Emily's Penny Dreadful Read Free

is
called a Penny Dreadful,” he said. “It’s so old that when it was
printed it cost only a penny . . .”
      “ Older than
you?”
      “ By far?”
      “ How old are you,
Uncle Raymond?”
    “ That’s a personal matter,”
said Uncle Raymond. “I don’t discuss personal matters.”
      “ What’s a penny,
then?”
      “ A very small amount
of money. Like a cent.”
    “ That’s
a very small
amount of money,” Emily agreed.
      “ The story inside
this magazine is exactly as the title describes.
Dreadful.”
      “ Then why haven’t
you put it in the recycling bin?” Emily asked.
      “ Because, although
the story is dreadful, I find it
    highly entertaining and, furthermore, this
magazine is very valuable.”
      Emily chewed her
lip, puzzled. “You said it was only worth a penny.”
      “ That was nearly a
hundred and fifty years ago,
    which is how old this magazine is,” Uncle
Raymond
    said. “Today it’s value is considerably more
than a single penny.”
      “ Enough to buy you a
new house?” asked Emily, hopefully.
    “ No,” said Uncle Raymond.
“Unfortunately not.”
      “ That’s a big pity,” said Emily.
    Uncle Raymond nodded. “For
once, I think, we are in agreement,” he said.
      And they both pulled
faces.
     

Chapter Four
     
    “ I lost my favourite dress
in a fire,” Emily remembered, “but it was my own fault.”
      Uncle Raymond looked
startled. “How was it your fault?” he asked.
      “ I lit a match,”
said Emily. “It was just a small match,”
      “ Matches are nearly
always small.”
      “ But they make big
flames,” said Emily.
    “ That’s true,” said Uncle
Raymond. “What happened?”
      “ It’s a personal
matter, said Emily, “but I don’t mind telling you. Mum and Dad said
I should never light matches.”
      “ Rightly so,” said
Uncle Raymond.
      “ Of course, it
happened when I was only seven,” said Emily. “I know how to do it
properly now. Not that I want to anymore. But, when I was seven, I
did want to light one, so I did and my dress caught on
fire.”
      “ Good heavens!” said
Uncle Raymond. “I don’t remember hearing about that. Were you
injured?”
      “ Not me,” said
Emily. “Just my dress. It was ruined. I
    wasn’t wearing it at the time. It was
hanging on the washing line. On the middle wire that sags. Do you
know which one I mean?”
    “ No,” said Uncle
Raymond.
      “ It doesn’t matter,”
said Emily. “I was outside with the matches. I lit one too close to
the saggy wire and accidently set my dress on fire. It was my
favourite dress. I know I’ve already said that, but it
was.”
    “ It’s
hard, losing things,” said Uncle Raymond, slowly . “Especially things that are
important to you. But what made you want to light a match in the
first place?”
    “ It’s a long story,” said
Emily. “Well, longish, anyway.”
    “ Can it wait for another
day then?” asked Uncle Raymond.
    “ I suppose so,” said Emily.
“But you did ask.”
      “ Hmm,” said Uncle
Raymond. “I don’t know why, but I did. I should sit down,
then.”
    “ You can sit on my chair,”
said Emily.
      Uncle Raymond sat
heavily on an Emily-sized chair. “Proceed,” he said.
    “ Well,” said Emily, with a
very anxious glance at her
    chair, “when I was seven our class went to
visit the
    match factory.”
      “ I didn’t know there
was a match factory in this city,” said Uncle Raymond.
      “ There isn’t,” said
Emily.
      “ Then how . .
.”
      “ It used to
be a match factory,” Emily explained. “A long time ago. Before I
was born. It’s a big building made of red bricks. We were taken
inside for a look and somebody talked to us about it and showed us
photos of what it was like.”
    “ That sounds very
educational,” sighed Uncle Raymond.
      “ It was. We learnt
heaps,” said Emily. “Do you know what the red stuff on top of
matches is called? I do.”
    “ So do I. It’s