The Poetry of Lady Everhart

           "...and that's when she fell off the horse," Lord Windell cackles, his powdery wig limp and frayed. I think it’s his only one. It’s certainly worse for wear.

"Why, Lord Windell," I say, heaving my somewhat ample breasts in his direction. "You're so witty." 

My dress is far too tight, and my stomach feels poorly. Perhaps it was the appetizer I'd eaten a few minutes ago. In thinking more on the subject, I do recall a strange taste being left on my tongue after having eaten it.

"Lady Everhart," Lord Windell addresses me with a smack of his lips once he gulps his wine. "I dare say that not many care for my humor. They say it's filth." He burps.

It is filth; however, I wish to end this evening in his good graces, so I protest.

"Not at all! I find your humor quite daring," I reply. My stomach churns. "Perhaps a bit harsh for those with sensitive ears, but humorous nonetheless."

He smiles and surveys his guests as they mill about him.

"Unfortunately," I say, "I'm not feeling...."

"Lord Merner," Lord Windell shouts past me, the fumes from his breath wrinkles my nose. "You must come here and meet Lady Everyhart."

 “That’s Everhart,” I correct.

 “Of course,” he laughs. "Forgive me."

I look up to see Lord Merner walking towards me, a glass of wine in one hand and a chicken leg in the other. The chicken skin glistens with fat, and I put my hand to my throat in disgust.

"Lord Windell," he says. "So good of you to have invited me."

"But of course," Lord Windell replies. "I wish to introduce you to a dear friend of mine, Lady Everhab."

“That’s Everyh –“

“Yes,” Lord Windell downs another glass of wine. “I know, it’s Everybard.”

Lord Merner takes a bite of chicken leg and bows. Several droplets of grease cling to his mustache.

 “Lord Merner,” Lord Windell says with a shake of his head. “I don’t believe we’re serving chicken tonight. Where are on earth did you find that?”

"A pleasure to meet you, Lord Merner," I say with a curtsy as a wave of nausea comes over me. My flesh warms from the sensation and immediately breaks out into chills to cool me.

"The pleasure is all mine," he replies.

This is an opportune moment to say my farewells. I wish to hasten to my bed and wonder if I can endure the bumpy carriage ride home with my dignity intact.

"I was just telling Lord Windell that I'm not..." I say and brace myself as another wave washes over me.

"That she's not one to brag, but she recites beautiful poetry," Lord Windell informs Lord Merner. “Inspired by both angels and demons.”

“Well,” I clear my throat. “Mostly angels.”

"Quite." Lord Merner looks around for somewhere to place the chicken leg now that all there is left of it is bone.

"My dear," Lord Windell raises his glass to me. "Would you be so kind as to share one of your original poems with Lord Merner and myself?"

I laugh uncomfortably as the blood drains from my face.

    “Don’t be so modest.” Lord Merner sets the chicken bone on one of the servant's trays as they walk by and wipes his yellowed fingers on his jacket. “Let’s have a listen, then.”

"Oh, I couldn't." I lift my palm in protest as the contents of my stomach roil once more. "It's getting quite late. As I was mentioning before..."

"Lady Ellen," Lord Windell calls to a woman in a dress tighter than mine. "We're about to be graced by Lady Everyready's creative talents. Please join us."

"My dear," Lady Ellen says, turning her vivid blue eyes toward me, "I'd be delighted." Her thin lips are overly reddened from her drink.

“Lady Ellen,” Lord Windell begins, “is quite the poet herself.”

She barks out a laugh. “I wouldn’t call what I recite as poetry at all.  Most of it never rhymes.”

“It doesn’t have to, does it?” Lord Windell motions a servant over for another glass of wine.

“No, I suppose not,” she replies.

“Go on then, Lady Everhart,” Lord Merner cheers. “Let’s hear it."

 "All of you are very kind," I say, "but I must admit I'm not feeling..."

"Before you begin," Lord Merner says, having found another chicken leg to eat. "May I ask if your poem will be about a famous battle?"

Lord Windell lifts an eyebrow. “Are you hiding chicken in your jacket?”        

“Actually, Lord Windell, I am,” Lord Merner replies as he waves the leg in the air. “The last time I feasted here, I came down with a nasty stomachache.”     

“Ha!” Lord Windell laughs.

I wonder if Lord Merner had eaten a rancid appetizer as well when he last visited our host.

“So a poem of a battle then?” Lord Merner asks again.

    "No, I'm afraid that I don't have time..." I explain. My stomach cramps.

"Oh," says Lady Ellen, "perhaps it will be about the beginnings of a sweet romance."

I feel faint and try to steady myself.

Lady Ellen takes my hand. “Are you alright?”

"Actually," I force a weak smile and pull my hand from hers, "I must..."

"No," Lord Windell snorts, "I believe she'll share a poem with us that will even make me blush."

I shake my head and stifle a burp that has bubbled up into my throat.

"Go on then." Lord Merner points his chicken leg at me. "Let's hear it."

I nod in surrender as all three watch me. I begin to recite one of my shorter poems to allow me to make my exit more quickly.

The first stanza crosses my lips and is immediately followed by the hot, putrid contents of my weary stomach.

My face heats with embarrassment, and my hand automatically covers my mouth.

“You see there!” Lord Merner wags his finger at me. “That’s precisely why I brought my own food!”

"Dear Lady Everharp," Lord Windell says with indignance. "If you weren't feeling well and needed to leave, you should have told us."