Peppermints in the Parlor

by Barbara Brooks Wallace

  “I think as how we ain’t got a choice but to pay a visit to the police for you to present your credentuals, followed by a visit to The Jolly Sailor to present Mrs. Plumly and Mrs. Meeching with their comeuppance. You and me can take care o’ that, whilst Kipper and Emily fly back to Sugar Hill Hall to carry the happy news to her Aunt Twice.” Pa beamed at the two children before him.

  “How ’bout Little Shrimper, Pa?” Kipper asked. “He ain’t needed to keep watch now.”

  “Well, looks as how first thing I got to do is pay a visit to his ma and make a delivery that ain’t got anything to do with fish, Kipper!”

  Pa leaned over and scooped Little Shrimper up in his strong arms. Despite all the drama being enacted in the little boy’s presence that night, he had been unable to hold up any longer. With his head dropped on the table, he had once again fallen fast asleep.

  EIGHTEEN

  Peppermints in the Parlor

  It wasn’t until she was racing along beside Kipper through the dark streets with Pa’s splendid warm fishy coat flapping comfortingly about her knees, that an alarming thought struck Emily. “The tunnel!” she gasped.

  “What ’bout the tunnel?” Kipper asked. “Well, if Mrs. Plumly and Mrs. Meeching should learn about Uncle Twice and Pa coming for them with the policemen, wouldn’t they try to escape?” said Emily. She was panting breathlessly as she scurried to keep up with Kipper.

  “If I was in them shoes, I would,” Kipper replied. “But what’s it got to do with the tunnel?”

  “Mightn’t they try to escape through it?” said Emily. “Then they could collect some of the jewels in the ballroom on their way.”

  “Dingus, Emily, you’re right!” Kipper exclaimed. “Knowing them two, that’s exactly what they’d be likely to do. Pa don’t know ’bout that tunnel either, ’cause I never told him for fear he’d have ten fish fits, as he always says, ’bout my messing ’round with such a nasty business. But then”—Kipper paused to think—“your Uncle Twice probably knows ’bout it, ’cause Sugar Hill Hall belongs to him.”

  “No, Kipper, he doesn’t!” Emily said anxiously. “Don’t you remember my telling you about the well he never had opened?”

  Kipper frowned. “But there’s them other steps and trapdoor too, Emily. I mean, the ones into the ballroom.”

  “The steps are much, much newer than the ones to the Remembrance Room,” Emily said. “I noticed it when we went up them. And even though I was only a very small girl when I was first at Sugar Hill Hall, I remember Uncle Twice waltzing me right over the very place where the trapdoor is now. I think Mrs. Plumly and Mrs. Meeching must have had the steps and trapdoor made, and Uncle Twice knows nothing about it.”

  “Which explains a lot o’ things,” said Kipper. “Them two lovely ladies must o’ found out ’bout the tunnel private like and wanted to get their hands on it. They could o’ just done in your Uncle Twice, but then they would o’ had to finish off your Aunt Twice, and after that your ma and pa and you, who would doubtless o’ got Sugar Hill Hall, being next o’ kin. But all those murders all together might o’ raised a couple o’ eyebrows. So they made special ’rangements to get your Uncle Twice out o’ the way, and to get Sugar Hill Hall and the free services o’ your Aunt Twice as well. Wheeoo!” Kipper whistled at having finally discovered the roots of all the dark and evil events.

  “Well, if Uncle Twice and Pa don’t know about the tunnel, and the ladies come through it, we’re the ones who will have to stop them!” cried Emily.

  “Just us?” said Kipper.

  “There’s Aunt Twice and Tilly and all the old people as well,” Emily said.

  Kipper scratched an ear doubtfully. “Your Aunt Twice and Tilly might do, but don’t know as how we can count on them timid old ones.”

  “Timid old ones!” cried Emily, outraged. “How can you call someone timid who dared to take two peppermints and go to the Remembrance Room? And think of them all taking care of Clarabelle practically under Mrs. Meeching’s very nose, and—and—” Emily was too furious to go on.

  Kipper hunched his shoulders and grinned. “Ouch, Emily! I shouldn’t o’ said that. Agreed that the old ones can help, too. But what can all us brave people use to stop them two vipers—bare hands?”

  “No!” Emily shook her head. “I’ve thought of something, something I saw that time I ran into Mrs. Meeching’s room to rescue Mr. Bottle’s peppermint.” She looked furtively over her shoulder, because even now it still seemed that the eyes and ears of Sugar Hill Hall were everywhere. Then she whispered something to Kipper.

  Kipper looked at her with sparkling eyes. “Dingus, Emily!” he exclaimed. “If you ain’t the one!”

  As soon as they entered Sugar Hill Hall, Kipper vanished up the stairs, and Emily was left with the joyful task of waking Aunt Twice with the most wonderful news in the whole world. There was, however, one disheartening problem that remained. Uncle Twice, after all his rugged years at sea, had become suntanned, husky, and handsomer than ever, while Aunt Twice, with all her worries and fears, had become thin, wan, and weary. Could Uncle Twice still love her? Emily wondered. Would he?

  Fortunately, she had little time to ponder this question, because she was too busy with the difficult task of waking a Tilly who could have stayed asleep if the entire mansion had come crashing down about her ears. Then Emily had to reveal all the news about Mrs. Plumly, the tunnel and the tavern, and of course, Uncle Twice.

  “Well, I ain’t never!” cried Tilly. The look of surprise and shock in her watery blue eyes gave promise of staying there forever. But after Emily had told her everything, it was the simplest matter to enlist her aid in helping put an end to the two tyrants who had ruled over her for such a large portion of her life.

  Then Aunt Twice, Tilly, and Emily all sped to the parlor where Kipper, like the Pied Piper, was just leading Mrs. Poovey, Mrs. Loops, Mr. Bottle, Mr. Dobbs, Mrs. Quirk and all the other old people down the broad staircase. They were still in their shabby flannel bathrobes and rundown slippers, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, but they had an air of excitement about them despite having just been awakened and given a quick history of the recent dramatic events.

  “Emily, you dear, darling child!” cried Mrs. Poovey and Mrs. Loops in unison. They rushed to Emily and threw their arms around her.

  “Oh Emily, you’re safe and well, you absolutely are!” said Mr. Bottle, blowing his nose from sheer joy.

  Mrs. Quirk dashed away a happy tear. “We were afraid we’d never see you again, dear child”.

  It was some time before Emily could even catch her breath from all the violent hugging and squeezing. “Do you know all that’s happened?” she asked. “Did Kipper tell you?”

  Mrs. Poovey bobbed her head. “Oh yes, dear, he did. He came to tell Mrs. Loops and me first.”

  “And we helped him tell all the others,” added Mrs. Loops, quivering proudly under her enormous lavender flannel bathrobe.

  “I hope you’re not too frightened,” Emily said.

  “Well, as a matter of fact we are, dear,” said Mrs. Poovey. “But, oh my, even if it meant spending the rest of our days in the Remembrance Room, we wouldn’t want to miss this, would we, Mrs. Loops?”

  “Certainly not!” replied Mrs. Loops, beaming.

  “Nor would any of us!” said Mr. Bottle wetly but happily, from behind his handkerchief.

  “Now, here’s Kipper handing out our weapons!” said Mr. Dobbs. His old face, as wrinkled as parchment, was aglow with excitement.

  They all waited with breathless anticipation as Kipper handed out paper bags retrieved from the kitchen. Tilly quickly peeked into her bag, and then raised happy, disbelieving eyes.

  “Well, I declares!” she exclaimed.

  The gaslights were turned down whisper low, and a conspiratorial hush fell on the parlor as they all stood in the shadows, silently observed only by the dust, the cobwebs and the plaster cupids overhead.

  They did not have long to wait. What Emily had thought
might happen was exactly what did happen. Through the thick walls of the old ballroom were wafted the muffled screeches and hisses, snarls and screams of two ladies having a polite argument.

  “It’s all your fault!” howled one.

  “Ha! Ha! and ha! My fault, indeed!” yelled the other.

  “Snake!”

  “Viper!”

  “Fool!”

  “Jackass!”

  Moments after this exchange of pleasantries, the door from Mrs. Meeching’s room flew open, and out burst Plumly and Meeching, Inc., coats thrown on any which way, and hair flying about like haystacks in a windstorm. Each one carried two enormous black carpetbags spilling over with jewels greedily snatched up in the ballroom. But they were brought to a sudden, dramatic stop when their furious eyes fell on Emily, Kipper, Aunt Twice, Tilly, and all the old people lined up solidly as a stone wall before the front door.

  “Aaaaaaaargh!” snarled Mrs. Plumly.

  “Sssssssssss!” hissed Mrs. Meeching.

  “Step aside at once!” commanded Mrs. Plumly. Then she collected herself enough to add slyly, “You will all be rewarded with peppermints.” When she saw that this had no effect, however, she screamed, “If you don’t, you’ll all go back to moldy bread!”

  “And the Remembrance Room!” screamed Mrs. Meeching.

  As there was still no sign of anyone even hearing them, much less minding, Mrs. Plumly drew her two evil knitting needles from a carpetbag. “Move away, if you don’t want to feel the points of these!”

  But even as she was spitting out the words, the hands of Aunt Twice and Tilly, Kipper and Emily, Mrs. Poovey and Mrs. Loops and all the other old people were dipping into the bags Kipper had given them.

  “Are you ready, Mrs. Loops?” Mrs. Poovey was heard to say.

  “Quite ready, Mrs. Poovey,” replied Mrs. Loops.

  “Then heave ho, and aim!” cried Mrs. Poovey.

  And then all at once, a storm of puffy, tempting, tantalizing, delicious, pink-and-white-striped peppermint drops, become stinging hailstones in the hands of the outraged residents of Sugar Hill Hall, burst through the parlor at Mrs. Plumly and Mrs. Meeching.

  “Fiends!” screeched Mrs. Meeching.

  “Vultures!” screamed Mrs. Plumly.

  Faces contorted with hatred and fury, the two ladies were driven back across the parlor by the hailstorm of stinging peppermints.

  “Quick, the kitchen!” hissed Mrs. Meeching. But by the time they had headed for that escape route, it was too late. From behind them, as well as through the front door, were already pouring a dozen policemen with chains, nets, and clubs. It was but a matter of a few moments for Plumly and Meeching, Inc. to be chained up, locked, and removed from Sugar Hill Hall forever.

  Still, with all of that, Emily did not feel entirely satisfied until Uncle Twice finally stepped through the door with Kipper’s Pa. But when she saw the look on Uncle Twice’s face as his eyes found Aunt Twice, and saw her run into his arms laughing and crying at the same time, then Emily was truly happy at last. For it was clear that Uncle Twice found Aunt Twice to be more beautiful than ever!

  So everything was now solved, and everything settled. Sugar Hill Hall was returned to its rightful owners. Uncle and Aunt Twice would live there with Emily, whose great wealth would help keep them until Uncle Twice should regain his own fortune. And Emily’s dear friends, Mrs. Poovey, Mrs. Loops, Mr. Bottle, Mr. Dobbs, Mrs. Quirk and all the other old people would live there too, enjoying warm, cozy rooms, splendid meals, and the joy of playing with Clarabelle to their heart’s content.

  With so much happiness, why should anyone weep? And yet, standing forlornly in one corner of the parlor was Tilly, her pale eyes flooded with tears. Emily ran to her at once.

  “Tilly, what’s the matter? Why are you crying when everything is all happiness now?”

  “It ain’t all happiness for me!” sobbed Tilly. “Us orphings was getting to be good friends. Now y’r a hairess, Emily, and you ain’t going to wants me ’round no more.”

  “What a foolish thing to say!” exclaimed Emily. “Why not?”

  “ ’Cause—’cause I ain’t been as good a friend as I oughts when you was poor, pinching you and all that ’cause I was greener than any pea with envy on ’count o’ you havings y’r Aunt Twice, and me not havings nobody. But worse than that, I stoled from you, Emily!”

  “Stole from me?” said Emily. “What did you steal, Tilly?”

  “This!” said Tilly miserably. From the pocket of her dress she pulled Emily’s bedraggled white fur tamo’-shanter. It was worn almost to the skin from having been rubbed to death.

  “Why, Tilly,” said Emily promptly, “you didn’t steal that from me. You only borrowed it, don’t you remember?”

  “I dids?” said the amazed Tilly.

  “Yes, and I’m certain as can be that one day you were going to return it to me,” said Emily firmly.

  “I were?” said the astonished Tilly, beaming. “You means we can go on being friends, Emily?”

  “Of course!” declared Emily. “And you shall not only have your very own fur tam-o’-shanter now, Tilly, but all the pretty things you want. And you shall move upstairs from the cellar to live next to me, and we shall have lessons together, and—”

  “Lessons?” said Tilly faintly. She looked like a bird whose owner has just set it free only to turn around and put an arrow through its heart.

  “Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” said Emily quickly. “But if you do, you may, and we shall always remain the best of friends!”

  After this happily received speech, Emily ran back to Aunt and Uncle Twice, to be hugged again by one and swung, laughing, into the air by the other. Then she skipped over to Kipper, who was standing nearby with Pa. Both faces were alight with cheerful grins.

  “Just think, Kipper!” she cried. “Never again will there be shadows in Sugar Hill Hall, just sunshine and peppermints in the parlor for everyone, forever!”

  After long moments of silence, in which neither Kipper nor Pa could think of anything grand enough to say to this joyful pronouncement, Kipper finally came up with a speech.

  “Dingus, Emily!”

  “As Kipper always says,” concluded Pa happily.

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  Barbara Brooks Wallace has written Victorian mysteries that include a parlor, a tav
ern, a castle, a scullery, and a gallery. But she claims never to have lived in a tavern or a castle, or owned a house with a parlor, a scullery, or a gallery. So far she has not lived in a tenement, either. She simply dwells in a nice little house in Alexandria, Virginia, with her very nice husband; affectionate Burmese cat, Cleo; and turtle, Peter. Her son, Jimmy, daughter-in-law, Christina, and Victoria and Elizabeth, their two daughters, live nearby.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Text copyright © 1980 by Barbara Brooks Wallace

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Manufactured in the United States of America

  This Aladdin Paperbacks edition May 2005

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

  The Library of Congress has cataloged a previous edition as follows:

  Wallace, Barbara Brooks, 1922-

  Peppermints in the parlor / Barbara Brooks Wallace.

  p. cm.

  Summary-Sent to San Francisco to live with her beloved aunt and uncle, newly orphaned Emily expectantly enters their once-happy mansion only to find unimaginable horrors.