The Girl In the Cave Read Free Page B

you kill them? Then you could let go of the ones you don’t need for your collection.”
    Uncle Dermott paused with his magnifying glass halfway to his face, a dangerous glint in his eye.
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œIt’s just that if you let them go, they could make more butterflies for other people to look at …”
    Uncle Dermott lowered the magnifying glass again, placing it carefully on the black velvet.
    â€œSince when were you permitted to tell me how to organise my collection?”
    Kate didn’t answer.
    â€œYou stupid little girl. You, who wouldn’t even be able to tell a Danaus affinis from a Argynnia cyrila presume to tell ME what I should and shouldn’t do?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Uncle Dermott.”
    â€œSORRY! It’s far too late for SORRY my girl.”
    And he grabbed Kate by the ear, pulled her across the room to the cupboard, and shoved her into the cramped, dark space, closing and locking the door behind her.
    â€œYou can wait in there and think about your manners. If I hear a single peep out of you I’ll pour a bit of chloroform under the door and we’ll see what happens to you then! ”
    And so poor Kate crouched in the cupboard, careful not to bump into Uncle Dermott’s nets and books. There was a musty smell and not enough room to sit down, or to stand up properly. Outside Uncle Dermott muttered as he classified the rest of his catch. It seemed to take hours and hours until, finally, his footsteps crossed the room and the door was flung open.
    â€œRight, then. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
    â€œYes, Uncle Dermott.”
    â€œGood. And the next time you think you can tell me how to collect butterflies, I imagine you’ll keep your ideas to yourself.”
    â€œYes, Uncle.”
    â€œNow get out to your cave. It’s very late and I want my breakfast ready on time.”
    Since that night, Kate had never spoken to Uncle Dermott unless she absolutely had to. And so now, every Sunday night, she stood silently and watched as he flicked one dead butterfly after another into the bin. Most weeks he threw out all of the butterflies that had been killed. Occasionally though, when he found a specimen that he wanted, he whooped and leapt around the room, shouting at the top of his lungs, something like this:
    â€œA Geitoneura acantha ! I knew I’d find one of these eventually!”
    And when he was done cheering, he’d write up a label in neat printing, and then remove a small container of gleaming steel pins from the bottom drawer of his desk.
    â€œRight, then. Girl! Bring me the fifth display case in the back room.”
    Kate would hurry to whatever room she was directed to. All of the walls in the house were lined with display cases, each filled with rows and rows of tiny butterfly bodies pinned onto special felt cushions. Each case had a number, and after finding the right one, Kate would very carefully lift it from the wall and carry it back to the study. She hated to think what would happen if she ever dropped one.
    â€œGood. Now, watch carefully.”
    Uncle Dermott always made her stay to watch the pinning, and in a way this was the part of the whole thing that she hated the most.
    He would place the creature down carefully on the black felt, using his tweezers to re-arrange the wings so that they looked natural and lifelike. Picking up one of the long steel pins he would slowly, very slowly, poke it through the middle of the tiny, limp body and into the cushion. A special glue held the butterfly wings on the cushion, so that they wouldn’t flop down when hung on the wall. Finally, he would spray the little creature with special preservative out of an aerosol can, and stick the label in place.
    â€œExcellent!” he’d say. “I’ll need to catch another next week so that I can display the underside as well.”
    And so it was. Every Saturday morning Kate bathed her fat