‘Merciful Father in Heaven," a voice quavered as the bed curtains parted with ajerk, spilling candlelight on the scene. Alan gulped at the sight of their parish vicar. Now what's the "amen-curler" doing here? God, is he up next with her? Belinda pitched into a screaming frenzy as Alan disengaged and crawled away from the scene of the crime. Then, he saw the others; his brother Gerald, grinning wickedly; his father's catch-fart Morton, who had a pistol in his fist; his father, even redder in the face than his usual brandy-induced hue, exercising his thick fingers on a walking stick; God help him, even their family solicitor Pilchard was there, bringing up the rear and trying to peek over their shoulders for a better view of Belinda's charms as she screeched her way up a full octave. ’Your own sister!" The vicar appropriately shuddered. ’You godless… animal!’

‘Half sister," Alan corrected as coolly as he could, clad only in a silk sheath condom and kneeling about as close to flagrante delicto as one could. ’He raped me! Help!" Belinda screamed. ’I'll see you hang for this," Sir Hugo said, advancing with the walking stick swishing the air. "Rape, hell," Alan shouted in defense, thinking it a poor one even as he said it. "The jade was the one invited me!’

‘Lying hound!" Sir Hugo took a swing at Alan's head that barely missed the vicar, and, if Alan had not gone flat on his back, would have half beheaded him. "I'll kill you for this, you little bastard.’

Alan did the sensible thing at that point; he ran. He leaped from the bed and made for his clothes. Morton came for him, but he was a well-fed slowcoach, and Alan had retrieved his breeches and was well on his way to freedom past Morton's outstretched arms when Sir Hugo's cane came down like a thunderbolt from on high and strock him on the shoulder, which caused him to draw his length on the parquet.