The Trouble with Polly Brown (62 page)

“Oh, yes indeed. Young Blenkinsopp is just as excited about this special trip. You should see him in his handsome butler's outfit; he really looks like a distinguished gentleman. So perfect, yes, so very dapper.”

“Yes, I bet he looks a proper gentleman. Now be off with you,” she said as she gave him a gentle pat on his rear
.

“Ooh, Mrs. O'Brien. Please behave yourself, for remember I am now considered a lady of much distinction,” he stated as he began to walk away with his nose stuck high in the air
.

Mrs. O'Brien could not fail but retort, “Oh, Ralphella, dearest one, remember what I said about not getting too caught up in the moment, yes, a little too toffee-nosed? Oh, and I think you're forgetting something.”

Ralph spun 'round on his heels just in time to catch something small that was now flying through the air at great speed
.

“Gotcha!” he cried as he then opened up his hand to view what he had only just managed to catch. “Ahh, my very essential pink lipstick
.

Thank you so much, Mrs. O'Brien,” he said as he playfully blew her a friendly kiss good-bye
.

“Go, and don't you dare come back until you have rescued our dear Polly from that terribly disgraceful place,” she anxiously cried out after him
.

“Mrs. O'Brien, trust me when I say that I have absolutely no intention whatsoever of doing anything else,” he shouted back
.

“Blenkinsopp, do as I request and turn in here. Then pull over and park over there in between the marked-out lines,” Lady Butterkist sharply ordered.

“Very well, madam,” Blenkinsopp grumpily replied as, doing as he was told, he parked their old jalopy into a marked-out parking bay just outside the train station.

“Madam, since when have you resorted to traveling anywhere by train?” he mournfully muttered.

“Blenkinsopp, this truly is a first,” she retorted.

“Well, madam, it is a well-known fact that British Rail is at present failing to get any of its passengers to their desired destinations on time, something to do with too much snow settling on the track or fallen branches on the line. Please do me the small courtesy and kindly explain why you have chosen to risk taking a train rather than to entrust me to get you to your destination on time,” her very offended butler with a touch of the sniffles remarked.

“Blenkinsopp, trust me when I say that I have not the slightest wish to board any train now or in the near future. So be a dear and just wait for me, for I have a most important, itsy witsy, teeny weenie errand that I must urgently attend to.”

“All right then, madam. I will do as you request and remain here awaiting your return,” he sighed as he opened the passenger door to let her out.

“If I'm not back in twenty minutes, do feel free to come and find me,” she said with an engaging smile.

“Madam, pray, tell me now, where will I start looking?”

“Try the station cafeteria, Blenkinsopp, for this is where I am almost certain to be found.”

“Madam, if you are in need of some suitable refreshments, I must warn you now that railway cafes are not the least bit famous for their tea-making abilities or their nibbles.”

“I know, Blenkinsopp, truly I do, but trust me when I say that this has naught to do with tea and more to do with suitably chastising a couple of seriously foolhardy teenage boys. So until I next require your services, please, will you kindly take Piddles and Tiddles for their usual walkies, for they are badly in need of some exercise after the long drive.”

“Very well, Lady B.”

“Oh, and Blenkinsopp, I cannot be entirely certain, but I do suspect that one of my precious pups has left a small, undesirable sample of her cargo on the backseat,” she said, craning her head into the back portion of the car as her eyes then scanned the backseat in search of the offending item or items.

“I suspect you mean a ‘whoopsie,' madam?”

“Exactly, Blenkinsopp, for there's definitely a most overwhelming and unpleasant odor coming directly from the back. Have a whiff and tell me if I'm correct.”

“I believe you to be correct in your assumption, madam, for even though I was in the driving seat, there was a moment in time where my nose became most offended,” he said, sniffing hard. “Yes, there is quite a strong pong, if you don't mind me saying. So while you are away, I will do my best to track down and then rid the car of the offending items, as well as its equally offensive odor.”

“Oh, good. But Blenkinsopp, promise me now that you will in no way discipline my pups, for it was indeed a very long and emotionally arduous journey for the two of them.”

“Very well, madam. I will refrain from giving either pup any form of disciplinary rebuke.”

“Why, thank you, Blenkinsopp. Your agreement in this otherwise unpleasant matter is most appreciated, really it is.”

Minutes later found Lady Butterkist marching toward the station buffet. As she stood at the counter she glanced around and immedi ately observed both boys sitting in a corner as they happily chatted up a couple of pretty-looking girls.

The young and very spotty server who stood behind the counter seemed in no particular hurry to serve the lady.

“I say, young man, what does one have to do to get a nice cup of tea around here?” Lady Butterkist loudly announced.

“I'm so sorry, madam, but I did not notice you standing at the counter. What can I get for you?”

“Young man, I would very much appreciate a nice spot of hot, calming tea.”

“Certainly, madam. It will be with you in a jiffy.”

Moments later the young boy returned and placed a hot paper cup filled to the brim with tea on the counter.

“That will be sixpence halfpenny, madam,” he announced.

A shocked and surprised Lady Butterkist placed her hand around the scalding cup of tea. “I say, young man, what on earth do you call this?”

“It's a cup of tea, madam, for I'm more than certain that's exactly what you ordered.”

“Young man, I know precisely what's in the cup, but what is this?” she indignantly asked as she gently tapped the side of the lightweight receptacle.

“It's a cup, madam.”

“Wrong! It's certainly not a cup, young man, for a cup most certainly has a handle to secure one's fingers around in order to safely bring the beverage up to one's mouth. This receptacle has no handle whatsoever. So pray, tell me, how on earth am I supposed to drink my tea from this?” she challenged.

“Well, you're supposed to clasp both sides and…sort of cup—”

“Clasp both sides?” she gasped, shaking her head in supposed horror.

“Madam, it's a disposable cup that you clasp between your fingers.”

“I see, but I don't see, for tell me, young man, has British Rail suffered a major robbery? What has become of the good, old-fashioned china cup and saucer that one used to enjoy sipping one's tea from?”

“They have been replaced, madam.”

“Replaced?”

“Yes, madam. By these disposable cups.”

“Young man, this is indeed a grievous travesty, an insidious crime if ever there was one, for there is no respectable way to drink precious tea other than from a china teacup. Has British Rail simply gone irretrievably mad, or have they just temporarily lost the plot?” she scolded.

“It would appear they've gone quite mad, madam, for every cup of tea is now served in these disposable cups, and I'll have you know that this is considered standard practice at every station café in Britain, as well as on every train buffet carriage.”

“Well then, they should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves for sinking to such deplorable, low depths,” she snorted as she begrudgingly took a sip of the tea from the foam cup. “To be forced to drink from this cumbersome monstrosity is indeed a most gross assault on one's senses,” she wearily muttered.

“I'm sorry you are so disgruntled, madam, for these lightweight, disposable cups are not only considered cost effective, but they are also the latest in new technology.”

“So you wish me to believe that for the sake of new technology I am sadly forced to drink heaven's most pleasurable gift to humanity from out of one of these whimsical and atrociously designed paper cups?”

“Yes, madam. It would appear so.”

“Hmm. Blenkinsopp was right after all, for sadly their standards have indeed dropped as far down as the very bowels of hell itself,” she loudly announced as, taking hold of the cup, she then headed for the table nearest where the boys sat, still preoccupied with chatting up a couple of lovely looking-ladies.

Lady Butterkist took a further few sips of tea and grimaced. “What I do in the name of love,” she muttered as she began to listen in on the boys' conversation with their female guests.

“Er, Trace, I need the loo,” one of the girls with the blonde, heavily backcombed hair and thick makeup suddenly announced.

“Sure thing, Shar. 'Ere, wait a minute and I'll come with yer, for I too need to touch up me makeup,” the other young girl with dark, shoulder-length hair chirped up.

Lady Butterkist watched, feeling most amused as the giggling girls picked up their bulging handbags and then casually linked arms before making their way to the bathroom.

She smiled as she considered just how long they might spend away from the table as, once in the bathroom, they stood in front of a large mirror to set about touching up their lips with yet more ruby red lipstick before reapplying their already overloaded eye lashes with yet more thick mascara, all the while discussing what they liked and disliked about both boys. Yes, if she were not mistaken, they would surely be gone at least fifteen minutes, if not twenty. Time enough for Lady Butterkist to set to work.

“I say, boys, do either of you have the correct time?” Lady Butterkist loudly shouted in their direction.

“Yeah, it's just gone four in the afternoon,” Justin Thyme replied as he anxiously looked down at his watch.

“Thank you so much, young man. Now, tell me, please, I have just been to the local school, as I am trying my very best to locate a certain person, and because I am not a relative, sad to say, they were not the least bit helpful.”

“Oh, and who might you be looking for?” Justin Kase nonchalantly asked.

“Well, her name happens to be Polly, Polly Brown, to be precise.”

“Oh, madam, you won't find her here or at any school, for a long time ago she was sent away to the nuthouse,” Justin Kase informed the lady.

“Nuthouse?”

“Yeah, the asylum for lunatics.”

“Well, I never!” she gasped, her face conveying enormous shock.

“Yeah, sadly she began talking about weird places, so they said she was a deranged lunatic who needed to be locked away—for the safety of others, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Lady Butterkist replied, very tongue in cheek. “But allow me the silly pleasure of asking both you boys, was she really a lunatic?”

“Well, of sorts!” Justin Kase stated, wrinkling his nose as he spoke up.

“I see. So you knew her well then?”

“Yeah, we did. She was one of the orphans from the castle,” he added.

“Well then, have either of you any idea as to how she might be doing?”

“None whatsoever,” both boys said in unison as they slowly shook their heads.

“So, rather regrettably, although you knew her, she wasn't really a friend of yours?”

“Well, in a funny way she was. I mean, she could act a bit crazy, but looking back, she had a really big heart,” both boys agreed.

“So help me out here. Neither of you have thought of visiting her to see how she's doing?”

“Well, no we haven't, 'cos we don't think it's our place to go and see her.”

“Yeah, people might misunderstand our intentions.”

“By ‘people,' I presume you mean school chums, girlfriends, and family?”

“Yeah, it could be harmful to our—how shall I put it?—our image.”