Duchess Mindy was feeling subdued. She’d just awoken from an odd dream. She had been a filthy plebeian mother, presumably, who’d been bathing her child in some awful plastic contraption. Goodness, Mindy couldn’t remember the last time she’d bathed her on children – her staff took care of all that.
Mindy spent a couple of hours finessing her appearance, then waltzed downstairs to greet her husband and children before lunch.
She swept through the long gallery, barely sparing a glance for the intricate artistic works that were mostly her husband’s heirlooms. She sat in the dining room, and enjoyed a bowl of her chef’s finest broth.
When her butler, Betty, cleared the table, Mindy followed her into the kitchen to check on her herb garden. She didn’t notice that Betty’s eyes followed her oddly, as she moved around the kitchen.
Mindy noticed none of her butler’s weirdness, however, and retired to the saloon to enjoy her new gramophone before her afternoon walk.