The Trouble with Polly Brown

by Tricia Bennett

  “Goodness, gracious, you are right on that one, for I could never live with myself if I were to allow such a terrible thing to happen!” the innocent officer cried out loud.

  On track, Boritz then tried to force a few crocodile tears to spring forth from his eyes. When the tears failed to appear, he quickly plunged his hand into his gold dressing gown pocket to whip out one of Mildred’s spectacularly colorful handkerchiefs. Then, placing the handkerchief into the corner of his right eye, he began to squeeze down and pinch hard. Finally, due to the immense stinging sensation, a few desperate tears thankfully began to finally well up in the corners of both eyes.

  “Pray, tell me, officer, if we were to turn our backs on these little, downtrodden mites, where on this forsaken earth would these poor, desperate creatures go?” he sobbed, as he deliberately allowed a tear to trickle unchecked down his bloated cheek.

  PC Inkblot was, by this point, reaching into his pocket in search of his own handkerchief to wipe away the string of tears that were now positively streaming down his withdrawn but very reddened cheeks.

  On seeing the profound impact his words were having on PC Inkblot, Boritz felt most encouraged to continue on drawing a hopelessly bleak picture of the youngsters’ futures.

  “It would forever weigh heavily on my already broken heart if we were to lose any of these infants and young children, all of whom have already suffered more than enough in this life,” he sniffed as yet again he took his handkerchief to dab his once more dry eyes.

  “I wholeheartedly agree with all you are saying, sir,” sighed the young and very inexperienced police officer as he proceeded to wipe down his cheeks before noisily blowing his nose. “Sir, I truly cannot bear to hear anymore, so the matter in question is fully settled. I wholeheartedly agree with all you are saying, so there is no question in my mind that details concerning this event must never be allowed get out.”

  Moments later saw him take the pad that held all three children’s statements, only to tear them up into little pieces in front of Boritz.

  “There. And if my senior colleagues or my mother ever dare to challenge me as to how I lost all three statements, I will just throw my hands into the air and plead total ignorance.”

  “Ah, yes. Very commendable, PC Inkblot, but surely being an officer of the law and therefore fully conversant with the laws that govern our land, you of all people should surely know that you cannot plead such a thing, for ignorance of the law is no excuse.”

  “Sir, you’re absolutely correct, but I’ll worry about that later, for the thing uppermost in my mind is the welfare of these poor, dear children. Yes, I will gladly put my head on the block, if only to save them,” he said as with a swelling breast he proudly continued to tear the evidence into tiny shreds.

  “Allow me to dispose of your litter,” Boritz said with a sly smile as he hurriedly removed the shredded statements from the constable’s hand and then casually walked over to a nearby waste paper basket.

  As the evidence tumbled into the basket, Boritz privately determined to come back and burn the paper trail at the first opportune moment, which hopefully would be as soon as this irritating and naively dumb constable left the building to go on his merry way.

  “My lips are sealed, sir. It is as if this difficult situation never occurred. But before I take my leave and head back to the station, might I suggest that you give all the children a very stern talking-to on the dangers of taking lifts from complete strangers.”

  “Oh, absolutely, Inkblot. You have my word on that one. Trust me.”

  With the nuisance officer now on his way back to the station, Uncle Boritz headed back to his private sitting room to anxiously dispose of the evidence, which now lay in tatters at the bottom of the waste paper basket. He hastily dropped a lighted match into the basket and watched over it until he was thoroughly satisfied that all the evidence was nothing more than thoroughly irredeemable, charred remains. He then upturned a glass of water into the basket in order to douse the flames.

  This done, and even though it was only nine thirty in the morning, he still decided to pour himself a glass of the finest Napoleon brandy and then went to find himself a comfortable chair. Once seated, he smugly placed his thick glasses back on his nose, then he took a quick slug of brandy from his glass before reaching over to pick up an envelope that sat waiting for his undivided attention. He then calmly opened up a large envelope and turned it upside down. Out spilled a number of suspicious-looking photographs, as well as a small pocket notebook. He opened the notebook, adjusted his thick glasses, and began to read.

  “Well done, Gailey dear, for as usual you have really done your homework. I won’t ask you how you managed to find out so much about the Montgomerys’ murky private life,, but I know for sure it will assist me in what I have to do,” he muttered loudly under his breath. “Now then, Pitstop, I need to make a few personal phone calls to confirm all this, and then after a little nap I believe it is high time I paid a little visit to make her acquaintance.”

  Pitstop instantly growled his approval.

  At eleven thirty on the dot he made the promised call, and after placing the phone back on its receiver, he wasted no time putting on his old, heavy overcoat. He then placed his herringbone hat on his head for added warmth before tucking a thick, long scarf many times around his throat before leaving his private room to head toward the front door.

  “Good boy. Now you stay here and look after Mildred for me. I won’t be away too long, I promise,” he said as he gave the beast a consolatory pat on the head.

  Pitstop continued to whine and slobber as his master braced high winds to set out in the direction of the Montgomerys’ house.

  “I’m so glad she has agreed to see me, and at such short notice,” he muttered as he tried to stop his teeth chattering from the cold. “Fancy living with a load of flea-infested cats,” he continued to mutter as the harsh, cold wind tried its best to bite down hard into his flesh. “Now, a house filled with dogs, well, of course, that’s an entirely different matter.”

  With the help of Gailey’s simple directions, most of which were in the form of very basic drawings, Boritz soon found his way to the large, well-hidden house. He knocked hard on the door and then waited a considerable length of time for the door to be opened. Boritz blew his warm breath into his cupped hands as he attempted to keep warm.

  “Brrr. It is so unbelievably cold,” he miserably moaned.

  Finally the creaky door opened, and as he dared to look down, he came face-to-face with a wizened, white-haired, fragile old lady strapped into a wheelchair. Boritz balked and stepped backward, as he was caught off guard as the amount of cats that had come to greet him at the door far exceeded his expectations.

  “Don’t stand at the door catching flies, Mr. Scumbrolly. Do come in. There’s a good chap, for it is indeed a very cold and blustery day. So come on in, and I will make us a nice pot of Darjeeling tea. Then perhaps you can accord me the privilege of explaining why this meeting was of such urgency that it could not wait until later on in the week.”

  “Madam, before I enter your house I wish to point out that, like many before you, you too have my name entirely wrong.”

  “Oh!”

  “It’s Scumberry. S-c-u-m-b—”

  “Yes, yes, all right,” the lady impatiently replied.

  “How appallingly discourteous of the old biddy,” Boritz, feeling most annoyed, quietly mumbled under his breath as he entered the old lady’s house.

  As a matter of common courtesy, Boritz removed his hat and scarf and then subserviently followed after her and a hundred or so odd cats as they silently made their way down the long hall heading for her boudoir, where they could privately pour the tea as well as pour out all that was concerning their hearts and minds.

  “Well, good lady, you certainly know how to set about making a most delicious and refreshing cup of tea.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Scumberry, for I truly believe in apportioning a set time of
each day for the drinking of tea, as I am of the opinion that it is of the utmost importance.”

  “Oh, yes, I wholeheartedly agree with you, Mrs. Montgomery. Where would we be without our pot of tea?”

  “Well, as one fine gentleman with a lot of common sense so rightly stated, ‘There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony of afternoon tea.’”

  “I heartily agree, dear lady, although I must remind you that it is only a little after midday,” he stated as he allowed her to top up his cup with further hot tea.

  “Well, then on this occasion we will call it a late elevenses,” she quickly retorted.

  For well over an hour the two talked in secret whilst drinking vast volumes of calming tea, and then Mr. Scumberry announced he must make haste in getting back to the castle. Placing his empty tea cup to one side, he promptly placed his hat back on his head, wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck, and politely bid her farewell. As they stood in the doorway, he turned to say one final word.

  “Madam, do I truly have your total agreement?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Scumberry. I assure you now that you have my total, wholehearted approval and backing on this one.”

  Will, who was descending the staircase with a book in his hand, caught a sudden glimpse of a stranger as he was leaving out the front door. He quickly closed his book.

  “Tell me, Mother, who was your visitor? I do not recognize him,” he curiously asked.

  “No one of any interest to you,” she harshly replied.

  Later that day she demanded that her son follow her down to her private sitting room so that she could unburden herself of all the troubling things that the stranger had revealed concerning Will’s close friendship with Polly. By the end of their bitter discussion, they were nowhere near any kind of amicable agreement.

  “William, the girl is no longer welcome here. Do you understand?”

  “That’s truly ridiculous and unfair! Anyone would think she was a wicked criminal, yes, the next Lucrezia Borgia,” he bitterly complained.

  “Don’t be so impudent, for I am suggesting no such thing. All I am saying is she appears to be a really troubled soul.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Will angrily muttered under his breath.

  “Are you paying attention, William, for there is absolutely no room whatsoever for compromise. You have no choice in this matter, for while you live under my roof, you will abide by my rules and adhere to all my wishes. I’ll have you know that Mr. Scumberry is indeed a very powerful man, and he has made it most clear that failure to comply with his wishes will indubitably spell great trouble for us. And have we not already suffered enough, what with your brother and—”

  “Yes, yes, Mother. Spare me the details.”

  “Well, son, I have no choice other than to remind you—”

  “No, Mother, you really have no need to go through all that has happened, for alas, I believe I know it all by heart.”

  “Well, then.”

  “But come on, Mother, why should you allow such a ruthless and despicable man to intimidate us? Unless, of course, we have more terrible hidden family secrets that you might care to share?”

  His mother began to murmur and mumble that there were indeed many skeletons in the family cupboard, secrets that she had always hoped against all odds would remain buried—that is, up until this untimely visit.

  By the time his mother had finished sharing her concerns with Will, he was left with little choice other than to honor her and, in doing so, comply fully with her wishes. “Oh, all right then. In the light of all you have just revealed, I will end my friendship with her once and for all. There, Mother. You have my word on it. Now please do me a favor and leave the subject well alone.”

  “Yes, my dear, I will.”

  “Forgive me, but I think I will forgo lunch, as I wish to be left alone,” he said as he quickly turned on his heels to head for the sanctity and solace of his bedroom. He also did not wish for her to witness that his eyes were unexpectedly smarting with tears.

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE MUCH-DREADED SCHOOL REPORT

  AFEW DAYS LATER saw the last day of term before the Christmas holidays were once more upon them. As the school day came to its usual, timely end, Polly slowly emptied her desk, feeling equally empty inside. She could not help but feel deeply saddened, for she had endured a whole horrible day of watching as other pupils exchanged little precious gifts and gave each other long, meaningful hugs and kisses as they made plans to all meet up for cinema outings or shopping expeditions during the holidays. They also talked endlessly of what they were hoping to receive from other family members on Christmas Day. Polly had no such optimism, for tragically she just wished to make it through the holidays without further recriminations or punishments, for that wish alone to be fulfilled would most likely make her Christmas a reasonably pleasant and bearable one.

  Having emptied her desk of all personal items, she stood in line to collect her school report, and once more she could only shudder as she considered what her teachers might well have written concerning her. She knew most of the report would not show her in a good light; after all, she did fall asleep in most of the lessons, and she never came to school with the necessary supplies to complete most tasks. This, in itself, was always enough to get her sent to the headmaster’s office, ensuring she missed either the first half or the second half of most lessons, and with so much of her work remaining incomplete, she understandably continued to struggle to keep up with the rest of the class. She was always in hot water for unfinished homework, poor attendance, and for being ill prepared for lessons. Sadly for Polly, all this combined was really more than enough to make most of the teachers hate her.

  Add to this the stark fact that Mr. Batty was on the friendliest terms with Uncle Boritz, as they regularly shared their love of golf, and this too had her believing that her report would not contain anything to commend her.

  She also knew she would not be kept in the dark for too long, because Sunday lunch would be upon them in no time at all, and this was the favored time that Uncle Boritz loved to read out all the reports in front of everyone. This was his prime time, a time to address failures and admonish the wicked among them, as he relished and reveled in the demise of those children whose reports were simply not up to scratch. This was the time that most of the children, many of whom were serious underachievers, absolutely hated with a vengeance.

  Polly looped a thick homemade scarf around her neck and gloomily headed for the school gate, hoping to meet up with Will, for if nothing else he could immediately put a smile on her face, but strangely, there was no sign of him. This disturbed her slightly, as she was now feeling very anxious as to how they could make any further plans to meet up during the Christmas break.

  She sincerely hoped that the reason for his absence at the gate was solely due to the freezing weather conditions and not because she had in some way offended him. Truth was, she had not even caught as much as a glimpse of him for some time, and this was most disconcerting. Was he sick and therefore confined to his bed? Polly continued to head toward the train station, still anxiously clutching her school report tightly in her hand as she went over all potential possibilities concerning her now very dear and close friend Will.

  When she arrived at the station, she headed straight for the waiting room with the full intention of standing in front of the stove fire to keep warm until her train pulled in. But as she opened the waiting room door, she was greeted by some of the children from the castle.

  “Polly, if you’re in here looking for Abigail, you’ll have to wait a minute, for she’s still in the bog.”

  “Oh, no. I wasn’t looking for anyone in particular; I just wanted to get out of the cold until our train comes in.”

  “Well, do us all a favor and shut that door, for it’s bloomin draughty in here!” Billy Osgood snarled.

  “OK,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

  “
Er, Polly, ’ave you opened your report yet?” Toby Trotter asked.

  “No. Don’t be stupid, Toby. You of all people should know that we aren’t allowed to do such a terrible thing,” Polly innocently replied.

  “Oh, shut up, Polly, you stupid nitwit, for as usual you know nothin’ about nothin’!” Abigail Crumble angrily sniped as she came out of the bathroom to join all the others in the waiting room.

  “Look, we all ought to take a peek, ’cos at the end of the day we need to know if we’re in big trouble on Sunday, don’t we?” Bertha Banoffee fearfully interjected.

  “We all know for sure that Toby here is in big trouble. Don’t we, you stupid plonker?” Tommy Pulleyblank smugly stated with a big grin all over his freckle-filled face.

  Some of the other children who were gathered around started to laugh.

  “Look, I know a way we can get to read them and then seal them up again so that nobody, Uncle included, ever suspects a thing,” Tommy said as he glanced around looking for moral support.

  “Quite what do you mean?” Polly innocently asked.

  “Well, we can steam them over this ’ere boiler and then carefully pry them open,” said Tommy as he walked across the waiting room floor to stand over the boiler, which was blasting out a decent amount of heat. “Come on, you lot. Gather ’round. Then you can see for yourselves how to do it,” he cheerfully stated.

  All standing in the waiting room immediately obeyed and stood in awe and wonder as Tommy impressively took on the star role of tutor.

  “Tommy, we might get into terrible trouble, for have you not noticed that on the outside of each envelope it says CONFIDENTIAL in big, unmistakable capital letters?” Polly politely pointed out as she looked on, feeling very unsure about all that was taking place.

  “Oh, don’t be such a sniveling little goody two-shoes,” Tommy sneered as he pulled the report from the envelope as though he were a professional magician.

  “Yes, Fester, go and take a long jump off a very short pier if you’re going to act like such a little scaredy cat,” Cecil Bogswater angrily snorted.