The Trouble with Polly Brown (80 page)

“Quite a stroppy little bunch, aren't they?” Lady Butterkist leaned over to whisper in Polly's ear.

In no time at all everyone on board was having themselves the time of their lives as going on a trip down memory lane they sang one old song after another. They sang loud, and they sang bold—sometimes a little shrill, but always with their whole heart and soul.

Polly smiled, as up until now she had no idea whatsoever that older folks could have so much feisty life in them.

About twenty minutes into the sing-song another doddery old man sporting a brown checked cap stood up and requested that the next song be “Knees Up, Mother Brown.” In no time at all the whole coach was shaking rather violently as the sprightly pensioners sang out loud and began stamping their feet on the floor of the coach. It is true to say that many even managed to wave their scrawny legs high into the air, as they got completely carried away with the song. Why, even the wheelchairs that had been securely parked and then strapped into a special bay began jumping up and down as the high-spirited pensioners' intense feet-stomping created immensely strong vibrations.

Suddenly Polly looked down and momentarily caught sight of Lady Butterkist's very muscular, hair-covered calves.

“Oh my goodness, Lady B.!” Polly cried, her eyes out on stalks as she dealt with this very sudden shock. Her eyes remained fixated on the lady's surprising-looking legs.

A very mortified Ralphella Butterkist stopped in her tracks and quickly pulled her dress down as far over her knobby knees as it could reach.

“Lady B., forgive me for saying this, but you certainly have the most incredibly thick, hairy legs I've ever seen on a lady of means.”

“Oh my!” was all Lady Butterkist could manage to utter. “Oh yes, Polly. It would be no lie to tell you it's been quite a problem for all the females in my ancestral line, something to do with being of Scottish thoroughbred, I believe, or so my private physician assures me.”

“Well, Lady B., help is at hand, for have you ever considered waxing?” Polly, eager to help, whispered in the good lady's ear.

“Wax, Polly? Quite what sort of wax are we talking about here? Ear wax? Beeswax? Candle wax?”

“Well, sort of. But it is the very latest method that ladies of distinction are using to remove all unwanted and unsightly hair. And it must work, for Miss Scrimp, who works at the castle, well, she used to have quite a lot of excess facial hair, as well as a mustache—that is, until Aunt Mildred insisted that she give waxing a try,” Polly stated in all earnest.

“Oh really!”

“I mean, she still acts like a member of the Gestapo, but trust me when I say that she no longer bears such a strong resemblance their leader, and it's all down to the removal of her otherwise frightful mustache.”

“Thank you, Polly, for your concern and thus your helpful contribution. I might just have a dabble at it if and when the right moment arises.”

“Yes, Lady B., that's a jolly good idea, for I'm told it can be quite a painful procedure, as would you believe the wax strips literally rip the hair right out of the skin follicle?”

“How ghastly!”

“Yes, but given your awful condition, I still I think it would be worthwhile for you to give it a try,” Polly, in all her profound innocence, continued to helpfully suggest.

“Well, if I'm to be honest, it all sounds simply frightful to me, Polly. So shall we leave all talk of such women's issues for a more suitably appropriate time?”

“Oh, as usual I've really put my foot in it, haven't I? Oh, Lady Butter-kist, I didn't mean to offend you, really I didn't. Please forgive me. My stupid mouth gets me into all sorts of trouble,” a very panicked Polly asked.

“Oh, no, my dear. You have not offended me the slightest. On the contrary, you have reminded me that it would be most advisable to purchase another pair of nylons as soon as possible or until such a time as I am able to try my hand at a bit of follicle-ripping and waxing.”

Lady Butterkist then stood up, and with the coach thundering along the highway she bravely fought her way to the front of the coach to have a little word in the ear of George, the friendly and ever-so-helpful coach driver.

“Good news, Polly. Darling George is going to stop en route to the castle in order to allow me to quickly nip into a shop and purchase some new nylons.”

It was only a mere ten minutes later when, as promised, George, the kind coach driver, dutifully stopped outside a general store on a village green to allow her ladyship to disembark the coach and go in search of this urgently required personal item.

Many of the party also used the opportunity to leave the coach. What with the large amount of tea most of them had drunk back at the hospital, many of the dears were once more in urgent need of a bathroom.

Polly giggled to overhear George use the occasion to kindly ask her ladyship to purchase a cheese-and-pickle sandwich on his behalf, as he chose to confide in her that rather mysteriously his stomach was churning over like a washing machine indefinitely stuck on the spin cycle.

Ten to fifteen minutes later found Lady Butterkist reboarding the coach, and Polly noted that judging by the amount of carrier bags she was now struggling to hold on to with both hands, she had either brought up the whole store of stockings or she had made a large number of other presumably unnecessary purchases.

After wearily climbing the steep steps, she dutifully handed over a brown paper bag to the coach driver.

“Thank you, my good lady. Now, tell me quickly, how much dosh do I owe yer?” he said as he struggled to get his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Nothing whatsoever, my good man! This sandwich is on the house, and let's all hope and pray that the combination of cheddar cheese with pickle finally does the trick in bringing to a halt those awful gurgling sound effects,” she said, giving him a friendly tap on the shoulder before heading back down the aisle toward her seat.

As she collapsed onto the backseat, dropping down the bags filled with her purchases, she turned to speak to Polly.

“Polly, be a good girl. Close your eyes and then turn away while I discreetly attempt to put on these new nylons,” she firmly ordered.

With her eyes tightly shut, Polly listened to endless moans, groans, and gasps as the dear lady struggled to put on the nylons without bringing adverse attention to herself.

“Goodness gracious, these hose sincerely cannot be large, and yet that is what it says on the packaging,” the good lady loudly mumbled, causing Polly to stifle a giggle or two.

“Ahh, finally. There. That's good. Now I'm feeling comfortable. Right. Polly dear, you can now open your eyes. ”

“Lady B., I know it is none of my business, so forgive my seeming impertinence or overinquisitiveness, but I thought you only went shopping for stockings, and yet, in just a matter of minutes it appears as though you've bought up the whole store.”

“Polly dear, please don't exaggerate! It was only half the store, and I might take the liberty of adding that the owners are most delighted to have done business with me.”

“Oh, that's good to know,” Polly quipped.

“And you're absolutely right, young lady, when you say that it is none of your business. But with that said, I will share my well-kept secret to successful shopping expeditions. Being a lady of means, I have indeed learned to shop at great speed. I merely point toward any item my tender heart desires, and an assistant races behind me, dropping all my purchases into a shopping cart. By the time I make my merry way to the front of the store, my goods are not only packed but gift wrapped, and I need only stop long enough to sign the check, simple as that. Although needless to say, these days I find shopping less exhilarating and therefore far more exhausting,” she said, giving a very deep sigh.

“Oh!” said Polly as she wisely decided it was perhaps time to drop the subject.

Moments later, a calm and fully restored Lady Butterkist produced a large bar of chocolate from one of her many bags, which she immediately passed on to Polly.

“While shopping I got a little waylaid. Yes, I was feeling a bit naughty, so I bought this scrumptious-looking chocolate bar, telling myself I would only have a square or two, for I do so love chocolate. But who am I kidding? If I popped just one square into my mouth, it would not stop there. Oh, no. I would not be content until I had polished off the whole jolly bar. Oh, well. Such is life,” she stated, a look of deep resignation written on her face.

“Who doesn't love chocolate” Polly helpfully commiserated.

“Well, yes, but sadly those unseen calories are no longer very kind to me,” she admitted as she shook her head. “So until doctors find a way to suck out the fat without any pain whatsoever, I am sad to say that it's on my forbidden list of no-nos. So the bar's all yours, dear.”

“Gosh, thank you, for I'm absolutely famished,” Polly admitted as she quickly ripped off the wrapper and began to chomp into the chocolate bar in a most frenzied and therefore gluttonous manner.

“Polly dearest, please do me an almighty favor.”

“Uh, what's that?” Polly asked as she continued in a most unladylike fashion to cram the chocolate into her open mouth.

“Gobbling down your food in that manner is so unseemly, unless, of course, you believe yourself to be a turkey having its last supper before Thanksgiving dinner,” she cheerfully reprimanded.

“Oops. Sorry.”

“Besides which, may I care to remind you that it's good to share, so you should consider saving some of the chocolate for your dear friend Lucinda.”

Polly smiled as she wiped her mouth and then placed the remainder of the chocolate bar in her pocket with the full intention of handing the rest over to Lucy when she finally woke up.

“You've missed a bit,” Lady Butterkist quickly pointed out as she drew attention to a large chocolate smudge on the left side of Polly's mouth.

“Thank you,” Polly chirpily replied.

“I'll make a lady out of you somehow, although only heaven knows precisely how long that is going to take, my dear,” Lady Butterkist quipped as shaking her head in pretend dismay she chose to firmly squeeze Polly's hand.

Twenty or so minutes later the coach pulled off the road, and Polly found her heart pounding faster and louder with a huge sense of foreboding at the familiar sight of the castle. The coach came to a juddering halt as it waited for the huge black gates to slowly open up in front of them. Moments later the coach came to rest under the large oak tree.

As the driver used the air brakes, Polly joined in by giving a hopelessly large sigh that expressed the immense inner defeat she felt. “Oh, Lady B., I'd rather stay behind in the coach and keep George company, so do I really have to go in?” she cried in a fresh state of anguish.

“Oh absolutely, dear, for facing our innermost fears head-on is the prerequisite to inner peace and wholeness. Now, take a long, deep breath, and then do as you promised by waking dear Lucinda up. There's a good girl.”

“Lucy, it's time for you to wake up, for we have arrived,” Polly cried.

To Polly's amazement, Lucinda immediately opened her eyes, and then without warning, she jumped to her feet. “Oh, Polly. This is turning into a wonderful day, for I feel absolutely fabulous. Wow, that sleep has done me so much good. I feel as bright as a new button, yes, like a brand-new person. Really, I do,” she excitedly cried.

“There, Polly. What did I tell you?” Lady Butterkist said as she gave Polly a friendly I-told-you-so nudge with her elbow.

“Lady B., this really is a miracle,” Polly excitedly cried.

“Shh. Well, girls, let's keep it to ourselves for the present time, shall we? It's time to look ahead to our forthcoming vacation.”

“Yes, Lady B. I am so exci—”

Before Polly could mutter another word, the doors of the coach opened, and a large, corpulent figure arose from the steps to then rush headlong down the aisle, a dribbling beast of a hound following close at his heels.

“Lady Butterkist, may I say your timing's matchless, for as we speak the tables are all laid out with the silverware, and the teapot is being warmed under the tea cozy. May I also say what an honor it is to finally meet you. We are indeed deeply and utterly privileged to have you attend our annual tea party event,” he sycophantically enthused. “Yes, we are all over the moon with excitement. Now please follow after me, and I will take you directly to my private sitting room, as my dear darling wife, Mildred, is just dying to meet with you.”

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Scumberry, but before I follow after you, perhaps it would be nice if you were to acknowledge dear Polly here, as I am led to believe that the child has not seen you for some considerable time.”

“Oh, yes, yes. How extraordinarily careless of me,” he stuttered. “Forgive me, Polly, for in all the excitement I simply forgot my manners.”

“Yes, and we all know for sure that ‘manners maketh the man,'” Lady Butterkist quickly and most mischievously interjected.

Boritz carried on undeterred. “So, Polly dear, allow me to tell you how wonderful it is to have you back in the bosom of our large but close-knit family. We have all missed you so very much,” he anxiously stuttered and spluttered.

Polly nervously clung to Lady Butterkist for emotional support as she refused to make any eye contact.

Boritz tried to keep up the pretence of being a loving and concerned father figure. “My, Polly, you really are looking very well,” he said, while as a gesture of his sincerity he reached over to give her a most awkward half-hearted hug, which due to her bewildered state was not the least reciprocated.

“Mr. Scumberry, please…”

“Dear lady, I thought after our recent telephone conversation that we were now on friendly first-name terms, so do please call me Boritz,” he wearily insisted, as with much relief he turned his full attention back on the lady.