Nanny Piggins and the Runaway Lion

by R. A. Spratt

  Nanny Piggins was just swooping back and forth, building up momentum, getting ready to do a backflip with a half pike, when the bus driver stopped the bus, got out of his seat, and started walking down the aisle toward her.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the bus,” said the bus driver.

  “Aww,” groaned all the other passengers.

  Nanny Piggins leaped off the swing, did a perfect double-tuck backflip, and landed gracefully on the middle of the last row of seats.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Yes, why?” chorused the passengers.

  “I haven’t been able to take on any new passengers for the last seven stops because no one is getting off. They are all enjoying watching your performance,” explained the bus driver. “And if I don’t drop off or pick up any passengers I’m going to get in trouble when I get back to the bus depot.”

  “Oh,” said Nanny Piggins. Normally she liked to buck authority, but a bus driver was not much of a figure of power, and she did not want to get him in trouble. “All right, but why do you have to throw us off the bus? Couldn’t we just sit in our seats like normal passengers?”

  “That won’t work. The other passengers still won’t get off,” said the bus driver, “because they’ll all want to get your autograph and have their photos taken with you.”

  “Is this true?” Nanny Piggins asked the other bus passengers.

  They all nodded. Nanny Piggins was by far the most fabulous person any of them had ever met on a bus, or anywhere else for that matter.

  “All right, I’ll get off,” said Nanny Piggins, “but I want a full refund on our tickets. If we are going to walk home, we will have to spend our fares on lollipops to recover from the ordeal.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much,” gushed the bus driver as he rushed back to the front to return the money for six tickets. (Even though there were only five of them, the bus driver had made Nanny Piggins buy two tickets for Boris because he took up two bus seats, which is the reason why the bus driver had become frightened of Nanny Piggins in the first place. She had spent a full five minutes telling him off for being species-ist and insensitive to an otherwise athletic bear who just happened to have big bones.)

  Anyway, that is how Nanny Piggins, Boris, and the children came to be walking home. It was not a long walk, but walks with Nanny Piggins always took longer than they were supposed to. She kept wanting to stop and look at things in people’s gardens, and sometimes go right into people’s houses to confront them about the things she had found. For example, she did not understand garden gnomes at all, so she was forever confronting the owners and demanding that they explain their affection for diminutive bearded men.

  On this particular occasion, they had been walking for just a few minutes when a sign in someone’s front garden caught Nanny Piggins’s eye:

  LAVENDER COTTAGE B & B

  VACANCY AVAILABLE

  Nanny Piggins had a flood of questions. “How is a cottage different from a house?” “Why is it called Lavender Cottage when it is clearly made out of brick?” “Are the bricks made of lavender?” “What is a B & B?” “Do two bees live there?” “Does that mean they sell honey?”

  The children struggled to think of the answers.

  “Um… it’s called a cottage because cottage sounds nice,” explained Samantha.

  “And the owner is calling it ‘Lavender’ because it’s got that tiny wilted lavender bush near the front door,” added Derrick.

  “And B & B means bed-and-breakfast,” explained Michael.

  “They’re selling beds and breakfasts?” asked Nanny Piggins. “What a curious shop. Still, it makes sense. Breakfast in bed is one of my seven favorite meals of the day. Really, when you think about it, it’s amazing more restaurants don’t serve meals in bed. It’s much better than eating at a table, because if you drop something it doesn’t fall on the floor, so you don’t have to wait until everyone is looking the other way to pick it up and eat it. You can just scoop it straight up off the bedding and put it back in your mouth.”

  “No, a B & B is not a restaurant or a shop,” explained Derrick. “It’s a type of hotel. You stay the night and breakfast is included in the price.”

  “Ooooh,” said Nanny Piggins. She liked any business transaction where breakfast was included.

  “And how much do they charge for this service?” Nanny Piggins assumed it could not be much. It was rude to ask a guest for money to stay in your home, and breakfast food was very inexpensive. She supposed the most you could reasonably charge would be one or two dollars.

  “About one hundred dollars,” said Derrick. (Mrs. Green had often taken the children away for the weekend and stayed in B & Bs before she had died, so he was quite the expert.)

  “One hundred dollars!” exclaimed Nanny Piggins.

  “More if it’s really fancy,” said Michael.

  “More? How fancy could it possibly be?” asked Boris.

  “That depends on how much potpourri they put in your room,” said Samantha wisely.

  “Hmm,” said Nanny Piggins as she stared long and hard at the sign. She did not say any more on the whole walk home, although she did borrow a pen and do a lot of arithmetic on the back of Michael’s shirt while muttering to herself things like: “We’re going to be rich, rich! Rich, I say!!”

  As soon as they walked in the front door, Nanny Piggins made an announcement. “Well, children, I’ve decided to open a bed-and-breakfast,” she declared.

  “Oh,” said Derrick.

  Samantha and Boris just burst into tears, and Michael ran forward and clutched his nanny in the biggest hug he could manage.

  “We’ll miss you,” said Derrick, bravely sniffling and trying to stop the tears leaking out of his eyes.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Nanny Piggins. “I’m not going anywhere to do it.”

  “You’re not?” asked Samantha.

  “No, I’m going to open my B & B right here in the house,” explained Nanny Piggins.

  “But what about Father?” asked Derrick. “He’ll never allow that!”

  “Pish! He won’t notice,” said Nanny Piggins. Mr. Green’s ability to not notice even very large things (for example, a ten-foot-tall dancing bear living in his garden shed) was really quite extraordinary.

  “But where will you put the guests?” asked Michael.

  “We can put two in the spare room, and another two in your father’s room,” said Nanny Piggins.

  “With Father?!” asked Samantha.

  “Of course not. We want our guests to have a pleasant time. No, I’ll make a place for Mr. Green on the floor of the broom closet,” said Nanny Piggins.

  “But what will you tell Father when he asks why?” asked Derrick.

  “What I always tell him,” said Nanny Piggins. “To stop asking questions and do as he’s told.”

  And so Nanny Piggins and the children set to work refurbishing the Green house. It did not take long because Nanny Piggins had a knack for interior decorating. They started by going to Mr. Green’s room and throwing out all his personal possessions (a broken comb, a jar of hair grease, and a book about tax law); they then moved on to painting the four walls with a giant mural of a flying pig dazzling a big top full of circus-goers. This completely transformed his bedroom from a dowdy, unpleasant place that smelled slightly of dirty socks into a glamorous boudoir where people could actually enjoy spending time.

  Next, Nanny Piggins turned her talents to the living room. It was full of old, musty furniture that Mr. Green’s great-grandmother had foolishly left unattended in her locked garage. The furniture had been hideous when it was brand-new back in the nineteenth century, so now it was both hideous and old. Obviously something radical needed to be done.

  Nanny Piggins decided to pay a visit to the retired Army Colonel who lived around the corner (and was deeply in love with her) and borrow some of his old parachutes from when he was a paratrooper. She then got Boris to drape the h
uge sheets of silk down from the ceiling, which made the room look like an indoor tent. Then she covered all the furniture with faux leopard-print velvet, which gave the house an exotic safari feel.

  Finally, Nanny Piggins dramatically improved the appearance of the front of the house by putting up a huge sign:

  NANNY PIGGINS’S B & B & S & C & C & MC

  VACANCY AVAILABLE

  “What does B-and-B-and-S-and-C-and-C-and-MC stand for?” asked Michael curiously.

  “Bed-and-Breakfast-and-Show-and-Cake-and-Chocolate-and-More Chocolate,” explained Nanny Piggins. “If I’m going to charge money, I thought I should throw in a few extra things to make it good value.”

  “That’s brilliant,” said Derrick.

  “Why would anyone want to stay anywhere else?” agreed Boris.

  “But surely Father will notice the sign,” worried Samantha. It was very large, and Nanny Piggins had used every color of paint in her paint box.

  “I doubt it,” said Nanny Piggins confidently. “Now we’re all set up. We just have to sit back and wait for our first guest.”

  Nanny Piggins’s B & B & S & C & C & MC was soon inundated with enquiries. There was a dental convention in town, and since dentists lead such dull lives, the idea of staying somewhere that offered a show—plus cake, plus chocolate, plus more chocolate—really appealed to them. (When you are a dentist, you can never really enjoy eating chocolate in your hometown in case one of your patients spots you, which is why dentists always love to go away to conventions, so they can binge on sugary foods.)

  By the end of the week, the B & B & S & C & C & MC was so full of visitors Nanny Piggins herself had to move in with Samantha to make another room available. And Nanny Piggins turned Mr. Green out of his office saying that he could not get in there for two weeks because there was a uranium deposit under the floor and he had to wait until it reached its half-life. (Nanny Piggins was sure that when it came to anything involving the exponential decay of radioactive material, Mr. Green, like most people, would be too proud to admit that he did not have a clue what she was talking about.)

  Amazingly, Mr. Green did not notice the sign on his front lawn, the parachutes in his living room, the cabaret show being performed in the kitchen every night, nor the seven extra people sitting around the breakfast table every morning (eating the most spectacular breakfast they had ever had in their lives) until they had been there for three days. And then he was too embarrassed to say something in front of strangers, when they were clearly such upright respectable citizens because their teeth were so shiny. Instead he followed Nanny Piggins out to the kitchen as she was taking away the plates (to fetch fifth helpings of triple-chocolate-fudge pancakes for everybody).

  “Um, Nanny Piggins,” began Mr. Green. “Perhaps you could tell me. Who are those, er… people sitting around the breakfast table?”

  “Mr. Green, shame on you,” scolded Nanny Piggins.

  “What have I done?” asked Mr. Green as he went bright red in the face. (He had done so many shameful things he was wondering which one Nanny Piggins was referring to. Mr. Green just hoped she did not know about the hedge fund he had set up using the money Mrs. Green had left in her will for the children’s education. Actually Nanny Piggins did know, but she thought a hedge fund was when someone put aside money to grow a row of bushes in the garden, so she was yet to appreciate the full wickedness of Mr. Green’s actions.)

  “Don’t you recognize them?” asked Nanny Piggins. “They are your cousins. They are paying you a visit.”

  “Well, throw them out!” exclaimed Mr. Green, totally aghast. “I don’t want relatives staying in my home!” As far as Mr. Green was concerned, it was bad enough he had to give house space to his children.

  “All right, if you insist,” said Nanny Piggins, turning back toward the dining room.

  “I insist,” insisted Mr. Green.

  “It’s just a shame when they’re so rich,” said Nanny Piggins.

  “What did you say?” asked Mr. Green as he leaped with surprising agility to block Nanny Piggins’s path. (Talk of money always brought out Mr. Green’s athletic side.)

  “They’re your rich cousins,” replied Nanny Piggins. “The ones who are thinking about leaving you all that money in their wills.”

  “Really?” asked Mr. Green. “Just how rich are they?”

  “Very, very,” said Nanny Piggins. “You see that woman over there?” Nanny Piggins pushed the door open a crack and pointed to one of the dentists. “The one eating strawberry jam out of the jar with her finger? Well, she told me she is so rich she never has to wear a pair of socks twice. When she takes them off, she throws them away. And the next day she puts on some brand-new ones.”

  “The decadence!” gasped Mr. Green. He personally wore every single one of his socks for years and years until they totally disintegrated and became just tangles of thread at the bottom of his shoes.

  “Still, if they don’t leave it to you, I’m sure all their money will go to another worthy cause,” said Nanny Piggins. “Perhaps the Cat Protection Society.”

  “Cats!” screamed Mr. Green.

  “Or the Home for Retired Circus Pigs,” continued Nanny Piggins.

  “Pigs!” squealed Mr. Green, before struggling to compose himself. “Um, Nanny Piggins, I think after all, since family is so important, we really must be hospitable to our cousins. Here, let me carry that food out to them. Don’t stint on the cream. We must keep them happy.”

  And so, not only did Mr. Green fail to notice that his nanny was running a bed-and-breakfast in his very own house, he also allowed himself to be tricked into becoming the unpaid bellboy, waiter, and errand runner, scurrying around after all the guests and fulfilling their every wish.

  “Where do you find such good staff?” asked one of the dentists, as Mr. Green lay rose petals at her feet to welcome her home after a long day at the convention.

  “The secret is the training,” admitted Nanny Piggins truthfully. “You have to be very strict. And if they’re naughty, don’t be afraid to give them a little smack on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.”

  Things were going very well. The house was full of guests every night, and Nanny Piggins had made many, many hundreds of dollars. Admittedly, she had not saved any of it. Nanny Piggins believed in investing money. So she invested all the profits into the breakfasts. And that investment paid dividends.

  The breakfasts Nanny Piggins served were by far the most amazing breakfasts eaten anywhere in the world ever. She had waffles flown in from Belgium every morning; the finest chocolatiers in Switzerland were custom-making a special breakfast chocolate to Nanny Piggins’s specifications (it was a chocolate that contained extra chocolate); and, of course, Nanny Piggins baked her own mouthwateringly good cakes. At the end of the meal, some of the dentists actually wept because the food was so good (and because they knew once the conference was over, they would have to go back home to their sugarless gum and gargling with fluoride mouthwash).

  Even Mr. Green was enjoying himself. Sometimes after he had carried a particularly heavy suitcase up three flights of stairs, or helped an overweight guest cut his toenails, or run into town to fetch an important chocolate delivery, one of the “cousins” would press a quarter into his hand as a thank-you. Mr. Green loved getting tips. He would rush to his broom closet and hoard it carefully in an old jar of silver polish.

  All in all, Nanny Piggins’s B & B & S & C & C & MC could not have been a happier place. Then one day, an important-looking envelope arrived in the mail. (You are probably wondering how an envelope can look important. Well, this one did. It was made of heavy cream-colored paper, the type that can give you a nasty paper cut if you try to open it by sticking your finger in the edge.) And inside there was a card that read: YOUR B & B HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO OUR ATTENTION AS BEING OF THE SUPERIOR VARIETY. A CRITIC WILL VISIT YOU SHORTLY TO ASSESS YOUR ESTABLISHMENT FOR INCLUSION IN THE MAXWELLIAN GUIDE.

  “You’re going to be reviewed by the Maxwel
lian Guide!” gasped Boris. “That’s wonderful.” (Boris knew all about Maxwellian guidebooks. His performance of Swan Lake had once been reviewed by a Maxwellian critic who said, “Boris the Bear’s portrayal of a dying swan was so beautiful it made me want to join Greenpeace and fight for swans’ rights.”)

  “It is?” asked Nanny Piggins. She had never heard of Maxwellian guides before.

  “If you get five Maxwellian stars, the B & B will be packed every night,” explained Boris.

  “It is already packed every night,” said Nanny Piggins.

  “Yes, but it will be packed with a different type of people—rich people. You will be able to charge them more,” said Boris.

  “More than a hundred dollars a night?!” exclaimed Nanny Piggins, struggling to wrap her mind around the concept. “What do you mean? One hundred dollars and fifty cents?”

  “No, more than that. If you have five Maxwellian stars, you could charge one hundred and twenty dollars!” declared Boris.

  Nanny Piggins had to sit down and dab her forehead. “But that is so much money. I wouldn’t dare.”

  “People wouldn’t mind,” Derrick assured her.

  “I heard one of the dentists say he would sell his house just for one of your chocolate éclairs,” said Michael.

  “And think what you could do with all that money,” said Samantha.

  “You could buy another shed for the garden and move Father out of the house entirely,” suggested Michael.

  “Or you could buy that catapult you’ve had your eye on,” suggested Derrick.

  “Or you could buy more chocolate,” said Boris, because he knew his sister best, so he knew which would be the most convincing argument.