Dear Mr Jack Lincoln Palmistry, (Ex Poet Laureate)
Sharon, the Femme de Chambre at The Grange, Norbury Market, returned to her work in the kitchens at Twilight Lawns on Tuesday, looking somewhat flushed. Nurse Smythe, out of the goodness of her heart, and due to the fact that she has an inordinate number of kind bones in her body, decided to keep an eye on Our Sharon, as, with her somewhat flushed face and general demeanour, it appeared that she was "coming down with something", as they say.
Later the same evening, Sharon was not to be found when the cups, saucers and plates from supper were to be washed up. I am afraid I have to inform you, that after a search was organised, she was located in the room of the Assistant Gardener-in-Waiting, Raj. She was discovered because she was making rather strange noises, which in an ordinary girl of her class, might have been associated with a form of giggling. She was also making repeated statements in the affirmative: “Oh Yes! Yes! Yes!” being the burden of her words.
After some knocking and calling, the door was opened, Raj was not to be found, although he was later discovered in his shirt and little else, hanging from the guttering quite close to his own window. Raj explained that he had gone there to rescue Matron's Pussy, which he had thought he had seen on the roof top. Raj is an honest lad, a lovely and helpful lad; and of course we believed him, but we also had to explain to him that Matron's Pussy had gone to Bournemouth for rest and recuperation for a couple of weeks after the incident with the Korean painters and the sandwich cutting machine.
Sharon, on the other hand, had no explanation for her strange noises until (and it is here that the narrative of this little tale takes a somewhat sinister turn) it was discovered that she had secreted about her person, a couple of pages of one of the most tasteless and repulsive bits of prose that Nurse Smythe has ever seen or heard.
Apparently while Sharon had been fulfilling her duties as Femme de Chambre, at The Grange, Norbury Market, earlier in the week, she had come across a book of verse. A disgusting little tome, which a former paying guest had left when he visited the area. It turns out, Mr Palmistry, that upon perusal of the Guest Book at that establishment, the guest, Mr Palmistry, who had vacated that room and left the filthy little book behind him, was yourself.
Sharon had removed a couple of pages, and it was whilst reading these that she had been so inflamed so that she made such revolting gurgling, giggling and choking noises. One hopes that Dear Raj hadn’t heard any of this disgusting filth, as I am sure his sweet ears would never in his wholesome young life, have experienced the like.
Raj, when brought down off the roof, was naturally horrified, and pointed the finger of blame firmly and directly at Sharon (as did we all). Nasty little trollop!
In view of the above, Mr Palmistry, I think we might need to reappraise your residency rights, and regardless that you are of advanced years, the most appropriate manner of attacking this nasty little situation might be to ask you to reapply for your room (but not within six months, please), or even hand in your keys immediately.
May we here ask you not to contact Cissie and/or Maude, who have apparently formed quite an attachment to yourself. We are aware that their affection for yourself springs from the sterling work you have put in, in your capacity of Mentor and Artistic Director, and your exceptional work in running the Poetry Workshop
The two pages that Sharon had been reading are enclosed in copy form. We are keeping the originals, in case there is any reason for the members of the Local Constabulary to wish to see that.
Mr Palmistry, you have been warned!
You most obedient servant,
(Mrs) H Plantagenet-Featheringstonehaugh (Matron)