The Trouble with Polly Brown (30 page)

Mildred shook her head violently, as she now clearly felt even more hurt and misunderstood, and so she began to squall and bawl louder than ever.

Boritz, who was also in full flow, chose to ignore the noise and continued on. “Carry on with your latest challenging mission, dearest, for those tears that so generously cascade down your cheeks never fail in acting like windscreen wipers as they rather expertly manage to wash your entire face,” he informed her in a most unkind and derogatory manner.

Mildred blew her nose and chose not to engage in any further argument. She continued on with her hardship story. “Even after we dragged and bumped their limp and sorely, sickly bodies up the staircase, we still managed to crack a few heads against the wall, for sadly we had little alternative but to swing each body back and forth, only letting go when we believed they would land in the center of the bed. If the truth be told, Boritz dear, some never even made it,” she reluctantly confided.

“Quite what do you mean by that, dearest?” he hardly dared ask.

“Hmm. Exactly what I just said. Some of the children did not end up in their beds as expected, but due to Miss Scrimp's heavy-handed manner, after flying through the air they indeed landed on the floor on the other side of their beds. Without saying much more, they all, without exception, landed with a most terrible, heavy thump. I am praying that there are no broken bones to deal with tomorrow, although I have to try and encourage myself by saying they were
almost
in their beds,” she volunteered in little more than a whisper.

“Almost in their beds?” a wide-eyed Boritz questioned as he then gave her another troubling and most judgmental look.

“Yes, almost. But don't you give me that somber and highly critical look, for not only am I advancing in years and so lacking the stamina, but alas I do not come from any highly disciplined athletic background.”

“Hmm, but Miss Scrimp does.”

“True, but may I also remind you that Miss Scrimp's Scottish log-throwing days were over many years ago. Therefore we are just normal simple people struggling to do our best in an most impossible situation. Yes, as I stated, we aimed for the target, and well…er…sometimes we just missed the mark. Simple as that, for that's how it is,” she cried out.

Boritz was dumfounded and therefore lost for words.

“The truth is, I feel, well, mortified, if not utterly demoralized,” she wept, as once more she allowed herself permission to feel the full extent of her martyrdom. “And as I previously stated, dear, without you on board to help out, we were simply unable to complete the task. Needless to say, we are both utterly exhausted and therefore on the brink of despair,” she said as she gave another loud snort into her purple polka-dotted hanky.

Boritz gave her another weary, half-hearted pat on the back as he mumbled a very trite, “There, there, dear,” as he continued to conjure up a very sorry picture of those unfortunate children, who like the Highland fling had been flung so high they never actually made it to their intended destiny but sadly landed flat on the floor on the other side of their beds. He could not help but wonder just how bruised their poor, limp bodies would be feeling by the next morning.

“Also, dearest, you have just tripped over dear, oversized Bertha, who even with the combined efforts of both of us was much too heavy to even roll to one side for safety's sake while we awaited your return,” she sniffed.

Upon realizing that Mildred had no intention of charitably dropping the subject, Boritz began to presume that this must lie with the fact that he was failing to show significant levels of remorse. He knew in that moment that he must act quickly, so without warning he began to clutch at his chest and cry out, “Mildred dearest, how can you ever forgive me for all the distress I have caused, what with my ice cream machine and then abandoning you in your most dire moment of need? My heart is racing, and I think I may well faint, if not collapse to the floor to die here in front of you,” he gasped as he continued most dramatically to clutch his chest.

Mildred remained stoically unmoved. “May I suggest that this very belated drama could be considered most inappropriate, dearest? I will choose to ignore your latest offense as I continue on with my story. Right, where was I? Then as if all this was not bad enough, to add insult to injury we were to be further demoralized by having the extremely nauseating task of mopping up immeasurable amounts of the children's revolting stomach contents from the floor. And as all children had eaten a small portion of barbecue flavor baked beans for tea, followed by exorbitant amounts of slushy ice cream, you cannot begin to imagine how utterly repulsive this all was when mixed together,” she angrily snorted. “I also happen to believe this was something Polly should have been doing and would have done, had she been suitably disposed, instead of which, just like the others, she continued to be horribly sick,” she whimpered before finally adding, “
And
all this when I was led to believe that the miserable miscreant was still on ROPE!”

“She still is, my dear little chocolate truffle. She still is!” he commiserated.

“Well, if that is the case, Boritz dear, then please do me the small courtesy of explaining why she was ever allowed to be on the receiving end of such a generous treat, a treat which she believed entitled her to eat just as much ice cream as her miserable heart desired.” Mildred sniffed in a most offended manner.

“Oh, no, no, no. Mildred, my tender little sweet pea, you, my dearest, have got it all wrong, for the wicked girl had no permission whatsoever!”

Boritz then stopped mid flow to give his dutiful wife the most tender of smiles, for she had inadvertently handed him the most unexpected and very welcome opt-out clause, which right up until this moment in time had, for some inexplicable reason, completely alluded him.

His chest cavity suddenly arose victorious, and with fresh, vibrant air in his lungs and new wind in his sails, he instantly went from a miserable, impotent wretch seeking forgiveness to his usual stature— that of a completely resurrected and fully restored demigod. Now all recrimination and blame could finally be removed from his shoulders, as they both joined ranks to give their undivided attention and judgment concerning Polly Brown and her latest show of impudent, if not downright abhorrently sneaky behavior.

“Oh, the endless trouble this selfish girl has always caused us,” Boritz cried out as he threw his hands into the air as a gesture of his utter helplessness and displeasure.

“Yes, Boritz dearest, the girl is, as you so rightly dare to suggest, nothing but trouble. End of story,” Mildred indignantly snorted. “Yes, always has been and always will be.”

Boritz felt very encouraged to step things up a notch and, by doing so, take it to the next level. “Yes, Mildred, I am so glad we are finally on the same page, for the wicked girl has shown yet again just how corrupt she truly is by furtively joining the others in the ice cream line when she knew full well she was banned at this time from all such treats. And so, you, my dearest, precious one, can rest assured that I will see to it that Polly is further punished for flouting our rules and asserting herself in a most unacceptable manner, hereby challenging our supreme authority.”

As Boritz went into one of his usual self-satisfying monologues, he truly believed he could hear the London Philharmonic Orchestra playing their superb rendition of “The Dambusters” as, like a military general, he went on to give his own rendition of Winston Churchill's most heroically famous speech.

“Yes, Mildred, never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few. So we will never surrender. We will fight them on the beaches, and we will fight them all, Polly Brown included, on the shores and…”

He remained in full flow until Mildred forced him to stop by tactfully reminding him that World War II was a thing of the past, so they were no longer fighting on the beaches in northern France but here inside the castle discussing the fate of the very young and difficult foster child Polly Brown.

“Well, dearest, thank you for reminding me, but to tell you the truth, dealing with this young vagabond could easily be interpreted as being just as traumatic a task as anything we hardy Brits faced in World War II. So I assure you that just like the perpetrators of that most diabolical war, likewise she will not get off this one scot-free. You have my sincere word on this one.”

On hearing that Polly would now definitely face punishment for her unruly conduct, Aunt Mildred's longsuffering and haunted face visibly relaxed, with Boritz even bearing witness to the faintest smile miraculously appearing from out of nowhere.

“Yes, dear. What was I thinking? At the end of the day, if Polly had done as she was instructed and been obedient—”

“Yes, yes, dearest. Keep going,” Boritz rather rudely interrupted, as he was now feeling ecstatic that his missus was finally getting the picture.

“Yes, instead of being wickedly deceitful, well then, she would have been available to assist in putting the others to bed as well as cleaning up all the hazardous waste that the poorly children spewed up all over the floor as they continued to be sick throughout the night,” Mildred stated with great clarity and vision, as it finally dawned on her who the real culprit truly was.

“Yes, I now see it very clearly, for at the end of the day it most surely is Polly who is wholly to blame for this rather unfortunate and positively ghastly episode,” she beamed.

“Yes, yes,” cried an elated Boritz, as raising his hands and his eyes toward heaven he mouthed a silent thank-you to God.

Boritz was overcome with delight that Mildred had finally come to her senses and was now placing the blame where for all intents and purposes it rightfully should be placed. And so he breathed a loud sigh of relief, deeply thankful that he was finally exonerated and so now completely off the hook.

“Trust me, Mildred, when I say that Polly Brown will be dealt with first thing tomorrow,” he said as in a gentlemanly fashion he got down on bended knee to tenderly cup his wife's tender cheeks and then take hold of her small and trembling hands in his. “In the meantime, dearest, I am in receipt of some excellent news that would most certainly gladden and uplift even the heaviest of hearts,” he said in barely a whisper. “Allow me to share with you that when I left your presence to go and answer the doorbell, I was most surprised to discover Professor Fossil on the other side of our door.”

“Boritz, forgive me for asking, but quite who is Professor Fossil? I, for one, have never heard of him. And more to the point, what on earth was he doing at our door at such an unacceptably late calling hour of the night?”

“Shh, my dear. I am uncertain as to whether I told you this piece of information, dearest, but some weeks ago I took it upon myself to hire the man in his professional capacity to find out as much as he was able concerning the origins of Polly's rather exquisite-looking ring that we confiscated.”

Mildred sniffed while continuing to nod her head in agreement.

“Well, he was unable to come up with any exact date, etc., or where the ring originated from, but he has assured me that this ring is, well—how shall I put it?—it's priceless! Therefore, my little peanut butter sandwich, I suggest you go and pack us a suitcase, for you and I are finally going to take a well-earned holiday.”

“Holiday, Boritz!” Mildred queried, suddenly perking up. “Tell me, why and where?”

“Well, my precious little cupcake,
we
are going to travel the full length and breadth of the British Empire, living it up in the most opulent style and divine decadence until—”

“British Empire, Boritz? Need I remind you that sadly we are no longer ‘this great empire' and haven't been for many long years, alas, not since Queen Victoria was on the throne and dear Gladstone was our prime minister? Yes, that was indeed a most glorious time in our history; however, since then it has been downhill all the way,” she sorrowfully concluded.

“Yes, dear,” he morosely muttered.

“You know something, Boritz dearest, if we were still an empire, well then, our trip could possibly take far longer than a couple of weeks as we crisscrossed the globe, heading for faraway lands that we once very considerately helped ourselves to.”

“Yes, yes. Hush, my dearest. Stop interrupting me, and just listen,” he cried with more than a hint of exasperation, for he had been feeling thoroughly intoxicated with excitement before she so rudely interrupted him with pious, if not corrective, behavior that could easily turn once more into an unpleasant altercation between the two of them, if he chose to allow it.

“As I was saying, pumpkin, we will spend the next few weeks traveling around our beloved country, and what with your voraciously unquenchable appetite for places of historical value, we shall be stopping at every castle and place of national interest in our pursuit to find out where this ring originated from. I, for one, fully intend to leave no stone, large or small, unturned until I get the answers I most certainly require.”

“Ooh, Boritz dearest, speaking of large stones, does this mean we might be able to visit Stonehenge?”

“Yes, my dear. It most certainly can include Stonehenge if this will make you happy.”

“Boritz dear, while I'm still thinking, I know we no longer own India, Australia, or the Bahamas, for that matter; even certain parts of Africa sadly no longer fly our Union Jack, heralding that they are no longer under our charge. But pray, perchance is there any possibility that we might just still own an itsy witsy, teeny weenie piece of South America?”

“Quite what exactly do you mean, Mildred?”

“Well, do we own a small piece of Brazil or Paraguay? Or anywhere else nice and warm, for I'm so very tired of the British weather, what with all its wintry, blustery wind, smog, and rain.”

“Hmm. My dearest peach, I do believe Montserrat and the Cayman Islands might well still be under British sovereignty, and then of course there are the Falkland Islands. I'm more than sure they still fly the Union Jack.”