasols bobbed gently as teacups clinked. The usual uninspiring raffle prizes, from toffees to a mechanical egg-whisk, were displayed on a linen-draped table.

At the centre of this meticulously arranged scene stood Miss Rosalind Fairleigh, a renowned governess known throughout the county for her stern demeanour and unyielding discipline. Tall and composed, her sharp blue eyes constantly assessed her surroundings, missing nothing and forgiving even less.

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.

At the elegant Arabica Luxe, the lattes are legendary, the clientele discerning, and the staff impeccably trained, or so they thought, until Sophie’s playful streak lands her in hot water. In a café where reputation is everything, one cheeky mistake warms up more than just the milk, setting the stage for a frothy tale of daring pours, stern corrections, and the surprising art of knowing when to toe the line.

Act 1 — Grounds for Trouble

Nestled between a boutique selling overpriced scarves and a gallery showcasing abstract art that looked more like a toddler’s finger painting, stood Arabica Luxe. The air shimmered with the aroma of freshly ground coffee and warm, buttery croissants. The marble counters gleamed, the brass fixtures sparkled, and the pastries sat in their glass case with the delicacy of edible Fabergé eggs.

Behind the counter, twenty-two-year-old Sophie worked with the calm precision of someone who could pour a perfect rosette while still half asleep. Her latte art had fans, followers and occasional flirters. But today, under the mischievous influence of her best friend Tasha, she was venturing into more risqué territory.

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 Susie Pembroke and her mischievous friend Linda sneak home from an unsanctioned pool party, they find themselves in rather hot water. With stern morals, a trusty hairbrush, and a zero-tolerance policy for scandalous swimwear, Mrs Pembroke is ready to deal with immodesty in her own unforgettable fashion — while Linda tries, desperately, to stay hidden... and to suppress her giggles.

Act 1 – A Suspiciously Sunny Afternoon

The Ford Escort that crunched up the gravel drive of 13 Garden Terrace, left a trail of golden dust and ABBA in its wake. Two girls tumbled out in a flurry of giggles and tangled beach towels. Susie Pembroke, dripping chlorinated water onto her mother’s prized rhododendrons, and Linda Marchant, who was balancing precariously on a pair of cork-soled platform sandals.

Both wore bikinis of a design that would have made any self-respecting WI committee clutch their pearls in horror. Daisy chains twined around their wrists and completed the look of reckless summer abandon. Home for the University summer break, they were determined to make the most of this lovely weather.

When an ambitious young museum curator oversleeps on the morning of Little Dithering’s grand exhibit launch, she finds herself learning about history in a far more hands-on manner than she ever anticipated. Expect stern discipline, scandalised dignitaries, and one unforgettable contribution to the living arts — all under the watchful eye of Lady Hawtrey’s slipper.

Act 1 – Making an Exhibition of Oneself

In the long and sometimes draughty annals of the Little Dithering Historical Society, there were few exhibits which generated as much drama as Discipline Through the Ages.

Lady Hawtrey, the Society’s chairwoman and undisputed sovereign of museum matters, surveyed the preparations with the air of a general preparing for battle. Her hair was drawn back in a chignon so severe it seemed to exert its own gravitational pull, and her expression suggested that any exhibit falling short of perfection would face immediate and public execution. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk, missed nothing.