Chapter Twenty-Three

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The Muddles of Daff Maud Bunkum, or, The Adversary Worm

Mr. Peveral Murkin had disappeared. “He said he was going to spend a penny,” said Ermentrude Pinkley, “but that was over two hours ago. Do you think something happened to him?”

“His bilberry tart is looking distinctly poorly,” commented daff Maud Bunkum, eyeing Mr. Peveral Murkin’s place setting and twittering her fingers in a worried fashion. “Not only is it grey round the edges, but it is being attacked by midges.”

“Perhaps,” Ermentrude continued, quite ignoring her friend’s culinary disquietude, “he fell in and accidentally flushed himself down the drain.”

Daff Maud refused to be swayed from her subject. “I think I shall be forced to eat the silly thing any minute, and I don’t even like bilberries. It’s the principle, you know. How can I allow it to go to waste when there are starving children living inside the southern boundary wall?”

“I think I shall have a look in the lavatory,” said Ermentrude, abruptly rising from her chair and surveying the room. “If he’s stuck he may need our help.”

Daff Maud drew the plate of neglected bilberry tart closer to her and gazed at it sadly. “Starving children always make one feel so helpless. Just like fudge.” She paused for a moment and then looked over to Ermentrude’s chair for moral support, but it was empty. Ermentrude Pinkley was nowhere to be seen.

“And now SHE’S gone as well. AND she’s left her cream cake.” Daff Maud, overwhelmed by the responsibility, burst into tears. She drew an enormous yellow handkerchief from her pocket and honked her nose into it.

While Daff Maud Bunkum was eating the food from the plates of both Mr. Peveral Murkin and Ermentrude Pinkley and coming to terms with a new life alone and without the boon companionship of her dearest and oldest friends, tasks she was performing at one and the same time and without the benefit of professional advice, Ermentrude found herself standing at the end of a long queue in The Bank (like so many denizens of a discerning temperament, she availed herself of the services of B. R. Throttle & Co., Bankers and Usurers To The Gentry, commonly referred to as ‘The Bank’. The only other financial institution in The Bog, Smiley Beamish’s Happy Money, Ltd., was generally given a wide birth by those who had learned to read without moving their lips). It really was most annoying. Ermentrude had rushed from her corner table in Begonia Throttle’s Tea Cosy, leaving at least two-thirds of her lovely, fresh cream cake on the plate (“I just know Maud will eat it, even though cream cake gives her hives”). She had gone directly to the lavatory, which was located in a small shed around the back of the café. Finding the door locked, she’d knocked politely three times, but to no avail. After an additional knock, this one somewhat louder, had failed to elicit a response, Ermentrude had put her mouth to what she thought was a crack in the door (but which was actually a sleeping worm who was most put out at having been disturbed) and called out. “Peveral dear, it’s Ermentrude Pinkley. Are you in there?” Immediately there followed a great thumping and thrashing about, as well as what was presumably a startled and desperate cry for help (or so it seemed. The door was solid oak and a good fifteen feet thick; therefore, aside from the beating of her own heart, she had actually heard nothing at all).

Ermentrude Pinkley opened her copious handbag and rummaged for a few frantic minutes. “Don’t tell me,” she cried, “I came out of the house without a penny!”

After accosting a number of passers-by, all of whom ran away screaming, and being arrested on suspicion of committing a “heinous act of robbery with thuggish intentions” by Police Constable “Bobby” and his partner, Police Constable “Nobby”, she found herself, bound, gagged and caged, before Chief Justice Sir Humbart Pincer-Pettigrew (still the father-in-law of Dorothina Flumpe, who, once again, proved to be invaluable when testifying for the prosecution). Sir Humbart, who despised weakness and prayed nightly for a return of ‘The Cane’, refused to allow Ermentrude Pinkley to testify on her own behalf and sent her down for an indeterminate length of time. “In my experience, I can only say that the gravity of this despicable and heinous crime defies reason and is utterly beyond belief. The accused must be punished, punished severely, unceasingly and without end. I therefore place this black cap upon my feverish brow and wash my hands,” at which point, a small boy carrying a very large basin full of scented water and with a towel draped across his right arm, appeared at the judge’s side. Sir Humbart dipped his fingers, wiped them dry in the boy’s hair, and immediately wandered off the bench and disappeared through a door, which had mysteriously materialised in the panelled wall directly behind his chair.

“Well, that’s that,” whispered Ermentrude’s brief, out the side of his mouth. “You’re done for it and that’s a fact. All that’s left is for you to come back tomorrow morning for your execution. Beheading all right? Or would you prefer having to sit next to Owld Missus Mingus MacLeary at Friday Night Bingo?

Ermentrude Pinkley thought for a moment before answering. “Beheading please, if you don’t mind.”

“Much the more satisfactory choice, for all concerned. Would half ten be suitable, or would you prefer eleven o’clock?

“Eleven, if you don’t mind,” Ermentrude replied. “Begonia’s fresh cream cakes are out of the oven at half ten and it takes her at least eight minutes to add the finishing touches.”

“I shall make a note of that,” said the brief, who had never given his name, and seemed not to have much of a personality, prompting Ermentrude to comment to herself, “I wonder if I shall recognise him when we meet? He is so very thin and puny he could disappear at any moment. And then where would we be?”

The brief waited politely until she had finished speaking to herself before continued. “All you have to do is to leave your name, address and description with the clerk, and he will issue your invitation.”

“I know where I have seen him before!” proclaimed Ermentrude Pinkley with an air of triumph. “He was having a nap on the lavatory door and I mistook him for a crack.”

“Well,” huffed the brief, “that was completely uncalled for. You’re lucky I didn’t testify against you!”

“But you did, and as my legal representative I found it MOST reprehensible!”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” whined the brief with a cheesy grimace, “you are a convicted felon and, by rights, should not be sitting on my lap!” He paused and adjusted his wig, which had taken on a life of its own and was investigating one of his pockets. “You should be thankful the court is issuing an invitation to the likes of you.

“Invitation? What is all this about an invitation?” screamed Ermentrude, standing up suddenly (for she had not realised she was using her brief as a cushion) and becoming increasingly confused.

“Why, for your execution! Don’t you know anything? Haven’t you been listening?” replied the brief, totally aghast.

“But what if they change their mind and uninvited me?”

“The last time The Chief Justice changed his mind was in 1918, and even then it was a mistake,” he replied, adding judiciously, “you should be advised it is quite an honour to receive an invitation. Without it, you will not be allowed in, so I advise you to see the clerk this very minute before he goes to lunch. Afterwards, he is liable to be quite drunk and will have forgotten who he is.”

“Oh dear, oh, dear,” gasped Ermentrude Pinkley, though only to herself, “and to think I have just seen him leave the building!”

“In that case, my dear,” scolded the brief, “you are completely done for and will lose your place in the queue!” Huffling and snorting, he rescued his wig from his left ear, adjusted his robe (which had sought out the nearest breeze and was dancing vigorously to its exotic, Latin rhythms), and dashed out the front door to catch a taxi.

Left completely alone in the cavernous courtroom, Ermentrude Pinkley took a moment to get her bearings, and then shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, well,” she sighed, “perhaps I shall be invited again sometime in the future.”

***
It had gone half-past three by the time Ermentrude Pinkley had joined the queue in The Bank, waited for the elderly gentleman in front of her to cash his cheque (for some reason he was having difficulty in persuading the ink to adhere to the paper long enough to be read by the clerk), and withdrawn the single new copper penny she needed for the necessary rescue of Mr. Peveral Murkin from the lavatory. “Poor Maud will be quite beside herself by now,” she worried. “After all, I had intended on leaving her side for only a minute or two, long enough to check on Mr. Peveral Murkin. I do hope she has not succumbed to hysteria or has gone looking for me. The last time she did that, she walked as far as The Big House, and we had ever so many problems rescuing her from the cats.”

In fact, on this occasion Daff Maud Bunkum had behaved quite sensibly. When neither of her friends seemed inclined to return to the table, she simply ordered ten of everything on the menu from Mrs. Begonia Throttle and consumed the lot. This was quite unusual for her (she was not known for her appetites), but having no idea as to what she should do or what was expected her, it occurred to her that eating a great quantity of Begonia’s splendid pastries and cakes and sandwiches was a splendid plan, and one that should please her friends, should she ever see them again.

All those beautiful cakes, however, made Daff Maud feel quite unlike herself. “Why am I so sleepy,” she asked herself, before sliding off her chair and landing softly in a heap under the table. “I wonder where I am now and if anyone will find me,” she mused, before adding, “I do believe someone is heading in my direction this very minute.”

And sure enough, three very large, round gentlemen were at that very minute walking towards her, two of them in an exceedingly determined fashion and the third lagging behind. “He reminds me of me,” Maud murmured sleepily, “He’s trying to hide behind them,” at which point she yawned several times and closed her eyes. “Please introduce yourselves when you reach me,” she sighed happily. “You may leave your cards under my chin.”