Emmy and the Home For Troubled Girls by Lynne Jonell

Author:Lynne Jonell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Random House Australia
Published: 2008-03-02T16:00:00+00:00

Inside the shoe shop, Peter Peebles gazed gravely at the broken glass strewn on the floor of the second-story sitting room. Then he gave Mrs. B a long, measuring look. “And this is the reason you assaulted Mr. Capybara?”

“He broke it! He kicked that ball right through my window!”

“Who? Professor Capybara?”

“No, that little fat boy!” Mrs. B pointed a long, red-lacquered nail at Thomas, who had taken refuge behind the door.

Peter Peebles’s face grew stern. “No personal attacks, if you please. Emmy and Thomas, step out of the room for a moment, will you?”

Emmy grabbed Thomas’s hand and scooted out onto the second-floor landing. “Did you see it?” whispered Emmy.

“What? The crate of flowerpots?”

“The dollhouse on the table—it had a sign. ‘The Home for Troubled Girls.’”

Thomas put his eye to the crack by the door hinges. “I see it! What did the professor say when you showed him the note?”

Emmy stood up, startled. In all the excitement over the broken window, she had neglected to tell the professor about the message from the girls. And now, of course, he was asleep. She put her hand in her pocket and felt the note, no longer damp. Were they in the dollhouse this very minute?

Mr. Peebles’s courtroom voice, deep and authoritative, carried past the half-closed door. “You have already acted very foolishly over this incident. It is altogether possible that Professor Capybara will want to press charges. Furthermore,” he added loudly as Mrs. B began to protest, “I am now going to see if the professor was badly hurt by your assault with a”—he coughed—“well, let us say with a leather weapon.”

“It was a purse!”

“Deadly indeed, in the right hands,” intoned Mr. Peebles. “And if you don’t want him to call the police and charge you with assault, I’d suggest you come with me and beg him to accept your apology.”

“Me? Apologize?” Mrs. B sounded outraged. “What about my window? What about that delinquent boy?”

Emmy took her turn at the crack between the door and the jamb. Mrs. B’s yellow face had turned a furious tomato red. Mr. B, looking somewhat desperate, was trying to soothe her and placate Mr. Peebles at the same time. Emmy caught apologetic fragments— “Now, honey bunny … Now, my dear sir, don’t be hasty … Precious lambkin, maybe we should …”

Emmy and Thomas backed quietly into the shadows as Mr. Peebles strode out of the room. He was closely followed by Mrs. B, who was clawing at his arm, and Mr. B, who was holding her around the waist. The whole heaving group went down the stairs as one mass and out the door.

Emmy darted into the room and peered inside the dollhouse. “Anybody home?” she called softly.

The dollhouse was empty. Thomas got on his knees to search below the table while Emmy picked her way through the glassy shards to the window. Mr. Peebles and Mr. and Mrs. B were on their way across the green. The professor was still stretched out on the park bench.

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