The Trouble with Polly Brown (74 page)

“Yes, yes. Well, as I was just saying, Polly is in here for her own good, as well as for the safety of the public in general. No court in this land would even consider granting you custodial rights over such a sick child as she.”

“Oh, I was not seeking custody of the child. I just want to become involved and help her in any positive way that I can,” Lady Butterkist stated, raising her eyebrows to show a very timely sense of annoyance.

“Well, madam, I still cannot imagine why you are asking such a thing of me.”

As the heated discussion continued on, another nurse needing his full attention gently resorted to tapping him on the shoulder. Alarmed, he quickly swung 'round to see who it was touching him in such a manner.

“I'm awfully sorry, doctor, but a number of very upset visitors are demanding to see you immediately, as they personally wish to hear from your mouth alone what you are currently doing to tackle this serious, ongoing problem.”

“Yes, yes, nurse. Tell them to stay in the waiting area, and I will be down shortly.”

“Well, please come quickly, doctor, before the situation worsens itself further.”

Dr. Ninkumpoop sheepishly turned back to face Lady Butterkist. “Madam, my crisis appears to be ever deepening.”

“So it would appear.”

“Well, as a result I am entirely in your hands and therefore at your mercy. But please understand me when I say that I can do nothing without first speaking to Mr. Scumberry, for he is, after all, her legal guardian, and therefore his permission is most certainly required.”

“I don't believe we will have much of a problem with that one,” Lady Butterkist snorted. “But doctor, before that call to the castle is made, may I suggest that if you wish to have my continued financial support, you would be well advised to assure Mr. Scumberry that as her doctor you are more than satisfied that you have done all you can for her. Do I make myself clear?”

“Abundantly, Lady Butterkist. Abundantly!”

“Splendid.”

“Well, if you would like to follow me down to my office, we can send some of my fine loose tea up to the canteen and then telephone the castle. And if, after speaking with Mr. Scumberry, he is in perfect agreement, well, then we will take it from there.”

“Then let us waste no further time,” she stated as she broke into a warm smile.

Dr. Ninkumpoop hurriedly rushed down the ward and into the office. Behind closed door he announced to his troubled staff that they should do all they could to appease all distraught visitors by assuring them that the problem was in hand and therefore would soon be sorted. “Offer them all as much free tea and cake as they desire,” he hurriedly advised.

He also informed the nurses that he was taking Lady Butterkist down to his office, and he did not wish to be disturbed. He then informed his staff that Blenkinsopp, her trustworthy butler, had offered his expert services, and so in a matter of minutes he would undertake the work of a mechanic and hopefully sort out the problem. He then wished the nurses lots of good luck and left the office to head back down the ward toward Lady Butterkist.

As he walked back he was shocked to discover that a now rather disheveled Blenkinsopp had paid a quick visit to the bathroom to replace his immaculately smart butler's suit for that of a greasy, oil-stained pair of white dungarees, complete with oiled rags hanging from both side pockets. Holding a large wrench in one hand and a bag of tools in the other, he stood rather snootily beside Lady Butterkist to await her further orders.

At seeing the surprised doctor, Lady Butterkist broke into a smile.

“Dr. Ninkumpoop, you are looking a bit flushed. Are you all right, my good man?” she said, showing great concern.

“I'm perfectly fine,” he mumbled.

“Oh, good. You know, I feel compelled to share that when I was a young girl guide our motto was ‘Be prepared.' It was so instilled into me throughout my childhood that as an adult I have always made proper contingency plans to meet any unexpected event or catastrophe. Therefore, I have everything I might need on hand stashed away in the boot of our old jalopy. Yes, we carry a filled water canister, military ration packs—provided by Her Majesty's Military, of course—oh, as well as a lovely tartan rug for occasional picnics, a medical kit, and last but not least, a full tool kit for use if we break down.”

“Hmm. Amazing!” the exasperated doctor muttered.

“Well, I'm also equally sure you would agree that Giles's butler's outfit would be most inappropriate for working under the bonnet or undercarriage of our old car, so he always ensures he has some old dungarees to change into in the event that he should be required to sort out any potential mechanical problems.”

The doctor listened on, feeling most foolish, if not a little repentant, as he thought back to his earlier somewhat heartless and unruly comments regarding oily mechanics.

“Madam, do you wish for me to proceed down to the hospital entrance and begin the coach repairs?” Blenkinsopp politely asked.

“Definitely. Now, don't forget we need you to do your absolute best and get this coach back on the road as soon as possible, so no dillydallying.”

“Of course, madam. Of course, for I will never fail in my duty toward mistress and Crown,” he conscientiously retorted.

“Oh, and Blenkinsopp, just one more little thing.”

“Madam?”

“I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I think you look a real darling in those rather racy oil-covered dungarees,” she said, giving a warm smile.

“Why thank you, madam,” he replied utterly straight faced as he turned on his heels to exit the ward.

“Right then, Lady Butterkist. Let us now retreat to my private office.”

“Oh, good. And doctor dear, I do hope you intend to put the kettle on before we get down to the business in question, for I could well and truly murder a nice hot cup of tea!”

The doctor unlocked his office door and was immediately overwhelmed by a flurry of feathers, which mischievously began fluttering in front of his face.

“Where on God's earth did these pesky little things come from?” he cried out, feeling most alarmed.

“Heaven only knows,” Lady Butterkist quickly retorted.

Tilting his head downward to avoid the feathers, he politely motioned for his wealthy guest to go ahead of him and take a seat. As the doctor then made his way around the desk to sit down, Lady Butterkist immediately reached across the desk and picked up his temporarily abandoned newspaper. “Poopy, old boy, I do believe you were filling in the same crossword as Blenkinsopp and my good self were attempting this morning. Tut tut. Yes, you naughty little man, for this crossword clearly shows that you, my dear, knew all along what the word was that we were all furiously searching for,” she said as with a mischievous grin she casually tossed the paper back in his direction.

The poor and desperately confused doctor looked most distraught as, glancing down at the paper, he was horrified to discover that the last word, which he knew for sure he had left blank, had now rather mysteriously been filled in. And to add insult to injury, whoever had taken the shocking liberty of filling it in—and, I might add, without his personal authorization—had also deliberately used a ghastly red felt-tip pen when fitting the word
arrogant
into the eight small boxes. How could any of this have taken place, when as a matter of security his office was always and without fail double-locked?

Could this day get any worse or bizarre for that matter?
he privately wondered.

Chapter Thirty

THE TEA PARTY

G
OOD AFTERNOON
. B
ORITZ
speaking.”

“Ahh, Boritz, my good man. This is Nick speaking.”

“Dr. Ninkumpoop?”

“Oh, Boritz. Please call me Nick.”

“Oh, Nick, thank goodness you've phoned. Please believe me when I say that I am so very embarrassed by all that has taken place today,” he cried.

“Calm down, Boritz, old boy! Let me assure you now that we are doing all we can to make your coach load of pensioners as comfortable as we are able. At present we are also trying to sort out the problem of the coach, which you must be well aware has not only broken down right outside our gates but is blocking the exit as well as the entrance. Rather sadly, it has turned into something of a fiasco.”

“Oh, Nick, I feel so personally responsible,” he cried. “And as for those poor, old darlings, their wonderful tea that Mildred and the children spent many hours preparing will surely be spoiled and go to waste if they don't come shortly. I can only hope we can quickly come up with a favorable solution to this current and most embarrassing crisis.”

“Well, Boritz, this is one of the reasons I am ringing you, for there is every chance that we may have found the answer to the problem.”

“Wonderful!” he gleefully cried.

“Well, Boritz, wait until you hear what I have say before you get too carried away with excitement.”

“Go on, doctor. Go on.”

“I have someone here in my office who I am sure you will be most anxious to speak with, if not meet in person.”

“Yes, yes. Carry on.”

“Well, it's none other than Lady Ralphella Butterkist, the dowager countess of Scunthorpe. Remember when we last met up I spoke with you and told you all there is to tell with regard to this delightful lady?”

“Unbelievable, old boy! Tell me truthfully that you are joking around with me, for she is not expected at the hospital until later on this week—or so your personal invite led me to believe.”

“Ah, yes. This is all perfectly true, but by some strange violation between the moon and the stars, she has surprised us all by turning up unannounced at the hospital a few days earlier than expected.”

“Really?”

“Yes, to pay me an unofficial courtesy visit that, alas, I am not the least bit worthy of,” he said rather tongue in cheek.

“Amazing!”

“Yes, and by some miracle Giles Blenkinsopp, her trustworthy butler and chauffeur, just happens to be something of a jack-of-alltrades, and therefore he is supremely confident that he can have the coach back on the road in no time at all.”

“Well, Nick, this really is the best news I've heard all day,” Boritz excitedly cried.

“Yes, I thought you'd think that. But, Boritz, my good man, please bear with me and listen hard, for there are a few minor conditions attached.”

“Conditions?”

“Yes, Boritz. You heard me right, for this fine lady is something of a mean negotiator. Here, before I put my foot in it further, I think it best that I pass the phone over to her so that she can explain quite what this all means.”

“Oh, all right then, Nick. Put her on,” he anxiously cried.

“Good day, Lady Butterkist,” Boritz heartily shouted down the phone.

“And a good day to you too, Mr. Scumbag,” Lady Butterkist just as merrily responded.

The poor doctor, having just passed the phone over, was now innocently sipping his tea, and he was so horrified and shocked by her significant and most terrible blunder that without warning, he suddenly spurted a large mouthful of tea in the direction of Lady Butterkist.

“How gross!” Lady Butterkist muttered as she attempted to wipe the tea off her dress with one hand while at the same time continuing on with her conversation with Mr. Scumberry.

The poor doctor, having spoiled her outfit, could not be feeling more mortified than he was now feeling.

And worse still, he could only begin to imagine how his dear friend was feeling, as she had so obviously misheard his name.

“Lady Butterkist…Oh, dear. I fear you are so mistaken, for I have never once referred to him as Mr. Scumbag. Oh no, no, no. It's Scum-berry, S-c-u-m-b-e-r-r-y,” the shocked doctor attempted to advise as he quickly leaned over the desk to whisper in her ear.

“I think I know all my alphabet, doctor dear,” her ladyship quickly retorted before turning to once more speak into the phone and rectify the situation as best as she could. “Awfully sorry, Scumbug! Tell me what I can do to put this right, as rather embarrassingly the good doctor has just dutifully informed me that I have entirely misheard, and so I've got my knickers in something of a twist with regard to your surname. Alas, it is not Scumbag or Scumbug, but Scum-something, with the word
berry
attached. I apologize most profusely, but as you can well imagine, it all sounds much the same to a little doddery old lady such as I am. So pray forgive me for this most unfortunate and terribly unseemly error.”