The Plague

- A fine evening to you, sir
- Yes, quite. A good evening indeed.
- And where is your beautiful wife on such a night?
- Mmmm...Dead, I'm afraid.
- Dead ?
- And rather suddenly, too, I should add
- But how? She was the shining jewel of London's Court.
- The Plague, it would seem. Tainted drinking water, rats in the woodwork, you know how these things go.
- And your seven beautiful daughters? Each one more beautiful than the last. How your wife managed, one wonders.
- Well, it seems she didn't.
- What  do you mean, good sir?
- The Plague.
- All of them? At the same time. On the same day. God would see fit to dash away seven such wondrous creatures?
- Just after morning tea.
- But there's no bath of such size! I dare ask how.
- It would seem our Queen is quite fond of pool parties, you see. In they went. Plop.
- The Queen! God have mercy! Our beloved Queen is dead!? Nothing from the town crier! Surely it would have been on the cover of this evening's post!
- Don't be a fool, kind sir. No queen would be caught dead doing her own swimming. Two of her servants.
- Plague?
- Quite so.
- This blight, contamination of our water supply, a black scourge that rots away the very fabric of society, robbing men of house and home! It would be tragic were it to affect our beloved poppy, truly!
- I assure this opium is quite safe, sir.
- Right. Same time tomorrow, then?