The Trouble with Polly Brown (64 page)

“As it is many years since I had taken the train, I found it all really quite extraordinary, if not disturbing. I have to say that I cannot imagine these new receptacles ever catching on, for to serve tea from anything other than china, bone china being the more preferable, is simply quite preposterous.

“Trust me when I feel compelled to say that in no time at all this weird and dastardly new product will soon become history, for I cannot ever imagine it catching on, as tea-drinking is surely a most serious British occupation.”

“Yes, Lady B., but maybe British Rail has been forced against its will to make specific cutbacks,” Blenkinsopp helpfully suggested.

“Blenkinsopp, I quite understand cutbacks, except when it comes to the customary ritual of serving good tea. I also find it hard to believe that they have managed to ruin a perfectly delightful name like Polly— and on such a vulgar and modern item—by calling it ‘polystyrene.' What do you think of all of this, young man?”

“Yes, you're quite right, for Polly is indeed a wonderful name,” Will readily agreed.

“Yes, if not somewhat magical, like that little old rhyme ‘Polly, Put the Kettle On.' I always remember singing that when I was a young girl. Yes, such a special name, and I have to say that without exception every Polly I have ever met has been a most special and delightful individual,” she sighed as she took a further sip of hot tea from her cup.

“So tell, young man, and don't be too modest: are you acquainted with any young lady who might go by that name?”

“Well, dear lady—”

“Oh, let us not dwell on social pleasantries. Please call me Lady B., and these here are Tiddles and Piddles, my royal little pooches.”

“Yes, Lady B. I have no idea how to properly answer your question except to say that it is most unfortunate that by just mentioning that particular name in passing, it has yet served to further deepen my misery, for strange though it must seem, I have lost a very good friend who goes by that name.”

“Lost! Quite what do you mean by
lost
? I mean, lost in France, lost in the woods, lost at sea…?”

“Oh, nothing so dramatic. I merely meant that I no longer see her.”

“I thought as much, for I saw it in your eyes. Pray, tell me, young man, what is your name?”

“William. Will for short.”

“I see, and pray, tell me, William, what were you doing out walking alone in this neck of the woods?”

“Oh, my lady, I just live a short distance from here. See that wooded copse liberally sprinkled with bluebells and daffodils?”

“Yes, I do see.”

“Well, my house lies just behind it, so I often walk alone when I need to gather my thoughts. Life seems to crowd in on me, and out here I just walk for miles and then stand in awe at all the beauty surrounding me.”

“Hmm, and tell me straight, William, does your particular house have a name?” Lady Butterkist politely asked.

“Yes, it does. But why all the questions?” he openly asked while taking a large gulp of tea from his cup.

“Oh, I'm just an inquisitive old lady. So don't hold back on me, Will. Just blurt it all out. There's a good fellow.”

Will laughed. “My house is very aptly named Tumbledown Cottage.”

“What an extraordinarily delightful name! I think on my return I will indeed change the name of my house to something quite similar. I like the sound of ‘Tumbledown' or ‘Tumbleweed Cottage.' Giles, pray tell me now, what do you think?”

“Madam, you live in such a palatial residence that I believe most people assume it to be a castle, so perhaps ‘Tumbledown' or ‘Tumbleweed Cottage' is simply not appropriate,” Blenkinsopp felt it his duty to remind her.

“Well, Giles Blenkinsopp, I do declare ‘Tumbledown Castle' sounds pretty perfect to me, for it suggests that many wars, as well as a few crimes of passion, might well have taken place in times gone by. So what do you think, Will?”

Once more Will shrugged his shoulders as if to suggest he had absolutely no thoughts on such a matter.

“Well, William dear, I could not fail to hear you murmur something about the name being most suitable. In fact, I believe the word you used was
apt
. So please enlighten us further as to why ‘Tumbledown Cottage' is so appropriate.”

“Must I?” he groaned.

“Oh, absolutely, for I don't have time for the problems of people who don't have problems. So please; I insist that at the very least you stay and share your cares and burdens with us, and as you do so, Blenkinsopp will pour us all another fresh cup of tea. I also believe this to be a most splendid occasion to bring out the salmon and cucumber finger sandwiches. What do you think? Needless to say, all the crusts have been most thoughtfully and therefore carefully removed. There are also bite-sized asparagus and cream cheese sandwiches if these are more to your preference.”

“Madam, may I interrupt by saying I do believe we are shy of a napkin for this fine young gentleman's immediate use.”

“Napkin, Blenkinsopp? Pray, tell me now, what on God's earth is a napkin?”

“I'm so sorry, milady. What I meant and therefore intended to say was
serviette
.”

“I should say so, Blenkinsopp, for you, my dear, are spending far too much time with that American friend of yours. What's his name?”

“You mean Sam, Lady Arrabella's butler?”

“Yes, precisely, and has he not just freshly arrived on these shores straight from America?”

“You are perfectly correct, madam. He is indeed from Boston.”

“Well, Blenkinsopp, imagine if you will that if it hadn't been for the jolly old French sticking their noses in where it wasn't wanted, these good American people would all be speaking just like you and I, yes, perfectly good Queen's English!”

“Oh, madam, I apologize most profusely, so therefore I feel suitably chastised. But before you remonstrate further, I need you to address the problem at hand.”

“What problem, Blenkinsopp?”

“Madam, we have no spare
serviette
for immediate use by our guest.”

“Nonsense, Blenkinsopp. He is our guest after all, so don't just stand there being such a rotten spoilsport; just hand over your starched serviette. There's a dear.”

“But madam, this specific serviette is most personal to me. It even has my initials sewn onto the corner,” he quietly complained.

“Giles, now is not the time to throw a wobbly! Here, use this instead,” she fussed. “It's one of my finest cotton handkerchiefs, and I assure you it is perfectly clean, for it has never been used and so is quite clear of all ghastly little germs,” she insisted as she tried and failed to reassure him.

Poor Giles was aghast, as he was humiliatingly forced to part with his personal, starched white linen serviette in exchange for a handkerchief dotted all over with little smiling teddy bears with bright pink bows on their heads.

Will immediately tucked in to all the delights he was being offered, and he was quick to nod his approval. “Oh, this food is simply overwhelmingly delicious,” he declared, giving her ladyship a warm smile. And so he stayed to savor these delights, as well as every other delight that Blenkinsopp cared to place in front of him.

“William, would you care to try a little caviar?” Blenkinsopp politely asked him. “It indeed washes down very nicely with a nice, cool glass of home made lemonade.” Will quickly declined the black, glistening caviar. Blenkinsopp thought he noticed the boy turn a little squeamish as he looked at the caviar offered him.

After the delicate finger sandwiches they went on to enjoy scones and preserves, served with up with overly generous portions of wickedly scrumptious Devonshire clotted cream.

“Wow, it's perfectly delicious, but tell me, Lady B., why have I never heard of this type of cream before?”

“Well, William, as you ask, it's deemed to be so delicious that the upper aristocracy likes to keep it as their little secret. Besides, it is called clotted cream, because it does exactly what it says on the label.”

“What's that?”

“It clots your arteries, well, at least if you eat too much of it,” she laughed as she then added a further spoonful of the thick cream onto her already overladen scone.

The scones were followed by deliciously decadent chocolate-covered cake, and then as if all this was not enough, Will was handed a plate of freshly peeled fruit. It was indeed a picnic fit for a king or queen!

While Will enjoyed the tea and company, he chose to unburden himself of all that had befallen him since he had moved to the area. Will completely surprised himself by talking so openly and honestly to a couple of unusual and complete strangers. In truth, he could never have imagined himself doing such a thing, as he was normally a very private and most loyal individual, so when it came to sharing about his sick mother and brother, he did all within his power to speak well of them. He shared just as much of the detail as he believed wise and always kept to the forefront that he must honor his mother by not sharing anything that might lead to her demise or have anyone thinking the worst where she was concerned.

“So that's it in a nutshell, Lady B., for I have shared more than I ought with regard to my family's personal and somewhat tragic misfortunes.”

“Will, I know that now is probably not the time, but certainly at some future date I would love to meet with your mother and your brother. It sounds to me as though your family has suffered much over the years, and this could well explain your dear mother's bitter spirit. I think it would be a very nice gesture if you were to, say, buy your mother a delightful bouquet of flowers and then sit down with her and talk over a nice cup of tea.”

“Talk?”

“Yes, William. Talk. Most parents these days are estranged from their children because no one has the time anymore to listen and then understand. I do declare that we are all in far too much of a hurry. It sounds to me as though your mother has nobody to talk to, and she needs to know that underneath everything, you still love and care for her. May I be so bold to remind you that just as your father abandoned you boys, she too is a spurned wife and mother, hence her extreme and bitter spirit.”

“Yes, that's true, Lady B., although at times it is very difficult, for she seems fairly determined to become England's next honorary martyr. Besides which, I am as poor as a church mouse, so I not have the wherewithal to buy her some of the finer things in life, like flowers and chocolates.”

“William, I hear you, so you need to find less extravagant ways that cost nothing but will mean everything to her. For instance, you could try picking her a lovely bunch of wildflowers and then putting them in a vase by her bedside, or try baking her a small cake. I don't know if my suggestions are helpful, but I know you will think of something innovative, because the truth here is that you, William, are such a good and talented young man.”

“Thank you for being so kind.”

“Well, William, no matter how hard things seem at present, you must keep trying. There's a dear, for I believe it is in your hands alone as to whether your family comes together or falls apart. Yes, I believe you are the glue that will keep things going, and allow me to suggest that honoring your mother is a very good thing indeed. If you do not grow weary, you will in time reap due benefits. Trust me on this one.”

“Oh, Lady B., believe me when I say that I so long to feel part of a happy, healthy family again.”

“Trust me, Will. If you follow my advice to the letter, given time, it will happen; you have my word on it. As for your brother, I think nothing short of a miracle will do, so I believe you should start hoping and praying for one, for what has happened to this dear young man is, as you suggest, nothing short of a complete travesty.”

“It certainly is,” William sniffed as he tried but failed to remain composed. “He was my bigger brother who I used to look up to and believed in, and now all I see is a man full of hate and bitter, twisted rage.” William immediately found himself feeling a little embarrassed, as he was now fighting hard to hold back the tears. He was, after all, a man, and men don't cry, do they?

As if she had heard his thoughts, Lady Butterkist suddenly told him, “Cry if you must.” Then she continued, “Tell me, Blenkinsopp, why is it men supposedly aren't allowed to cry? For they are almost always allowed to get angry, and they most certainly are inclined toward laughter, but heaven forbid that a man should dare release his troubled heart and mind of some frightful burden by the shedding of tears that spring directly from the wounded palace of his soul. It's plainly ridiculous, don't you agree?”

“Absolutely, madam. Absolutely.”

Will privately agreed with her assessment, but still he continued to fight back the tears, and so Lady Butterkist produced a further spare handkerchief.

“Here, blow into this, dear boy. And then abandon yourself entirely to getting drunk in your innermost soul with yet more hot tea, for as some ancient Chinese proverb goes, ‘Tea is most surely drunk in order to forget the din of the world.' Well, it goes something like that anyway. Besides, it is most assuredly the British way. Yes, the perfect antidote to all sadness and melancholy is usually the simple making of a seriously strong pot of hot tea, tea that is then ultimately shared with as many participants as one can bear to involve whilst faithfully and sorrowfully shedding light on all of one's mishaps and misfortunes.”