The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy (26 page)

The old Magistrate then pointed his bellow at the Policeman. ‘Constable Landscape, I believe it was you who, with complete disregard for your own safety and Well Being, did arrest these two Urchins. Please describe the offences with which these Ragamuffins are charged.’

The Policeman stood up and bowed to the Magistrate.

‘Well, Mr Magistrate, sir,’ he said. ‘The boy is charged with Stealing and Consuming an Apple without a Licence. And the girl – well, where do I start? Annoying the Inhabitants and Palpitating a Parson by Virtue of Improper Dress, Aiding and Abetting the Theft of an Apple . . .’

The Magistrate suddenly looked less grumpy. ‘All hanging
offences, in my book!’ he chuckled. ‘Oh yes, it is surely my lucky day!’

‘And there’s more,’ continued the Policeman. ‘Owning an Animal with an Offensive Collar. Belonging to a Very Secret Society without a Very Secret Society Licence . . .’

The old Magistrate glared at Betty. ‘Enough! I can see immediately,’ he said, ‘that the Improper Dress violation is proven, and I hope our Parson recovers his Well Being very soon. Tell me, why do you wear a man’s trousers, girl Urchin? Very tight trousers at that. And a strumpet’s blouse.’

‘They’re jeans!’ exclaimed Betty. ‘And a tee shirt!’

‘I’ll have you address me as sir!’ boomed the Magistrate. ‘And what utter mumbo jumbo you talk!
Jeans
indeed. And as for this secret society, tell me about it, boy Urchin. Or is it a secret?’

Daniel leaned forward. ‘Sire, we’re proud to be known as . . .’ – he paused for dramatic effect – ‘The Secret Five!’

The Policeman laughed quite an official laugh for a Constable. The laugh from the other people in the courtroom was raucous yet unofficial. The old Magistrate frowned and waited for the laughter to fade. He looked at Betty, then at Daniel, then back to Betty. ‘What is Education coming to these days? Do you not do Arithmetic in week school? You two are five? What does this mean?’

‘Sir,’ said Betty. ‘Two of the others are back – or is it forward – in the twentieth century. The other one is a mere dog who was quite cleverly pretending to cower under a table but is now probably launching a daring rescue attempt and will burst through that very door at any second and carry us off with barely a thought for his own safety.’

A general murmur murmured around the courtroom and out of a handy window. Everyone turned their heads to stare at that very door, waiting for Whatshisname to daringly burst into the room and carry off the two children with barely a thought for his own safety.

After a few minutes of waiting and murmuring, some people began to imagine, quite correctly, that Whatshisname was still cowering under a table somewhere, and that bursting into courtrooms and carrying off two children with barely a thought for his own safety was extremely low on his agenda for the day compared to licking his bottom.

The Magistrate grunted, then hammered his trained Magistrate’s fist on the desk, which quivered and shook quite a lot.

‘Enough!’ he bellowed. ‘And I do not know what you were all waiting for, as I believe that the mere dog will soon be in the safe hands of a typical Victorian Taxidermist. In his imminently inert state, methinks, thoughts of a daring rescue attempt are quite fanciful.’

The children looked at each other. ‘That sounds bad news for Whatshisname,’ whispered Daniel. ‘And yet, it might be an improvement. I suppose we could take it in turns to carry him about. And we could always consider a wheel at each corner.’

‘But he’s been my faithful doggy!’ said Betty. ‘I owe it to him . . . I think. We need to launch our own daring rescue attempt, to attempt to rescue him daringly!’

‘How?’ moaned Daniel.

‘I’ll think of something,’ she replied, and began to think very hard inside her head.

‘Hush!’ boomed the Magistrate. ‘Enough of all this hard thinking. And, may I say, where else can you think if not inside the head!’ He glanced up at the ceiling and sighed. ‘Now, Urchins, let’s get down to business. Do you two have any character witnesses? If not, I’ll get straight to the bit I enjoy, the hanging verdict. Where on earth did I leave my little black cap?’

The children were stunned and quite worried, especially Daniel who looked even closer to sliding into a bout of street-talk.

‘Please, sir,’ pleaded Betty. ‘Two things. First, we need to be excused for a while, as we have to launch a daring rescue attempt, which probably won’t take too long. Secondly, we’re obviously
both stunned and quite worried that we have no character witnesses. Not one. All our friends are in 2010, you see. Or 1964. Or 1980.’

The people in the courtroom laughed another unofficial laugh. The Magistrate frowned importantly at the children. ‘You keep mentioning this preposterous notion of time travel,’ he boomed. ‘Is not it a fact of imagination? Can you prove it? For instance, Urchins, can you tell me things about the future? Hmmm?’

‘Well, sir . . .’ Betty said, trying to remember her history lessons, ‘in the future there will be such things as . . . such things as . . .’ She turned to Daniel. ‘How many world wars have there been since 1880?’

Daniel smiled a silly smile and shrugged a big shrug with his very own shoulders. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Sha up! Don’ be a noobee! Mos’def a deuce, siso’mine! Innit?’

The Magistrate leaned forward and squinted at Daniel. ‘Is the boy speaking in tongues?’ he enquired. ‘Shall I call for the Parson?’

Betty was about to slap Daniel but thought that Slapping a Boy without a Licence might be added to the growing list of crimes, so she didn’t.

‘Please, sir,’ she said. ‘He’s frightened, that’s all. His vocabulary becomes utterly strange when he’s scared, you see. Maybe you can say something to unscare him, sir. Or I could slap him. Personally I prefer the slapping but it’s your choice. Take a moment.’

In which the postman wears a pink bonnet; there is a brief exchange regarding aspects of pension planning, which everyone should consider from an early age in these days of economic uncertainty; a terrible thing happens, but not until much later, probably in another chapter.

The Magistrate looked slightly unsettled by the sudden and unannounced chapter break. ‘Stay calm!’ he boomed at the spectators, who looked as though they might panic and stampede at any moment. ‘It is, apparently, merely something called a chapter break. Constable Landscape warned me about them. He fears that the Urchins might use them as a cover to escape. Watch them both very closely indeed, Constable.’

The Constable leaned forward and glared very closely indeed at the children as the Magistrate continued his booming. ‘I think the people should decide about the slapping of the boy!’ he announced, in a rare fit of democracy. He looked around at the Victorian people in the courtroom. All of them looked very eager to take part in the proceedings. ‘Those in favour of a hearty slapping, say
aye
!’ the Magistrate boomed.

Now, it might be recalled that revenge is a dish best served hot enough to burn the roof of a mouth quite badly when the opportunity next arises. Grudges are shameful, to be avoided, but unfortunately the people in the court responded to the Magistrate’s request in a big way. ‘Aye!’ they all shouted. The postman from chapter one ayed particularly loudly in his relentless but futile search for stardom.

The Magistrate held up his hand to stop the loud ayeing and pointed a fierce glare at Betty, at the same time raising his
substantial Victorian eyebrows as if to say
what are you waiting for?

Betty shrugged.

‘Sorry again, Daniel,’ she murmured. ‘This has to be the last time, surely, so I’ll try to make it very special.’ Then she slapped him really hard!

‘Ouch!’ he moaned, holding a hand to his rather red cheek which now matched his rather red ear. The people in the court cheered loudly! Hurrah! They threw their caps and bonnets high into the air! Hurrah again!

After a few more minutes, during which the people clamoured and mingled and bartered to try and recover their caps and bonnets, some quite unsuccessfully it seemed, the Magistrate called them to order. The postman, a rather fetching pink bonnet perched on his head, looked particularly pleased with his new headgear.

‘Now,’ said the Magistrate. ‘Where were we? Ah, yes. You were going to tell me things about the future to prove that you are indeed time travellers. Well?’

Daniel rubbed his cheek and looked quite sulky.

‘I don’t know anything about world wars,’ Betty said. ‘That sort of thing isn’t something we are supposed to know, as it would really ruin our adventures. But we did hear that some men flew to the moon.’

The people in the courtroom sniggered and tittered. Betty heard muttering of
fanciful talk
and
talking through her bottom
.

Daniel, despite his utter grumpiness, thought that he would try to help his sister. ‘Sire!’ he shouted above the tittering and sniggering. ‘I’ve remembered something from the future! I do know that they lay sleeping policemen across the roads to slow down traffic, because Uncle Quagmire is always complaining about them and drives as fast as he can over them!’

Constable Landscape gasped a huge gasp then fainted in a big heap on the floor, which managed to break his fall. Several concerned people gathered round and started to kick him.

‘Stop this Victorian courtroom fiasco!’ boomed the Magistrate. ‘Constable Landscape, I demand that you awaken and recover from your fainting fit at once, otherwise I will make you a Ward of Court. Awaken! For we will need you for some penetrating dialogue very soon, I fear.’

Daniel looked at Betty for inspiration as Constable Landscape struggled to his feet, vowing never to fall asleep again in case he was carried off somewhere for horizontal traffic-control duties. Daniel sensed that Betty was having trouble thinking of something that might impress the Magistrate. He had to think fast!

‘Podcasts!’ he exclaimed.

The Magistrate frowned. His frown spread quickly around the courtroom and back again like a trapped Mexican wave.

Daniel quite cleverly sensed the wave and realised that he had to think of something else. ‘Blogs?’ he offered hopefully.

Betty kicked his ankle.

‘Blogs?’ the Magistrate repeated, and frowned an even bigger frown. ‘Are these podcasts and blogs undergarments of some kind? Can’t you think of something of greater importance to mankind?’

‘Erm . . . Twitter?’ Daniel said. ‘Or Eminem?’

The Magistrate appeared to be becoming rather more grumpy than normal. ‘Bah! If you cannot think of something really impressive, Urchin Number One, I will have no option but to . . .’ ‘SERPS!’ Daniel interrupted, suddenly remembering a time when Uncle Quagmire talked to him at some considerable length about the urgent need for pension planning from the age of three.

Betty turned and pointed quite a big glare at Daniel. ‘Serps? Silly boy!’ she scolded. ‘How is a social disease of the twentieth century going to help us out of this predicament?’

‘Yes,’ added the Magistrate. ‘I agree. What is this
serps
? Is it highly contagious?’

‘Sire, it’s State Earnings-Related Pension Scheme,’ Daniel replied, quite eagerly for a boy facing the death penalty, or worse. ‘It’s to provide employed people with additional pension, but they
can contract out of SERPS if they have a PEP or an occupational pension, apparently. It’s really only for Wrinklies and Crumblies. I’m not too sure about all the small print, though. And it might have all changed since I was three.’

‘Wrinklies and Crumblies?’ asked the Magistrate. ‘This is very confusing. What are those, pray?’

‘Sir, they’re very
very
old people,’ said Betty, quite enthusiastically joining the SERPS debate. ‘You know . . . queue busters . . . stair-lift pilots . . . shredded-wheat-face . . . old people, a bit like yourself.’

‘What?’ the Magistrate boomed. ‘All the insolence does not help your cause, Urchin Number Two, and makes me boom a lot. And, boy Urchin, is this your way of proving that you are from another time? Perps and seps and twittle indeed! At this rate I will increase the sentence with a jolly good ticking-off before the hanging!’

‘Please, sir,’ pleaded Betty. ‘Ignore him. He’s just not very clever.’

Betty suddenly and quite dramatically remembered Sampson’s autobiography. She turned to Daniel. ‘Daniel,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve had an idea that must rate amongst the top ten best ever Secret Five ideas! Why don’t we show him Sampson’s autobiography?’

‘Good idea!’ said Daniel. He plunged his hand down his trousers.

The people in the courtroom gasped! ‘Clerk of the court,’ boomed the Magistrate. ‘Note that the boy is feeling about within his trousers, will you? Stop that at once! Or I will add Unauthorised Licentious Behaviour without a Licence to the list of charges!’

Daniel stopped that at once.

‘Why have you stopped?’ Betty said.

‘I’ve lost it!’ Daniel moaned. ‘It must have been when we were dragged here! And, to be honest, I don’t want unauthorised lice . . . or whatever he said, added to the list of charges, do I? I just want to go home!’

‘Hush at once, raggedy Urchins! Let us get back to my perfectly reasonable request for a character witness,’ said the Magistrate. ‘If you have not brought one along with you, is there anyone in the courtroom that you have seen before?’

Daniel and Betty looked very carefully around the room. ‘The policeman?’ offered Daniel, adding ‘Ouch’ as Betty kicked his ankle again.

‘Good!’ said the Magistrate. ‘Constable Landscape! Good to see you have been obliging enough to recover from your fainting fit in order to partake in some meaningful dialogue. Can you vouch for the characters of these two cheeky lying thieving Urchins?’

‘Well,’ said the Policeman, leaning forward in eager anticipation of his moment in the spotlight, ‘much as it grieves me to say so, for they have been a part of my life for over three chapters now, and it would hurt me so to see them whipped enthusiastically and then incarcerated for years or hung by the neck until fairly dead, but there comes a time when you have to protect the Victorian Public and tell the truth about such unruly Urchins. I only wish that those ASBOs were available . . .’