“Yum! Yum!” said Kipper.
“Ahhh! I see you’d like that, eh?”
“Yum! Yum!”
“That’s right, rub your stomach! Well, come to me with a report, and you shall have one.”
“Oh thank you, mum! Yum! Yum!”
“Well, that’s settled then. Now, aren’t you finished with that fireplace yet?”
“I’m not near done yet, mum. But you ain’t got any cause to worry. I’ll just finish up and close the door tight shut when I go.”
“You must do more than that, Kipper. You must fetch Mrs. Plumly to lock up.”
“Yes, mum, I’ll do that all right. Oh yes, mum.”
“That’s a very good boy.” Kipper’s oily performance was clearly having its effect on Mrs. Meeching. “Well then, I shall now leave, and—don’t forget the packet of peppermints!”
“Oh no, mum! I won’t forget. Yum! Yum!”
That slimy, slimy fishmonger’s boy! That horrible, treacherous Mrs. Meeching! Behind the velvet drapery, Emily was a seething mixture of horror and terror and rage.
A few moments passed, and then with a start, she realized that the room had suddenly become very quiet. Had Kipper already gone for Mrs. Plumly? With one trembling finger, Emily pushed the red velvet aside an inch. And found herself staring straight into a pair of scowling blue eyes!
“See here, ain’t you got more sense ’n to come nosing ’round in the snake pit? Ain’t you ’ware that the snake lady eats folks five times your size for breakfast? And lastest, but far and ’way not the leastest, seems to me you dropped something.” Kipper opened up a stern hand to reveal the offending peppermint. “Here, Emily! Yum! Yum!”
EIGHT
Fish Syrup
“Now, Miss Emily, best we get a few things straightened out ’fore you end up being the main course front o’ the snake lady at her nextest meal!” Kipper strode purposefully into the cellar laundry room, glaring at Emily. He had ordered her to wait there for him while he finished his business with Mrs. Plumly. “First, howsumever, best you tell me exactly what you was doing snooping ’bout in that room, and then you can tell me what kind o’ foolishness you was up to stealing a peppermint!”
“I—I—I—” stammered Emily. Then suddenly this was all too much for her, and she ended up doing what she had vowed she would not do. She burst into tears.
The look in Kipper’s eyes instantly softened. “Come on now, don’t cry. I’m sorry, truly I am. I shouldn’t o’ spoken to you so cross after the horrors you just been through. No matter what you done, you most likely been punished ’nough already.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” sobbed Emily. “I mean, not what you think. I wasn’t snooping, and I didn’t steal a peppermint. Someone else dropped—I—I mean, it just fell from somewhere, and I ran in to get it.”
“Fell from somewhere? From heaven I ’spect! Well, I should o’ guessed!” Kipper slapped his forehead. “You was on a rescue mission, but you don’t want to tell me for what party ’cause you still ain’t certain ’bout my credentuals. Well, can’t say I blame you any after my performance in the kitchen for old Tilly.”
“Performance?” asked Emily.
Kipper grinned wryly. “That’s what it were, Emily, no more ’n just a performance. Didn’t have time to explain ’bout it ’fore I done it and haven’t found time to explain ’bout it afterwards. But I done it so’s Tilly wouldn’t think you and me was getting too friendly right off. You got to work Tilly just right, remembering that she ain’t got any Aunt Twice to care for her, nor any Pa either, and she goes pea green over anyone liking anyone else what ain’t Tilly. Now, does that explain why I done what I done?”
Emily nodded, unable to speak. She knew now that she had found a friend after all, and her feet felt as if they were floating six inches above the ground.
“Well then,” said Kipper, “would you like to explain further why you done what you done? Meaning, who you’re aiming to pertect?”
“It-it was Mr. Bottle,” Emily said. “He pulled out his handkerchief and out popped the peppermint onto the floor. It rolled into Mrs. Meeching’s room, and I went after it.”
“So it were Mr. Bottle!” exclaimed Kipper. “Well, I’ll be a pickled perch, as Pa always says.”
“I couldn’t let Mrs. Meeching find the peppermint and blame poor Mr. Bottle for stealing it,” Emily said. “It might have killed him dead away!”
“Might have at that,” said Kipper. “What you done was a kind, brave thing, Emily, but you shouldn’t o’ had to do it.” His face flushed with anger. “Blamed peppermints! Don’t know why the snake lady keeps ’em ’round except for meanness, or to act as an evil spell. That’s what they are, Emily! No reason why she can’t ’low them poor old ones a taste or two now and then. She says it mints their choppers. Ha! Most o’ them ain’t got choppers excepting the ones they put by their beds at night. And as for Tilly—”
“What about Tilly?” Emily asked.
“Well, Tilly’s not a hardhearted girl, nor anything like that, but—” Kipper hesitated, and then began to sing softly still another made-up verse to “London Bridge,”
“Tilly tells for peppermints,
Peppermints, peppermints,
Tilly tells for peppermints,
Best be careful!”
“O’ course,” he added quickly, “ain’t right to be too hard on her, Emily. She don’t know any better, and the snake lady is most all the family she knows. But you best be careful ’round her, anyways. You best be careful ’bout everything. It ain’t just a shrimp nor a sardine what swims into a net, as Pa always says. But speaking o’ being careful, what are we to do ’bout this?” Kipper dipped into his pocket and brought out the peppermint that had been the cause of so much peril for Emily.
She shuddered at the sight of it. “What if Mr. Bottle goes to look for it and can’t find it? Won’t he die of fright all the same?”
“Them old folks’ memories ain’t too good,” Kipper said. “I expect he might just think he’s et it already and forgot when.”
“Then you eat it,” said Emily.
“Not me!” Kipper grinned ruefully. “If you got to know the truth, peppermints give me the pip.”
Emily giggled.
“Say, I know what I’ll do with the peppermint!” Kipper exclaimed. He shoved it back into his pocket. “I’ll give it to one o’ the little water rats, which is what Pa calls the urchins what live ’round the wharf. I’ll give it to Little Shrimper what carries water for him when I’m not ’round. But look, I best be going now. I ain’t expected to be here lest I’m doing a chore.”
“Will—will I see you soon again?” Emily asked.
“Not too soon, I’m ’fraid. Now you’re here, I ain’t going to be given as much work to do.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Kipper!” Emily cried.
“Now, ain’t your fault you come free,” Kipper said cheerfully. “Anyways, I’m building up a delivery business. I got two reg’lar customers now, and I’ll get more. So don’t you worry any ’bout it. Just mind and be careful!” With that warning, and a warm smile, Kipper left, and Emily was alone again.
It turned out to be five whole long dreary days before Kipper returned to the mansion. In the meantime, Emily made not one step of progress toward helping the old people. She began to wonder if they were all too sunk in despair and fearful old age ever to be helped. As for solving any of the mysteries, she was no further along than when she had first arrived. The only happy spot in her life was a conversation she had had with Aunt Twice about Mama and Papa, even though it was cut short by the arrival of Tilly again wanting to talk about her departed ma and pa.
As for the food, Emily still could not eat more than a few bites of the soup (or gruel, or stew, depending on the time of day), and none of the bread, so she was growing weaker and weaker. As a result, her work, instead of getting better, was growing worse. This meant that Tilly was having to work harder, and so despite her own healthy appetite,
was getting tireder and tireder, and as a result, crosser and crosser. She grumbled continuously about the quality of Emily’s work and constantly referred to “them good ol’ days” when Kipper was hired to help with the chores.
It was early one afternoon, and Emily was at work in the laundry room. Steam poured from large tin wash boilers on the stove. Water drizzled down stone walls already blackened and mildewed by ten thousand earlier laundries. Baskets were heaped with mountains of dirty linens that seemed to Emily to grow taller and taller instead of shorter and shorter as she washed.
She was kneeling on the cold, damp stone floor before an iron wash tub, trying to rub the spots from a very dirty linen sheet. Her knuckles scraped painfully on the wicked zinc crimps of the washboard, and tears were again perilously close to spilling down her cheeks. Tilly had left her with a severe warning that she had better have at least one thing properly washed, and Emily was certain that Tilly would return long before any spots or stains had departed.
Suddenly, Emily heard a voice over the sound of the wash bubbling gloomily on the stove.
“Ain’t much fun down on your knees,
On your knees, on your knees,
I will help you, if you please,
My fair lady!”
“Kipper!”
“None other! See here, you look ’bout done in. And I meant the words in the song. How ’bout letting me take a turn at that?” As he was talking, Kipper was already peeling off his jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves.
“No!” Emily shook her head hard. “It wouldn’t be fair.”
“What wouldn’t be fair ’bout it?”
“You wouldn’t be paid for it as you were before.”
Kipper shrugged. “Don’t matter. Pa says you don’t need to be paid for every least thing you do, not in money, anyways. He says living’s a payment for breathing, and a smile’s a payment for a good turn. A smile’s all I need, Emily.”
Emily obliged him with one, but then looked fearfully over her shoulder. “What about Tilly?”
“Remember what I said ’bout working Tilly just right?” Kipper grinned. “Well, my performance worked! She knows she ain’t got anything to worry ’bout where you and me is concerned. When I told her I’d come to help with the laundry free, she looked pleased as pleased can be. Old Til ain’t ever minded anyone helping with the chores ’round Sugar Hill Hall what I can recollect. So move on over and let me at the washboard!”
Kipper dipped his strong, freckled arms into the tub and went after the dirty linen as if he were attacking a sea serpent. Emily couldn’t believe how quickly the stubborn spots vanished.
“Say,” he said, examining her critically over the washboard, “ain’t you got more’n that to wear? Last two times I seen you, you been in the same garment. I know it ain’t polite to say so, Emily, but that dress looks ’bout ready to be a soot rag.”
“Oh, I had another dress, but—but …” Emily’s voice faded, “I gave it to Tilly.”
“Gave it to Tilly!” Kipper exploded. “Whatever for? Tilly couldn’t get anything o’ yours over her head.”
“She thought it was pretty,” Emily said, remembering the endless hour she had spent going over the “pretty things” in her travelling bag with Tilly. “So I just gave it to her.”
“More’n likely she just took it!” said Kipper. “Poor old Til ain’t ever had anything pretty. Anyways,” he shook his head, “I expect the other dress ain’t any more useful than the one you got on.”
“It won’t be for long,” Emily said quickly. “I have two trunks coming filled with clothes.”
“Well, I hope it don’t take too long for ’em to get here, else your dress will fall right off o’ you.” Kipper appraised Emily’s appearance again and sighed. “You know something? You’re the skinniest person I ever did see. And getting skinnier all the time. Ain’t you eating any o’ that delicious soup and bread pervided by the management?” He grinned wryly.
“I try,” Emily said. “I think I’m hungry, but when I get to the table and see the food, I can’t eat it.”
“And to think o’ all them good things your aunt fixes for the snake lady!” Kipper said grimly. “Enough to feed a dozen and lots to spare too. Beats me what they do with it all.”
“Do you wonder about that too?” Emily looked over her shoulder again and dropped her voice. “Oh, Kipper, there are so many mysteries about Sugar Hill Hall. So many questions! A second one is about Mrs. Plumly. Why should anyone who appears to be so nice be friends with Mrs. Meeching?”
Kipper shook his head. “Never have figured that one out either.”
“And—and there’s the ballroom too,” Emily said.
“What ballroom?”
“There, you see!” Emily exclaimed softly. “Tilly didn’t know about it—she said I was stupid—and now you don’t know about it either. But there is a ballroom, Kipper, right across from the dining room, even though there aren’t any doors.”
“You know something, Emily,” Kipper said thoughtfully, “I ain’t of the mind that you’re stupid at all. I think maybe you’re right ’bout some kind o’ room there. You can tell it outside from the shape o’ the mansion, excepting there ain’t any windows. I used to wonder ’bout it. Say!” He looked curiously at Emily. “How come you know so much ’bout a room there?”
“Because I was here when I was a little girl.”
Kipper’s eyes widened. “Here?”
“Yes! And there was a huge ballroom with two big gold doors right where I said. I was here with Mama and Papa, and a big ball was given for them by Aunt Twice and Uncle Twice. Oh!” Emily gasped and threw a hand to her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” Kipper asked anxiously.
Emily began to tremble. “I—I promised Aunt Twice I would never say his name aloud. She told me I was to think of him as—as dead!”
“Well, I ain’t ever heard of any Uncle Twice alive or dead,” Kipper said. “But now I know ’bout him, ain’t any more cause for you not to tell me all you know, Emily.”
This couldn’t be denied, so she poured out the whole conversation she had had with her aunt on the first night at Sugar Hill Hall, including the information that Aunt Twice was being held prisoner there to protect someone’s life.
“Wheeoo!” Kipper whistled softly when she had finished. “I always suspicioned there was some kind o’ hokus-pokus ’bout this place, and your aunt acting scairt out o’ her wits and all that, but never so much as that, Emily. You know something? I wonder if it’s your uncle’s life she’s pertecting.”
“That’s what I thought,” Emily told him. “But what if it isn’t? What if it’s someone else’s life? Supposing Uncle Twice has become a—a wicked man, and supposing Aunt Twice is protecting someone from him?”
“That’s lots o’ supposing you’re doing,” Kipper said. “Right now we ain’t got proof o’ anything.”
“How do we get proof?” Emily asked.
“Don’t rightly know. All I do know is we got to keep our wits sharp, our eyes open, and our mouths shut, excepting to each other. Agreed?”
Emily nodded. “Agreed!”
“But for now,” Kipper went on, “lest you waste ’way to a minnow, as Pa always says, first thing you got to do is increase your appetite so’s you can eat the soup and the bread. If only you could have some o’ Pa’s fish syrup. That’d build up your appetite so’s you could eat just ’bout anything.”
“Fish syrup?” It sounded worse to Emily than all the pills and potions she had ever had to choke down in her life.
Kipper laughed aloud. “What a face! It don’t taste all that bad!” Still chuckling, he returned to scrubbing. But suddenly he sat back on his heels and slapped his leg with a loud, wet smack. “Dingus, Emily, I’m going to bring you some o’ that syrup! Pa’ll let me have all I want. I know he will for that poor little mite, which is what he’s calling you now. You can hide it in your room, and not the snake lady, nor Tilly, nor anybody else need know ’bout it. Wil
l you take it if I bring it?”
“What if I can’t keep it down?” Emily remembered all too well her earlier experiences along this line.
“Oh, you won’t have any trouble,” Kipper said. “Fish syrup goes down smooth and easy. Ain’t anybody I ever knowed of giving it back once it slid past their gullet. Will you try it?”
Emily hesitated a moment, but finally nodded.
Kipper beamed. “You won’t be sorry. You’ll see. Pa’ll be pleased. Soon you’ll be eating everything. Then when you—”
As Kipper talked, Emily’s mind began to wander. It wandered right out of the laundry room, up the stairs and through the kitchen, past the dining room and the parlor, and on up the stairs to the upper reaches of Sugar Hill Hall. There it finally stopped as she thought, if there was something that could help her appetite, couldn’t it also help the appetites of the old people? Fish syrup. It certainly didn’t sound like something she would have chosen for a plan to help them, considering how she herself felt about potions and pills. But it had possibilities. And it was a beginning. Fish syrup. Well?
“Emily? Emily! Ain’t you been listening to a word I said?”
“Kipper,” Emily’s voice came from far away, “how many bottles of fish syrup will your Pa let you bring?”
“How many bottles?” Kipper looked puzzled. “As many as you like, but how many bottles can a tadpole your size put away?”
“Not me, silly!” exclaimed Emily. “The old people! If it can improve my appetite, it ought to improve theirs, too.”
“No doubt, ’cause it improves everybody’s. But who would give it to them, and how?”
“Me,” replied Emily. “And—and I could take it around to them in my cleaning bucket.”
Kipper shook his head so violently the red curls danced onto his forehead. “Too dangerous. I ain’t ’bout to ’low that.”
“Oh, Kipper, I’m certain I could do it safely. No one would ever find out.”
Peppermints in the Parlor Page 7