Padraig picked Lola up and threw her unceremoniously over his shoulder. He deeply inhaled on his cigarette and walked resolutely forward.
As she was turned upside down the blood rushed to Lola’s head and went something towards reviving her.
“The Grimoire-we must destroy Dorking! Why aren’t I smoking?” she drawled then passed out again.
“In my opinion you are.” said Padraig and adjusted her on his shoulder making his way towards the garage.
Bunty paced up and down trying to think of a literary convention that would inform her of what to do next but she was stumped.
“Erm…” said a voice.
It was Padraig standing in the doorway in Regency attire which was slightly spoiled by the fact that he needed a shave and was wearing his spectacles. His arms were folded and he looked amused. Bunty couldn’t see what Lola saw in him, but he was an improvement on Dorking and the rest of Lola’s suitors especially Max.
“I hope he isn’t in the Union because strictly speaking I shouldn’t be letting you embalm him.” he said.
“What a jolly good idea!” said Bunty. “He’s already a dried out husk-it shouldn’t be too difficult-and he’s not in your Union.”
“Well that’s alright then, do what you want with him. I’ve left Lola in the Rolls Royce, she’s passed out but I’ve checked her pulse-she doesn’t seem to have one but she’s fine, I think..” said Padraig.
“She’s practically undead-hasn’t she told you yet?” asked Bunty.
“Well she did say that she was anemic. ” he said checking his pockets to find his cigarettes.
He took out a packet and fumbled for a cigarette lighting it with a match and inhaling thoughtfully.
“You’ve made a good job of that.” he said gesturing towards Dorking encased in twine who gibbered in a muffled manner.
A spark from Padraig’s cigarette alighted on Dorking-it sizzled causing the twine to smoulder, then flames started to dance over the surface of the cocoon causing Dorking to leap around in an extraordinary fashion.
“Oh I say!” said Bunty, standing back.
Dorking was now a ball of flame whirling around the room igniting the furniture.
Bunty realised that she had mislaid Branwell but the room was on fire and she needed to act quickly. she remembered that she had the keys to the car.
Padraig was hypnotised by the pyrotechnics so Bunty gave him a shove out of the door and dragged him down the corridor.
They reached the main entrance as the ball of flame careered after them down the staircase.
“Run man, run!” cried Bunty.
They threw themselves through the doors onto the lawn beyond as the ball of flame that was Dorking rolled out igniting the grass.
“He always was inflammatory.” said Bunty.
The sound of a horn honked behind them as the Rolls Royce hastened towards them with Branwell behind the wheel.
Clearly time periods were mixed up here as the 1930’s bled into the 19th century but an escape was at hand.
Bunty and Padraig got into the car as the flailing remnants of Dorking was reduced to a cinder.