The Trouble with Polly Brown

by Tricia Bennett

  “Yes, Lady Butterkist, you are quite right, for believe me when I say that every day in this hospital is a race against time,” he chortled.

  “I wholeheartedly agree. I, for one, do believe crossword puzzles can be most exhausting as well as extremely time-consuming,” Lady Butterkist deliberately announced as she rather mischievously continued to play him at his own game.

  “Sorry, what did you say? I don’t believe I heard you correctly,” the confused doctor mumbled as he scratched his head.

  “Oh nothing, Ninkumpoop. Nothing at all. I merely commented that crosswords can be so very troubling, especially when we’ve so diligently applied ourselves to the task of finding a specific word that, rather regretfully, continues to allude us and yet is so necessary if we are to complete the crossword puzzle within a specified time frame.”

  Still the doctor was hopelessly confused, for he could not understand why she was making any sort of reference to crosswords when surely she had no idea that this was the very reason she had been forced to endure the long wait in the miserable hospital canteen.

  “Dear doctor, I’ve been doing this crossword while we’ve been waiting so patiently for the pleasure of your company,” Lady Butterkist stated as she stooped to pick up the newspaper before placing the open page right up to his nose. This seemingly innocent action completely served to startle the now very beleaguered doctor. “Yes, one of your kitchen staff very kindly offered to lend us his newspaper, as we had completely run out things to do while we waited for you so graciously to appear.”

  “Huh!”

  “Yes, and I have only one word left to find, and then, I’m delighted to say, it will be completely finished. I have to say that both Blenkinsopp as well as my good self have spent an entire fifteen or so minutes trying to work out what this last word might possibly be, but to tell you the truth, up until this moment we have remained absolutely mystified, for the correct word has certainly eluded us both. Hasn’t it, Blenkinsopp?”

  “Completely, madam,” he sniffed.

  “Here, Dr. Ninkumpoop, please do us the kindness by taking a good look. Now, it starts with an A and has eight letters. Look closer, doctor, if you will, and if you have any idea whatsoever as to what that silly little word could possibly be, then do be a dear and do not keep us in the dark a moment longer than need be. Yes, kindly put us out of our abject misery by revealing all to us.”

  The defenseless and severely frazzled doctor was now completely speechless.

  Still, Lady Butterkist relentlessly continued to press him for the correct answer.

  “Here, doctor, the clue to this one reads, ‘Contempt or disregard for others.’ Now, Blenkinsopp here seems to think that the word required to fill in all the blanks is arrogant, but to be perfectly honest I’m not so sure. So pray, tell me now: being a specialist of the mind and the intellectual wizard that you most obviously are, what, perchance, do you think, my good man?”

  “Yes, yes. Lady Butterkist, your butler most surely has come up with the correct answer,” the doctor rather pathetically croaked.

  “All right, if you believe arrogant to be the correct word, then let it be so. Blenkinsopp, my man, here is a pen. Please grant me the honor by of filling it in. Splendid, puzzle solved!” she cried as she then loudly clapped her hands in the manner of an overexcited child.

  “Oh, and while we’re at it, doctor dear,” she whispered loudly in his ear, “I don’t know if you are fully aware, but the tea served up to us in this canteen is not only very suspect, but I assure you, hand on heart, it is simply ghastly,” she announced, shaking her head as if to fully emphasize her utter disgust.

  “Oh, dear Lady Butterkist, I am so terribly sorry,” he limply stated.

  “Apology accepted, but all the same, I wonder, doctor, are you at all familiar with the historical events pertaining to a certain Boston Tea Party? If you are, I would very much appreciate it if you would do me the honor of casting your mind back to that most famous occasion and then do me the courtesy of telling me what, if anything, you might remember concerning that specific historical event.”

  “Hmm. As I wasn’t there in person, I believe myself to be at a distinct disadvantage, for I don’t believe I know anything whatsoever about the Boston Tea Party,” he muttered.

  “Hmm. I didn’t think so. Well then, Ninkumpoop, allow me to give you an itsy witsy, teeny bitsy history lesson,” she said as she turned to concentrate all her efforts into pulling off her long gloves, which she then dismissively presented to Blenkinsopp for safekeeping.

  “Now then, Ninkumpoop, hear me out when I say that this particular tea party was no pleasant gathering between two generous-hearted nations but rather a most unhappy affair between us Brits and the Americans, and it all took place off the shores in Boston. It has, therefore, been written down in the annals of history in the hope that it might never again be repeated.”

  “Hmm, really?” he muttered in a most disinterested tone of voice.

  “Yes, really. So please allow me the privilege of enlightening you, for not only did the Americans throw our tea chests overboard as they quite rightly chose to revolt against our unjustly high taxes, but alarming as this might seem, it was also discovered that some unscrupulous and very greedy English tea merchants were adding a certain portion of your name to the tea in order to make more profits. Yes, as the saying goes, where there’s muck, there’s money.”

  “Pray, what on earth are you implying, Lady Butterkist?” he cried aloud, feeling most alarmed. “Yes, precisely what do you mean by that?”

  “Poop, dear doctor. Those greedy guzzlers were adding poop to the tea.”

  “Poop?” quizzed the now very confused doctor.

  “Yes, Dr. Ninkumpoop. Just as the latter half of your surname suggests, to make more profit, these most wicked embezzlers were adding poop to the tea, thus turning it into a most foul and, might I add, bitter-tasting beverage.”

  “Goodness, Lady Butterkist! Trust me when I say that I had absolutely no idea. I hope those thieving men were shot at dawn for their utterly irreprehensible greed. However, pray, tell me: what has all this got to do with me?” he wearily sighed.

  “ Plenty!” she quickly retorted.

  “Uh!”

  “Yes, for unfortunately I would very much like to suggest that much of that pungent, poop-filled tea, having failed to find its way to the bottom of the ocean, has rather surprisingly found its way into this hospital canteen. Would you not agree?”

  “Unbelievable!” was all he could muster in response to her unexpected and surprising accusation.

  “In fact, I’m quite surprised you have not had a number of unexplained deaths on your hands due to patients and visitors alike being forced to drink this undeniably revolting concoction,” she loudly declared.

  “Oh, deary me!” he quietly muttered.

  “Now, grant me a favor, doctor, by taking a good, hard look at this wilting flower arrangement,” she snootily ordered as, picking up the bowl of flowers, she then proceeded to wave it right under his nose.

  “Uhh!” he cried as he quickly moved his head to one side, for watching her wave the pot around so overdramatically had him thoroughly convinced that there was at least a 90 percent chance that his glasses would accidentally be knocked right off the end of his nose.

  “Now, don’t be such an old sourpuss. There’s a dear. Please take a hard look. Why, it must be less than half an hour ago that these flowers were utterly lost in their moment of glory, as they positively bloomed and scented the room with their heavenly perfume, and now look at them, completely shriveled up and wilted!”

  “Incredible!”

  “I should say so! But, dear doctor, the correct word we are looking for here is unbelievable, for they are so beyond hope they are no longer even worthy of bedecking an abandoned shrine on some suitably remote Greek island.”

  “Yes, dear lady. Yes, I entirely agree with you,” he most miserably spluttered in the hope of finally shutting her up, but
sadly, similar to an overfilled teapot, she still continued to spout on.

  “For since I fed this dear plant a spot of your hospital tea, you can see for yourself it is positively in the most advanced stages of dying, not too good an advertisement for any sort of hospital, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, yes,” he mumbled.

  “Thank you!” she snorted as she rather harshly placed the arrangement back down on the wooden coffee table.

  Before the seriously confused doctor could once more draw breath and make any further helpful comment, she was off again. “Now then, Ninkumpoop, in light of all I have shown you, if I were you, I would certainly wish to exonerate my good name by making it my top priority to ensure that this hospital immediately changes its tea-drinking policy, do you not agree?”

  “Yes, fully.”

  “Good. I believe we are finally on the same page.”

  “Yes, Lady Butterkist, I do believe we are,” he wearily stated as he reluctantly gave his full agreement.

  “So we must attempt to dispense with this cheap, rancid muck in preference for a nice, subtle, classic Chinese green tea scented with jasmine, or may I be so foolishly impertinent as to suggest a mellow Ceylon blend, for this, I believe, will go a long way in keeping patients and visitors alive for so much longer, oh, as well as deliriously happy.”

  “Yes, yes, Lady Butterkist.”

  “Hmm. I would also like to see you bring in some wonderful Darjeeling, as this really is the champagne of teas, which, once drunk, would certainly ensure that the palace of every confused and troubled soul finds a new sense of purpose and serenity.”

  “Yes, yes,” he continued to weakly mutter.

  “After all, the aim of this hospital must surely be to keep patients and visitors alike not only alive but also feeling thoroughly restored and back in their right mind. Am I correct in my thinking?”

  “Yes, yes, my dear. You are quite right,” he deeply sighed.

  “Well then, dear sir, as we are a tea-drinking nation, I believe it behooves us to abandon all compromise and thus serve up only the very best in deliciously rich tasting tea.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Not bucket loads of what appears to be the foulest-smelling pee water I have ever had the misfortune to have placed under my nose. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Abundantly!”

  “Oh, I’m so blessed to know that finally we are of one accord,” she joyfully cried.

  “Lady Butterkist, you have my word that I will take it upon myself to look into this situation as a matter of great urgency,” he subserviently whimpered.

  “Well, I’m sure we would all appreciate your kind and much needed help in this little matter,” she said. She then turned back toward the doctor to give him a warm, most appreciative smile while attempting to straighten his already perfectly straight tie in a manner more suited to that of a little boy about to take his first Communion.

  “There. Sorted,” she gleefully cried.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  PIDDLES PROVIDES A MIRACLE

  Meanwhile, back in Piadora Hodgekiss had summoned Mrs. O’Brien to his side, as he desired to give her an up-to-the-minute report on Ralph’s progress.

  “Mrs. O’Brien, I have to tell you I could hardly believe the mountain of notes filled with words of encouragement that have been piling up here over the past few days. There were so many sacks full to overflowing that it will be utterly impossible for Polly to get through them all. Having combed through them, I have just picked out the ones I consider most appropriate at this specific time of need.”

  “Oh, Hodgekiss, that’s wonderful, for if Polly were to see just how many of us really love and care about her, then she would instantly rise from the ashes of despair to once more become the wonderful and affectionate girl that she truly is,” she said as she picked up one of the notes to read the contents.

  “Hmm, you are so right about that. In fact, she would indeed be utterly overwhelmed by the amount of love we all have for her,” he said as he reflected back on their last conversation.

  “All these wonderful, touching letters make me feel so very weepy,” Mrs. O’Brien confessed as she quickly placed a handkerchief up to her eyes.

  “Mrs. O’Brien, please don’t upset yourself, for you have yet to see the end of this matter. I also think that Ralph should immediately be given a job in the theater, as you have more than excelled in doing a most wonderful job on him. I, for one, firmly believe that no one would even begin to suspect a thing,” he stated, giving a deep smile.

  “Yes, but I have to confess that I am a more than a little shocked to hear that he has renamed my poor little imperial Shih Tzus ‘Piddles’ and ‘Tiddles’! What is he playing at? Oh, poor Peaches and Precious. My little darlings must surely be feeling so confused by now, bless their little cotton bed socks.”

  “Mrs. O’Brien, please don’t get too carried away, for I can’t ever remember seeing any dog clothed in bed socks! But what has become of poor Dr. Ninkumpoop? Oh, how the mighty have fallen. The poor man has really gotten himself into such a beastly jam, as he finds himself being so mischievously bossed about by Ralph.”

  “Yes, Ralph is doing an amazing takeover bid,” she enthused.

  “Totally inspiring! I, for one, have not laughed so much in a long time. But watching his theatrics has me a tad concerned, for he seems to be enjoying the part of Lady Ralphella Butterkist a little too much for his own good. I fear he has clearly forgotten the main purpose of this mission.”

  “Trust me on this one, Hodgekiss. There is no way Ralph, or rather, Ralphella, will leave that hospital unless he has absolutely secured Polly’s release, for not only has he been appointed guardian over her, but he feels strongly committed to helping her in every way that he possibly can.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear, and by the way, Mrs. O’Brien, I just love the butterfly lips, and I have to say that he certainly has that walk down to perfection,” Hodgekiss further stated, his smile getting wider as he continued to observe Ralph’s stunningly brilliant performance.

  “I daresay he’ll get a large number of highly desirable cinematic awards for this one,” Mrs. O’Brien cheekily commented.

  “Yes, but if that were to happen, would we ever hear the last of it?” Hodgekiss mused as he continued to admire his dear friend’s outstanding performance.

  “I’m afraid not,” Mrs. O’Brien speedily retorted.

  Back at the hospital, Dr. Ninkumpoop was beginning to feel extremely anxious to get on with his day, and so he politely asked Lady Butter-kist the true purpose behind her very impromptu visit.

  “Well, as you ask, I am fully aware that the opening of the ward is still a few days away, but as Blenkinsopp and my good self were driving around enjoying the splendid English countryside with its gloriously divine summer weather, we just happened to find ourselves in this little neck of the woods, so to speak. Dear doctor, do you know that lovely wooded patch just off Primrose Lane?”

  “Yes, yes, I do.”

  “Well, perhaps one fine day we could have ourselves a little picnic in those woods. Now wouldn’t that be a lovely treat?”

  “Yes, yes,” he spluttered, scratching his chin as he secretly wished she would skip all this benignly casual conversation and just get to the point.

  “Well, as soon as Blenkinsopp informed me that Hellingsbury Hospital lay just a little to the east of where we were going to lay our tartan rug down to have ourselves a little picnic, well, I made the bold decision to do a little detour and pop by in the hope that you might willingly and cheerfully give me my own very exclusive tour of your wonderful facility. Of course, if I am clearly out of order in making such a demanding request, then pray, tell me now, and we will be on our merry way long before you can say, ‘Is there any mustard in this custard?’” she purred, giving the doctor a sweet, lingering smile. “So, doctor, is it at all possible?”

  “Oh, absolutely, Lady Butterkist. I am completely at your service, s
o where would you like to start?” the doctor earnestly inquired as privately he attempted to pull himself together.

  Having made a tour of virtually all the wards, the doctor then politely turned to ask Lady Butterkist if she had seen enough.

  “Well, Dr. Ninkumpoop, I certainly cannot leave yet, as I have still to tour the locked wards.”

  “Locked wards?” he loudly queried, for suddenly he was feeling very shocked.

  “Yes, doctor, the locked wards. Now don’t pretend that, like Area 51, they don’t exist, for I may be a little old in the tooth, and maybe I’m no longer the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I am fully aware of their existence. Please do not waste my time further by denying it.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing,” he stammered.

  “Well then, without further adieu, kindly do me the courtesy of escorting us up to the locked wards.”

  The doctor was given little choice other than to obey her every wish.

  In no time at all Lady Butterkist found herself standing at the end of young Polly’s bed. She could clearly see that someone or something was lying hidden away under the bed clothing, so she knew that now was the perfect time to get the ball rolling, so to speak.

  “Doctor, pray, tell me, by what name does this young hidden-away child go by?”

  “Oh, her name is Polly Brown.”

  “Firstly, tell me now, why is she hidden away on a locked ward? And secondly why, when most children are outside taking in the fresh air whilst scrumping apples from orchards or playing endless games of conkers, meantime this particular child is still cocooned in her bed sheets at this extraordinarily late hour of the day?”

  “Dear Lady Butterkist, forgive me for saying this, but this is one of my most troubling cases, in as much as—”

  “Troubling? Now tell me straight, doctor, what has this poor young girl done that has forced you to take such drastic action as to lock her away with such old and seriously ill patients as are generally known to be on this ward?”

  “Well, put plainly, according to her guardians she really is not right in the head. I have been working very hard day and night in my effort to get to the root of all her problems, for trust me when I say that she really is a very troubled soul.”