The Trouble with Polly Brown

by Tricia Bennett

  “Why?” Polly dared to ask.

  “Just do as I say, Polly,” Will stated in little more than a whisper, at the same time gently putting his hand across her mouth to suggest that she should take a deep breath and for once do as she was told without questioning or murmuring.

  Polly submitted to this gesture and obeyed by closing her eyes tightly, as she then allowed Will to guide her through the door.

  She continued to hold Will’s hand very tightly as he gently led her into a room. “Can I open my eyes yet?” Polly nervously asked.

  “Not just yet,” came the reply.

  Suddenly Polly felt something warm brush up against her leg. She let out a small squeal. Then something furry touched her other leg, causing a shiver to run the full length of her spine. She let out another squeal and opened her eyes. The room was pitch black, causing Polly to squint as she struggled to get her eyesight back into full focus. Seconds later and she could see movement, lots of movement, as small, shadowy objects darted back and forth at great speed in front of her. Will let go of her hand and marched over to a large bay window. He then pulled back the dark, heavily draped curtains, giving the hot afternoon sun instant permission to penetrate the room with its abundantly generous and bedazzling streams of warm sunlight.

  Polly winced and raised her hands up to her forehead to allow her eyes to once more adapt, as the flood of light continued to wheedle out all darkness in exchange for some most welcome and comforting warmth. And as Polly once more attempted to look around the enormous but dreadfully dilapidated room with its large, ancient-looking furniture, she was shocked to note that it was overrun with cats! Black cats, brown cats, Persian cats, and ginger cats by the dozen! They were everywhere!

  “Goodness, Will! Are all these yours?” Polly dared to ask.

  “Well, only Scoota belongs to me, and as you can clearly see, she is happily expecting some babies of her own,” he said with a grin as, crouching down, he began to tickle her large tummy before allowing the pretty white cat to turn over to then begin licking his fingers.

  “She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?” His voice betrayed a distinct note of tenderness.

  “Tell me, Will. What possessed you to name her Scoota?” Polly asked, slightly bemused. “I mean, the name seems far more appropriate for a male cat.”

  Before he could answer, Polly heard the somewhat strangled voice of an old woman crying out. “William dearest, is that you? William dear, be a good boy and answer me. Are you there?”

  “Yes, Mother. It’s me, and I’m in the drawing room,” he reticently replied. Polly was quick to notice that his voice appeared somewhat downhearted, maybe even a little embarrassed, yes, as though he was not too happy to be home.

  Suddenly Polly turned to see an old, wizened woman enter the room in a wheelchair.

  “I see we have a visitor. How rare and unexpected,” she stated in a rather sinister but posh, upper-crust accent. “So, Will, do me the kindness of telling me the poor girl’s name.”

  “It’s Polly, Polly Brown, and she’s a good friend from school.”

  “Oh pray, tell me, William, does your new friend like cats?” the old, white-haired woman rather snootily asked.

  “I’ve no idea whatsoever!” Will replied, at the same time looking more than a little flustered.

  Polly for a reason remained conspicuously silent, for as she normally put her foot right in it she was very unsure as to what, if anything, was the best way to answer the lady. And she really did want to be respectful.

  “Does the girl have a voice?” the feeble old lady rather primly asked.

  “Of course she does, Mother.”

  “Then would it be too much to ask for the girl to speak up for herself? Are you a friend or foe of the feline?”

  Polly furrowed her brow, thereby suggesting that she felt incapable of answering the old lady’s question, as she did not fully understand what she was being asked.

  “My dear, do you like cats?”

  “Well, I think so,” Polly stuttered.

  “You think so! What sort of reply is that? Are you not capable of giving a reasonable and thereby simple answer, for it’s either a firm yes or no. So which is it to be?”

  “Oh, Mother, stop scaring her,” Will quickly interjected with a distinct note of resignation in his voice.

  His mother raised her hand dismissively as she continued to ignore him. “Well, girl, I’m still waiting on your reply.”

  “Yes, I do like cats. Not that I know much about them, for I have never had the privilege of owning one. But as I love all animals alike, then it must surely include cats.”

  “Oh, good. I’m delighted to hear that, for it makes you a very welcome visitor under this roof. These little feline beauties are the love of my life. Aren’t you, my little precious ones?” she said as she patted her lap, giving a clear invitation for one of her many cats to jump up into her lap.

  “Come on, Lucretia dearest. Come to Mother. You see, Polly, unlike most humans, cats will never hurt or abandon you,” she wistfully sniffed as she began to stroke the head of the cat who had jumped up and was now little more than a soft, purring ball in her lap. “Anyway, William, I do hope you remembered to pick up a meat pie on the way home from school. Otherwise there will be no supper, and that will really cause great upset to your brother.”

  “Yes, Mother, I did,” Will stated as he lifted the bag that contained the pie into the air for her to see.

  “Splendid! Now I propose that we all go through to the kitchen, and Will dearest, you can organize a nice pot of tea on a tray with some biscuits. Polly dear, I assume that just like the rest of us you too simply adore Earl Grey?”

  Polly was confused. Will had never mentioned that he had a brother. Was he older or younger? Did Will get on with him? And finally, who on earth was Earl Grey? And why would this strange woman wrongly presume that Polly not only knew the man but also adored him? Oh, and merely out of interest, precisely how many cats lived in this dilapidated mansion? All these questions were buzzing ’round in Polly’s young head as she followed Will, his mother, and twenty or more cats out of the drawing room, as like a most somber funeral procession, they quietly headed down the long corridor toward the kitchen.

  Polly held back, allowing the old woman in the chair to get well ahead of them.

  “Psst! Will, you’ve never told me that you had a brother,” she whispered, giving him quite a rough nudge to express her annoyance.

  “Hang on a minute, Polly. Up until this moment in time I have been more concerned about your home crisis than I have about giving out my family details. So give me a break. I assure you that you will, in due course, meet him.”

  “All right, but tell me quickly before we get to the kitchen, who exactly is Earl Grey? Is he another weird relative of yours? And why does your mother think I not only know him but actually adore him?”

  “Oh, Polly, you daft little thing! Allow me to enlighten you, for Earl Grey is not a person! No, it’s a rather splendid aromatic tea infused with bergamot that is usually served up with a nice twist of lemon.”

  “Right, well I’m glad you told me, although I’m now feeling like a prize idiot,” she murmured as she continued to follow after the long line of cats and Will’s mother in her wheelchair.

  “Look, Polly, I’m going to make mother a pot of tea, and then I think we’ll quickly excuse ourselves. That way we can talk about things more openly,” he whispered in her ear.

  Polly nodded her agreement, for she had hoped for a private moment with Will. Besides, she badly needed his help with a couple of tough pieces of English literature homework that she was well behind with and that had to be on her teacher’s desk by 9:00 a.m. sharp, or else!

  “Mother, if you’d like me to make you some tea and bring it on a tray to your boudoir, I think that would be the best idea. Since neither of us fancies hot tea, we’ll just help ourselves to a glass of lemonade from the fridge and then excuse ourselves, if that’s all right with
you.”

  His mother stopped in her tracks and then very abruptly turned full circle in her wheelchair. “I understand, Will. You’d rather I disappear and leave you two alone. I see.”

  “No, Mother. It’s just that, well, we have lots of homework and other things to talk about. Please understand.”

  “Oh, I understand all right. Yes, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your delightful guest. Tut tut. Oh no, that would not do at all, would it?” she said in rather disparaging tones.

  “Come on, Mother. Be fair. This is the first time in ages that I’ve brought anyone into the house. Normally it’s Jack or Robert, and they converse with you for hours on end.”

  Will’s mother pulled a long, surly face, then lifted her nose high in the air as if to emphasize her utter contempt toward her son. “William, I no longer require any form of refreshment, and if later I change my mind, well, then I will do it without the help of your services,” she snorted, as without warning she abruptly turned her wheelchair to face in the opposite direction. Then without any further dialogue, friendly or otherwise, she wheeled her way down the hallway until she was well out of sight.

  “Oh, Will. What on earth was all that about? She’s really upset with you for bringing me here, isn’t she? Look, I won’t stay. I think it’s best if I go, for I think I have already outstayed my welcome.”

  “You’ll do no such thing, Polly. It was I who invited you here, and she has got to understand and come to terms with the fact that I need friends as well as a mother.” Will then guided her into the kitchen and began to fill up two glass tumblers with lemonade when he was interrupted by another strange and booming voice that could not fail to alarm Polly further.

  “William, where are you? Get up here immediately, for I am in dire need of a fresh glass of water.”

  Polly trembled as she hoarsely whispered, “Will, is that your father calling out to you?”

  “Oh, no. He left years ago,” Will stated, very matter-of-fact.

  “Well, if it is not your father, then who on earth is it?”

  “Polly, that noise that you’ve just heard, well, that is coming from upstairs, and it is coming from Edmund, my older brother, who, sadly, is bed ridden.”

  “Oh, right. Then shouldn’t we go and find out what he wants?” Polly asked as she cautiously made her way over toward the kitchen door.

  “Yes, I guess we’d better,” Will quietly responded as he made his way toward her, clutching two rather over-filled glasses of lemonade. “Here, Polly. Take this, and you’d better sip some right away.” Polly reached out and took one from him. “Make sure you don’t spill any, or Mother will be most displeased,” he warned.

  Polly responded by quickly taking a large slurp to prevent such a catastrophe from ever happening.

  “OK, Polly, just follow after me.”

  Polly obeyed, following after Will as he made his way down some rather stately looking corridors that bore huge, ornate pictures on the walls, pictures of haughty, pompous men, all with big noses, mind you, and bedecked in strange powdered wigs.

  When they reached the end of this corridor and turned left, Polly’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, for directly in front of her were some very wide and beautifully ornate stairs. “Wow, this staircase must have been handmade by a master craftsman,” Polly exclaimed as she caressed the intricately ornate banister that she was holding on to for support as she quickly made her way to the top.

  “Don’t be deceived, Polly, for you’ll quickly find out that, like everything else seemingly impressive in this house, this banister too is extremely wobbly. Be very careful not to lean too heavily on it.”

  He might as well have been talking to himself, for Polly was lost in wonderment as she continued climbing the stairs, at the same time taking in the surroundings.

  “Wow, and look at that huge crystal chandelier. It’s utterly fabulous. Oh, golly gosh, it looks as though it is only hanging by a thread or two. Will, aren’t you the least bit afraid that if one of the brass links gives way it will crash to the ground and be forever ruined?”

  Will did not care to answer her, as he seemed much more concerned with what lay ahead. As soon as their feet touched the top landing, he directed her to follow him down a very dimly lit corridor before coming to a halt outside a closed door.

  With his ear close up to the door, Will timidly gave the door a gentle knock.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Come on in,” a very aggressive and seemingly nasty voice shouted out from behind the other side of the closed door. Polly noticed that Will’s hand was trembling slightly as he twisted the knob and pushed open the door. She then cautiously followed Will into the room. Once again, the room was in total darkness, and it felt distinctly cold, that is, until Will went over to the window and opened some large shutters. With the shutters now pulled to one side, the cold air quickly dispersed, as the powerful sun was given its first permission of the day to generously flood the room with its warmth, immediately eliminating the former chilly and most hostile atmosphere.

  Polly looked over toward the big, old oak bed that dominated the room before taking a long, hard look at its angry occupant.

  “Hi. You must be Edmund,” Polly said as she breezed up to the bed and stuck out a hand for him to shake. “And before you ask, I’m Polly, Polly Brown to be precise,” she stated in her friendly but informative manner as she continued to hold out her hand in her bid to be warm.

  The surly young man did not move a muscle in response to her friendly, outgoing gesture.

  “Sorry, Polly, but he’s in too much pain to move, so please don’t be too offended.”

  Polly shot Will one of her “It’s too late, for I’m already offended” looks, which had Will quickly covering up for his brother’s sad and offensive behavior.

  “Look, Polly. If, like Edmund, you’d broken just about every bone in your body, you might well struggle to give a handshake. He’s in so much pain, and I’m sure you must realize that sickness makes most of us exceedingly grumpy,” Will said as he went to great pains to ease the increasingly chilly atmosphere that had now turned into a very awkward silence.

  Polly withdrew her hand, but despite Will’s excuses, she still considered his brother to be a very rude if not obnoxious person, for she had made the rather clever observation that neither his mouth nor his face was bandaged up. Well then, there was nothing preventing him from giving a gentle and sincerely polite greeting.

  “Did you remember my painkillers?” he sourly growled in Will’s direction.

  “Yes, I brought them yesterday. See, they are right here beside your book on the bedside locker. Did you not see them? Here, allow me to fetch you a glass of water, and then you can take some with your pills, as well as quench your thirst,” Will tried to helpfully suggest.

  “Yes, get me some water, and while you’re at it, I’ve had nothing to eat all day, so run downstairs and make me a toasted sandwich. In fact, what I really fancy is a buck rabbit, so run along and make me something nice,” he petulantly demanded. “And then I really need my pillows plumping up. Better still, I need to swap mine with yours. I’m certain yours are feather filled and therefore more comfortable than these old ones. Oh, and did you remember to buy the meat pie? Otherwise you’d better get back down to the village before the shop shuts,” he said in a smoldering tone of voice.

  Polly, who was quietly listening in, quite rightly thought Edmund was a very rude and offensive young man, for she had been painfully aware that there had not been one single “please” among his many requests, nor for that matter one measly “thank you.” If it were left to her, she would refuse to obey a single order; well, at least until he showed a more gracious side to what otherwise seemed like very miserable and utterly deplorable behavior.

  “Will, what an utterly cantankerous old sourpuss he is,” Polly commented as she went back down to the kitchen to help him make his brother a buck rabbit.

  Will remained silent concerning his
brother’s very sad and most troubling behavior.

  “Tell me, Will, what exactly is a buck rabbit? Surely you don’t intend to kill a baby rabbit and put him under the toaster just to satisfy your mean old brother, do you?” she said, feeling suitably horrified.

  “Oh, Polly. There you go again. Buck rabbit has nothing whatsoever to do with rabbits.”

  “Well, if that’s so, why then is it called buck rabbit?” she quizzed.

  “Honestly, Polly, I have no idea, for it’s simply cheese on toast, topped off with a poached egg. Trust me when I say it tastes even better if you add a smidgeon of English moutard.”

  Polly screwed up her nose. “Moutard?”

  “Oops, sorry. That’s French for mustard, of course. It’s important that you put the thinnest scraping of English mustard on the toast, for this draws out the full flavor out of the cheese as it melts. You then pile on the grated cheese before popping it under a hot grill. You then leave it under the grill until the cheese sizzles and becomes a lovely golden brown. Add a lightly poached egg on top, and voila! You have a buck rabbit. I promise you, it tastes utterly scrumptious. And you can also make Welsh rabbit; this is melted cheese on toast without the—”

  “Rabbit,” Polly quickly interjected.

  “No, silly. Without the poached egg. Don’t ask me why such dishes have such unusual names. Call it ‘the British way,’ if you will.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Polly, breaking into a smile. “I mean, who ever thought to call a lusciously light sponge pudding filled with juicy sultanas ‘spotted dick’?”

  “Exactly, Polly. It would appear that the English like weird and wonderful names for most things that are decidedly yummy.”

  “Will, I agree with you on just about everything, but tell me truthfully, has your brother always been such a grouchy old sourpuss?” Polly asked, trying to revert back to the subject of his brother and his extremely offensive behavior.

  “Truthfully, no,” Will was swift to respond. “Actually, he’s got much worse over the years,” he admitted, giving a heavy sigh that inadequately expressed just how concerned he truly felt for Edmund. “I don’t think he ever recovered from Father leaving home. I think he took it badly, as he was the one walking up the drive at the time Dad left. As the car drove by, he realized that the occupant of the car was Dad, and he never even stopped to say his final good-byes or give as much as a small wave. That was the last time he, or I, for that matter, saw our father,” he wearily sighed as he placed two thick slices of whole-grain bread under the grill to toast.