The Trouble with Polly Brown (36 page)

Once again young Polly took a deep gulp as she listened intently to his serious threats.

“So, my dear, even if you choose to spend the night pathetically crouched in a corner, the harsh, howling wind will gnaw and chew at your bones, and your blood will surely curdle before freezing up, if not from fright then most surely from cold,” he said, giving a very sinister smile.

Polly began to openly shudder as she was forced to listen to his intimidating threats.

“Then the clawing darkness will begin to shroud your waif-like body like a claustrophobic and thick blanket, thus enabling your flesh to begin crawling with indescribable terror. And all because you will not allow your guilty conscience the rest it most surely deserves and own up.”

Polly let out a loud gasp as once more she lowered her head and tried to calm down her racing heart.

“Yes, Polly dear, as you remain cloistered in this dank, musty cellar, you are indeed in for a long, dark night of the soul,” he coldheartedly spat. “Hmm. It would pay you great dividends to remember the words of warning that many moons ago flowed from the pen of our own brilliant Charlotte Brontë: ‘A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow.' So sleep well, Polly dear. Sleep well.”

Polly remained with her head hung low, for she did not dare look up until she was quite sure that both master and beast had truly departed. When she finally dared raise her head and as her eyes came to settle on the heavy door, her only way of escape, she instantly heard the loud, ugly twist of the large, rusty key rattle in the lock. She knew without a doubt that just as Uncle had promised, her ordeal was about to begin.

Then, as if all this were not more than enough for her to deal with, the dim light that had continuously struggled to hold out throughout the entire, very unpleasant confrontation finally fizzled and died, leaving the dark and dank room shrouded in the thickest blanket of darkness. Feeling in the deepest despair, Polly crawled into a corner, and plunging her head into the palms of both hands, she wept bitterly.

“Dear God, yes, um, it's me, Polly Brown—back again like the great plague of London to bother You once more. And yes, I know it only seems like five minutes has passed since I last pestered You, but sadly I find myself yet again up a gum tree with no way down, and I assure You that this particular crisis is as bad as it gets. So if ever I needed Your assistance, it must surely be now,” she whimpered as she blew into her cupped hands in her desperate and futile attempt to stay warm. “Oh, and might I just add that there is little to no doubt that my fingers and toes will freeze and then surely drop off if I don't get some help and quickly? So please, don't leave me waiting at the end of a long line of petitioners, for I don't think I have much time left to play with,” came the strangled, anguished mutterings and moans of a young and terrified child frozen with fear and seemingly comfortless.

Polly began to shiver and shake violently, and with her teeth chattering loudly, she wondered how she could possibly make it through the night when she didn't even have the
SAS Survival Guide
on her being. This useful book was given to her, along with some much-needed advice, by the lovely and most concerned lanky Corporal Beanpod, because he felt that if anyone needed such a book, it had to be Polly!

“How right the lovely corporal was,” she sniffed, “for I do declare that I get myself in more desperate pickles than anyone else I've ever known.” That thought made her want to scream, but sadly she couldn't even begin to muster the necessary effort required. “How dumb I truly am, for how come when I need the help of that most important book, it is tucked away in my locker for purposes of safety?” she groaned, shaking her head in pure despair and disbelief.

Then quite out of the blue she remembered that Corporal Beanpod's survival book had given preeminence to the dangers surrounding hypothermia, and it had instructed that it was of the utmost importance to make sure she conserved as much heat as possible in her body if she were to have any hope of making it through the night. Failure to do so would bring on the first onset of terrifying hallucinations.

“What on earth can I do to help myself stay warm?” she muttered under her breath. She remembered that a hat or cap on her head was of the utmost importance, for this would conserve her energy levels and help keep in the heat. But where down here in this dark basement would she find herself a hat, of all things?

Before she had time to answer her own question, she found herself having a flashback of Morag and the other tramps camped around the bonfire. All her homeless friends were absolute experts when it came to keeping themselves warm, for they had little choice, as they were all homeless and therefore continuously exposed to the cruel elements. Night after freezing night as they battled high winds, sleet, ice, and fierce snowstorms, they were reminded of the dangers they faced from hypothermia if they remained lazy and therefore unprepared. She had watched on as they all stuffed thick wads of crumpled-up newspaper down their jumpers and trousers so as to conserve their body heat. Polly knew in that moment that she must do likewise; she must search for paper or material. But how was that possible, for since the light bulb had blown, the room was in total darkness?

Then once more quite out of the blue she had a brainwave. “Yes, I know what I can do,” she cried as she leapt to her feet, and then with hands outstretched she gingerly tiptoed across the room in the general direction of uncle's handmade coffins, which were still resting against a far wall.

Finally her hands made contact with hard wood. “Bingo!” she victoriously cried as she heartily pushed one of the boxes to the ground. It landed with an almighty thump.

Oh my goodness. What trouble I will be in if this box is irretrievably damaged
, she thought. She then quickly dismissed this thought as being quite irrelevant, for her survival was surely all that mattered here. She could only hope that Uncle Boritz, given time, would also see things from this perspective.

Polly then fell down on her knees beside the coffin, and with both hands she quickly began to feel around the inside. “Good, that's very good,” she muttered as she hurriedly ripped out all the thickly padded satin material that was loosely stitched to the inside of the box. She then stuffed the material up her jumper, then up her long sleeves before pushing more down the front of her trousers. Finally she wound a long length of the material 'round and 'round her head as she attempted to improvise for lack of a real hat.

“I'm feeling a bit better already,” she whispered as she intermittently blew a few hot breaths into her cupped hands before rubbing them together. “Hopefully I will soon begin feeling as warm as toast.”

Experiencing a newfound courage, she quickly pushed another of her uncle's precious handmade boxes over.

“Oops. Tallyho,” she shrieked as a further coffin made considerable noise as it crash-landed onto the floor beside her.

She then wasted no time clambering into the very plush satin lined box. Once inside she gently shifted the top lid so that it delicately balanced over the box. She knew not to close it tight, as she was not yet deceased and therefore still in need of fresh air if she were to keep breathing. Satisfied that the night's sleeping arrangements were the best she could do, she then curled up into a tight ball with her arms cradling her chest for added warmth.

As she lay immobilized with fright in the crippling darkness, she hoped with all her heart that with God now fully aware of her desperate situation, she might, with some hands-on help from Him, just make it through the night.

That night, as promised, the temperature plunged to new, unheard-of depths of unbearable cold, and the revengeful, howling wind did wickedly and viciously tear through the tunnel, terrorizing every timid, vulnerable creature that tried to hide away in the many nooks and crannies of the castle dungeons. Despite the newspaper stuffing and the added protection that came from sheltering inside the coffin, still Polly found herself shivering and trembling from head to toe as the temperature mercilessly continued to plummet until it was well below zero.

With her teeth chattering at a speed similar to that of a pneumatic drill, she once again made a dramatic cry for help. “Brrr. Dear God, please remember me! I'm the stupid, crazy girl who goes by the name Polly Brown. As usual, I have nowhere and no one else to turn to for help, so please, please help me make it through the night,” she sadly whimpered as pain-filled tears sluggishly trickled down her ice-cold cheeks.

She brought her legs up farther to her chest in her vain bid to keep warm, but even this could not prevent the painful shivers that stabbed without mercy like freshly sharpened pencils into her soft flesh. When even this failed to keep her warm, she closed her eyes, and though her teeth were chattering loudly, she began to think of Piadora and dear sweet Mrs. O'Brien, her wonderful cookery teacher.

From there she turned her attention to Aazi, and she fleetingly allowed herself to feel hurt as she pondered why he had not taken the time to reply to even one of her many friendly letters. “Perhaps he took offense at my many chocolate-sealed letters,” she mused, suddenly feeling very remorseful that she had used stale chocolate to make her own private seal of authority on each letter. Or perhaps he found her writings far too nosy and demanding to cope with. Otherwise, what if another one of her other letters had proved far too distasteful?

“There must be some stupid reason why he has refused to write back, although it is most probable that I will never find out,” she sniffed, feeling even more miserable and disconsolate, as once more she felt the full spectrum of deep, painful emotions.

Then she thought of her special teachers Mrs. Bailey and Mr. Beloski, and it made her want to weep even more, for she desperately longed to hear their kind words of encouragement and comfort. Then what of her friend Ralph? Sadly, again she wondered if she would ever see him or any other of her friends in this lifetime.

Suddenly her ears pricked up, for she believed she had heard something, something very strange, something out of the ordinary. She timidly pushed aside the lid, and then she nervously sat upright in the box. Squinting her eyes, she tried hard to look around her, but she could see nothing whatsoever, as she was consumed in the thickest darkness.

Seconds later she once more heard another unidentified noise. It was coming from the other side of the room, and it continued on, as the sound got closer and closer to where she now sat rigid in the box.

“Who is there?” she fearfully cried out. “What do you want?”

Polly continued to stare into the darkness. Her heart was pounding loudly within her breast as she tried but hopelessly failed to remain calm. Seconds later she heard a strange but identifiable purring noise, and she breathed a sigh of relief, for she knew in that moment that she had nothing to be afraid of.

“Why, it must be a stray neighborhood cat,” she contemplated.

Suddenly she felt the warm body of an animal as it sprang straight into her arms. She placed a hand on the breathing, furry lump and gently lowered the bundle into her lap. She was amazed to feel its warm heart beat as it snuggled up to her. Seconds later and she felt another similar creature jump into her lap and then curl up, then another and another.

Polly counted seven in all, and then once more she began to unnecessarily panic. What if they were not kittens but rather large rats? She wisely rebuked herself for being so fearful and stupid, for she reasoned that surely if they were rats, they would by now be tearing away at her flesh, just as they had when she had been tied up in the castle dungeons until dear, sweet Napoli had rescued her. Polly slowly and timidly placed her hands in her lap, and in seconds she could feel tiny little sticky tongues licking her fingers as they sought to make friendly contact with her.

Moments later a much larger creature jumped into the box and began to purr loudly. The creature made its way right up to her face before nuzzling into her neck. Polly reached out a hand to stroke the unidentified animal and immediately found her fingers making contact with a leather collar studded with little diamonds. In that moment it dawned on her that this was not a bunch of stray cats after all.

“Scoota, is that you?” she cried out. The gentle animal let out a large meow to identify herself. “And these sweet little balls are your kittens. Well done. You have seven precious and perfect little darlings,” she tearfully cried.

Polly reached out for the lid and once more placed it over the box. In no time at all she felt both secure and warm, for the heat and love of all these friendly little furry balls as they nestled up together did much to fend off the coldhearted and frigidly chilling blizzard. Moments later, by some unforeseen miracle, Polly fell asleep, blissfully unaware that the raging storm was worsening by the moment.

As Polly and the kittens lay sound asleep, a strange, uninvited light came to hover over her. The mystical light began to sing the most beautiful, tenderly sweet lullaby, and it was so powerful in its brilliance that it instantly dispelled all darkness. It also became clear that the thermometer, which only minutes earlier had plunged to well below zero before finally freezing up with large jagged tentacles of ice, was once more on the move, only this time it raced upward, forcing the basement to become delightfully warm.