Emily's Penny Dreadful (10 page)

  “
I’m trying to learn
barking,” said Emily. “That’s a language. Bertie’s teaching me.
What language is yours?”

  “
Latin,” said Uncle
Raymond.

  “
I’ve never heard of
Latin,” said Emily.

“
I’m not surprised,” said
Uncle Raymond. “Dead languages are not taught to juveniles these
days.”

  “
Why is it
dead?”

“
Because it was spoken by
the Ancient Romans, thousands of years ago. And there are no more
Ancient Romans left in the world.”

  “
Did they come from
another planet?” asked Emily. “Or are they like Ancient
Greeks?”

Uncle Raymond shook his head. “Grant me

patience,” he said. “Like
Ancient Greeks but not quite

so ancient.”

  “
What’s your book
going to be about?” asked Emily. “When it’s done? Ancient
Romans?”

  “
I haven’t decided
yet.”

  “
But you said you’re
writing it, in your head. Was that just a metaphor?”

 
Uncle Raymond sighed again, loudly. “All right,” he snapped.
“I’ll come clean, Emily
inquisitor
. It was a lie. I
am
not
writing a
book. I am not even
thinking
about writing a book. I will never write or think
about writing a book, ever again. Now, does that answer your not
one but several questions?”

 
Emily shook her
head. Uncle Raymond was getting close to yelling at her, she
thought. “None of those were actually the questions I was going to
ask,” she said. “They were just extra ones that came into my head
when you said you were busy.”

  “
Grant me patience,”
said Uncle Raymond a second time. “Ask your main question and be
gone.”

 
This time it was Emily who sighed. “This was my room, once,”
she said. “Why should
I
be gone? Why

don’t
you
go? Especially when you tell me
nothing but

lies?”

 
And she couldn’t
help it, but a few tears trickled down her cheeks.

*

Emily went back to her room
– Sibbie’s room – and sat at her desk - Sibbie’s desk - an almost
blank page of exercise book open in front of her. It was supposed
to be the next chapter in her book - Chapter 15 - the one in which
Miley was finally going to start working out how to escape from the
match factory. But because Emily hadn’t worked it out, neither had
Miley, so hardly anything had been written except a big fat
question mark and, since then, a few sentences that weren’t going
anywhere.

 
It was all very
upsetting.

 
Uncle Raymond’s
refusal to help her with ideas, or to tell Emily the truth, had
been the last straw. The two last straws.

*

Someone knocked on the door.

 
It couldn’t be
Sibbie. Sibbie would never knock on the door of her own
room.

  “
Who is it?” said
Emily.

 
The door opened. It
was Uncle Raymond. Emily thought he looked ashamed of himself. And
so he should, she thought.

  “
Hmm,” he said. “May
I come in?”

  “
I suppose so,” said
Emily. “You can sit on Sibbie’s bed if you want to. Mine’s too low
on the ground. Even lower than my chair. You might find it hard to
stand up again.”

  “
Thank you for that
advice.” Uncle Raymond sat down on the corner of Sibbie’s
bed.

  “
Is that your
writing book I see?” he asked.

 
Emily
nodded.

“
Hmm. I’ve come to
apologize,” said Uncle Raymond. “I’m sorry for the way I spoke so
sharply to you, and for lying.”

  “
I know that all the
best writers are liars,” said Emily. “It probably wasn’t fair to
expect you to tell the truth.”

“
Hmm. Well. Nevertheless,
those last questions you asked me were fair enough,” said Uncle
Raymond. “I know you would be much happier if your Aunt and I
weren’t taking up the space that rightly belongs to you. Believe
me, we feel the same. But we have no money

to live elsewhere, not with the cost
involved in

building ourselves a new home. Your mother
and father have been very generous to let us stay in their house
and you have been extra generous to vacate your room for the
duration. I spoke out of order and I’m very sorry to have upset
you.”

 
Emily sniffed.
“That’s okay,” she said. “I don’t really mind. Well, I do, a bit.
Well, quite a lot really, but it’s still okay.”

  “
Your aunt and your
mother both think I should assist you with your story,” Uncle
Raymond said. “The one you’re stuck on. I can see for myself that
you’re stuck. An almost empty page looks very much like a blank
computer screen.”

  “
It has a question
mark on it,” said Emily. “And a few sentences. But that’s as far as
I can get.”

  “
Perhaps if I don’t
have any ideas for my own writing, I might still be able to concoct
one or two for yours,” said Uncle Raymond.

“
Could you? Would you?
Really?” said Emily.

  “
I can but try,”
said Uncle Raymond.

  “
Well, this is
Chapter 15, the chapter where Miley

begins to work out how to escape from the
match factory. But it’s mostly blank because I don’t know

how
she escapes.”

  “
Let me read the
rest of the story first,” said Uncle Raymond.

“
You mean
read it
now
?”
asked Emily. “Don’t you want to take it away with you? It doesn’t
have to be wrapped in a freezer-storage bag.”

  “
I’m a fast reader,”
said Uncle Raymond.

“
I wish I was,” said Emily.
“Can you teach me to read fast? I could teach what I already know
about barking. It’s not that hard.”

“
Maybe. Later,” said Uncle
Raymond. “Story, please.”

 
Emily handed over
the exercise book, together with Uncle Raymond’s Penny
Dreadful.

  “
You can have this
back,” she said. “I’ve finished with it.”

“
Did you manage to read it
all?” he asked.

 
Emily nodded. “The
printing was very, very small,” she said, “but I finished it.
Twice. It was very

inspirational. I even did some creative
borrowing from

it, for my story.”

“
I’m impressed. Were you
very scared when you read it?” asked Uncle Raymond
curiously.

  “
No,” said Emily. “I mean I was, but not scared as in
scared
. It wasn’t real,”
she said. “And the police got there in the end. I want the police
to save Miley and the other kids in my story but I don’t know how
she can get to them for that to happen.”

 
Uncle Raymond began
to read Emily's story.

Chapter Fourteen

“
Hmm,” he said.

 
And, “hmm” he said
again.

 
And again. Several
times.  

“
This big-waisted man in
chapter four,” he said. “The one who bumps into Miley. He reminds
me of somebody.”

  “
It’s Millie, not
Mile-y,” said Emily. She turned a little red. She had sort of
forgotten about the big-waisted man.

 
Luckily Uncle
Raymond didn’t wait for an answer.

“
Might he be Miley’s – I
mean Miley’s - uncle, on his way to take over her room? The reason
why Miley has run away?”

“
Wow! I hadn’t thought of
that,” said Emily. “Of course he is!”

“
Hmm,” said Uncle Raymond,
his ‘hmm’ sounding more pleased than annoyed. He continued to read.
Very quickly. Emily was astounded. When he’d finished, Uncle
Raymond handed the book back to Emily.

  “
There are some
other interesting creative

borrowings in this tale,” he said. “Why did
you write a

story featuring a match factory when you
said the one you visited with your class gave you such
nightmares?”

“
I was trying to do what
you said the other day. Trying to write things better.”

  “
Ah. It was clever
of you to work out what I meant by that.”

  “
I kind of knew
straightaway,” said Emily. “The kids who worked in the real match
factory, the ones I learnt about, couldn’t get away, but I want
Miley and Ned and the others to escape. They can do it for
them.”

  “
Well, Emily, it
seems to me that you have solved your dilemma. The seeds of Miley
and Ned’s escape are already planted in the story. You planted them
there.”

  “
Are they?” said
Emily. “Did I?”  

“
Indeed. It’s clear. Let me
ask you some questions to prove my point,” said Uncle Raymond.
“Just for a change.”

  “
I don’t mind,” said
Emily.

“
Are there only children
working in The Devil’s Element?”

  “
Yes.”

  “
Who packs the boxes
of match boxes?”

  “
The kids
do.”

  “
I know they count
the matchsticks and put them into small boxes. I meant, who puts
the small matchboxes into the bigger boxes? The ones lined up
against the wall.”

 
Emily chewed her
lip. “I don’t know. The kids as well, I suppose.”

  “
But do they
have
to? Next question. What happens to these big
boxes?”

  “
I don’t know that
either.”

  “
Just so. It would
repay some serious thought,” said Uncle Raymond. “Next question.
Through which door did Miley enter the match factory?”

  “
The Inward Goods
Only door,” said Emily. “You see, I’ve been past places which say
exactly that. “

  “
Allow me to
suggest, then, that if things enter the match factory they must
also leave it.”

  “
Uh huh,” said
Emily. “But what about Pork Pie?”

  “
What of him?” asked
Uncle Raymond.

  “
How do Miley and
Ned get past him, even if other stuff does?” Emily asked.
 

“
Do they
need to get past
him
?” replied Uncle Raymond. “What is the opposite of
Inward
? Now, I think
I’ve given you more than enough assistance. The rest is for you to
work out. As I’ve said, the solution to your writing dilemma is
already written into your story. That’s often the way it is with
stories, I find. Now, ask me
your
question,” said Uncle Raymond, “the one you came
to ask me before I made you cry. I shall use my best endeavours to
answer it.”

  “
Promise?”

 
Uncle Raymond
nodded.

“
Auntie Dot said I should
ask you about the fire,” Emily said.

“
The fire?”

  “
That’s exactly what
Auntie Dot said. The fire that burnt your house down,” said Emily.
“I asked her how it happened and she said to ask you.”

 
Uncle Raymond rubbed
his chin. “Did she indeed,” he said.

 
Emily
waited.

 
With some
difficulty, Uncle Raymond stood up. He paced up and down the room,
from one side to the

other. Emily followed him with her eyes. It
was like

watching a tennis ball in
slow motion.

  “
The fire was an
accident,” Uncle Raymond began.

 
Emily nodded. “I
know. You told me. What exactly did Auntie Dot do?”

  “
What exactly did
she do? I don’t understand.”

  “
I mean, how did she
start the fire?” said Emily.

 
Uncle Raymond
stopped pacing and stared at Emily. “Auntie Dot didn’t start the
fire!” he exclaimed. “She had nothing whatsoever to do with it.
What on earth makes you think she did?”

“
She didn’t want to tell me
how it started,” Emily said. “So I thought she must have started
it. Accidently, of course. When I burnt my favourite dress, I
didn’t want to say, either.”

  “
You shouldn’t
create fictions like that,” said Uncle Raymond.

  “
Fictions?”

  “
Stories,” said
Uncle Raymond. “Made-up things.”

  “
I know that, but .
. .” began Emily.

  “
Yes, yes, I can
guess what you are about to say,” Uncle Raymond interrupted. “You
and I are both in the business of creating fictions, but there are
some

stories that shouldn’t be made up. Stories
that we tell

ourselves are true but which, in fact, are
not.”

  “
So how
did
the fire start then?” said Emily. “If it wasn’t Auntie Dot
who started it?”

  “
You are a
persistent child and the longer I stay here the sooner you will
drive me to an early grave,” said Uncle Raymond.