In 1850, in the far-off land of North Hampshirepool, at their country estate of Wuthering Gulch, Lord Reginald Bettencourt and Lady Bettencourt, discover a street urchin sleeping beneath a bird bath in their rose garden. The young waif was dressed only in sack cloth and a dirty little cap. After expressing surprise that he’d made it across the moat, they wondered what they should do with the little guy:

Lord Reginald Bettencourt: Tsk, tsk. I say we deposit the wastrel at one of those no-kill shelters for children.

Lady Bettencourt: They’re called orphanages Reggie and we’ll have none of that. I think ‘tis best we raise him to be a service tyke, and then perhaps, in time he may become a service lad until we can develop him into a full-fledged indentured servant.

Lord Reginald: Indentured you say? I don’t know, his teeth look fine to me.

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Lady Bettencourt has the servants feed and wash the child. She later asks the cook Prunella, how the lad enjoyed his gruel.

Prunella: He said he wanted more.

LB: More gruel?

Prunella: Yes. He said, “Please ma’am, I want some more” and held up his bowl.

LB: Prunella, bring this impudent boy to me.

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The freshly dressed boy is led into a cavernous room with absurdly high ceilings, way too many paintings and a roaring fireplace that raises the temperature from a chilly 52° to a balmy 54° (possibly in Kelvin degrees and not in Fahrenheit degrees) He sits attentively before Lady Bettencourt as she commences to examine the boy:

LB: What is your name son?

Urchin: (In a thick Cockney accent) Moy name ees Oliva Straight.

LB: Oliver Straight?

OS: Aye, that’s right ma’am.

LB: And why were you sleeping under our bird bath?

OS: Because yer stone bench was too hard.

LB: Prunella said you asked for more gruel. Did you like it?

OS: Not really. It was very grueling, but I was very hungry.

LB: Do you have any family or do you just live on the streets.

OS: I live by me wits ma’am. Me family’s all gone from the cholera.

LB: How did you avoid the alligators in the moat?

OS: Me’s bean taught ta be a very awtful dodja (artful dodger).

LB: How would you like to live with us for a while?

OS: I dunno. Dee-pends on ‘ow much rent ya gonna charge me.

LB: My, my. You are a little dickens.

OS: No, I ain’t ma’am. I’m just written that way.

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And after that brief interview, it came to pass that Oliver Straight became a contributing member of Wuthering Gulch. Lady Bettencourt estate-schooled him and soon he was speaking the King’s English. And when the King died, he began speaking the Queen’s English.

As the years passed, Lady Bettencourt took great interest in tutoring the lad and noticed his penchant for habituating the horse stables, where the men tended to the horses. She queried him about this.

LB: Oliver, do you find yourself drawn to those burly men in the stables?

OS: Why yes, mum. Tis true. My interest in those strapping wranglers knows no bounds.

LB: I see. Would I be correct then in thinking that Oliver Straight is gay?

OS: I wouldn’t deny it mum.

LB: Well, that’s quite a twist Oliver. Hmmm. Oliver twist. That gives me an idea. (She calls to Lord Bettencourt) Reggie aren’t we seeing that Charles Dickens next week?

Lord Reginald: Why yes, we are my dearest one. He and his wife Catherine are here for dinner in a fortnight.

LB: Heavens to Betsy, have I got a story for him.

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