Kipper was right. Soon they reached the waterfront and a row of shops which, unlike the others they had just passed, had been put to bed for the night. Here it was quiet enough for water to be heard lapping softly against the wharfs.
“And here ’tis!” Kipper pointed proudly to a small darkened shop with a sign over it in the shape of a fish so large it looked as if it could swallow the shop and everyone in it in one bite. Kipper let go Emily’s hand to unlock the door.
“Come ’long, Emily, this way!” Kipper beckoned to a staircase at the back of the little shop. Only one dim light burned inside, so Emily could gather the barest impressions of wooden kegs and vats neatly laid out in front of a tiny counter, but she could feel the friendly sawdust under her feet like a welcoming carpet. If only her first visit to Kipper’s Pa’s shop could have been under brighter circumstances!
“Pa! Pa!” Kipper called out softly as he climbed the worn treads, with Emily close behind. “Pa, are you there?” Silence was his only reply.
Now they entered a small, cozy room that could have passed for a ship’s cabin, except for one bright pink geranium blooming in a round window over the sink. The window looked so much like a porthole Emily was surprised not to see waves dashing against it. A ship’s oil lamp on the wall and a fluttering candle on the table lit the room. But the only sign of life apparent was a small boy seated on a bench by the scrubbed pine table, his head laid down on it, and his tousled blond hair tumbling over his hands. He was fast asleep. Was this the scary, nameless “indiwidual” Emily had been brought to see? It was almost a cause for laughter.
“Little Shrimper! Little Shrimper, wake up!” Kipper shook his shoulders gently. “Where’s Pa?”
Little Shrimper rubbed his eyes sleepily. “Gone for someone, Kipper. Don’t know who, ’cause it were a name whispered to him by …” He jerked a thumb toward the bunk beds in a corner of the room.
Emily’s eyes followed the direction of the small thumb, and she began to tremble. What she had thought was simply a mountain of bed quilts and blankets on the lower of the two bunks, now suddenly rearranged itself into what it truly was, the figure of a man!
“It’s who you come to see, Emily,” Kipper said soberly. Then he turned back to Little Shrimper. “He ain’t dead yet, is he?”
Little Shrimper’s eyes widened into big, round O’s. Clearly, death was not something he had bargained for. “Pa didn’t say so.”
“Then he probably ain’t.” Kipper strode toward the bunks and lit a small oil lamp that hung on the bedpost. Then he leaned over the lower bunk to hold out a testing finger. “No, he ain’t,” he concluded matter of factly. He beckoned to Emily.
“This ain’t going to be pleasant, but you best come see what you was brung for, Emily. This here’s the indiwidual what wants to speak his case to you, though don’t look like he’s able right now.”
Emily hesitated, but she knew that in the end she would have to make that short but terrible journey. Slowly, she crossed the room. When she arrived at the bunk, she took one quick look at the man lying stiff and still as a log, and her breath stopped in her throat.
She had seen his face only twice before, but on her mind had been carved forever the rubbery lips, the bulbous nose decorated with a large black wart, and the hideous gash running from cheek to chin. Now, under this face turned grey as an oyster shell, a stain on the chest of his seaman’s uniform was opening up like a swift-blooming blood-red rose.
“Captain Scurlock!” Emily whispered. She had to turn her eyes from the sight.
“No other,” said Kipper. “Sorry to o’ had to do this to you, Emily, but he was ’fraid if you knew who ’twas wanted you, you might likely not o’ wanted to come.”
“But how did he get here?” Emily asked. “What is this all about?”
“Well—” Kipper rubbed an ear thoughtfully. “Since the Cap’n ain’t in a present condition to speak his piece, and Pa ain’t back yet, I guess I can tell you what I know. Let’s set at the table with Little Shrimper. Pa’s got water boiling, so I can fix us a nice cup o’ tea with one whole lump o’ sugar in it, each!”
“Me too?” piped up Little Shrimper.
Kipper smiled at him. “You too!”
Emily fell gratefully onto a bench by the table, happy to be able to leave the sight of the dread apparition on the bunk.
“Oh, come to think on it, Little Shrimper, this here’s Emily what generously donated the peppermint to you,” Kipper said cheerily. That he was shading the truth a bit didn’t seem to concern him.
Little Shrimper stared at Emily with round eyes. Then he dipped into a well-worn pocket and pulled out a filthy rag, which he promptly laid open. Inside rested the peppermint, or at least what remained of it. “And I still got it, too!” he said proudly. “I only sucks a bit on it ’fore bedtime. Might even last ’nother week!” At that moment, Emily wished she had a hundred more peppermints to fill that little pocket!
“Now,” said Kipper, setting down three mismatched pottery mugs of steaming tea, “the story begins with me visiting the cellar o’ The Jolly Sailor ’fore coming to the Remembrance Room, to find out if the snake lady and Mrs. P. was there. If they was, I was thinking as how you and me, Emily, could make a little trip to the end o’ the tunnel to find out how them two vanished last night.
“Well, the two o’ them was there, all right, but what was likewise there was a lot o’ arguing and fighting such as you ain’t ever seen, with the snake lady screeching and hissing, and Mrs. P. hollering and snarling. Next thing you know, ’fore I had a chance to break ’way, out from the room comes Cap’n Scurlock, bleeding like a harpooned whale, as Pa always says.
“ ‘Let him go back to his ship and die!’ screeches the snake lady.
“ ‘We’ll throw his body to the sharks later’, snarls Mrs. P. sweetly.
“Meanwhilst, the Cap’n goes on staggering to the stairs, and not wanting to be unfriendly like, I jump from my hiding place, and offer him a hand. Nobody notices us staggering out, which ain’t surprising, things running as they usually run at The Jolly Sailor. But once we get outside, the Cap’n turns to me and says, half-dead like, ‘Ain’t ee the boy what works from time to time up at Sugar Hill Hall?’
“ ‘Same boy, though I don’t work as much there any more,’ says I.
“ ‘But ee must know the child, Emily Luccock,’ says he.
“ ‘That I do’, says I.
“ ‘Well, I must speak to her’, says he. ‘There are things that I must tell her. I cannot go to my Maker with such dark secrets on my soul. So I’d be much obliged if ee would take me to Emily Luccock quick as ee can, because I ain’t good for too many more breaths on this earth.’
“ ‘l’ll do my bestest, Cap’n,’ says I.
“But knowing as how with the size o’ him and the size o’ me, I might never make it to Sugar Hill Hall, why I brung him here to Pa’s place. Pa and me decided as how I got to fetch you here, me promising the Cap’n on my life not to tell you ’bout who was requesting your presence. You know ’bout the rest, Emily. More tea?” Kipper hopped up and started for the kettle. Halfway there, he stopped and turned to the stairs, listening. “Sounds like Pa’s back, and sounds like he’s got someone with him!”
SEVENTEEN
A Stranger at Pa’s Place
From the small, dark opening into Kipper and Pa’s quarters, there rose first a head of hair bright as a basket of oranges, followed by a face with cheeks whipped to a cheerful red by wind and sun, and a pair of sea-blue eyes that matched only one other pair in the world. This, then, had to be Kipper’s Pa.
Directly behind him appeared another man in the uniform of a common seaman. Whatever portions of his face were not covered by a golden beard were deeply bronzed by the sun. His shoulders, broad as a hatch cover, seemed to fill the small room. And he was tall enough that he stooped when he reached the final step, as if from long experience he expected the top of his head to have an encounter with the ceiling.
&n
bsp; Emily could not remember seeing this man in the cellar of The Jolly Sailor, but then there were so many around that ugly table. Perhaps he had been there. Kipper stared curiously, but when he started to speak, Pa motioned to him to be silent by putting a restraining finger to the lips. Then Pa motioned the stranger toward an unlit corner of the room. Without uttering a word, he went there and stood with his hands folded, staring silently across the room at the Captain.
“Now, who have we here?” Kipper’s Pa’s voice was as cheerful as a sunny day at the shore. He beamed at Emily as if there were no hint of a drama having to do with life and death being enacted in his home.
“This here’s Emily, Pa,” Kipper said. “And Emily, this here’s Pa.”
“Ain’t ever been happier to meet anyone in my life!” said Pa. “ ’Course I can’t deny I would o’ preferred livelier circumstances.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you too!” Emily said, and dropped him a curtsy. “Mr.—” She stopped shyly for want of a proper name to use.
“Well now,” said Pa, “since you ain’t got one o’ your own, and since all Kipper’s friends do likewise, why I’d be pleased as the tuna what found a hole in the net, as I always say, to have you call me Pa.”
“Thank you, Pa,” said Emily.
Pa smiled broadly, but a moment later the smile had faded into a deep frown as he motioned toward the grim object lying across the room. “Has he spoke any words yet, Kipper?”
“Ain’t said anything, Pa.”
But as if he had heard them, Captain Scurlock gave a terrible groan. “Water! Water!”
“Fetch him a cup, Kipper,” Pa said.
When Kipper returned with the water, Pa thrust a folded blanket under the Captain’s head, and Kipper held the cup to his lips.
“Thankee!” the Captain whispered hoarsely. Then after several deep, painful breaths, he said, “Be she here—the child, Emily Luccock?”
“Right here, Cap’n,” said Kipper. He motioned to Emily to draw nearer the bunk so the Captain might see her.
Emily gathered every ounce of courage she had to cross the room again, this time under the piercing gaze of the stranger standing motionless as a tombstone in the dark corner.
With great difficulty, the Captain turned his head to stare at her hard and long. “Aye, she be the one. And—and the other, fishmonger, be he here, too?”
“Here too, Cap’n,” replied Pa, but he made no move to invite the stranger to the bunk.
“Good! Good! And did ee bring the papers, son?”
“Here, Cap’n.” Kipper thrust the sheaf of papers into Captain Scurlock’s outstretched hand.
“Thankee! Thankee! Now, give me a moment to rest before I speak again.” The Captain’s eyes drifted shut, and for several moments he lay so still it seemed that he had died. But at length his eyes opened once more. With trembling hands he lifted the papers and read wordlessly.
“These be the ones, all right. These be the papers from the lawyer firm of Dowling, Dowling, and Fairwell, stating that Emily Luccock’s pa died a rich man. And Emily’s ma being also dead, all the money being stolen by Plumly and Meeching, Inc. belongs rightfully to the child, Emily. Here!” Captain Scurlock lay his head back with a groan. “Read ’em!”
Kipper took the papers from his hands and parcelled them out to Emily and Pa. After that, the room was silent as they read, except for an occasional “Wheeoo!” from Kipper or Pa. Finally, Kipper looked at Emily. His eyes were huge.
“Dingus, Emily, you’re a hairess!”
“Ain’t any question ’bout that,” said Pa.
“But—but I don’t understand,” stammered Emily. “Why did Aunt Twice tell me Papa died a pauper?”
“Is the Aunt Twice ee speaks of the same as Mrs. William Dorcas Luccock?” the Captain asked weakly.
Emily nodded.
“Well, child, the reason for that is because she received a letter as to that fact.”
“A-a letter?”
“Forgery!” gasped Captain Scurlock. “All letters received by her—forgeries. All letters sent by her, likewise, after being stolen by the earlier mentioned Plumly and Meeching, Inc.”
Emily looked with questioning eyes at Pa and Kipper and turned back to Captain Scurlock. “Why—why are you telling me all these things now?”
“Because I ain’t got long to live, child, and I don’t want more murders on my soul!” groaned the Captain.
“Murders!” Pa blurted out. “In what way murders, Cap’n?”
“So happens, fishmonger, if anything goes amiss with the child, Emily, then all falls to her Aunt Twice. Plumly and Meeching, Inc., courtesy of another forgery, are seeing to it that if anything goes amiss with the child’s Aunt Twice, all falls to them. Ee can pretty well figure out the rest!”
Emily and Aunt Twice to be murdered! Certainly there was no question now that Emily must run away, and with Aunt Twice, if possible.
“But—but what about the old people?” Emily asked. “What is to happen to them?”
“The old people are a sad cover for a very ugly book, child. But far as I know, nought worse will happen to them than has already happened. It was only the above-mentioned murders that caused the fight that did me in. Smuggling and stealing all that loot was one thing, but murder o’ Emily Luccock and her aunt I wanted nought to do with. My first mate Sneed, he wasn’t so particular, so he sided up with Plumly and Meeching, Inc., and I got the business end o’ his knife in my chest!” Moaning with pain, the Captain paused. “Now, for the benefit o’ some in this room, what I say next had best be put in writing. So if someone will take up pen and a piece o’ paper, writing while I speak, I’d be much obliged.”
Kipper ran to the chest at once for pen, ink, and paper, as Pa said, “Kipper, our handwriting ain’t such as most folks can rightly read it. Mayhap Emily best take pen in hand for the Cap’n.”
So it was Emily who knelt down on the floor beside the dying Captain, and by the trembling light of the small brass lantern on the bedpost put down the words that he spoke.
“I, Captain Zacheus Zachariah Scurlock, being o’ sound mind, if not sound body, do hereby confess that Seaman William Dorcas Luccock, o’ the ship Silver Sea, never did commit the murder o’ one Bellamy Q. Biggs, o’ the same ship, five years past after a gambling quarrel, but instead was drugged and had placed in his hand one o’ the bloody knives used to kill the same by Prunella Blossom Plumly, Theodosia Sly Meeching and I, the above-mentioned Captain Scurlock. Whether mine was the one o’ the three knives that finished Bellamy Q. Biggs, I know not, but I cannot go to my maker with it upon my conscience, and I cannot go likewise without proclaiming the innocence o’ William Dorcas Luccock.
“These long years have Plumly, Meeching, and Scurlock, Inc. held the threat of the hangman’s noose over his head, keeping his wife in fear and terror for his life, and taking over the great mansion of Sugar Hill Hall, which by rights belongs to him, though he lost all else by gambling and a wild life, long since regretted.” The Captain took a deep, agonizing breath, gathering strength to continue. “Now quickly, child, for my life is fast fading, give me the pen and paper and let me put my name to it.”
With shaking fingers, Emily placed the pen in the gnarled hand, and the paper under it.
Uncle Twice really alive! Uncle Twice the one all along whom Aunt Twice had been protecting! Uncle Twice, whose very life had hung on her being a prisoner of the dread Mrs. Plumly and Mrs. Meeching! And Uncle Twice now freed of all blame for a crime he never did commit!
“Uncle Twice alive and well!” breathed Emily.
“Aye, child, alive and well and in this very room! Now go ee and take him this confession, signed before witnesses!”
Uncle Twice in that room? Where? The bronzed, bearded, broad-shouldered stranger looked nothing at all like the pale, slender man pictured in Emily’s locket. She looked around the room in confusion.
Then the man stepped out of the shadows and stood in full light with his arms outstret
ched, and it was Uncle Twice! Tears streaming down her cheeks, Emily ran into the waiting arms and felt them fold around her. At long, long last, she was home!
“My darling Emily, forgive me for remaining silent, but I came to this room a murderer, and I thought I might leave a murderer. And never did I want you to know me as that! It was only by this confession that I could make myself known to you.”
No sooner had Uncle Twice said these words, than the Captain raised his hand weakly, wanting to be heard. “I have no right to ask forgiveness of ee, William Luccock, but I ask it all the same, if ee can find it in thy heart to forgive”.
With Emily’s hand in his, Uncle Twice drew close to the Captain. “Because of what was done to my wife and this innocent child, I find it hard to forgive now. Perhaps in time I will be able to. But for myself, I do forgive, and for saving the lives of these so precious to me, I do also thank you with all my heart!”
“I thankee!” said the Captain. “ ’Tis more than I deserve.”
By now his face had become such a ghastly color and his breathing so difficult for him, it was clear his life was rapidly ebbing away. Tears again poured down Emily’s face, this time for the old man, now losing his life for having tried to save hers.
“Shed no tears for me, Emily Luccock,” he said, “for I’m as blackhearted a villain as ever lived.”
“No, never!” sobbed Emily, and she bent over and placed a kiss on the terrible scar that stabbed across his face.
“Thankee, child!” he whispered. Then his head rolled over, and he died.
Pa removed the blanket from under his head and gently laid it over his grizzled face. For moments, there was silence in the small room as they all gazed in sadness at the dead Captain.
Then Pa turned to Uncle Twice. “What’s to be done now, sir?”
“What do you think best, sir?” replied Uncle Twice, returning the compliment by addressing Kipper’s Pa as sir. For it was easy to see that in his eyes, the fishmonger was every bit as much a gentleman as he himself had been and was to be again.
Peppermints in the Parlor Page 13