The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy (32 page)

‘Yo, woo-man,’ said Daniel. ‘I’z well amped, chocca wid dubble-yoo-emm-dee, no sheet, innit.’

Encouraged by all the creative talk, Older Mrs Wells stood up and started waving a hand in an intensely arty fashion. ‘Yea, tho’ they melt our molten hearts, / Apart from thy holy soul do I depart, / And crush the crumbling cradle . . .’

‘
Please
can I arrest her now? She could accidentally fall down the stairs?’ pleaded Constable Landscape.

The Parson said grace, which consisted of thanking the Lord for giving them their daily bread, while slipping in a quick plea for added strength to withstand the temptations of the flesh and the revolutionary
What The Butler Saw
machine in the vestry. As they all tucked into their quite lovely meal, accompanied by several bottles of pre-blessed red wine which the Parson had borrowed from the church, the Psychologist seemed very keen to ask the children about time travel. ‘Do you have any proof that you are indeed Time Travellers?’ he enquired.

‘Bah! I’ve already asked them for proof,’ scowled the Magistrate. ‘All I got was talk of Eminems.’

‘Whatever!’ said Daniel and he gulped a mouthful of wine from his glass. ‘Eminem is sick and a half! He chills like a villain, man!’

Older Mrs Wells leaned forward and, with a flourish of her hands, said, ‘Ah, villains are quickly undone, / they shine like blades anon, / but wear a smudge of brown, / that ends beneath their crown.’

The Psychologist was becoming quite agitated. ‘Those two,’ he said, pointing at Daniel and Older Mrs Wells, ‘I would dearly like to perform some invasive medical experiments on them. But first, young lady Urchin, I have to ask, could I join The Secret Five? I could be your Resident Medical Man, on call, day and night, limb amputation my speciality, even when not needed, although on reflection I did fail that part of the entrance exam.’

Betty shook her head. ‘In truth,’ she said, ‘I don’t think we need a medical man. Do we, Daniel?’

‘Yo! On de boss, Captain Obvious!’ Daniel said to Betty, slopping some more red wine into his glass. ‘Dis am crunk! Innit!’

Betty scowled at him. ‘Sorry, Daniel,’ she said.

Daniel looked bewildered and a teeny bit drunk. ‘Hey, sis,’ he said, waving his glass of wine at her. ‘Why de polo pony, innit?’

Betty smiled and slapped him rather hard. Daniel put his wine down and rubbed his face.

‘Is it my turn now?’ asked the Magistrate, eagerly rolling up his sleeve.

‘Gosh!’ said Daniel, his eyes crossing as he tried to focus. ‘Where am I?’

‘You are indeed with friends,’ said the Psychologist rather too fervently for a man with his Victorian hairstyle. ‘And, boy Urchin, if I may have a talk with you later about the possibility of certain invasive procedures . . .’

***

Under the table, Whatshisname lifted his head and sniffed the air.
Woof woof woof?
he thought. He got up, picked up his bone for safekeeping, padded over to the door and poked all of his nose out into the corridor. He could definitely smell smoke! He glanced back into the room. No-one else seemed to have noticed, not even the black poodle, which was probably good news as it meant that he could impress it even more. Black poodles like nothing better than a heroic spaniel.

But what was he to do? He’d once sneaked a look at a film called
Lassie Saves the Day Yet Again
while the children were watching it one lazy Saturday afternoon between adventures.
What would Lassie have done
, he thought very quietly and only to himself. He weighed up his options. He could: (s) run about frantically barking; (i) whine a bit; (t) clamp his jaws around Betty’s wrist and drag her into the corridor; (a) save himself and run for his life. He was about to opt for a commonsense combination of (s) and (a) when he quite suddenly decided that he definitely needed to impress the black poodle. New option (y) sprang to his canine mind and back out again. Glancing back at the black poodle to make sure its eyes were still wide open and able to see the launch of his daring new plan, he raced out of the door and tore off down the corridor, the bone in his mouth and his nose twitching madly as it followed the smell of smoke.

All of a heroic sudden he stopped outside the Butler’s Bedroom. The door was strangely ajar, and he could see strange smoke billowing about dangerously inside the room! Now that he was out of sight of the black poodle, options (s) and (a) once again became his definite favourite. But Whatshisname was quite inquisitive for a dog of his size, and decided to poke his head around the door for a quick peek (two words, incidentally, that conjured up hazy memories of a hastily-grabbed opportunity behind a tree in a park many many sticks ago).

He saw that the bedspread was on fire, and the flames were in danger of reaching the curtains! He dropped the bone in shock!
Not only was he in shock, but it was a perfect place for a chapter break!

And yet, a chapter break didn’t materialise. So, with little heed for his own safety, Whatshisname raced out of the Butler’s Bedroom and headed for the exit, pausing to cock his leg up an aspidistra in the corner in readiness for a very long-overdue canine wee, made even more urgent by the excitement of the promise of a chapter break. But a thought suddenly struck him as he did so, and the plucky dog lowered his leg and turned on his pads. He headed straight back into the Butler’s Bedroom for, in his haste, he had forgotten his bone! Bones (and, for that matter, peanut butter) were extremely hard to come by in this story, he had found, and the last thing he wanted was for that bone to be wasted in a disastrous fire.

Carefully, and quite cautiously, he padded into the bedroom again. The bedspread was still smoking! He went to grab the bone but then some primeval instinct, or the fact that he was now very
very
desperate for a wee, made him cock his leg up again and wee for a very long time all over the bedspread! Heaven!

There was a hissing and spitting as the flames were extinguished. He looked on, leg cocked, as the flames disappeared! How strange!

Thanks to Whatshisname, the danger of a disastrous Victorian fire was over! He had saved the world!

Or had he?

In which Whatshisname is disappointed, again, but takes advantage of a wine-spill to drown his canine sorrows; Daniel becomes uncommonly persuasive then kills the kangaroo as it makes a guest appearance; there is a mildly interesting discussion about dado rails, of all things.

Whatshisname trotted enthusiastically back to the Dining Room, his precious bone in his semi-precious mouth. In the doorway he paused to await the applause and, perhaps, the offer of a whole year’s supply of peanut butter on the house. But, to his dismay, everyone was still talking and eating. They hadn’t even noticed him return! He glanced at the stuffed black poodle on the hearth. Nothing! Not even a wink.

He heard Betty call his name. Full of hope, yet devoid of significant amounts of faith and charity, he trotted over to her. ‘Where have you been?’ she scolded. ‘Sit in a servile manner at my feet! Naughty boy for going off like that!’

Whatshisname slumped down at her feet. That was positively the first and last time he would put his life in danger! Honestly! Humans! Natural selection had a lot to answer for. He’d teach them. He closed his eyes and, in the space of a few seconds, proved that flatulence can time-travel.

‘So,’ the Policeman said in a rather stern Policeman’s voice, ‘I could hardly believe my own Policeman’s ears when you said that there would be a disastrous fire while we are banqueting here. I am hence, and possibly henceforth, keeping an eye on
that
Mrs Wells, should she leave the table on the pretext of, erm, excusing herself, and forthwith undertaking a serious bout of Arson under our very Victorian noses.’

‘Weeeellll,’ said Betty uncertainly, and wasting several letters e and l in the process, ‘we do have reason to believe that the fire might not actually happen, but we don’t know why it won’t happen. It’s just that we were actually in this house in the twenty-first century and so Daniel and I had an informal meeting and came to the conclusion that it couldn’t have burned to the ground. Isn’t that right, Daniel?’

‘Yes,’ said Daniel, in a totally inadequate effort to show everyone that he was English and Normal, which is a pretty rare condition. He took another quick swig of wine.

‘Well, I know I am a mere Child, but I think that these two are true heroes,’ offered Bertie. ‘Obviously, were it not for Betty and Daniel’s presence, the disastrous fire would surely have taken place.’

‘Woof woof woof?’ said Whatshisname quietly but hopefully.

Just then there was an unexpected commotion from outside the room. There was a meaningful pause as people waited to see who would speak first about the unexpected commotion.

‘And what is all that unexpected commotion that I hear, yea verily?’ the Parson eventually said. ‘This is really testing our Victorian forbearance, patience, kindness and generosity to the limit. And yet, given the desperately simple plot structure, I am deeply surprised that there are any commotions at all.’

Everyone watched carefully as the cause of the commotion, Mrs Wells the Younger, came back into the Dining Room. She was followed closely by a tall handsome man of about thirty-two-and-a-half years of age, dressed very smartly in some clothes of his own choosing. They were chatting, which hardly counted as a commotion, but times were hard.

‘Why, Squire de Lylow!’ bellowed the Magistrate, throwing the Psychologist off his lap and rushing over to shake the tall handsome man’s hand.

The tall handsome man looked around the table. His eyes, which looked quite tired after all the travelling, rested on Betty. ‘Good Lord!’ he said.

‘Indeed,’ said the Parson.

‘Never mind those,’ urged Mrs Wells the Younger. ‘These two dear children are the time travellers I just told you about, the moment you returned from London, only a few minutes ago. I also begged your forgiveness for the audacity of arranging a banquet, which I have explained to you, about which you were in agreement entirely.’ She smiled, happy that she had so succinctly completed her expositional task.

‘Gosh!’ said Betty, staring at the man. ‘You must be Squire de Lylow. You’re really handsome and charming, you know, for a Squire.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said the Squire, nodding his handsome charming head in agreement. ‘But enough, for now, of my rugged good looks and my innate charm, for Mrs Wells the Younger here informs me that you have single-handedly prevented a disastrous fire at my House.’

‘Ah! ’ere comes the Sire,’ said the Older Mrs Wells as grandiloquently as she could through a mouthful of roasted pig’s giblets, ‘/ through bright boroughs / and stippled attire, / with brow a’furrowed . . .’

The Policeman brandished his truncheon again at Older Mrs Wells. ‘Stop all that unsolicited poetry!’ he said sternly. She wrinkled her old brow, and stopped it. Appreciative poetry audiences were hard to come by, even in Victorian times.

The handsome Squire came over to the table as Daniel was busy filling his wine glass. ‘This celebration banquet is surely well deserved,’ he said to the children. ‘Not that I believe in all this time travel nonsense, but Mrs Wells, my trusty Upper Housemaid, is one to be greatly humoured at all times, I find, due to her tendency to blackmail me over certain indiscretions which, of course, are unfounded yet are, interestingly, of a carnal nature. I mean, I hardly knew the ladies in question.’

‘Erm, please sire,’ said Daniel, now recovered from his relapse but showing signs of becoming even more inebriated. ‘We – me
and Betty – are from another planet – no, I mean from another time – hic – really we are! I can’t remember for the life of me from where – but we are – I’m sure.’

‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Betty, aiming a silent frown in Daniel’s direction. ‘And we
do
know all about your disastrous fire, the one that now seems not to have happened.’

‘What I find most confusing,’ said the Squire, ‘is why you are so concerned about this notion of a fire, of all things?’

Just then, Older Mrs Wells jumped up, causing all attention to be directed at her. ‘Ah!’ she cried in the same insufferably didactic poets’ voice. ‘Would I not be keen to wait and tarry, / But to pluck myself away from thee, / Alas there is a need to hurry, / I am bereft, I need to go and pee.’ And with that she scurried out of the room, clutching her long black Victorian dress around her short white Victorian legs.

Betty was suddenly quite worried. ‘I’m quite worried,’ she confirmed to Daniel.

Daniel tried hard to focus his gaze on Betty. ‘And me,’ he replied, reassuringly. ‘Because other people keep drinking the wine! S’not fair! It’s rather scrummy, don’t you think? A bit like Ribena with a kick. No more ginger beer for me from now on.’ He leaned over and grabbed at a full bottle of wine from right under the nose of the Parson!

Betty was astonished at his unseemly behaviour! ‘I am sorry for his conduct, Mr Parson, sir,’ she said. ‘Daniel!’ She grabbed Daniel’s arm but, as she did, the bottle toppled over! Red wine gurgled onto the table and dripped onto the floor.

‘Sis! Huh! Look what you’ve done!’ moaned Daniel, pointing at the wine spill.

‘Urchins!’ bellowed the Magistrate, aiming his bellow directly at them. ‘Stop this unnecessary behaviour or I will have you back in my court before you can say final convulsion!’

But Daniel was far too busy scooping wine from the table into his glass.

‘Sorry, sir,’ said Betty. ‘Please forgive my brother. He had a difficult birth, apparently, and the effects have lingered.’

‘Fascinating,’ said the Psychologist.

Betty looked around the room. Older Mrs Wells, the Poet / Arsonist, was still nowhere to be seen!

Bertie leaned towards Betty. ‘I do not like to interfere with the operational tactics of The Secret Five, but should you not be vigilant and meticulous about the whereabouts of Older Mrs Wells? Or maybe you should have a meeting? I could take notes if you like.’

Betty frowned. She had to take immediate decisive action! Everyone looked at her, awaiting her immediate decisive decision. After a few minutes of looking, most people became quite bored and started to chat amongst themselves about the indecisiveness of Victorian Urchins.