Something was on the point of bursting through the thin patch. A large face was looming through the sparse twigs. 'A bull!' shrieked Becky. 'It must have trampled them to death.' 'A cow,'
George corrected her. 'But we'd better see what has happened.' We rushed over to the gate and spilled out on to the meadow beyond. We looked around. 'There's Cecily,' said Becky. 'She is all doubled up. Something dreadful must have happened.' Cecily, her bodice still undone, was indeed crouched in the grass. Her shoulders were heaving but the cries she was making were not of distress but of helpless laughter. 'What's happened? Where are the others?' we asked. Unable to speak, she extended a shaking arm and pointed. A few yards away Gwendolen and Ian were frantically adjusting their dress while Perdita was gathering up scattered articles of clothing.
'Ian had his bum licked,' said Cecily, still choking with laughter. 'He was having his wicked way with Gwendolen with his kilt flipped up so that his bottom was exposed and raised up. This cow which had been watching with interest, came ambling over and stood over them. Ian of course never noticed it until too late. It bent its head down and gave him a great slapping lick. He just carried on but when it did it again, he said, “Cecily or Perdita stop it!” He reached an arm round behind him to push away the interruption and inadvertently stuck a finger up the cow's nostril. The cow bellowed and ran into the hedge. Gwendolen yelped. Perdita dropped some Of her clothing in surprise and I fell about laughing. If you could have seen the look on his face!' 'It's the salt,' said Donald. 'Cows always lick anything that is salty. A perspiring bum in a field is something that no cow could resist.' 'They hadn't actually quite come,'
Cecily went on, 'Although they were very close. However I doubt if they would want to carry on for the moment, particularly as the cow is still close at hand.' Together we picked everything up. Gwendolen and Ian picked the grass off themselves. Perdita, assisted by Cecily was made to look presentable if still somewhat dishevelled. I buttoned Cecily up remembering with lively anticipation on the part of Mr. Pego the promise of strawberries and cream. Gwendolen and Cecily decided to take one Sociable together while Monty joined me. Perdita stayed with Ian. Everyone else remounted and we pedalled off in a stately convoy up the road. Most of the reported excitement that had been lining the road had disappeared. We had one or two questioning looks but we rode decorously on. After not much more than a mile, Donald, who knew where we were going, turned right up a rough track into a wood. This in turn soon opened out into a large glade, well grassed and sun-dappled. There, spread out before us, was a truly splendid picnic.
Cook and the housekeeper had done us proud. Game pie, a large ham, cold cutlets, tomatoes from the greenhouse and an array of salads, cheese, fresh fruit and bread. Several bottles of a white wine had been wrapped in damp cloths and set down in the shade to keep them cool. A hamper contained the plates and silver. Finally, propped up against a tree, was a gentleman's bicycle. 'Wonderful,' came a chorus of voices as we looked at our feast. 'But where's Rosie?' said Cecily. 'There's her bicycle but I can't see her.' 'She can't be far,' said Donald. 'She's probably in the woods.'
'Keeping out of the way,' I suggested. 'And rightly so. She will have to be severely spoken to. She nearly caused a bad accident with her waywardness. I suppose we'd better go and find her.' 'Let's eat first,' said Gwendolen. 'I'm starving after all my exercise, even if I didn't quite finish it.' Everyone agreed that this was the correct order of priorities and we fell upon the food.
'I'm ready for my next course,' said Cecily some while later. We were surrounded by the remains of our meal. Obviously the country air had had a great effect on our appetites. Almost everything had been finished. Cecily and Gwendolen had been engaged in a low conversation for the last few minutes. 'I want all the men to go for a short walk in the woods. We will get everything properly laid out and we'll call you back when we're ready.' We did as we were told, taking the opportunity to answer the calls of nature. All at once I heard a very odd call of nature. There came a high-pitched squeal, a rustling* a crash of branches and a thump. Rosie had fallen out of a tree.
George and Monty were closest. Indeed Monty only just avoided being dropped on by her naked falling form. They hurried to pick her up. She was covered with twigs and leaves but did not seem to have come to any great harm. As they brushed the foliage off her, she gave a little cry of distress. 'My bum is all scratched! Horrid Nature!' She turned her neat little bottom towards us. Sure enough, there were a couple of scratch marks as well as an angry red patch where she must have made contact with the ground. We crowded round in interest. 'Soothe it someone, please,' said Rosie. 'It stings.' 'You've got the most experience in handling Rosie,' said Donald to me. As so often with Rosie, I was torn between being very annoyed with her and with the enticing sight of her unclothed body. However I decided that I really must reprimand her first for all the trouble she had caused. 'Rosalind,' I began sternly, 'You have behaved very badly indeed -' She burst into tears.
'Don't be unkind to me, Andrew. I have a hurt bum. Make it better.' She snuggled up against me. I struggled to continue my reproving speech on the nature of responsibility and the need for order in society but to no avail. 'Of course,' said George later, 'we all realised that you would not be able to hold out long against her wiles. She was the picture of contrition and her poor little bum was staring you in the face. You kissed her most solicitously and lingeringly. You also licked her most soothingly. I must admit though that I had not noticed she had sustained that injury between her legs that had to be so carefully attended to.' 'It was an oakapple that had become lodged between her cheeks,' I said a mite gruffly. I had a strong feeling that Rosie had managed to get the better of me. 'We were very impressed by your skill in aiding and comforting the sick. You have a healing touch. Florence Nightingale could hardly have done better,' said Monty. I couldn't help feeling that Florence Nightingale would have acted very differently in the circumstances. However I was pleased to be so complimented.
'We're wanted back!' said Ian who was a few yards away. 'I can hear them calling.' Rosie insisted on being carried since the twigs and acorns on the ground hurt her feet. I picked her up carefully and she put her arms round my neck, tucking her head into my shoulder. My hands linked under her tender bum, I followed the others.
As we reached the edge of the clearing I dropped Rosie in surprise. She yelped but I regret to say, I failed to pay her any attention. Spread out on the tablecloth was the most delicious display of strawberries and cream. Mouth-wateringly naked, Cecily was stretched out on a large table cloth. Her legs were parted and her clothes were pillowed under her head. On the crest of each luscious titty was a generously heaped mound of whipped cream. On top of each mound was a neatly placed strawberry. My eye ran down her sumptuously displayed body. Her navel had been delicately filled and her entire pussey was completely hidden by another great confection of cream and strawberries. For an instant I could only stop and stare. Nothing like this appeared in the pages of Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management as far as I could recall from my admittedly cursory reading of the text. 'Andrew,' said Becky, 'This is what you were promised. It's all for you but you must promise to finish up every last mouthful.' 'What about everyone else?' I asked. 'Hannah and I have devised an apres dejeuner entertainment for the rest of us.