Nanny Piggins and the Pursuit of Justice
Page 18
‘Yes, your Honour,’ said Henry, deciding a nice rest in the cells was just what he needed after an afternoon in court with Judge Birchmore. Plus it would also get him out of having to take his wife dancing.
‘Sarah Matahari Lorelai Piggins,’ continued Judge Birchmore, raising her gavel ready to pound the desk when she pronounced her sentence. ‘For your blatant rule-breaking and crimes against decency, I sentence you to –’
‘Stoooooopppp!’ yelled Boris as he burst in through the back of the courtroom.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded Judge Birchmore. ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t lock you in the cells for contempt of court too.’
‘Because if you do,’ said Boris, ‘I shall have no alternative but to take this matter to a higher court, where your original judgement shall be overturned and you shall be humiliated in front of the entire legal profession.’
This made Judge Birchmore pause.
‘I have evidence,’ continued Boris, ‘that proves you should never have presided over Nanny Piggins’ original hearing. You were unfit to do so.’
‘How dare you!’ hissed Judge Birchmore. ‘What evidence?’
‘Your former fiancé!’ declared Boris, stepping aside to reveal the Retired Army Colonel who lived around the corner.
Everyone in the courtroom gasped – partly from surprise and partly from being really impressed, because the colonel was wearing his full dress uniform. (Being a military man, he knew how to look dashing.)
‘You had a fiancé?’ marvelled Henry the bailiff, emboldened by the fact that he was already headed for the cells and there was not much more that Judge Birchmore could do to him.
‘Hello Letitia,’ said the Retired Army Colonel, looking a little embarrassed as he waved to Judge Birchmore.
‘Cyril,’ murmured Judge Birchmore, a blush coming to her cheeks.
‘His name is Cyril?’ marvelled Nanny Piggins. ‘I always thought his first name was “Retired”.’
‘Do you deny, Judge Birchmore,’ said Boris, striding to the front of the courtroom, ‘that this man is, in fact, the love of your life?’
Everyone gasped again. The court stenographer actually fainted. She had worked in Judge Birchmore’s courtroom for eight years and had no reason to believe that the judge was capable of any human feeling, let alone love.
‘I’ve never seen him before in my life,’ spluttered Judge Birchmore.
‘Need I remind you, your Honour, that the punishment for perjury is imprisonment!’ declared Boris.
‘All right, all right,’ said Judge Birchmore. ‘We were fond of one another.’
‘You were in love,’ accused Boris.
‘I held him in regard,’ quibbled Judge Birchmore.
‘You were in love. L-O-V-E love! And you cannot deny it, because I have proof!’ declared Boris, holding aloft several sheets of pink stationery. ‘The poems you wrote to the Colonel in which you describe, graphically and in rhyming couplets, your true feelings for him. Shall I read from them?’
‘No!’ screamed Judge Birchmore.
‘Yes!’ called Nanny Piggins. ‘Please do.’ She did not normally care for poetry. But in this instance she could not help but be curious.
Boris began reading: ‘Oh how I love you, Cyril, like a nut is to a squirrel, like a flower is to a bee, is what you are to me –’
‘I admit it! I was in love. I was in love,’ yelled Judge Birchmore.
‘Head over heels, giggly as a schoolgirl, squishy as a marshmallow love?’ asked Boris.
‘Yes, yes,’ confessed Judge Birchmore. ‘That sort of love.’
‘Then I call upon my witness, Colonel Cyril Bryce-Chalmers, to describe the events of the evening of November nineteenth, ten years ago,’ said Boris.
The Retired Army Colonel slid into the witness box, and Judge Birchmore straightened her wig, trying to make herself look more attractive.
‘Letitia and I were sitting in my convertible being affectionate, you know . . . kissing,’ began the Retired Army Colonel.
There were retching noises from the gallery as several members of the public tried and failed to not be sick.
‘We do not need the graphic details,’ said Boris. ‘Some of us intend to eat later.’
‘Some of us are eating now,’ said Nanny Piggins, as she chomped on a nougat.
‘We were sitting there when we heard this noise,’ continued the Retired Army Colonel. ‘It was faint at first. But then it grew louder.’
‘What sort of noise?’ asked Boris.
‘It sounded like a pig yelling “Wheeeeeeeeeeee”,’ said the Retired Army Colonel.
‘Then what happened?’ asked Boris.
‘Well, the sound got louder and louder, until SMASH, a pig landed in the car right between us,’ explained the Retired Army Colonel.
‘And who was this pig?’ asked Boris, triumphantly turning to the gallery.
‘The defendant,’ said the Retired Army Colonel longingly. ‘The most beautiful pig in the entire world.’
‘That’s enough of this fiasco!’ snapped Judge Birchmore.
‘Oh no, it isn’t,’ said Boris. ‘We are just getting to the nub of it, as your Honour knows full well.’ He turned back to the witness. ‘Colonel, describe your feelings for the defendant, Sarah Matahari Lorelai Piggins, who landed between you and your fiancée all those years ago.’
‘It was love at first sight,’ said the Retired Army Colonel as he gazed at Nanny Piggins. (Nanny Piggins sighed. She knew she should not be angry with men for constantly falling in love with her, but it did grow wearisome.) ‘You should have seen her in the moonlight in her skin-tight yellow flying suit. She took her helmet off and shook out her chestnut brown hair, then turned to me and said – I’ll never forget the words – “Sorry to drop in on you like that. Here, would you like a slice of cake?”’
‘That does sound like me,’ agreed Nanny Piggins.
‘And the cake!’ gushed the Retired Army Colonel. ‘Yes, it was squashed from her landing but it was the most heavenly slice of vanilla whipped cream cake I’ve ever tasted.’
‘And how did this affect your relationship with Judge Birchmore?’ asked Boris.
‘It was over,’ said the Retired Army Colonel. ‘I thought I was in love with her but once I saw Nanny Piggins I knew the true meaning of the word “love”.’
‘Can we stop this now? I think I’m going to be sick,’ said Judge Birchmore.
‘Me too,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘Although that may be the six dozen lardy cakes I ate for breakfast.’
‘It is all immaterial anyway,’ said Judge Birchmore. ‘I am a professional judge, I would never let my personal feelings affect my judgements.’
‘Excuse me, your Honour,’ interrupted Henry the bailiff, ‘but that just isn’t true. You let your feelings affect your judgements all the time.’
‘Name one example,’ challenged Judge Birchmore.
‘Every time they serve fish in the courtroom canteen,’ said Henry, ‘you always get so incensed that you convict everyone on trial that afternoon and give them twice the usual sentence.’
‘Well, fish is disgusting!’ yelled Judge Birchmore. ‘Whatever sauce you put on it, it still tastes like fish.’
‘I can see why the Colonel prefers me to her,’ Nanny Piggins whispered to the children. ‘I think she’s got anger management issues.’
Boris confronted the judge. ‘You should have excused yourself from Nanny Piggins’ trial as soon as you realised she was the woman who stole the love of your life,’ he accused.
‘You can’t prove anything!’ protested Judge Birchmore. ‘I deny it all!’
‘But you didn’t, did you? You saw it as an opportunity for revenge, and you ruthlessly gave her a sentence 50 times greater than
the sentencing guidelines!’ Boris continued ruthlessly. ‘Don’t try to deny it – it’s the real truth, isn’t it?’
Judge Birchmore cracked, bursting into tears. ‘All right, all right, I admit I did it. I wanted to punish the pig for ruining my life.’
She went on to say a lot more but it was hard to understand what it was, because of all the sobbing and sniffing and blowing her nose that followed. (People who do not cry very often tend to overcompensate once they get started.)
‘Don’t worry,’ said Boris kindly as he patted the judge’s hand (because he was, at heart, a very lovely bear). ‘If you need a lawyer when Nanny Piggins sues you for wrongful community servicing, I’ll represent you. I’m sure I can get you off if we plead insanity.’
‘Here, here,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘You only have to look at her to see she desperately needs a slice of cake and a good lie down.’
‘Who is that bear?’ asked Mr Green, leaning forward to his children. ‘Where did he come from?’
‘Um . . .’ said Derrick.
‘The firm should hire him,’ said Mr Green. ‘He is a brilliant trial lawyer.’
And so it was Judge Birchmore who was led weeping from the court, while Nanny Piggins was set free. Her community service requirement had been reduced to the much more reasonable 200 hours, which was easily covered by the work she had already completed, so they all went home to celebrate by eating lots of cake.
‘Thank you, Boris,’ said Nanny Piggins as she handed her brother another generous slice of honey cake. ‘I’m so lucky to have such a wonderful and talented brother.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ blushed Boris as he burst into tears again. (He had been crying tears of joy all afternoon.)
‘How did you get to be so good at being a lawyer when you’ve only had half a semester at law school?’ asked Michael.
‘I think I’ve just got the knack for it,’ explained Boris. ‘Being a trial lawyer is a lot like doing ballet. When you do ballet you glide about while everyone watches you pretend to be a swan. And in the law you glide about while everyone watches you pretend to know what you’re talking about. It’s the same skill set really.’
‘You are certainly much better than Montgomery St John,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Yes, I know,’ agreed Boris. ‘That’s because I made sure I had plenty of chapstick in my briefcase.’
‘And Nanny Piggins, you will promise to stay out of legal trouble from now on, won’t you?’ pleaded Samantha.
‘I will try,’ promised Nanny Piggins.
‘Really?’ asked Michael.
‘Oh yes,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I know going to jail sounds like fun. Being locked up with all those interesting people should be like one big slumber party. But I don’t think I would like it because I would miss you three terribly.’
The children hugged her.
‘So I promise to be good,’ said Nanny Piggins.
The children sighed with relief.
‘At least until Thursday,’ added Nanny Piggins.
‘What happens on Thursday?’ asked Samantha, beginning to worry again.
‘Isabella Dunkhurst gets back from Botswana, so I figure I can relax a little bit then,’ explained Nanny Piggins.
The children hugged their nanny even tighter. They just had to accept that when your nanny is the World’s Most Glamorous Flying Pig, the chances of her being in trouble with the law are always going to be slightly higher than for normal people.
About the Author
R. A. Spratt is an award-winning comedy writer with fourteen years’ experience in the television industry. She lives in Sydney with her husband and two daughters. Unlike Nanny Piggins, she has never willingly been blasted out of a cannon.
To find more, visit www.raspratt.com
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Version 1.0
Nanny Piggins and the Pursuit of Justice
Copyright © R. A. Spratt
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
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Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
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National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Author: Spratt, R. A.
Title: Nanny Piggins and the Pursuit of Justice
ISBN: 978 1 74274 444 5 (eBook)
Series: Nanny Piggins; 6.
Target Audience: For primary school age
Dewey Number: A823.4
Cover illustration by Gypsy Taylor
Cover design by Christabella Designs
Internal design and illustrations by Jobi Murphy
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