“Mrs. Luccock!” she snapped. “You may now show Mrs. Loops to her room!” Then she firmly steered the remaining Porcus family, with peppermint-flavored Albert trotting happily beside them, through the front door. Mr. and Mrs. Porcus, quite unaware of the sudden frost in the air, seemed so relieved to have gotten rid of Aunty that they offered no resistance at all.
Emily remained hidden until Mrs. Meeching returned to her room and Aunt Twice, accompanied by Mrs. Plumly, had led the sobbing Mrs. Loops up the stairs. Too shaken now to continue her search for Tilly, Emily slipped noiselessly down the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. One person she did not want to see there when she arrived was Kipper, but she needn’t have worried about that. When she arrived, the kitchen was empty. A few fish scales still clinging damply to the grey sink were the only signs that the fishmonger’s boy had even been there.
SEVEN
Peppermint Peril
It was two days later when Tilly announced that she was to be taken shopping with Mrs. Meeching. “Y’r aunt’s to be busy baking cakes, so I gets to help Mrs. Meeching buy the groceries,” said Tilly proudly. She sounded as if she were actually going to have her opinion sought in selecting strawberries out of season, the limes and the lettuces, instead of merely going along to serve as a beast of burden, weighted down with Mrs. Meeching’s packages.
“And since I hasn’t the time to dust the parlor”— Tilly was all importance this morning— “you gets to do it today, Emily.” To Tilly, dusting the parlor was clearly an honor not to be bestowed on anyone else except in cases of direst emergency, or as in the present instance, simply if something better came along. She handed Emily a rag and flounced off to prepare herself for her big excursion, leaving Emily alone in the parlor.
Well, not quite alone, because, of course, there were some of the old people in the room as well. From having cleaned their rooms, Emily could now attach names to several of the sad, wrinkled faces. Mr. Bottle and his handkerchief were in the parlor. So was Mr. Popple with the ears so big and thin you could see light through them. Also present was Mrs. Biggs, who still wore spectacles stiff as cat’s whiskers perched on her nose, even though the glass in them had long since been lost—or stolen.
But for all useful purposes, such as conversation or company, Emily was alone. And though Tilly might have numbered dusting the parlor with other treasured gifts from her gracious benefactors, Emily didn’t see it at all in the same light. She did not like being in the parlor on her own and wanted to get the chore done as quickly as possible.
It was so very quiet in the room. So very dim. So very frightening to be stared at by unseeing faces and to be in the presence of two doors, closed like lids over baleful eyes, doors that could spring open at any moment. Except for an occasional honk from Mr. Bottle, who sat hunched in a chair to one side of Mrs. Meeching’s closed door, the parlor remained deadly silent as Emily’s dust rag raced over the tables.
She had gone no more than halfway around the room when suddenly Mrs. Meeching’s door swung open. Emily gasped, her hand frozen in midair, as Mrs. Meeching appeared dressed for shopping in a black coat and hat that made her look strangely like a snake attempting to masquerade as a lady. She hurried silently across the parlor and climbed the stairs toward Mrs. Plumly’s room, but in her hurry, she had left behind an open door! Through it Emily could see a blood-red carpet, heavy, blood-red velvet draperies shrouding the windows, and furniture that gave the impression of being dark, oversized headstones.
Then all at once, the silent parlor was shattered with an explosion of sound. Ker! Ker! Choo! It was Mr. Bottle sneezing. He dove into the pocket of his sweater to retrieve the rag that passed for his handkerchief. And Plop! Along with the handkerchief, a peppermint flew right out of the pocket and fell to the floor. But instead of stopping where it fell, it went rolling. And rolling. And rolling. It did not stop until it reached the dead center of Mrs. Meeching’s carpet where it lay blinking like a knowing, wicked red-and-white eyeball. “Come and get me,” it taunted, “anyone who dares!”
Thoughts, each one more chilling than the one that came before it, darted through Emily’s head. Mr. Bottle clearly had not seen or heard the peppermint fall. She could tell him about it, and no doubt have a Mr. Bottle instantly dead with fright lying on the parlor floor. If Mrs. Meeching saw the peppermint upon her return, she would immediately suspect one of the old people, and the most likely culprit would be Mr. Bottle, since he was nearest the door. There was only one thing to be done, and that was for Emily to go for the peppermint.
Dropping the rag on the nearest table, she flew swiftly to the open door. Then with her breath as solid in her throat as a lump of moldy bread, she tiptoed into the dreaded room. And then she froze. In that deathly silent parlor, any sound could be heard, but most especially the sound of footsteps. Mrs. Meeching, having completed her business with Mrs. Plumly, was on her way back to her room!
There was another door in that room, closed, and two large wardrobes, also with doors closed. But it was already firmly implanted in Emily’s mind that closed doors at Sugar Hill Hall were to be avoided like the plague. Besides, with Mrs. Meeching’s breath practically felt in the room, there was no time to
