The Trouble with Polly Brown (37 page)

The magnificent light continued to hover over Polly, and it was clear to see that her face no longer held any fear, just a pure radiance.

Meanwhile, back indoors the only sound to be heard throughout the castle as well as its battlements was the painful sound that came from Mildred's horrendously loud snoring—and all this despite having a large peg firmly attached to the end of her nostrils.

Suddenly, out of nowhere there came a loud crack of thunder, followed closely by the largest flash of lightning, which whipped across the sky like a shining steel sword before slicing through their curtains and ricocheting off their bed.

“Argh. What was that?” Mildred screamed as both circular cucumber pieces fell from her eyes and tumbled into her lap as she hastily sat bolt upright in the bed. She then hurriedly removed the peg from the end of her nose, her whole body quaking with immeasurable terror.

“I have absolutely no idea,” an equally scared Boritz was forced to admit as he too sat perfectly rigid in the bed.

“Well, I think I can still hear noises, so are you sure you locked all the doors?” Mildred asked out of concern, for she had retired to the bedroom much earlier than him due to an impending migraine.

“Yes, my dear, I most certainly did.”

“And the children? I presume they are all safely tucked up in bed. And is the dog out patrolling the garden in order to protect us from all potential thieves and robbers?”

“No, dear. Pitstop is not outside on guard. I took the liberty of bringing him up to the bedroom, and so he is asleep at the end of our bed, for I could not find it in my heart to leave him out on such a night as this. And with regard all the children, well, with the exception of one they are all cozily tucked up tight in their beds.”

“Excuse me, Boritz dear. Did I hear you right? Which of the children is still up at this unearthly hour of the night? Please don't tell me you've allowed a few of them to stay up to watch some ghastly and most gruesome horror film.”

“Oh no, dearest. Would I do such a thing without first obtaining your approval and thus your consent?”

“Well, Boritz dear, I would sincerely hope not.”

“Don't worry, dearest. There's actually no need for you to know or concern yourself, so please just place those limp pieces of cucumber back on both eyes, peg your nose, and then go back to sleep. There's a dear.”

“Boritz, I'll do no such thing until you tell me all!” she furiously spat.

“Well, um…”

“Come on. Spit it out,” she angrily demanded.

“Hmm. Well, I hardly need to tell you, for surely you can guess that it's Polly Brown who is still up.”

“Why? What has she done this time 'round?” she cried, her eyes bulging from their sockets as she tried to take in this latest astonishing piece of information.

“Well, I decided that she should be punished, as she still refuses to come clean as to where and from whom she stole the ring.”

“Boritz dear, tell me quickly: where on earth have you left her?”

“Oh, do I have to tell you?” he whined like a mischievous boy.

“Yes, of course you do, unless you wish for me to cancel our trip,” she fumed as she deliberately folded her arms to send a clear message of her intentional defiance. “You know full well that I will not tolerate being left in the dark regarding such things.”

“Well, um, I locked her down in the cellar. There, I've said it.”

“Cellar?”

“Yes, you heard correct. The cellar, or tunnel, or basement—whatever you prefer to call it.”

“Boritz, have you gone completely off your rocker? You miserable excuse for a man. I could cheerfully kill you for this. Listen to me right now! It's two thirty in the morning, and for all you know, the poor girl might well have frozen to death already. Oh, I could understand you leaving her down there on some perfectly warm and balmy night, but the temperature this night is seriously well below freezing, the wind is ferociously howling, and we are in the middle of a most tempestuous storm. So forgive me for pointing out that if anything untoward happens to her, we will be in horse dung right up to our scraggy little necks.”

“Oh, sweet pea, don't be so melodramatic! There's really no need to get so horribly personal, for your neck might well resemble that of a seriously undernourished turkey, but mine is definitely not the least bit scraggy. In fact, it's quite firm considering my age,” he snorted while stroking his neck to privately confirm that it was nothing as flabby as his wife's very unflattering rolls of flab that hung loosely round her aging neck.

“Boritz, are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, dear, I am, for in truth I have little to no choice in the matter, as you are painfully bellowing into my ear, which will surely suffer permanent damage if you don't calm right down and thus address me in more gentle, if not consolatory, tone of voice,” he sulkily admonished.

“Listen, Boritz, this is an extremely bad time to be dishing out such a punishment, for you must surely realize that, heaven forbid, if anything bad were to happen to her—well, not only would we have to cancel the holiday, but you do realize we would lose most if not all our deposit?”

“And more,” he quickly chipped in.

“Yes, and much more besides. Also, has it even crossed your feeble little mind that it could result in a police investigation that in no time at all could find the castle crawling with police officers as they determinedly search the castle for so-called evidence of some heinous crime?”

“You have made a good point, dear.”

“Also, we surely would be forced to endure more frequent visits from nosy social workers, and you know how much we would hate for such a disagreeable thing to happen.”

“Yes, you have another good point there,” he miserably agreed.

“Also, we have managed to keep Thomas's death under wraps. Imagine for a minute what would happen if the truth concerning that young boy ever leaked out. Why, we'd never ever be able to hold our heads up high again. And try to think clearly when I say you have worked very hard to climb the social ladder, and at present you are highly thought of and esteemed by most in this town. Do you really want to lose all that over a stupid, mixed-up little brat?”

“No, dear. I don't believe I do.”

“So in the light of all I have just said, it would pay you to stem your insatiable need for revenge and go get the girl before her fingers and toes fall off due to the bitter cold.”

“Do I have to?” he very childishly moaned. “For even with my thick dressing gown wrapped around me tightly, as well as my scarf bound tightly round my neck, those icy winds will quickly bite straight through my vest, and I might surely suffer another catastrophic bout of pneumonia,” he winged.

“Oh, Boritz, you can be such an irritating and feeble little wimp! You have never had anything more than a chesty little cough or cold in all the years I've known you,” she harshly scolded.

“Well, that's not entirely true, dear, for I hasten to remind you that I did get a most terrible bout of influenza a few years back.”

“Oh, yes, you did, and so did half the nation. And you survived and came through it, didn't you?” she scornfully reminded him.

“Yes, that's perfectly true, dearest, but I lost more than a few pounds due to my sudden loss of appetite, as well as my very high fever.”

“Well, personally speaking, you could do with losing a few more pounds, so get your podgy and sweaty little body out of this bed, and go get her before I really lose my temper,” she said through clenched teeth.

“All right, my dear. If you say so. But please do calm down, or I will be forced to spend the rest of the night in one of the guest bedrooms.”

“Suit yourself,” she angrily muttered as she struggled to place the cucumber slices back over her eyes. “And before you leave to go and release her, kindly pass me my bottle of pain relievers.”

Boritz stumbled over to her dressing table in search of her pills.

“Dearest, the whole dressing table appears to resemble the medicine cabinet of the local pharmacy, for it is littered with a vast selection of medicine bottles and pills, many of which are considerably past their sell-by date. So you need to be more specific if I am to put my finger on the ones you are requesting I find.”

“Specific? How specific do you need me to be?” she roared.

“Well, dearest, please advise me further as to which of these few hundred or so bottles you now so urgently require.”

“Just find the one with the green label,” she impatiently ordered.

“Very well, dear. And if against all odds I have the fortune to miraculously hit the jackpot, can I forget Polly altogether and just slip back under the sheets, as I am already feeling more than a little chilly?”

“Boritz, you pitiful little weasel, you'd best do as I say and go get her, or else!” were her last threatening words before securing the peg back on the end of her bright red nose as, in a state of frustration, she rolled over and proceeded to huffily pull the bedclothes up to her neck, a clear indication that all meaningful conversation was well and truly over.

After placing his dressing gown tightly 'round him, and with his thick scarf protecting his neck and chest, a bleary-eyed Boritz, with torch in hand, woke up Pitstop. The two of them were forced to trudge down the long corridors of the castle as they systematically checked every door and window to make sure they were properly locked, ensuring they were safe from intruders.

Finally they got 'round to addressing the matter of Polly, who needed to be released from his underground bunker and then regimentally escorted to her bed. Trudging slowly through the garden, his teeth began to furiously chatter, and his ears felt as though they were about to be savagely ripped from his head, such was the unbearable ferocity of the wind that harsh and very cruel winter's night.

After making his way across the garden, he stood outside the tunnel to once more fumble around for the right key to place into the lock “Brrr. It's so unbelievably cold.” He winced as his breath visibly appeared to freeze right in front of his eyes.

Pitstop, who stood beside him, could only whimper his complete agreement.

Finally, the creaky door to the tunnel opened. Boritz thought he saw a faint light in the tunnel briefly, before it suddenly dispersed. Uncle Boritz, with Pitstop stalking in his shadow, carefully made his way down the narrow steps of the dank, dark room, only to be hit by the extreme warmth of the space. Seconds later saw him feeling thoroughly confused, as he began stripping off his scarf and dressing gown. He was convinced that he was about to pass out due to the intense heat. Feeling very unnerved, he slowly and cautiously made his way across the room, his torch light bouncing off the walls as he tried hard to get a feel of where everything was situated, Polly included.

Boritz blinked. He then took in a mighty sharp breath and blinked again, though this time around more through shock, as his torch light began to convey to him something of the destruction of his beloved handcrafted coffins. He began to sway back and forth as, feeling deeply mortified, he almost fainted, for with his own eyes he stood and witnessed his beloved prize project, his meticulous craftsmanship, his labor of love, strewn like discarded packaging all across the basement floor.

Shaken to the core of his being, he still managed to stagger like a desperately stricken man over to where the upturned coffins lay abandoned, and with a long stick he carefully pushed one of the lids over to one side. Looking down with his torch in his hand, he was once more visibly shocked to see the laid-out corpse of Polly Brown sound asleep and surrounded by many equally docile furry balls of fluff.

With the full force of his torch light shining on her face, Polly gave a loud yawn, and then shaking her head, she opened her eyes, only to be met by an eyeful of Pitstop's slimy drool. As Polly wiped the slobber from her cheek, she then realized that the other face peering down at her was the distraught and ashen face of Uncle Boritz.