Dubious Deeds

by Philip Ardagh

  Fabian went back to work on the props with Bless Him, whilst Eddie led the limping chimney-sweep to the summerhouse which had become Gherkin’s home since the day he’d arrived. Back in the days of Dr Malcontent Dickens, the summerhouse had been furnished with kiddie-sized tables and chairs for his three young sons. Even the shelving and door handles were at a lower height, which made it the ideal bedroom and sitting room for the dwarf, who still took his meals and bathed in the main house (though not at the same time).

  Eddie and Scarple found Gherkin reading a book.

  ‘Harry!’ said Gherkin, obviously delighted to see him.

  STOP. Wait a minute. Before I type another line, I should make it absolutely clear that Harry Scarple was not – I repeat NOT – the Harry (aka ’arry) in the Prologue and the (illegal) intermission. In books and films it’s quite rare for characters to have the same name – probably to avoid confusion – but in real life, it’s quite a different matter. Glad to be of service.

  Gherkin shook Scarple’s hand warmly. ‘What brings you to this neck of the woods?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve been cleaning them chimneys over at Lamberley ’all. Old Jim Langham who used to do them is now Jim long-gone, an’ the job’s been passed on to me.’

  ‘Old Jim’s loss is your gain,’ said Gherkin.

  ‘I raised a pint of thrupenny gargle* to his memory,’ said the sweep. ‘It’s good to see you, Gherkin. I ’eard you was workin’ for Mad Mr Dickens now, and Master Eddie is an ol’ friend of me daughter, Daniella, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone by payin’ a visit to Awful End.’

  Gherkin turned to Eddie, eyebrow raised. ‘You know Daniella?’

  Eddie nodded. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said.

  ‘I would very much like to hear it sometime,’ said Gherkin.

  ‘I’d be delighted to tell you,’ said Eddie.

  ‘By all accounts, it were quite an adventure,’ said Daniella’s father.

  ‘Where are my manners? Sit down! Sit down!’ urged Gherkin.

  There was only one adult-sized chair, and Scarple lowered himself into it, left leg stuck out stiffly.

  Eddie perched himself on the edge of a small table. ‘Were you injured during our fight?’ he asked with concern.

  ‘Fight?’ asked the dwarf.

  ‘A misunderstanding, is all,’ Scarple explained quickly. ‘No, Eddie. I’ve been a chimney-sweep man and boy and ’ave sustained more injuries than is good for any of God’s creatures.’

  Once again, Eddie was reminded what a sheltered life he led as a child of the upper classes … or would have led if he hadn’t kept on finding himself the centre of some extraordinary events. Things had been remarkably peaceful these past few months.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a distant dull thud, followed by a dreadful ‘CRASH!’ as something the size of a cannonball came hurtling through the closed door of the summerhouse, glass shattering and wood splintering in its wake.

  Eddie and Gherkin threw themselves to the ground in an instant. Scarple was less speedy but fortunately the projectile missed him by a stoat’s whisker and hit the back wall of the summerhouse with enough force to cause the pictures to shake on all the walls.

  ‘We’re under attack!’ said Scarple in amazement. He struggled to his feet and joined the other two on the floor.

  ‘What on Earth –?’ said Gherkin.

  ‘It could be nothing to worry about,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Nuffink to worry about? I coulda been killed!’ protested Scarple.

  ‘I mean that we may not be under attack, Mr Scarple,’ said Eddie. ‘It could simply be another of my great-uncle or great-aunt’s harebrained schemes. There could be a perfectly – er – simple explanation.’

  A second or so later, there was another distant thud, and another projectile came into view, heading in the direction of the summerhouse.

  ‘Heads down!’ shouted the dwarf, putting his head in his hands and rolling himself into a ball.

  This time, the object landed on the grass just short of the summerhouse.

  Eddie got into a crouching position and made it over to the shattered door. He peered outside. ‘It appears to be a cabbage.’

  ‘A cabbage?’

  ‘A cabbage,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Someone is firing cabbages at us?’ asked Harry Scarple.

  ‘It would appear so,’ said Eddie.

  The chimney-sweep stood up and retrieved the projectile which had caused so much damage. ‘Yup, this one is certainly a cabbage too.’

  ‘Keep down, Scarple!’ said Gherkin. ‘A cabbage fired at this speed could still take your head off.’ Gherkin wasn’t wrong. A candle fired from a shotgun can pass through a wooden door, so why not fire a cabbage from a cannon or a giant catapult … apart from the fact that it would be a ridiculous thing to do, of course.

  ‘I suggest we retreat!’ says Gherkin, ‘But keep low!’

  Gingerly trying to avoid the shards of broken glass scattered across the floor, the three of them pushed open one of the tattered doors and dashed, still crouching, across a stretch of lawn into the cover of a nearby shrubbery. The third cabbage came smashing into the summerhouse moments later.

  * a particularly strong and unpleasant-tasting drink

  Episode 12

  A Blast from the Past

  In which matters turn from worse to even worse, which can’t be good

  Eddie didn’t waste any time. Whilst Scarple and Gherkin were still recovering from the shock of it all, he was skirting through the undergrowth, heading in the direction from which the cabbages had been fired, as fast as his legs could carry him. He tripped once, having caught his foot in a tree root, and scraped his skin against some particularly spiky leaves of some foreign specimen, but this barely slowed him down.

  When Eddie broke his cover, bursting from the undergrowth onto the upper lawn, he didn’t know what to find. He could be forgiven for thinking that MUJ or EMAM might have been behind the firing of cabbages at the summerhouse. If any of the household were going to undertake such an action, it was more than likely to be them; or some of the ex-privates following their instructions. But it wasn’t.

  With preparations for the play under way, it had also crossed Eddie’s mind that the sudden onslaught of low-flying cabbages might be the testing of a prop which had somehow gone wrong. Eddie’s father, Mr Dickens, had, as you may recall, included a few scenes set aboard The Pompous Pig. You may also recall my telling you that he embellished the truth in places (which is another way of saying he made things up). Although there were no cannons aboard the vessel, Laudanum Dickens had the character of first mate, Mr Briggs, firing one at the fleeing Swags. So, again, it might be reasonable to suppose that it was Bless Him or Fabian or someone testing such a cannon, either real or home-made. But it wasn’t.

  There before him was indeed the props cannon – which had been delivered after the Dickenses had repelled Stinky Hoarebacker’s hunt, or it might well have been pressed into service by the defending army – but the person busy loading another cabbage into the menacing barrel was a stranger to Eddie.

  Eddie had hoped the commotion might have brought others to the scene because he wasn’t yet sure whether he was about to deal with someone who was firing vegetables for a bit of fun, unaware of the damage and endangerment to human life … or whether this small round man was intent on serious harm.

  ‘STOP!’ shouted Eddie running towards the man.

  The man did nothing of the sort. Cabbage now loaded, he began fiddling with what Eddie knew to be the fuse. The man tried unsuccessfully to suppress a worrying giggle. The resulting sound was even more worrying.

  ‘There are people down there!’ shouted Eddie, pointing in the direction he’d just come. ‘You might kill someone!’

  ‘HA!’ shouted the man. ‘HA! I say. HA! to you and HA! to them. HA! I say!’

  ‘Help!’ shouted Eddie. ‘Somebody! Anybody!’ He had once been told that the best way to attract people’s
attention when you needed help was to shout ‘Fire!’. But he wasn’t about to risk this when standing by a man with a cannon. ‘Help!’ shouted Eddie. ‘Father! Dawkins! Uncle Jack! Anyone!’ He waved his arms around frantically.

  As well as genuinely seeking assistance, Eddie was also trying to let the rotund stranger know that there were plenty of people about, and to disorient him with noise and movement.

  What should I do? What should I do? thought Eddie. So long as I’m not standing in front of the cannon, I should be safe. Should I jump on him? Tackle him? Although Eddie was as sure as he could be that he’d never met the man before, there was something strangely familiar about this stranger. He reminded Eddie of someone … or something. That was it! Of course!

  ‘Peevance!’ shouted Eddie. ‘Is that you?’

  The man was clearly startled. He hesitated and, in that moment, skinny saucer-eyed Eddie bravely launched himself at the man –

  – and let’s leave him there in mid-air for a moment whilst I remind those who’ve read Dubious Deeds and tell those who haven’t, who and what Peevance was. Lance Peevance was originally the name of a man (a hard-working schoolteacher, in fact) whom Mad Uncle Jack had spotted in town on a number of occasions. Mr Peevance was rather round and knobbly and, to most eyes, an unfortunately ugly man. Later, Lance Peevance also became the name of a hybrid vegetable which looked like a very large, knobbly pea. Mad Uncle Jack had been the creator of said vegetable and had also been the one to name it. The instant it grew, it reminded MUJ so strongly of the teacher, that he went to the trouble of finding out the man’s identity, and named his creation after him. Mr Peevance was far from happy about this and, very foolishly, took Mad Uncle Jack to court over the matter. I say foolishly because not only was MUJ a gentleman and Peevance was not, but MUJ also lived up at the big house, which meant that no local court would dare find him guilty of anything. Technically, of course, Lamberley Hall was the really big house in those parts, but it was built with ‘new money’ and its occupants were a couple of sisters*, and women really didn’t count in the same way.

  The outcome was that the human Lance Peevance was crippled by costs and fled to the Continent.† He was eventually caught in France and brought back to England, a debtor and a ruined man.

  The vegetables retained his name and Mad Uncle Jack still grew them once in a while. Eddie had heard the story and seen the vegetables many times, which was how he finally recognised the man, at whom he now launched himself –

  – and, sadly, missed, landing winded on the grass beside him. The cannon fired for a fourth time and, what had been a distant thud to him on the three previous occasions was much more of a loud ‘WUMPH!’ close to, though certainly not a bang.

  The man started kicking Eddie as he lay there which is as horrible as it sounds. Eddie had always felt rather sorry for the schoolteacher whenever he had heard the story. He knew how exasperating his family could be and, on top of that, the poor man had lost his job and home and everything … but being kicked by someone can rather change your opinion of them.

  As Eddie tried to grab Peevance’s leg the next time it took a swing at him, four other pairs of legs came into view. Two of them were decidedly short and green and belonged to Annabelle. The other two pairs belonged to Mad Uncle Jack and Even Madder Aunt Maud.

  ‘Help me!’ shouted Eddie. ‘It’s Lance Peevance!’

  ‘You’re mistaken, Edmund,’ said Mad Uncle Jack, picking up one of the cabbages stacked next to the cannon. ‘It’s a common or garden cabbage.’

  ‘No, him!’ shouted Eddie, who now had the ex-schoolteacher standing on top of him.

  ‘No, I don’t know him,’ said MUJ. ‘And I’m not sure I want to.’

  Lance Peevance was eyeing his arch nemesis with such hatred that it looked as if his eyes might actually burst into flames.

  Eddie tried to get to his feet, but – without taking his eyes off MUJ for one moment – Peevance trod on him. Hard. ‘Help me, Aunt Maud,’ Eddie managed.

  EMAM slapped Peevance on the back. ‘Excellent costume, Mr Pumblesnook,’ she said. ‘Wonderful make-up!’

  ‘Help me!’ rasped Eddie a second time.

  ‘Keeping in character? Good boy, Edmund,’ said his great-aunt. ‘Mr Pumblesnook has taught you well.’

  Eddie felt like throttling her.

  It seemed Peevance had similar thoughts regarding Mad Uncle Jack. ‘I’m going to kill you, Dickens!’ said Peevance, using Eddie as a launch pad to land on MUJ’s back, hands around his throat.

  MUJ fell to the ground in an angular tangle of jutting-out elbows and knees. He looked like a daddy-long-legs in distress.

  Even Madder Aunt Maud was outraged. ‘My Jack isn’t in your stupid play!’ she snapped. She went to beat the man she took to be Mr Pumblesnook with Malcolm … but she wasn’t carrying him. She looked to Annabelle, and she wasn’t carrying him either. Now she wasn’t sure what to do. It was obvious from his sticking out tongue and bulging eyes that her dear, sweet Jack didn’t particularly like being strangled. And the sudden discovery of the absence of her stuffed stoat caused EMAM such anguish that it completely knocked the wind out of her sails.

  Battered and bruised, Eddie struggled to his feet and was about to throw himself on Peevance a second time, when help arrived.

  It arrived in the form of Scarple and Gherkin. In next to no time, Scarple was sitting on Mr Peevance, pinning down his arms and legs, whilst Gherkin was tying him up with some bunting.

  ‘Are you all right, Eddie?’ asked the chimney-sweep.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Who is this madman?’ asked Gherkin as he tied another knot.

  ‘My husband, Jack,’ said Even Madder Aunt Maud. ‘I believe you’ve already met.’

  Gherkin did his eyebrow raising thing again.

  ‘I think you’ll find he’s a Mr Lance Peevance,’ said Eddie. ‘He has a grudge against the family.’

  ‘By Jove!’ said MUJ. ‘You’re right! It is that rascal Peevance.’ He turned to their captive. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?’

  Suddenly, there was a cry of ‘CHARGE!’ and the small gathering found themselves surrounded by members of Mr Pumblesnook’s ragtag group of wandering theatricals – including Mr Pumblesnook and his good lady wife, but with the exception of Bless Him and Fabian – each brandishing a weapon of sorts, ranging from newspaper cucumbers to a genuine sword, a table leg and a garden rake. Dawkins was there too, brandishing a rolling pin. Gibbering Jane was also on the scene, brandishing baby Oliphant, who was brandishing his silver rattle. The ex-privates were also in attendance. They all formed a tight circle around the cannon.

  Dressed in resplendent uniform, and waving a sabre, Mr Pumblesnook pushed himself to the fore. ‘It would seem that you gentlemen have everything under control,’ he said.

  Better late than never, thought Eddie.

  ‘Apologies for the delay,’ said Pumblesnook, ‘but I thought it best to be correctly dressed for a rescue of such great importance.’

  Eddie had to admit that he did look splendid.

  Whilst everyone fussed over Mad Uncle Jack (‘I’m fine! Fine! Had worse happen every day when I was fighting the Hoolers‡’), helped the distraught Even Madder Aunt Maud in her search for Malcolm (‘If anyone’s so much as harmed a hair on his beautiful head, they’ll have me to answer to!’) or assisted with the hauling off of poor old Lance Peevance (‘HA! You’ve not heard the last of me, you Dickenses! No jail cell can hold me!’), Eddie slipped away. He wanted to nurse his wounds in private.

  As he mounted the first few steps of Awful End’s main staircase, A. C. Pryden came hurrying down. ‘Eddie!’ he said. ‘Terrible, terrible news. Please follow me,’ and he turned and ran up again, two or three stairs at a time.

  Eddie followed the artist into his bedroom. In the corner stood a canvas covered by the familiar curtain on the easel. Now that MUJ’s portrait had been completed, Pryden kept it in here rather than his makeshift studio d
ownstairs.

  ‘Lift the curtain,’ said Pryden.

  Eddie obeyed. Underneath was a blank canvas.

  ‘Stolen,’ said A. C. Pryden. ‘The painting’s been stolen!’

  * the Andrews sisters with a small ‘s’, of course

  † disguised as a bag of coal, somewhat surprisingly

  ‡ Not some foreign tribe, but former neighbours

  Episode 13

  Eddie on the Case!

  In which Eddie sees some familiar faces in some unfamiliar places

  ‘Stolen?’ gasped Mr Dickens. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘You didn’t – er – hide the painting by any chance, Father, did you?’ asked Eddie.

  ‘Surely you’re not accusing your father of being a thief?’ demanded Mrs Dickens.

  ‘Not at all, mother,’ said Eddie hurriedly. ‘It’s just that I thought you might have – er – put the painting aside until after Monday night’s first performance of the play, so that the unveiling of Mad Uncle Jack’s portrait didn’t –’ He tried to remember his father’s exact words ‘– steal our thunder.’

  ‘No, I did not,’ said his father indignantly.

  ‘You don’t think Jack or Maud could have taken it, do you, Laudanum?’ asked Mrs Dickens.

  ‘I do not!’ snapped Mr Dickens, in a tone of voice which suggested that he couldn’t imagine MUJ or EMAM ever doing something strange like that.

  ‘And they both have an alibi,’ said Eddie.

  ‘A laundry basket?’ said his mother.

  Eddie thought for a moment. ‘I think you’re thinking of an ali baba, mother,’ he said. ‘I said alibi. I mean that a number of people can vouch for where they were when Mad Uncle Jack’s portrait was swapped for the blank canvas. Including me.’