The Trouble with Polly Brown (29 page)

With the front door now firmly shut and the heavy link chain once more back in position, with Pitstop languishing at his side, they headed back to his private drawing room, for he wanted to further examine the ring, which for the time being was rightfully back in his possession. He also recognized that he needed to quickly dry off, as he was now feeling more than a little chilly from the disastrous impromptu soaking that he had just received.

Beaming from ear to ear with immense joy, he placed the ring in his jacket pocket before concluding that this might be an opportune moment to open Professor Fossil's envelope containing the invoice, as to be honest he had absolutely no idea as to the charges he might well have incurred.

Boritz's legs immediately began to quiver and shake like vast Roman columns fragmenting before they finally collapse during the midst of a terrible earthquake. He felt weak and drained as he continued to stare down at the figures in front of him. He chose to struggle on with his inspection until he reached the end of the statement, which showed the final amount owing in bright red ink.

Feeling very ill and panicked, he hastily attempted to adjust his glasses, sincere in the belief that a bout of double vision was more than likely behind this temporary optical illusion that had him seeing what he perceived to be little short of a ridiculously greedy and therefore grossly unwarranted financial settlement.

Sadly, even with his glasses readjusted, the final sum looked daunting, leaving dear Boritz feeling very distressed that he had unwittingly clocked up such a hideously huge bill, and in such a short space of time. He swallowed hard before allowing a deep groan to rise up from his very bowels and then escape from between his trembling lips. “Goodness gracious me, I must surely be dreaming, for this is most intolerable and outrageous,” he hoarsely declared. “Nine thousand pounds, three shillings, and tuppence halfpenny! Oh, good grief. Where does this thoroughly dishonorable man get his figures from, for this is all absolutely disgraceful,” he cried out in pure desperation.

By now he was feeling decidedly overheated, and he wiped away large beads of sweat from his brow before moving further down the page to examine the bill in more detail. “What? Am I seeing correctly? Tea and cream cakes at Harrods with Professor Pangaea and Professor Igneous? The man should be locked up! How dare he insult me in such a manner by using my hard-earned funds to live it up in London's most fashionable and expensive store,” he roared. “Now then, what's this? Oh, no. This is equally preposterous!” he despairingly gasped as his eye caught hold of yet another further potential discrepancy, causing his hands to tremble more than ever.

“The man's an absolute lunatic to think he can extort money from me under the guise of purchasing four luxury Fortnum and Mason food basket as a goodwill gesture to say a big thank-you to all the staff at the Natural History Museum!” he gulped. “I really don't care that he thought this would be a most excellent gesture for their many unpaid hours spent digging through the museum's archives. I happen to believe that a tip of two pounds to share between them would have more than sufficed! This will undoubtedly be the last time I use the services of the professor, for I consider this man to be guilty of the most disgracefully wicked extortion,” he lamented as he slumped back onto the comfy chair, closing his eyes tight as he considered this latest heavy and very painful financial burden that might possibly have brought him to the brink of financial ruination, had he continued to use the services of this most learned gentleman.

He let out a deep groan, for he was now experiencing symptoms of acute pain brought on by sudden, rather erratic heartbeats. In no time at all he was forced to begin his deep breathing exercises in the hope of relieving the immensely unpleasant symptoms this unwelcome bout of stress had brought on.

Then without warning he opened his eyes wide and cried out, “Oh my goodness! Mildred!” he spluttered. “The sick children! Oh, deary me! I completely forgot. Help for my poor and sad life is most assuredly over, for I'm most certainly in the doghouse now!” he loudly wailed.

On hearing the word
doghouse
, Pitstop's finely tuned ears pricked up, and with thick slobber still hanging like stalactites from his open jaws he abandoned all paw-licking activity to look deep into his master's excruciatingly pained, water-filled eyes to express a deep sense of empathy.

Boritz mopped his sweaty brow and then stood up, giving yet another huge, deep sigh of despair. Pitstop joined in by immediately giving one of his deepest and fiercest growls as he defiantly took his rightful place by his master's side, fully prepared and willing to escort him into the very bowels of hell to face the worst!

Chapter Twelve

RULE BRITANNIA

U
NCLE
B
ORITZ FINALLY
took a firm grip of himself, and despite feeling the most tremendous sense of anxiety and dread, he hurriedly locked the door of his private sitting room before cautiously heading back toward the kitchen with Pitstop, as always, faithfully at his side. When he reached the kitchen door, he nervously stooped down to place his ear up against the keyhole, for he was anxious to hear if there were any voices or disturbing noises coming from the kitchen at such a late hour. He was pleasantly pleased to discover that everything was silent.

“Phew!” he whispered as he raised his eyes upward as if to say a thank-you.

He then drew in a deep breath as he went through his long self-help list of appropriate psychological preparations that would hopefully dispel all fear and if nothing else ply him with a humongous amount of courage, the prerequisite to entering the room.

“Good boy, Pitstop. I think the coast is clear.”

He halted for one small further moment, for in the nick of time he suddenly remembered just how important it was that the drawbridge to his emotions be securely shut down tight in order to shield or fend off any choice and cutting words dear Mildred might unfairly wish to vent in her anger and frustration toward him. He deemed this to be of the utmost necessity, lest any of her stinging choice words quite inadvertently pierce his cold, steely heart or conscience. He knew from past experience that such unpleasant clashes could well cause him to suffer prolonged pangs of guilt or remorse, as well as any other equally confusing and most unwelcome symptoms that would certainly have him feeling at death's door in just a matter of minutes.

“Psst. Mildred, my dearest one, are you in here?” he hoarsely whispered as, with great trepidation, he cautiously made his way across the room in the dark, heading for the light switch. “Pitstop, stay and guard the door. There's a good boy,” he ordered.

Boritz could just about hear the faint murmurings of someone, somewhere whimpering, but it was very difficult, if not impossible, to discern whose they were or where they might possibly be coming from.

“Come on, Mildred. Don't play your morose and very tiresome games with me,” he muttered as he rather precariously continued in the dark to make his way across the room. “If you're still up, then please be a dear and say so,” he said out loud as he then stood on something that felt immensely soft but unstable. Seconds later found him stumbling over something else long and lumpy that was also lying directly in his pathway. Poor Boritz was so overtaken by surprise that he found himself swaying back and forth like an overexuberant child in charge of a rocking chair, as he struggled to remain upright long enough to make it over to the wall with its elusive light switch. Immense relief flooded his entire being when his fat outstretched fingers finally made contact with the wall. The next few minutes were then spent anxiously fumbling around in the dark as he tried hard before finally succeeding in finding the switch.

The aging, dysfunctional fluorescent light repeatedly flickered on and off before finally conceding to light up the room, albeit dimly. Boritz then turned full circle and was immediately shocked to realize that those lumps that he had stood on as he searched his way in the dark were, in fact, the corpse-like bodies of some of the more cumbersome children, who lay out for the count and therefore immobilized as they continued to rather untidily litter the kitchen floor.

Boritz squinted as he finally caught sight of his dear, demoralized wife huddled in a corner, intermittently sniffing into the bright pink Chantilly lace hanky that she very shakily held up to her nose. He rushed over to where she sat in a very distressed, crumpled heap, and immediately did the most inspirationally gentlemanly thing he could think to do, which was to place a comforting arm on her shoulder. “Mildred, dearest, please stop all this unnecessary whining, for you appear utterly spent,” he rather curtly ordered as he halfheartedly patted her arm. His attempt to give further comfort fell on deaf ears, as she continued on with both her wailing as well as her plentiful tears.

“Please, Boritz. Give me a break, for I really can't stop myself,” she begrudgingly simpered.

“Dearest, might I take this opportunity to remind you that you alone are not responsible for replenishing the whole earth with water. It's been done before, so might I take this occasion to comment that as I have neither the time nor the inclination to follow after Noah by building myself an ark to save myself from drowning in a river of your overzealous self-pity, I would therefore strongly urge you to stop this ridiculous torrent, and now!”

Mildred began to bawl even louder.

“Besides, I cannot help but observe that your nose is beginning to look like that of a deeply depressed clown in mourning,” he rather heartlessly continued.

“Boritz, how can you be so viciously cruel?” she forlornly cried.

Boritz wasn't listening. “
And
, I hasten to add, your eyes aren't faring much better either, for they do indeed look most puffed up and swollen. So try and help yourself, dear, sweet munchkin, by bringing your highly emotional state under control—there's a dear—before you give yourself another tiresome and troubling nosebleed. That's better. Now, tell me: where are all the other children? For as of now they are nowhere to be seen, which leads me to presume you must have found some sort of help after all.”

“No, Boritz! None whatsoever!” Mildred snarled through gritted teeth. “Miss Scrimp, as well as my good self, have spent the entire evening struggling to get the children up the stairs and into their beds. We started with the younger, smaller children, as, being lighter, they were easier to carry. But I can tell you now it has been a nigh impossible feat, and this is why so many of the older and therefore heavier children are still lying in a comatose state on the kitchen floor,” she simpered and snorted.

“There, there, dearest. I do believe that you have given yourself a most chronic case of the snuffles, so have another hard blow,” he very helpfully suggested as he tried hard to commiserate with her.

“Yes, we tried to move them, but it was an impossible task from the start. We therefore had no other choice but to throw a blanket over each of them while we awaited your return to assist us,” she hysteri cally wailed.

“Yes, dear. Do please go on.” he urged.

“It was an impossible task from the start, even with Miss Scrimp clasping hold of their ankles while I tackled the job from the other end, holding each child under their armpits as we dragged their sickly, dazed bodies up the stairs and then along the corridor to their dormitory.”

“Hmm. Continue on.”

“But Boritz dearest, I'll have you know that it was still an almighty struggle from which I don't think I will ever fully recover,” she sobbed as she reached into her pocket for an extra hanky on which to have a good blow.

“There, there, Mildred.”

“Dearest, apart from feeling most angry with you, I am also—how shall I say?—feeling very delicate at this precise moment in time,” she sobbed.

“My dearest, please do not take this as an insult, but may I remind you that you've always felt poorly and fragile. What more can I possibly say? Hands up, I am, as you so regularly and pitifully remind me, totally guilty of all aforesaid charges, for to leave you on your own to do such a wearisome task was, I understand, utterly indefensible. But I simply had no other choice,” he stated, shaking his head as he continued to mutter, “I had no other choice. I had no other…”

Mildred momentarily stopped all wailing, until, scrambling about in her pocket, she managed to produce yet another handkerchief. This time the hanky was silky purple and polka dotted, with some very pretty violets embroidered on each corner, and after producing this fresh handkerchief, her wails began to get louder and louder.

“There, there, dearest. Give your nose a good blow and then have yourself another good and hearty cry if need be, for not only is it good for the soul, but it also saves on my already outrageous water bill. I have to say that the impressive amount of tears that you, my dear, manage to squeeze from those eensy-weensy, piddly little tear ducts is surely more than enough to sink even the
Titanic
!”