A British noblewoman who was out in the country walking near her family’s summer estate got caught in a rainstorm and hurried home. She wasn’t aware neighbors were watching, talking, and phoning the police.
“It’s bullshit, what a cock-up!” complained soft-spoken 27-year-old British high society belle Constance Cantor during her high-profile arrest at the Exeter Plum Festival charity auction, where some of her outraged suitors had to be subdued by an angry glare from the Chief Constable.
Reaching down into her dress, Cantor pulled a cigarette package from her bosom and opening it, exclaimed, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, who took my last fag? Was that you again, Kyle? Gimme one of yours, you wanker.”
Five anxious suitors offered her a light. She chose one and sucked in noisily, sounding like a child vacuuming the last drops from a milkshake, then continued.
“Yes, I’m a shy girl, but I’m not some dainty ditz from the 1800s squeezed into a nipple-chafing corset so tight I can barely breathe. When you get caught in the rain, yeah, it’s cold—fucking cold—this is England, after all, but you don’t flounder and flop about like some cod caught out of water. And you sure as hell don’t wait for some pasty-faced, crooked-teeth suitor to carry you back to the manor on his steed. You swear at yourself for forgetting your umbrella, again, and go home and use a towel.”
Locals are expressing shock.
Arthur Unkler, the spry 83-year-old Lord of Holbrook Manor, wheezed in surprise, turning blue, and was about to topple over before his nurse noticed his condition and applied his puffer medication and one of those giant heart attack Aspirins. Feeling better, Unkler said, “Phew, that was a big pill. I’m not gonna need any tea tonight. Anyway, it’s not natural for a feeble little girl to get wet and not fall ill. My family has owned the land where this happened for 890 years and all over the pasture you can see dents in the landscape where girls fell, desperate for a hero. I saved a few myself. But THIS—it’s never happened. Not natural, t’isn’t.”
Hard-nosed cricket umpire Hester Jones was more blunt. “I’ve got a keen eye, and I—no, not THAT one, it’s glass, after that wayward bowl hit me and blinded me. THIS eye, yeah that’s right, it’s a keen eye. So… I see, and I know. Only one way she could have done that—she’s a witch. Not one of those nice new ones that teach hot yoga and herb growing. She’s a devil-worshiping fornicator. It’s obvious. How else do you account for her supernatural powers? Good thing we’ve still got the required laws ready.”
The Crown Prosecution Service for Exeter County and Fluff-Upon-River Township is optimistic about the case’s success, despite the outdated witchcraft law not being applied since 1944. A spokesperson said investigators continue gathering evidence, including eyewitness statements and various satanic paraphernalia.
Cantor says she’ll fight the charge all the way, even though she’s not looking forward to being tied to a chair and dunked in a pond. “Evidence? Paraphernalia? Those idiots found my bong and my old IUD. Bollocks! What’s next, my spermicide? When this crap’s over I’m moving to Spain, where I can enjoy the rain on the plain in peace.”