The Trouble with Polly Brown (79 page)
“Yes, Lucinda dear. I am not at liberty to divulge all that has taken place, but I can say that I had the good doctor ring your parents at their home and suggest that this special vacation would be most be most beneficial in nursing you back to full health. The poor darlings are so anxious to see you whole and happy that they were more than willing to agree to this trip. So let's waste no further time. We will get a nurse to help you get dressed into more suitable clothing, as well as pack your belongings, and then we must head down to the good doctor's office to say our final good-byes.”
“Thank you so much, Lady B. In fact, thank you for everything, for you are such a miracle worker,” Polly sniffed as she fought back tears of great joy.
“Don't mention it, dear, but do please wipe away those tears, or we will all begin boo-hooing, and that will most likely panic and upset many of the other emotionally fragile patients. Don't you think?”
“Yes, Lady B. I'm sure you're right. It's just I am feeling so overwhelmed with gratitude for all the unearned kindness you have shown me.”
“Well, thank you, Polly, for a grateful heart is a very healthy thing, for it is indeed good that we all try to daily count our blessings. Now, let's go and say our good-byes and thank the wonderful, hard-working nurses for all the good and sacrificial work that they do. Then when Lucinda is ready, we must quickly head down to the dear doctor's office to sign ourselves out of this ghastly facility.”
As they entered the ward office they were met by a nurse holding a severely drooping floral arrangement.
“Milady, Dr. Ninkumpoop told me to give you these, but I can't for the life of me imagine why, as they look as dead as a doorpost,” she sniffed.
“Well, I'm a dab hand at bringing things back to life, so thank you, nurse,” Lady Butterkist replied as she took charge of the flower arrangement.
On the way down the stairs, Polly continued on with their conversation. “Why would the doctor even think to give you a bunch of dead flowers?” a very inquisitive Polly asked.
“Well, Polly, this might surprise you, but I actually asked to be allowed to take them away, as it appears to me that nothing has much chance of surviving in here. Yes, let the dead bury the dead. But trust me when I say a little bit of fresh air, coupled with a bit of nurturing care, will see these flowers once more blooming, and in no time at all,” she enthused.
“Well, they look way beyond all hope to me,” Polly rather openly and rudely declared.
“Well, that's what they said about you, dear, but that certainly did not turn out to be the case, did it?” Lady Butterkist gently reminded Polly.
“Oh, Lady B., you really do have an answer for everything.”
“Hmm. It certainly appears that way, but I prefer to think of myself as simply a thoroughly charming, efficacious old lady.”
“Efficacious! Is that really a word, or have you simply made it up?”
“My dear, I truly resent such a spurious allegation being pointed at me,” she stated as she gave the pretence of being truly offended.
“Well then, don't hold out, for what does
efficacious
really mean?”
“Well, Polly, I'll leave that for you to find out for yourselfâwith the help of your little dictionary, of course!”
“Oh, of course, and I promise to report back once I have the answer.”
“Want to know something, Polly? I believe even my nylons have managed to play their little part in one of today's many small but precious miracles,” she said as she quickly changed the subject. “Yes, for with their help Blenkinsopp was able to temporarily mend the fan belt and so get the coach back on the road.”
“That's very true,” Polly interjected.
“Therefore, the darling little pensioners will, happily, not go home hungry and disappointed, as we can all finally head off for some tea and crumpets at the castle,” she informed Polly in a very matter-offact tone of voice.
“Oh, the castle,” Polly sniffed, giving a sigh as deep as a deflating air balloon. “I don't know how ready I am for that.”
“Polly dear, stop yourself now, for you really will worry yourself into an early grave. Remember that you are not going back there alone, for I will be alongside you every step of the way to give you all necessary support. And let's face itâbefore you can say, âIs there any mustard in this custard?' we will all be heading off to the land of the tiddy oggy.”
“Oh, no. Lady B., please no more strange lands or kingdoms, for I'm still desperately trying to get over Piadora,” Polly dared to confess.
“Polly, stop right there! Do not say another word! For one thing, you must never even consider allowing yourself to get over Piadora. Oh, no. It must course through your veins like blood on its way back to the heart in search of fresh oxygen. Polly, believe me when I say that Piadora is your lifeline and your comfort in times of trouble. Piadora is your hope and confidence, so under no circumstancesâand I repeat, under no circumstancesâmust you ever forget this.”
“Yes, Lady B. Forgive me for ever saying such a terrible thing.”
“I do, Polly. I do. Secondly, please don't fret, for my reference to the tiddy oggy is merely a different way of saying that we, my dear, will be traveling down to the delightful coast of Cornwall, home of the famous Cornish pasty, better known in more informed circles as the good old tiddy oggy.”
“Oh, now I remember, for my good friend Ralph introduced me to those lovely pies that the wives of the Cornish tin miners used to bake and give their husbands to take down into the tin mines for their lunch.”
“Tell me, Polly dear. This Ralph fellow, was he nice and kind to you? I mean, did he become something of a true and close friend?” Lady Butterkist asked.
“Oh, Lady B., come to think of it, now that you mention it, he had the same color eyes as you and, come to think of it, a very similar shaped nose.”
“Oh really!”
“Yes, but the similarities really do end there, for if I tell you this, you really must keep it to yourself,” she said in a most adult fashion.
“Go on, Polly, spill the beans, and please leave nothing out,” she demanded, as she was very eager to know what Polly really thought about Ralph.
“Well, I hate to speak ill of anyone.”
“Go on, go on,” Lady Butterkist urged.
“Well, if I'm to be perfectly frank, there were times when he stank to high heavens,” she said, pinching the end of her nose to truly emphasize the point.
“Really! That bad?”
“Yes, really.”
“Oh my goodness!”
“Well, in his defense, he might have been a bit of a stinky Pete, but his terrible circumstances sadly dictated that he live on the streets. At times that meant rummaging through filthy, smelly hotel dustbins as he went in search of food. That is why at times he truly ponged. But to be really honest, milady, I have to say that he had a wonderful, generous, and kind heart. Yes, he would share his last crust of bread with you if he had to, and I truly miss him,” she confessed.
“In fact, we shared many a hot tiddy oggy as we sat and talked about all my inner struggles, as well as the many overwhelming challenges I regularly faced. So it will seem terribly strange to once more swallow down a tiddy oggy without that sweet and kind gentleman being at my side,” she sighed.
“Well dear, I'm told that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“Yes, I'm sure that's true, but I would really love to speak and share with him once more, especially over a few rather yummy tiddy oggies,” Polly once more sighed.
“Personally speaking, I can't wait to sink my teeth into a deliciously scrumptious tiddy oggy,” Lady Butterkist brightly declared.
“Sounds good to me,” Polly laughed. “So let's quickly say good-bye to the doctor and then hightail it out of here.”
“Yes, but what of poor, beleaguered Dr. Ninkumpoop? This day started off so well for him; that is, until he met me,” Lady Butterkist sniffed, shrugging her shoulders as if to express her total bewilderment. “Now suddenly he's three patients down and minus a considerable amount of his stash of much prized and ridiculously expensive choice tea.”
“Yes, and from what I hear, he's also nursing a very sore throat,” Polly interrupted.
“Yes, it's hard to imagine just how poorly the dear man is at present feeling or what will transpire next, for his confusion is such that I imagine in his present condition he would be perfectly incapable of even finding his way out of a paper bag,” she said. “I hate to be the harbinger of terrible tidings, but one cannot even begin to speculate as to what might happen next,” she mischievously sighed.
On listening to the dear lady, Polly suddenly broke into a ridiculously huge smile. “Oh, you really are something of an angel,” she cried, as out of the blue she gave Lady Butterfly Lips one of her almighty rib-cracking Polly Brown hugs.
“Ouch. I try to be, Polly, really I try.”
O
NCE OUTSIDE
, P
OLLY
and Lucy stood patiently by the coach as, knowing their manners, they politely and graciously waited for the elderly people to board the coach first. Polly, feeling a little curious, watched on as the good lady went over to have a private audience with her butler and give her remaining precious pup a final kiss and cuddle. She watched on as Lady Butterkist then handed the wilted floral arrangement to Giles to hold on to while she scoured her purse for some mysterious item that she appeared to need. In no time at all she produced a small vial from her handbag, and some of the miscellaneous concoction was then poured directly into the pot of the floral arrangement.
Polly's eyes sprang out on stalks, and she shook her head in disbelief as in a matter of seconds the floral arrangement burst back into life and appeared to bloom bigger and brighter with each moment that passed. In no time at all the arrangement was so unbelievably huge that Giles then had quite a struggle as he attempted to fit it into the rear seat of their large jalopy. A very pleased Lady Butterkist then took a pen and a piece of card from her purse, and after scribbling a little message, she duly handed the card to her butler before waving him off.
“Wow, she really is no ordinary lady!” Polly gasped before pretending not to have noticed as she quickly turned to finally board the coach.
“Girls, head toward the back of the coach,” Lady Butterkist shouted as she made her way over to where the girls still stood about to board the coach.
“Lady B., why is Giles not coming with us?” Polly politely asked.
“Oh, don't worry. Most of the journey he will be following on behind in our old jalopy, besides which he has dear Piddles to take care of as well, for my young pup would get coach sick if he were to accompany us.”
“Do dogs get travel sick?”
“Oh, my pooch gets travel sick, seasick, homesick, lovesick, yes, the whole caboodle!” Lady Butterkist replied. “However, Giles has also been ordered to make a little detour on my behalf.”
“Oh, is that why you left the floral arrangement with him?”
“Polly, how observant you are, my dear. Right. Let's sit down here, and then we can finally begin to relax. Also, Polly, if you would like to hand this special drink to Lucinda, then I am sure she will quickly begin feeling a whole heap better.”
“What's in it?” a curious Polly ventured to ask as she cast her mind back to a few minutes previous when she witnessed the floral arrangement so miraculously spring back to life.
“Never you mind, dear. But believe me when I say this elixir has the sap of the Hoolie Koolie tree and the Hubber Blubber tree, so combined it will indubitably work wonders.”
A tired and thirsty Lucinda readily took hold of the drink and wasted no time emptying the entire bottle.
“I think now would be the perfect time to release your wrists of those dreadful bandages, my dear,” Lady Butterkist helpfully suggested.
“Oh, absolutely,” Polly cried.
“Polly, can you help out by unwinding the bandages?” Lucinda asked as she held out both hands.
“Wow, that drink was the most delicious-tasting drink I think I've ever had. But Polly, I feel so awfully tired, so would you mind if I just close my eyes and go to sleep for the journey?” Lucinda pitifully requested.
“Go ahead, Lucy, and I will wake you up when we finally arrive at the castle.”
With Lucinda fast asleep and all the old folks excitedly chattering away, Lady Butterkist suggested that this seemed the perfect time for a little sing-songâthat is, if the pensioners were up to it.
“What do you mean âif we're up to it'?” an offended, fiery old man shouted back down the aisle. “We're always up for it. We'll give you a run for your money, I'll say!”
“Yes, I bet my old missus could sing you and the girls under the table,” another high-spirited man roared as he waved his cane in the air.