Just desserts

A correspondent to the Blog has sent this to your technicians, and we thought you'd like it. From His Just Desserts or the Triumph of Enlightenment, recounted by Mrs Jane Pearson – Thanks!
The door flew open and he strode into the room. The watery sunlight, seeping in through the window, flashed on the silver scabbard at his side, his spurs jangled menacingly. He flung off his cloak as he moved towards her. Without intending to she took a step backwards, her hand flying to her breast in a vain gesture of self-protection. She tried to conceal the guilty note in the silken folds of her fuchsia-pink gown, but the hard slate-grey eyes took in her every move.
He held out his hand. "What is that, madam?" he demanded.
"It is nothing, sir. A mere trifle." Her voice came out in a terrified whisper.
The hand did not waver. "Give it to me."
Trembling, she held out the precious document and he seized it from her. "A True and Full Narrative of the New History Lab, for the behoof and pleasure of our learned Countrymen!" he said incredulously. "What in all the turds of hell is that?"
"They put fun into history, sir," she said brokenly. "And confidence."
Without a word he seized her by the wrist and dragged her to the fireplace. He flung the note into the dying embers and forced her to watch as the flames began to consume it.
"But sir," she wailed. "They have cake."
It took him a moment to register what she had said. Then, with one swift fluid movement of his athletic frame he swept the charred note out of the ashes and shook it out.
"Cake?" he said. "When do they meet?"