The Trouble with Polly Brown

by Tricia Bennett

  “Yes, she even expects us to believe that she visited a princesses’ school of training and then attended a banquet where she was encouraged to eat all that her heart desired.”

  Boritz suddenly broke out into a nervous titter that very quickly turned into loud, uncontrollable laughter, and this caused the nervous children to join in. Before long, they were all howling pitifully like a pack of extremely hungry wild dogs.

  Polly still stood silently with her head hung low, the floor speckled with tearstained spots that belied her truest feelings, as Uncle Boritz did his usual best to incite and whip up the crowd of baying wolves into a deliberate frenzy.

  “Tee hee hee. She also tells us that at this banquet she was invited to sing a song that she personally made up, titled ‘Give, Give Me Love, ’Cos That’s Just What I Need.’ Ha ha.” Uncle Boritz threw his head back as he continued to loudly laugh along with the children.

  At this point Uncle Boritz produced his handkerchief to wipe away the first genuine tears he had shed in years, which were now streaming down his reddened face as he sought and failed to bring this sudden bout of hysterical laughter under some sort of reasonable control.

  “And the worse lie of all must be that she says she was given a standing ovation and applause that continued for some time, and then—wait for it—they all rushed over to hug her. Ha ha ha. The girl is clearly a mental case, for her imagination has now completely run riot,” he snorted as he wiped away more tears and struggled to bring some sense of order to the general hysteria that he was personally guilty of creating.

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” one of the younger ones shouted out.

  “Polly Brown, Polly Brown, biggest liar for miles around,” another young voice screamed in her direction.

  “No, the biggest liar in this town,” Gailey Gobbstopper bleated.

  “Cut out her tongue,” one of the children began to morbidly chant over and over.

  “Children, children, do please calm down. Yes, we must all calm down,” Boritz gently ordered, as he was now becoming less light-headed and therefore back to being more serious.

  The children immediately stopped all chanting and laughter. Boritz had taught them better than to disobey him.

  With the room once more in a deathly hush, he finally felt capable enough to continue on. “Now then, where was I? Ah, yes. As a result of her failure to come clean, we have been left with little choice other than to seek help from outside the usual sources. It is with this in mind that we chose to contact our American friends and brothers from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, better known as the FBI, to seek their assistance in this rather delicate matter. As a result, two men from this special bureau have hopped on a plane and are on their way here as we speak.”

  “Wow, all the way from America!” one overly excited child cried out.

  “How amazing is that?” Hugo Huggins gasped.

  “You are quite right, Hugo dear, for these men are specialists when it comes to getting people to reveal the whole sordid truth. I’ll have you know that they have been involved in many top investigations that smelled very fishy.”

  Suddenly the telephone rang, and shortly thereafter Uncle Boritz was forced by Aunt Mildred to cease all conversation, as she needed him to take over and have a few words with the rather irate person on the other end of the line. This sudden, unexpected intermission allowed the children the freedom to wiggle around a little in their pitiful efforts to ease their numbed bottoms, oh, as well as start up a few conversations.

  “Quite what is a ‘fishy’?” Abigail Crumble asked, a confused look on her face, as she gave Tommy Pulleyblank a friendly dig in the ribs, for it was a well-known fact that if anyone could answer such a question, then it had to be Tommy. He was, after all, something of a genius, who knew everything about everything.

  “Well, Abigail, I’m glad you asked, for it has a lot to do with someone trying to get away with something very devious, and when these special and very clever American detectives begin to delve deeper into the crime, they quickly realize that all is not well. So the whole thing smells very suspicious, if not just a little pongy.”

  “Then what does pongy mean?”

  “Gosh, you girls are so unbelievably dumb. Just think of Bertha’s sweaty socks in the wash basket on a hot summer’s day, and then you’ll understand what pongy really means,” he sniffed.

  “Oh, yes, her socks really do honk something terrible, but not as much as Toby’s shoes, for they really reek high of rotten old cabbages.”

  “Hmm. Well, anyway, if there is a huge crime that is being covered up, the president calls in the FBI, and they will be ordered to leave no stone unturned in their determination to get to the bottom of it. They all leave the White House wearing dark pinstriped suits with matching dark glasses and pretend mustaches, as well as oversized trilby hats, and they drive ’round town in cars with blacked-out windows.”

  “Why are the windows blacked out?” a clearly mesmerized Cordelia interrupted.

  “Come on, girls. That should be perfectly obvious to all, for it is of the utmost importance to go completely undercover in an operation such as theirs. And let me tell you now that what they don’t know at the beginning of the investigation, they will certainly know by the end. Trust me on this one.”

  “Wow!” Cordelia muttered as she gave great consideration to all she was hearing.

  “Yes, the FBI are so incredibly clever when it comes to finding out all sorts of things, in fact, everything. They bug telephone lines in hotel rooms, and they are like vicious little Rottweilers, who having bitten into the flesh of an ankle, hold on for their life and will not give up until they have the gotten all the answers they are searching for.”

  “What’s a rotten-weeler?”

  “It’s called a Rottweiler, stupid! But as you ask, it is a very savage and snappy dog that lives and breathes to sink his razor-sharp gnashers deep into your ankle. Try as you may, even with all the agonized screaming in the world, you will not be able to shake him off, for once he has his razor-sharp teeth sunk deeply into your flesh, he will hold on forever.”

  “Golly gosh, how absolutely awful,” Abigail Crumble exclaimed, her face now looking very pale and drawn as she pictured herself in a similar plight to the one being so dramatically and gruesomely depicted by Tommy.

  “Please don’t tell me any more, for I do declare that I am now feeling terribly queasy,” she despairingly announced.

  “All right, then. I’ll say no more, for you’re really nothing but a load of stupid old wimps. Anyway, I find your constant questions very irritating. So put a sock in it, and just understand when I say these men are really thorough. What they don’t find out by their own determined efforts, well then, the aliens that are still held at Area 51 tell them the rest.”

  “Oh, golly gosh, how fantastic is that!” a very wide-eyed Cordelia gasped.

  Boritz, who was still arguing with the person at the other end of the line, was clearly on the verge of snapping.

  “Mr. Brewster, what you’re proposing here is absurd, if not utterly preposterous. Of course we will be going for punitive damages here, but may I hasten to remind you that what you, my man, are suggesting is utterly ridiculous to say the least, for I believe the defense intends to use volenti non fit injuria as the basis of their defense. Now, please don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking, for I was about to say that I believe it is succinctly possible that the judge may well lean heavily in their favor if you don’t allow me the space and time to consider all our necessary options. That is, if I am to continue to represent you…

  “Mr. Brewster, please don’t argue with me. You are completely misinterpreting what I am trying to suggest, for I didn’t say I was resigning the case. I just said you need to back down so that I can do the best job I can on your behalf. So if you want my advice, go take an extended holiday, and please leave everything else to the professionals…

  “Mr. Brewster, there’s no need to insult me in such a ma
nner…Mr. Brewster, are you listening to me? I am now feeling most offended. Please calm down, for I’ve had quite enough of your histrionics…Well, for goodness’ sake, if nothing else consider taking a couple of anxiety pills, for your shouting is beginning to give me an almighty headache,” Boritz loudly yelled down the phone.

  On realizing that his sound advice was not going to be followed, Boritz made the snap decision to slam the phone back down on the receiver. He then took a deep breath, wiped the perspiration from his brow, and directed his attention back to the children.

  “Good riddance!” he mumbled while using his index finger to push his spectacles to safety.

  “Well, children, this is probably an inappropriate time to tell you, but when is there an appropriate time for such things? Hmm, well anyway, here goes: Polly’s uncanny ability to tell ridiculously unbelievable lies has finally found its way across the pond, and as a result of her infamy and tale-bearing skills, they have even come to name their lie-detecting machine after her. Children, can you believe it?”

  All the children took a long, drawn-out gasp, their eyes almost popping out of their small heads.

  “Yes, after hearing all about Polly Brown, they deliberately chose to call their amazingly accurate lie detecting machine a ‘polly-graph’!”

  On hearing this news, some of the children began to hyperventilate as though completely shocked and aghast that Polly had found such notoriety—and all because of her wickedly disgraceful ability to tell lie upon lie.

  “So, children, tomorrow Polly will be ordered to take this shameful and most degrading test. She will be forced to sit in a chair and be wired up, and then these American gentlemen will ask her all sorts of questions in their endeavor to get to the bottom of all this. And then what happens from there on is totally in her hands. She could still save herself all this embarrassment by telling us the truth while she still has time; otherwise, she will, I assure you, face being wired up to this unique contraption to be mercilessly quizzed for hour upon hour. Sadly, all I have left to say on this matter is, may God be with her!” he stated as he flippantly gestured a sign of the cross.

  With his speech finally over, the great and masterful orator took one final sip of the remainder of his stone cold tea and then joyfully announced, “Kiddiewinks, if you’re ready, please kindly make your way quietly to the drawing room, and before you can think to say, ‘Bob’s your uncle,’ you will be delighted to hear that I will be coming around with packets of crisps, cans of fizzy soda, as well as scrumptious, yummy bars of chocolate—my little way of saying thank you and well done for having such wonderful and outstanding school reports.”

  “Hurray!” “Yes!” and “Ooh!” were the only three choice words shrieked into the air as the bleary-eyed but delighted children rejoiced in this latest brilliant piece of news.

  “So with the exception of those children still standing awaiting their final sentencing, the rest of you are officially dismissed.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  POLLY TAKES A POLYGRAPH

  THE ROOM WAS cleared in a matter of seconds as the grateful and eager children raced to get the best seats in the television lounge to watch the rest of Bonanza while they anxiously waited for the goodies their benevolent uncle had promised to bestow upon them.

  The children who were still left standing in the center of the room looked morosely sullen as they were handed out sentences varying from one week to two months. James, along with Toby Trotter, were sadly amongst those now doing a long stint on ROPE for not only having the impudence to run away from the home but for also unnecessarily bringing the police to the doors of the castle. On this occasion Polly was spared any further sentencing, as Uncle Boritz had concluded that further punishments were indeed a waste of time, as she had already clocked up a massive nine months; therefore, it seemed pretty pointless to add any further sentence at this present time.

  Finally satisfied that all wrongs had now been thoroughly righted, Uncle Boritz slammed shut his big, black book, which would not see the light of day until the following Sunday lunchtime. Then the wretched malcontents were quickly dismissed and ordered to head toward the kitchen, where Miss Scrimp had set up a roster of duties that required their immediate attention, menial chores that ranged from washing up and peeling hundreds of potatoes to scrubbing the garden steps and polishing the silver from his private sitting room, etc.

  Meanwhile Boritz, along with Pitstop, retreated to his little private food cupboard to content himself counting out chocolate bars, packets of chips, and cans of soda, which he then placed in a large, open cardboard box. Then, armed to the teeth with all the goodies, he and Pitstop hurriedly made their way down the long corridor toward the television lounge. Once through the door, Uncle Boritz made loud yelling noises, his way of announcing his arrival on the scene. He then began to throw down the treats in a manner more befitting a benevolent pop star. “Catch!” he joyfully cried out as he randomly threw the goodies into the open arms of the children, all the while absorbing the deep gratitude and adoration from his young, endearing fans as they jumped up and readily gushed all over him, hoping for as many sweets and cans of soda as they could possibly extricate from him.

  By the time Polly made her way up the stairs and to her bed, she could only wonder what the next day would bring. Her mind went into overdrive as she imagined herself bound by thick rope to a chair and then wired up to some huge metal contraption that would have her head exploding into a million little fragments if she as much as hiccupped. Her only consolation was the thought that if such a terrible thing were to happen, at least all torment would forever cease, and her pain and shame would at last be finally over.

  Polly climbed into bed, and after picking up Langdon to cuddle up to, she pulled the thin blanket up to her ears and earnestly prayed for sleep to come.

  “Nighty night, Polly Fester, or should we now be saying, ‘Let’s all have a laugh at Polygraph! Tee hee,” Gailey loudly sniggered as she began her usual round of very hateful, provocative taunts.

  The next morning Polly had only managed to squash a few unwelcome silverfish as well as cram a couple of mouthfuls of stale cereal into her mouth when Uncle Boritz entered the kitchen and sternly ordered her to follow after him, the location, his private sitting room.

  Polly obeyed instantly without a hint of complaint as she abandoned her stale breakfast cereal to hurriedly follow after him down the long corridor. But as soon as she entered his most private of rooms, she felt filled to bursting with fresh fear and anxiety.

  “Polly, dearest, these gentleman are here to get to the bottom of where this ring truly came from,” he said in a sugary sweet, sickly tone of voice that was quite unfamiliar to any way he had ever addressed her before. This fact alone had Polly feeling on edge as well as most bewildered and confused.

  On noting her manifest fear, one of the gentlemen stepped forward and put out a hand for Polly to shake. “Hello there, young lady. Please do not be afraid. My name is Jack Treebalti, and my colleague here is Joseph Pizzani, and as you already know, we, young lady, are here to interview you. I expect your uncle has sat you down and told you a little bit about our very clever machine,” he said, giving a friendly grin.

  Polly declined to answer the tall man in the well-tailored suit or shake his thin, bony-fingered hand, as she was feeling so scared inside; instead, she chose to hang her head low in shame.

  “Now then, Polly, dearest one, it is considered very bad manners not to shake the gentleman’s hand when he is reaching out to you by being courteous and friendly,” Uncle Boritz glowered.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry,” Polly mumbled as, feeling really nervous and jittery, she feebly stuck out her hand to then rather limply shake his.

  “Right, then. Let’s not waste any further time, shall we?” the nimble, bony-fingered man stated as he reached for pen and paper. “Polly, please do as I say, and go and sit on that chair nearest my colleague,” he said, using his pen to generally direct her to where he w
ished her to be seated.

  Polly moved very slowly toward the chair, all the time secretly rebuking herself for feeling so very afraid.

  “Right, before we do this polygraph test, it is important that you become familiar with all that is about to take place. We will be asking you many different and varied questions, and it is important that you are as truthful as you can be. Do you understand everything we have said so far?”

  Polly nodded her head. All the while her eyes fixated on the contraption in front of her. “Yes, sir,” she stammered.

  At this point she was wondering where on her torso these wires were going to be installed, and she hoped with all her heart that the wires were not going to be placed in her ears or up her nose to act like a vacuum cleaner as they sucked out her memory from within her brain.

  Some straps were placed around Polly’s small chest, and then a strange contraption was placed on the end of one of her fingers. Polly felt terrified.

  “Polly, the wires that you are staring at will be connected to you, and the machine and these will be monitoring your heart rate and skin temperature. When you tell us something that may or may not be truthful, this machine is programmed to decipher the information and tell us whether you are lying or telling us the truth. Think of it like a graph that you might have in a geography lesson to record different changing climates; well, this is fairly similar. Polly, once more I need to ask, do you understand everything so far?”