Twas a dark and windy neet. T' rain lashed out at t' lonley couple struggling to walk rain sooked road.
EEEE, they should ave stayed at ome, tha knows, but 'eathcliffe and his wife were on't way tut manor ouse of Dr Peasemould where wife, of Eathcliffe, were t' get elp.
Wind, eee, it were gettin oop, an t' wife were getting weary, so Eathcliffe gave lass piggyback fut last mile.
Arriving at manor ouse, Eathcliffe dropped wife on't door step, and rang bell on't door.
"Ooo, is it?" Came t' voice from t' other side of door.
"Tis I, Eathcliffe, tha knows! wife is sick"
Door was orpened, an Mrs Peasemould dragged both in.
"Wots wrong wit wife?" Enquired Mrs Peasemould.
"She is with child, tha knows, an't shes got the dropsy" replied Eathcliffe, as e struggled to sit wife oop.
"Eee, yu bletherer!" Sharted Mrs Peasemould, "Why did tha not leave lass at ome? Dr wud ave cum art to thee".
"Weather reet bad tha knows, Mrs Peasemould, an orse as gone lame, so ad no way of lettin tha know". Replide Eathcliffe, as e removed his sodden coat.
"Wait ere, I will get Dr" Said Mrs Peasemould.
After a while, Dr came tut lobby, an seein both there, asked Eathcliffe what was matter.
"I think its the dropsy Dr". Answered Eathcliffe.
"Is that the slut from that London thar married?" Enquired Dr Peasemould, as he knelt t' look at lass.
"Aye, tis er, Dr, found er in't hole in ground on M1". Replied Eathcliffe as e removed his wet pants.
"Then lass wont be seen by thee, she is slut, eathen! an southern namby pamby. If thar ad married Yerkshire lass, she wud ave walked ere on't own wiv sack of coal on't back".
"Eeee!" Shouted Eathcliffe. "Does thar not know, thee is from famus writing family? SKOOB1999, Lynton, Erskin Quint, Lady Godiva, Bureau, Amethyst Ryder and Emily Bronte?!".
"All mad as atters!" Raged Dr Peasemould. "I ave put all of them in't noot ouse in Spoofville! an now I'm to elp lass from London! thar is off thars gort me lad!"
"Aye, there is that". Mused Eathcliffe. "Can thee ave relations wiv thar missus, seein as eye ave nowt on?"
"Okay". Answered Dr Peasemould. "But get slut out of tut door before congress with my missus".
Eathcliffe, bundled wife out of t' door, into rain an wind.
What will become, tha knows, of wife? Will lass survive storm, an reep revenge? Will lass go beck tut Spoof family? will someone else, write chapter two?
Eeee, find out in't next chapter.