“Hardcock! Hardcock! Oh drat the man! Where is he?”Lady Skankthorpe jerked the bell-chain imperiously. Far away, faintly a bell tinkled, there was no acknowledging brring.*
Lady Skankthorpe was starting to get testy enough to and actually say, “Drat the man!” Out loud, when a voice spoke quietly at her shoulder. “You rang, madam?” The voice was so deep it seemed to come from below floor level, but in point of fact, Mr. Hardcock, the Butler of Skankthorpe Hall, was taller than the average Englishman, measuring in at five feet-ten-and-three-quarters of an inch in height, in bare feet, which of course was not the case now, since he was wearing his official, black highly-shined leather buttleing shoes, which had heels that added almost an inch, bringing him up to an imposing height of almost six feet, which meant that, as Lady Skankthorpe was seated at her favourite table in the pink rose wallpapered Breakfast-Room, Mr Hardcock’s loins were precisely at her eye-level. And from her somewhat less than cursory examination, the Butler appeared to be at least living up to his name.
Elspeth, Lady Skankthorpe’s mouth watered at the thought of what her good friend Catherine deBurgh had assured her was a good seven inches of dedicated service. Lady Skankthorpe considering herself both a bon vivant and a cultured member of society (being a fixture at the Plebney town cinema whenever they showed a film with subtitles). So, in the case of Lady Catherine’s recommendation of the Butler, Lady Skankthorpe felt herself qualified to read between the lines.
“Mr Hardcock was always ready to offer Lord deBurgh a polish and a brush up, even though that was, strictly speaking, the responsibility of his lordship’s valet, a Japanese man who was always eager to help with such personal tasks, which were common, his Lordship being such a rapscallion.”
“As for herself Lady Catherine continued, Mr. Hardcock was “A Godsend an absolute godsend! Indefatigable. Unstinting in his efforts, and a perfect gentleman!”
Lady Skankthorpe required no great effort of imagination to read between those lines. She offered Mr Hardcock the position without the rigmarole of an interview.
At the completion of several weeks service, he had performed his duties in an exemplary manner, and, as far as Lady Skankthorpe was concerned, that was the problem.
The Silverware always had an impeccable leg of shine, the table was always perfectly laid. The wine served in an exemplary manner, but, as for anything else, there had been no anything else. How, she often wondered to herself, did one cross the line? Did one simply rest in a straight-backed chair, such as this Hepplewhite in the Breakfast Room, stand up, pull her dress up to her waist, and sit down, spread her legs wide and say, imperiously, “Hardcock, kneel down and suck my pussy!” The moment felt so real to her, she could almost read the subtitles. The only thing that stopped her was the horrible doubt that the method might be more brutal, more abrupt than whatever stratagem Lady Catherine had used to start the ball rolling and put that enviable youthful glow into her sallow cheeks.
Hardcock showed no signs of the derangement of religion, but, in truth he was an impeccable Butler and under her minute observation, he showed no signs of being anything else.

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