The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy

by John Lawrence

  ‘I thought you were lost for words,’ observed Daniel.

  ‘I am supposed to be!’ she snapped. ‘In fact, I have never ever been so lost for words . . . ever! And, to illustrate that fact, I’m now going to be sullen and silent for a while, if you don’t mind. Boys!’

  Sullenly and silently, lost for words, they followed the strange man. At one point, Daniel stopped to pick up an apple that had fallen from an apple tree that overhung the lane, but he didn’t offer Betty a bite as she had been so nasty to him. That would teach her.

  Eventually they rounded a convenient bend in the lane, where the strange man stopped and pointed ahead with his walking cane.

  ‘Children, or whatever you are, do you see that house with the chimneys? It almost looks like a castle, does it not? That is where the Squire lives. Mrs Wells is his housekeeper and maid and does other menial skivvying duties. They often take in random Urchins off the street. Lord only knows what becomes of them after that.’

  Betty and Daniel stopped alongside the strange man.

  ‘It’s stopped raining,’ said Daniel.

  Betty looked at him. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘So what?’

  Daniel shrugged. ‘I just thought I’d say it. People have to know.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Betty. ‘I would have said it in a more subtle way, more sub-textual. But well done for thinking of it.’

  Daniel smiled at Betty, who smiled back. They were pals again. Whatshisname looked up at them both and tried desperately to join in all the smiling activities, but it could easily have been mistaken for a severe bout of canine indigestion.

  Then, after all the impromptu smiling, they stood and looked at the house. Suddenly, unexpectedly, it seemed very familiar indeed.

  ‘Gosh! It looks very much like the house that Uncle Quagmire was brought to when he was kidnapped,’ Betty said.

  ‘I think it might be,’ agreed Daniel. ‘But it looks newer, somehow.’

  ‘Of course it’s newer!’ said Betty. ‘It’s over a hundred years ago, isn’t it?’

  ‘A hundred years?’ scoffed the strange man. ‘What are you talking about? It was built quite recently, with help of funds from the Penny Arcade Commission.’

  ‘What a coincidence!’ Daniel said. ‘The time machine bringing us back to the same place.’

  ‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname wearily.

  Betty sighed. ‘Do think, Daniel! You don’t consider the bigger picture, do you? It’s not really a coincidence. With budgets so tight these days, he’s saving money by re-using the same set and location, you see.’

  ‘Woof woof woof!’ said Whatshisname, which meant ‘that’s what I said! Give me some credit!’

  ‘I never thought of that,’ said Daniel. ‘You are so clever, Betty.’

  ‘In fact,’ said Betty. ‘If you hadn’t pointed out the fact that it was the same house, we might have got away with it.’

  ‘Children!’ snapped the strange man, waving his walking cane. ‘I must get you to safety before you die of consumption. Hurry!’

  As they followed the man through the gateway they remembered how, earlier that day (which, incidentally, was proving to be a very long one), it had been the entrance to a top secret government establishment, and they had had to sneak behind the big red truck that roared and rumbled.

  The strange man stopped walking. ‘Ah!’ he said. He looked worried and even more strange.

  ‘What?’ said Betty, feeling that she knew what was coming.

  ‘I feel that another one of those confounded breaks is almost upon us,’ he said perceptively. ‘They are so tiresome, don’t you think, Urchins?’

  Chapter Twenty Four

  In which we meet a thirteen-year-old boy; we sense a nagging feeling of interminability and want this story to end right now; but hey, things are looking up, as canine taxidermy is mentioned, fleetingly; a chamber pot issue rears its fairly ugly head; Daniel is brutally murdered in his bed.

  ‘Yes,’ said Betty. ‘They are. And sometimes absolutely pointless.’

  ‘Quite. Ah, look, see there?’ said the strange man, pointing his Victorian antique cane at a Victorian antique boy sitting on a doorstep. ‘That looks uncommonly like Mrs Wells’ boy sitting there. Perchance he must be visiting her. He is thirteen, if you are at all interested in that fact.’

  They weren’t at all interested but, carefully, they approached the thirteen-year-old boy on the doorstep. He was eating a sandwich rather heartily. The strange man pointed his walking cane at the boy as they approached. ‘Herbert! Is your mother inside the Big House?’

  The boy stood up. To be honest, he did look a lot like a Herbert. He was dressed in three-quarter-length trousers on his four-quarter-length legs, a brown peaked cap, a velvety jacket, and a white shirt with a big stiff collar around his big stiff neck. ‘No, Mr Parson sir,’ he said. ‘Mama is out shopping for food for the Master’s larder. But she will return very soon, I expect.’

  ‘Then listen, young Herbert,’ said the man quite sternly. ‘Fix your attention on what I say, as I have to go back home and attend to my confounded bunions before they spontaneously ignite. When your mother gets back tell her that the Parson says that she has to look after these two Urchins, to give them some porridge and hot peas, and a cold bath every day until they are strong enough to play unaided at Strip Hopscotch in the lane. As for the wretched dog, well, maybe she could be stuffed as a trophy for the Drawing Room.’

  Whatshisname looked quite glum at the thought, and his mournful eyes began to water a little as he tried to imagine exactly how the stuffing might be accomplished. He decided to sit quite still to prove that he could be a motionless dog without being subject to the stuffing process.

  The Parson herded them towards the boy. ‘There you are then, and please do not thank me, as it would only cause me to feign much embarrassment and I would have to give a lengthy speech about Duty and Moral Obligation. Now, Urchins, wait here with young Herbert until his mother returns, otherwise I will have you put into the workhouse with all the other ne’er-do-wells!’

  The Parson turned and hurried away, anxious to get safely indoors before any more Urchins fell unannounced from the heavens, and to avoid the acute discomfort of another sudden chapter break.

  The thirteen-year-old boy sank back down onto the step. Whatshisname had noted the sandwich in his hand. He recognised a begging opportunity when he saw one, so he cast aside any thoughts of getting stuffed and trotted up to Herbert. Daniel did the same, and they both sat staring at the boy, their heads cocked, their noses a few inches from the boy’s face, both willing him to hand over the sandwich.

  ‘Hello dog,’ the boy said. ‘And hello strangely-dressed boy and girl. Which one of you smells of creosote and pineapple?’

  ‘It’s him,’ said Daniel, hurriedly pointing at Whatshisname.

  ‘Woooooof,’ Whatshisname said, quite weakly and pathetically.

  ‘It’s a him?’ queried the boy, looking rather curiously at Whatshisname. ‘Really? Nice collar, anyway.’

  ‘Are you Herbert?’ Betty asked the boy.

  Herbert nodded his head. ‘I think so. They all call me Bertie, but I don’t know why.’ He looked up at Betty. ‘You look quite unseemly for a mere girl,’ he said. ‘Where is your woollen vest, and why aren’t you sewing or playing a piano or making lacy doily things for the parlour?’

  Betty scowled back at him politely but made a mental note to find out more about doilies in case they might be useful for some of the more audacious Secret Five exploits.

  ‘I’m Daniel,’ said Daniel to Bertie. ‘The scowling girl is Betty. And she does look unseemly, doesn’t she? But she’s family, so leave her alone. You hurt my family, you hurt me.’

  Bertie looked warily at him.

  ‘To be honest, I seem to have developed a family wasting condition,’ moaned Daniel. ‘It’s food-related and . . .’ He stopped talking as Bertie wolfed down the rest of his sandwich as quickly as he could.

  ‘Ne
ver mind, eh?’ mumbled Bertie through a mouthful of sandwich. Whatshisname snuffled around in the gravel for crumbs, and Daniel thought of doing the same.

  ‘We should wait for Mama downstairs in the scullery,’ Bertie suggested. He stood up and opened the door. ‘Follow me,’ he said, leading them inside the Big House, which was, not surprisingly, a typical Victorian Big House.

  ‘Mama will return soon,’ Herbert bravely predicted as they went down some steps into the scullery. ‘But please make yourself at home on some typically Victorian scullery furniture and then explain why you are dressed in all this futuristic attire, and why your dog is wearing that collar. I’m going to be a draper’s apprentice, eventually, so I know all about clothes and collars, you see. And I am also quite gifted. Apparently.’

  They wrinkled their noses as they entered the scullery, as it smelled strongly of gutted fish and steaming clothes. In one corner was a great big sink which, coincidentally, had several corners of its own. A big tin bath hung facing the wall. Daniel assumed that there was no water in it.

  Whatshisname bravely flopped down at Betty’s feet as they sat around the long scullery table. Daniel and Betty explained very carefully about The Secret Five, stunt nuns, and how they had travelled back in time. Herbert was quite enthralled, in a Victorian sort of way, and made lots of notes in a Victorian notebook. But, just as he was becoming slightly more than quite enthralled, his mother returned, dragging a huge dead pig behind her. As she stepped into the scullery she was dressed in a long dark dress with a frilly white collar, which presumably she had been dressed in before stepping into the scullery.

  ‘Gosh!’ said Betty loudly. ‘Is that a typically Victorian cloak you’re wearing?’

  ‘Oh yes, my dear,’ said Mrs Wells. ‘Fancy forgetting to mention that! Now, judging by his somewhat frenzied and detailed description of this young lady’s attire, I assume that you are the time-travelling Urchins and their faithful dog that the Parson just mentioned to me in the lane, to save us going through the excruciating agony of the and who are you? dialogue.’

  ‘We are indeed,’ said Daniel, very politely. ‘But first things first – do you have any food, by any chance? I have recently contracted a food-related condition from my family, you see. I need a regular infusion of jam tarts and that sort of thing.’

  Mrs Wells laughed quite a short laugh for a woman of her height. ‘I do have some food,’ she said. ‘After all, this is a scullery. But you understand that it is commonly understood in these Victorian times that jam weakens a child’s moral fibre, so it will just be bread and Dutch marge, with some sherbet on hot peas to follow.’

  ‘Oh, Mama!’ moaned Bertie. ‘Can we first go outside and play Funerals? It is not very often I make new friends, and I usually have to be the cortege and the Parson and the mourners and the body all at the same time, which can be so tiring. It is quite exciting having new friends to play with.’

  His mother became quite stern. ‘Now I’m quite stern . . . apparently!’ she said. ‘For one thing, Bertie my lad, where are your grammatical sensibilities? New friends to play with indeed! You should know that a preposition is something you should never end a sentence with. A writer you will never make, that I am certain of. And another thing, you are not going out this time of day, oh my dear Lord no! I have a Housemaid’s reputation to consider. And I did not breast feed you with my own nutritious milk until you were eight-years-old just for you to go off and die of Excitement or Exhaustion while playing outside. I want you fit enough to fight and die a heroic but gruesome death for the British Empire. Besides, it is time for your cold bath and for you to clean out my chamber pot, young Bertie. It has been building up for some three days now.’

  ‘Oh, Mama!’ cried Bertie. ‘Very nice monologue, can I say, but please do not make me do such things. If only Father were here.’

  ‘Don’t dare speak of him,’ scolded Mrs Wells. ‘If it weren’t for his wretched fixation with cricket, we would be together still, I declare. And ’tis because of his lack of money management skills that I find myself in this skivvying Predicament.’

  ‘But Mama!’ said Bertie. ‘I was about to ask these strange children if I could join their Secret Five secret club. I could write all about it one day and make you pots and pots of money! Enough so that you do not have to work your fingers and thumbs to the marrow being a housemaid here at Squire Humphrey de Lylow’s house.’

  ‘Woof woof woof!’ said Whatshisname, sitting up and suddenly becoming quite animated for a trainee stuffed dog.

  ‘Daniel?’ said Betty, in a grown-up manner. ‘Bertie can join our secret club, can’t he?’

  ‘Woof!’ said Whatshisname. He nudged Betty with his nose.

  Daniel looked quite sullen. ‘Must we invite everyone to join?’ he mumbled to Betty. ‘I’m rapidly losing count of how many members we have.’

  ‘Woof woof!!’ said Whatshisname, nudging Betty’s leg a bit harder.

  ‘Stop nudging my leg a bit harder, Whatshisname!’ scolded Betty. She turned to Daniel. ‘Daniel, it’s in our interest for him to join. We might well need his help to . . .’ She paused.

  ‘Why have you paused?’ Daniel whispered. ‘Is this yet another dramatic device?’

  ‘Woof?’ said Whatshisname.

  ‘I paused because I thought Bertie mentioned the name de Lylow,’ Betty said.

  ‘Woof,’ sighed Whatshisname.

  ‘I did,’ said Bertie. ‘The de Lylows own this Big House. Can I join The Secret Five? Please? I’ll let you be the corpse when we play Funerals in the lane. You don’t have to be embalmed, it’s your choice.’

  ‘But de Lylow! Surely not,’ said Betty. ‘It can’t be. Daniel, have you still got Sampson’s autobiography?’

  Daniel reached a hand down his trousers and pulled out the book. Mrs Wells looked truly aghast, as she knew that Storage Of Books Within The Crotch Area was a criminal offence punishable by a very stiff fine indeed.

  ‘Here it is!’ Daniel said, not noticing Mrs Wells’ aghastness. Betty cautiously took the book, put it down on the table in front of her, and started to scan through the first chapter. Suddenly she stopped, shrieked, then pointed to something on a page. She frowned at Daniel, blew the page, then continued to scan the chapter until she found what she was looking for.

  ‘Here!’ she exclaimed. ‘It says on page twelve that his great-great-grandfather was Squire Humphrey de Lylow!’

  ‘Gosh!’ said Daniel. Then he frowned. ‘Who?’

  Mrs Wells stopped whatever she was doing at the time and, instead of doing it, began to talk. ‘What’s this nonsense?’ she asked. ‘Squire Humphrey de Lylow is a young man, not yet thirty-two-and-a-half years of age, so how can he be a great-great- grandfather?’ She laughed. ‘Unless you really are time-travellers, of course! Which would be plain ridiculous. No-one has yet thought of such a thing and it really is scientifically impossible.’

  ‘But Mama!’ exclaimed Bertie. ‘Of course they are time-travellers! Would not a dog in this state have been sent off to a convalescent home in Weston Super Mare in Victorian times?’

  ‘Herbert George Wells!’ scolded Mrs Wells. ‘Don’t vex me so! Stop all this talk about time travel. You do fill your head with such nonsense. It will never get you anywhere!’

  ‘Sorry, Mama,’ said Bertie, who had just had a sudden urge to write about these time travellers, but now realised that he would have to keep yet another of his urges a deep dark secret from his mother.

  Betty was now truly engrossed in the book.

  ‘We don’t have to stop another conception, do we?’ Daniel asked her. ‘It was all so tiring and confusing.’

  ‘Shush! I’m truly engrossed in the book,’ said Betty thoughtfully. ‘And no, I don’t think we do. It says here that he emigrated to America in 1880 to start a new life, after a disastrous fire at his mansion ruined him whilst he was away in London.’ She looked at Mrs Wells. ‘Please Mrs Wells, has he had a disastrous fire yet?’

  ‘Disastrous fire indeed
!’ said Mrs Wells. ‘Impossible! Squire de Lylow has all sorts of Precautions here at the House. He employs one Person for each Candle that burns, and they have to watch to make sure it does not cause such a disastrous fire. Do you know, now you mention it, I started here as a Candle Watcher, but was soon promoted to Chief Wood-Louse Catcher before being demoted to Under Chief Housemaid. I never got over that. Anyway, the Candles are lovely when they burn brightly, and the gentle glow of the incandescent lights in the shards of silver seem to gleam in the bubbles that sparkle in our tumblers.’

  ‘Hmmm, good stuff, Mama!’ murmured Herbert, scribbling something in his note book and secretly wondering what the word stuff actually meant.

  ‘And another thing,’ Mrs Wells said. ‘The Squire has had Paraffin Lamps installed in the Best Rooms, and they are as safe as safe can be, compared to . . . compared to . . . erm, not having any Paraffin Lamps.’

  Betty and Daniel weren’t at all convinced about the Candle Watchers, and Very Confused about the use of All The Capitals. Betty didn’t know whether to show Mrs Wells the autobiography to prove that there really was going to be a fire that would cause the Squire to emigrate to America but, before she could decide, Mrs Wells’ dialogue continued remorselessly.

  ‘Now,’ she said, firmly yet softly. ‘I am going to prepare a nice cold bath for you dear Children. I suppose I should use the old tin bath that’s hanging on the wall now it has been mentioned as a prop, but I am sure the Squire will not mind me using his Special Bathing Facilities while he is away in London. Get completely undressed, all of you, and I will be back down quicker than you can say compassion fatigue.’

  Betty was quite shocked. ‘I’m not taking my clothes off in front of anyone, especially in front of boys!’

  ‘Oh, please do!’ pleaded Bertie. ‘I am earnestly seeking ways of destroying my self-respect and every little helps.’

  ‘I will!’ Daniel said in a strangely eager tone.

  ‘Er . . .’ said Bertie.

  ‘Woof woof woof?’ said Whatshisname.

  Just then, much to Daniel’s disappointment, they heard a commotion from upstairs. ‘What’s that commotion from upstairs?’ Mrs Wells said. ‘My my, if I’m not greatly mistaken, it sounds like the voice of Samuel Landscape, the fairly local Policeman.’