Free Emily's Penny Dreadful by Bill Nagelkerke

Emily turned over on
her mattress, pleased that for once she had managed to have the
last word.
    *
    The next day, Uncle Raymond’s door - the
door to Emily’s room - was shut again. Ever since Emily had tried
to cheer him up with the nice story of Gran and the ice cream,
Uncle Raymond had kept the door closed whenever he was supposedly
writing, or supposedly thinking about writing. He came out for
breakfast, lunch and tea, and sometimes he and Auntie Dot went for
a walk, or talked on the phone to lawyers,
    architects and builders. The rest of the
time, however,
    he preferred to be by himself.
      Emily listened outside the door of Uncle Raymond’s
room. Her room.
She didn’t hear the sound of a keyboard being tapped. All she heard
was the sound of silence.
      Feeling brave, or
daring, or something in between, she tapped on the door.
       She knocked a
second time.
    “ Uncle Raymond?” she said,
not too loudly but not too quietly either.
      She heard Uncle
Raymond get up from his chair. Her chair. It’s creaked more loudly
than ever.
      The door
opened.
      “ Yes?” said Uncle
Raymond, looking down at Emily.
      “ I have another
question for you,” Emily said.
    Uncle Raymond sighed. “What
have I done to deserve this inquisition?” he asked. “I’m
busy.”
      “ Are you really writing a new book or are you completely stuck?” said Emily.
“I know you said that all writers are liars but, for once, tell me
the honest truth.”
      Uncle Raymond
hesitated. For a moment he looked
    as flustered as Auntie Dot had been the day
before. “In
    my head,” he replied at last.
      “ Still?”
      “ Still. Festina
lente .”
      “ What does that
mean?”
      “ It means hurry
slowly . A book written quickly is not
always the best book to have written.”
      “ Is that
English?”
      “ Certainly not. It’s
another language altogether.”
      “ 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