The Trouble with Polly Brown (38 page)

“Is it morning already?” she innocently asked, giving an almighty yawn.

“Quite what have you done to my beloved coffins?” he whispered in a hysterically high, strangled voice. As per usual, the question was rhetorical, for Polly was given no time at all in which to answer.

“Girl, this beggars belief. I'll have you know that the idea behind these coffins took me years to conceive before constructing,
and
all this was done with my own bare hands,” he sorrowfully lamented. “Yes, these creations were intended to help make my fortune. So what took me years to create and then implement, you, girl, have intentionally destroyed in less than a night. What plausible explanation could you possibly come up with for such needless, unwarranted destruction?” he hoarsely whispered.

“I am so sorry, Uncle, but I had to do something, and quick; otherwise, I would not have survived the night, for I could well have died from the cold,” she reasoned.

“Girl, I have little choice but to leave this matter for the present, but you can rest assured that I will give this latest atrocity my full attention, if not first thing tomorrow then as soon as I return from my holiday,” he roared. “Hmm. This fact should surely have you quaking in your boots, for I intend to make you pay fully for all this absurdly senseless and intentionally destructive behavior, for these coffins were my babies and therefore very precious to me,” he sorrowfully lamented.

“I'm truly sorry, really I am,” Polly quietly sighed, but she could see that Uncle Boritz was indeed in no mood to listen, let alone forgive her.

“Now, get up, girl, and get to your bed quickly before I change my mind and leave you down here for the rest of the night,” he snorted.

Polly obeyed, as she carefully picked up each kitten and gently placed each of them to one side before standing up to quietly step out of the damaged coffin. “Uncle Boritz, I am so sorry, truly I am,” she muttered remorsefully, as with head down she attempted to pull out all the stuffing from her shirt and shirt sleeves before turning her attention to the stuffing that was still down her trousers.

“Now get out of my sight,” he spat, his whole torso visibly shaking.

Polly obeyed, and after walking across the floor, she began climbing the steps that led to the open cellar door.

“Just one minute!” Uncle Boritz bellowed as he quickly shone the torch in her direction.

Polly stopped in her tracks and turned once more to face her enraged uncle.

“I do believe that you still have something on your odious body that belongs to me,” he thundered.

Polly looked confused.

With his eyes raised toward the heavens and using his index finger, Uncle Boritz began tapping the side of his head repeatedly. Polly continued to look perplexed. It then dawned on her that she rather foolishly still had a long piece of the silky material tied around her forehead. She sheepishly unwound the band from her head and held out her hand to pass it directly back to him.

“Here, shall I bring it down to you?” she most innocently asked.

“No, girl, just drop it on the ground, and then do as I say and get out of my sight before I do something I might live to regret,” he snarled through clenched teeth.

Polly wasted no time, as despite the cold and dark she raced full pelt across the garden in her desperate endeavor to get as far away from her uncle as she could. She did not even look to the left or to the right until she believed that she was safely out of harm's way, and that meant crawling, fully clothed, into her bed and then hiding away under the blanket for the remainder of the night.

Early the next morning Polly sat in her bed as she quietly and anxiously flicked through her dictionary trying to look up certain specific words. “Ah, here we are:
belligerent
. The dictionary says ‘hostile, aggressive, ready to start a fight, or go to war.' Oh, dear. How can this be, for I have always hated anything and everything to do with war?” she wailed as she thought back to her many history lessons.

She then moved on as she tried looking up yet another of the many cruel words that in his anger her Uncle Boritz had called her. “Ahh, here it is:
impudent
. Right. This is the correct page; now where is it? Here we are. It says ‘rude, showing a lack of respect.' Oh dear,” she sighed. “Next,
recalcitrant
. Ahh, here it is: ‘stubbornly resisting authority, hard to handle.' Oh, goodness. I am turning out to be such a problem to the whole wide world,” she cried, slamming the dictionary shut before throwing it at the wall as she vented her overwhelming frustration. Luckily for her, the other girls in the room failed to be disturbed as, lost to the world, they remained deep in their slumber.

A now thoroughly inconsolable Polly threw her head back down on the pillow and pulled the thin blanket over her head as she then quietly sobbed into Langdon's soft, furry body, all the while lamenting as to just how troubling a nuisance she had become to the whole wide world.

Chapter Fifteen

WILL MEETS THE LIKELY LADS

P
OLLY KNEW SHE
would once more miss the bus if she did not hurry and get straight into her uniform. She made it down the stairs, only to bump straight into James, who was also running late if he were to catch the bus.

She immediately noticed that he had red rims around his eyes, and she needed little help to work out that her brother was still feeling very distraught that his precious models not only had been confiscated but most likely for an undetermined period of time.

“If you wanted to say good-bye to Uncle Boritz and Aunt Mildred, you're five minutes too late, for they've already left,” James miserably confided as he sat on the stairs, his hands cupping his downtrodden face.

“James, if the truth be known, I'm very relieved to have missed them,” Polly honestly admitted. “So let's head off together to the bus stop,” she suggested as she attempted to put a friendly arm around his shoulder.

James shook his head. “No, Polly. You go on ahead, for if I miss the bus, then so what?”

“Come on, James. Remember that Uncle threatened terrible consequences for those who dared misbehave while he is away.”

“I really don't care anymore,” he briskly retorted, his face etched with pain. “There is nothing he could do that could hurt me more than taking away my model planes,” he moaned, another anguished look washing over his young face.

“Look, James, maybe they'll have such a fantastic holiday that Uncle will want to be kind and give them back on his return,” Polly stated, as she attempted to be more than a little over-optimistic in her forecast.

“I doubt that very much, for we all know that when he's mad, well then, he's out for blood,” James glumly retorted.

Polly could clearly see that her brother was feeling very depressed, and in this sad moment in time she knew that any words of comfort that spilled from her lips would only seem trite and irrelevant. So, as usual, she had no choice but to remain helpless and, so, feel utterly useless.

“Come on. I'll race you to the bus,” Polly yelled as she grabbed hold of his jacket and began to pull him in the general direction of the front door.

James was having none of it. “No, Polly. Go away. Please leave me alone. You go on ahead, for I meant what I said. I truly no longer care what happens to me.”

All this left Polly with little choice than to leave him behind and head as quickly as she could to catch the school bus. After racing down the street as fast as her legs could carry her, she was relieved to see the bus was still in the parking bay with other school children still waiting to board, and this immediately lifted her spirits.

With both Aunt Mildred and Uncle Boritz away for the next two weeks, Polly felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She still had the long list of tedious chores that she had to get through every night, but somehow even these did not seem quite so tiresome.

She was also able to sneak out of the castle on numerous occasions, mostly to see her new friend, Will, but on one occasion it was for an entirely different and very personal reason.

Polly had promised herself for some time now that she must pay an impromptu visit to the tearoom, and that visit was now seriously long overdue. She needed to see for herself that the name of the tearoom really had been changed from The Copper Kettle to Polly's Pantry. She hated to admit that she was equally curious to see what the new owners, who went by the name of the Kindlysides, really looked like. After all, with a surname like that, they could hardly be as mean and mealy minded as the Greedols, could they?

“No, surely not,” she mumbled under her breath as she hastily made her way down the road, heading for the tearoom.

As Polly stood outside the tearoom looking up, she had to admit that she felt tickled pink to see that the tearoom really had been renamed and was now called Polly's Pantry. However, as she stood outside looking in, she felt a mixture of both fear as well as anticipation, because up until now she had never met the new owners. Oh, she had meant to pay them a visit, but getting time off from all her duties was a chore in itself. Looking through the large glass window, it was clear that little had been done to alter the tearoom. It still looked much the same as it had always done, quaint and old fashioned, with lots of teapots adorning the shelves, as well as endless brass and copper brica-brac, which all the tourists begged to purchase, the American ones in particular.

Polly took a deep breath as she then tried to muster up the necessary courage to enter the building. Once through the door, she was immediately greeted by an extremely cheerful-looking waitress.

“Hello, my dear. May I help you?” the pleasantly plump waitress politely asked, her voice betraying a very unusual accent that Polly instantly realized was extremely rare in these parts.

“I hope so, but before you help me, may I be so bold as to ask your name and where you are originally from?” Polly brazenly inquired.

The kindly waitress removed her thin-framed glasses in order to get a better look at Polly.

“My name is Mrs. Moira Muldoon, so pray, tell me, wee young lady, by what name do you like to be known?

“Oh, me? Well, my name is Polly Esther Brown.”

“Well, that's a lovely name, my dear.”

“Oh, trust me, Mrs. Muldoon, when I say it isn't. Yes, it's horrible, and I so hate it. Yes, I hate it very much,” Polly said, lowering her eyes as she spoke.

“Now the bright light has gone out of your eyes, deary. I suspect much has gone on in your young life for you to hate your name with such fervency.”

“Yes, that's very true,” Polly sadly admitted.

“Now, deary, you wished to know what part of Scotland I come from, did you not?”

“Yes, do please tell me,” Polly said, perking up again.

“Well, as you asked so nicely, I am from a wee place in Scotland called Dundee.”

“Oh, that sounds like such a lovely place to live, although I've never been there. Truth is, I've never been anywhere, and if I'm to be honest, anywhere sounds a whole heap better than where I am,” Polly ruefully stated.

“Well, Polly dear, you're still very young, so you've got years ahead of you in which to travel. But don't make the mistake of thinking things will be better elsewhere, for remember this: wherever we go, we take ourselves with us; so make sure somewhere else is not just a badly thought-out escape plan.”

Polly lowered her head as she considered the kind lady's wise words.

Mrs. Muldoon quickly moved on. “Well, Polly, I'm sure you'll get to Dundee sooner or later.”

“Oh, I do hope so, but tell me, isn't that where they make Dundee cake, tartan cloth, and pots of marmalade?” Polly brightly asked.

“Oh, and a lot more,” the delightful lady laughed. “But tell me, Polly, what brings you here, and how can I help you?”

“Well, a mutual friend told me that it was important to come and say hello to the new owners.”

“You mean the Kindlysides, don't you, deary? But if you're hoping to fill in a job application form, then sadly you are much too late, for the extra waitress position has just been filled.”

Polly continued to look past the kindly middle-aged lady, as she was not the least bit bothered by this latest piece of information.

“Yes, that's their name. But I am not looking for a job. I just need to know if they are available to speak with me,” Polly sincerely stated.

“Well, sadly, you've just missed them, for they have only just popped out to do a few wee errands,” the waitress informed Polly as she straightened her already smooth and pristine white lace apron. Polly noticed her skin was flawless skin and her hair was rinsed pink.

“Oh, dear. I was so hoping to meet with them,” Polly sniffed, her voice betraying bitter disappointment. “You say both of them are out?”

“Yes, deary. I'm sorry to say they won't be back for quite a wee while, so they've left me in charge. 'Tis a shame you didn't think to make an appointment.”