What Is That Smell?

"What is that smell?"

"It is shit, Lady Gwenervier."

"It is what?" She sounded surprised.

"Shit, marm."

"Oh, really," ask Lady Gwenervier. He eyes widened noticeably  "Goodness me. How, Justin? Why, Justin? Where, Justin." She suddenly looked furious.

"It is down the back of your stockings, marm."

"It's what?" Her voice squeaked in the highest range.

"Your stockings."

"My..."

"Stockings."

She turned to look at the backs of her legs, which turned away from her gaze as she turned to look at them. "Oh my god no." She was doing circles pretty quickly, like a dog chasing its tail.

"Marm," said Justin, her right hand man. He grabbed her arm.

Lady Gwenervier stopped spinning, she looked up with tears in her eyes. "Oh Justin."

"Come with me," said Justin. "Everything will be alright." 

He led the grand dame up the curved staircase and out of sight. "I just can't believe it." Her voice floated in the entrance hallway.

"Don't worry, marm."

"How older woman would you say I am, Justin?"

"In your prime, marm, in your prime."

"Oh, Justin, you are too kind." Her voice sounded girlish.

"Thank you marm," replied Justin. "Now hold still, I have the sponge."

"Where are we Justin, tell me again where we are?"

"We're at the opera, marm, and you are just about to take your seat in the family box."

"Oh yes Justin, I do love the opera so."

"You are on the deck of the yacht."

"Oh yes, the yacht. We must go sailing, Justin."

"Tomorrow, marm, tomorrow.

"I'd like that."