[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman (25 page)

There was laughter and approval from the Grange Gang. Wilf swelled his chest and grinned to show them he was fearless.

The younger boy drew in a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. “The dare is this. If I'm in the almshouse more than two minutes, you've got to come in and get me out.”

Regina spoke out scornfully. “Huh, anything you can do, Wilf can do as well. If you're not scared, he certainly isn't!”

More murmurs of approval arose from the gang: They had every confidence in their leader. Unfortunately Wilf did not share their belief. He found himself wishing he had not started the whole business of silly dares.

Ben interrupted his thoughts. “It's almost midnight. Shouldn't we all get over to the almshouse?”

Regina cast him a wilting glance. “We? You and your dog can do what you like. Coward!”

The Labrador shot his master a thought. “Shall I nip her ankle?”

The boy patted his faithful friend. “No need to, things are working out quite nicely, pal. Alex is a great actor.”

They crouched to one side of the rickety iron gate behind a lilac that grew over the fence. Regina looked at her watch. “It's turned twelve. Get moving, you!”

The young boy opened the gate and crept hesitantly toward the door of the almshouse. There was a titter from the gang as Regina called out in a loud whisper. “Go on, he won't eat you, I don't think!”

Reaching the almshouse door, Alex paused, then raising his hand, he knocked faintly twice.

The door flew open and there was Jon, looking like something out of a nightmare. He had a blanket wrapped about his shoulders like a flowing cloak, flour on his face, lampblack underneath his eyes, and two Brazil nuts hanging down from his upper lip like fangs. Laughing madly, he grabbed Alex and pulled him inside, slamming the door shut. The effect was startling. Led by Wilf and Regina, the Grange Gang fled screaming across the square. Ned went around the back like a dark streak, cutting off their way through Evans Tea Shoppe's alley by blocking off the far end. Ben and Amy came dashing across the square in the gang's wake, effectively penning them in the narrow alley. Ben tipped Amy the wink. “You tackle Wilf. Leave Regina to me!”

Amy pushed her way through the melee of milling gang members and found Wilf standing paralyzed in front of a snarling Ned. She grabbed the big boy by his shirtfront and shook him. “Get back to the almshouse and help my brother! You were the one who thought all this up and dared him. Come on, I'm going to see that you carry out your end of the dare!” She began to drag Wilf away from the wall that he was huddled against.

Everyone saw it, Wilf Smithers collapsed to the ground, clutching his bandaged hand and blubbering like a baby. “Waahahaah! I'm sick, my hand's hurting, let go of me, please, I want to go home. Waaaaahh!”

Regina had been scrambling her way to the back of the gang, intent on escaping into the square, when Ben grabbed her hand. “What about you going to help Alex? You were the one calling all the names. Why don't you take the dare for Wilf?”

She broke out in tears. “It wasn't anything to do with me! It was all Wilf's idea, he said we should do it!”

Ben called to the others. “Amy and I are going back to the almshouse. You lot run and get some help. Fetch a policeman, quick!”

The mention of police involvement sent them all stumbling past the big black Labrador and off into the darkness, crying.

“My dad doesn't even know I'm out!”

“I'm not going to any police station!”

“Nothing t'do with us, it was Wilf!”

Ned let them go. Amy planted her shoe firmly against Wilf's bottom and shoved him on his way. “Get out of my sight, coward!”

Ben released Regina, and she shot off sobbing. In a trice the alley was deserted, save for Amy, Ben, and his dog. The sound of bolts being withdrawn from Evans's side door caused Ned to melt back into the shadows. A light went on, throwing a golden shaft across the alley. Blodwen Evans's huge nightgowned figure appeared in the open doorway. She was holding a hooked window-blind pole and holding on to her mobcap, squinting at Ben.

“Indeed to goodness, what's all the row out here, boyo, eh?”

Ben flicked at his tousled hair and smiled disarmingly. “Sorry about the noise, Miz Evans. My dog's got loose and I was out calling for him. I don't suppose you've seen him?”

A gruff bark from nearby sent the boy running off, followed by Amy, who was calling. “Here, Ned! Good dog! Here, boy!”

Mrs. Evans shook her head as she closed the door. “I 'opes they get him, I need my sleep!”

THE OLD SHIP'S CARPENTER AND ALEX had cocoa made for Ben, Amy, and Ned as they entered the almshouse through the back window. They related what had happened in the alley, the younger boy and Jon roaring with laughter at Amy's impression of Wilf sobbing and wanting to go home, hugging his injured hand.

Ben sipped his cocoa and winked at Alex. “Wait'll they find out tomorrow that you faced the Mad Professor and lived to tell the tale. I don't think the Grange Gang or Wilf will ever bother you again, Alex. It was great to see how you went at the bully and had him bawling in front of his own gang. They'll respect you and your sister from now on.”

Alex put his empty mug down. “But only because of you, Ben.”

The blue-eyed boy patted Alex heartily on the back. “Nonsense, mate, all I did was suggest a thing or two. The rest was you, having confidence in yourself. Isn't that right, Ned?”

The dog nodded. Jon looked over the rim of his cocoa mug at him. “I suppose that was his collar itching him again, eh, Ben?”

The strange boy's eyes twinkled. “You supposed right, mate.”

Alex was beginning to feel sleepy; he blinked. “Supposed what?”

The black Lab leaped to the window frame, followed by Ben, who chuckled. “Supposed to meet at the library first thing in the morning, so we can have a word with Mr. Braithwaite. G'night, pals. Jon, will you see Amy and Alex get home all right?”

Ben and Ned vanished into the night like twin shadows.

Amy stared at the empty window space. “There's something rather odd about Ben. It's almost as if he and Ned are magic. What do you think, Jon?”

The ex-ship's carpenter wiped the last of the lampblack off with a damp rag. “Ben's no more magic than you, me, or Alex. He's just good, aye, and clever. He's certainly taught me a thing or two, as old as I am. Come on, mates, I'll walk you as far as your house.”

“Not quite as far,” Alex replied. “Leave us at the end of the lane, we've got to sneak in by the pantry window.”

Jon's craggy face broke into a smile. “See, you're learning fast, pal!”

 

 

At breakfast next morning Hetty the maid brought the post into the dining room. She placed it next to Obadiah Smithers's plate, bobbed a brief curtsy, and left.

Mrs. Smithers cast a worried glance at Wilf's empty chair. “Poor Wilfred, perhaps he's stayed in bed because he's still feeling poorly. I'll tell Hetty to take him a tray up.”

“No, you won't, madam!” Smithers slit an envelope vigorously with his egg-stained breakfast knife. “Let the young whelp stay abed until he's hungry enough to get himself down here and take his place at table. Confounded fool, punchin' a wall of all things, losing to a lad half his size. Oh, I've heard all about it from Reggie Woodworthy, Regina told him. Can't hold my head up in the village! Man with a great, strappin' son who doesn't know the difference between the other fellow's nose and a schoolyard wall. Huh!”

Maud Bowe helped herself to a boiled egg and tapped the top daintily with her spoon, remarking caustically, “About what anyone could expect from that silly oaf.”

Smithers slammed the letter down on his side plate, cracking it in the process. He glared at Maud.

“Keep your opinions to y'self, missie. It's not your place to criticize my family while you're a guest in my house!”

Sensing another verbal battle, Mrs. Smithers withdrew from the room quietly. She would take Wilfred a tray herself.

Maud thrust her chin out defiantly at the older man. “Sir, an oaf is an oaf, in any circumstances, more so when he is a bad-mannered oaf. That is my opinion, like it or not!”

Smithers, pretending not to hear, sorted a letter from the small pile of mail and tossed it across the table. “This is for you, young lady, from your father by the writing.”

She took a nail file from her pocket and slit the letter neatly open, her eyes blazing at Smithers. “Sir, I give you your proper title. My name is Maud, you may address me as Maud, Miss Maud, or Miss Bowe. I resent being called missie or young lady. I trust you will refrain from such expressions in future!”

Smithers pretended to read his letter; he tapped it with his knife. “From the county planning office, final approval of compulsory purchase of Chapelvale lands two days from today. Providing, of course, that no majority property holder turns up with deeds to more than one section. Huh, even old Mrs. Winn can't argue with that, she can only prove the ownership of her own house. She has no papers for that almshouse ruin, or any other land. I've made sure of that, got a friend in the official search office, y'know. Look, there's a formal notice with this letter, to be posted in the square. I'll remove the old one an' put this one up, eh. How's that for progress? Well, what's your father got to say?”

Maud folded the letter carefully and placed it on the table. “He says that the four men I asked for should be up by the evening train tomorrow. He has paid them expenses and money for the train tickets—”

Smithers's explosion cut her short. “Well, I'm damned if I'd pay 'em a bent penny, missie. I've already told you what I think of your proposal, sending toughs and blaggards up from London. What'll happen if they're found to be connected to this venture? I'll be ruined, and so would your father and his fancy London partners. Then where'll we all be, eh? Answer me that, m'dear!”

Maud's normally sallow pallor grew ashen with temper. “I'll tell you . . . Smithers! You'd be sitting out here at the end of some rural backwater with your fiddling little business. This is a big venture, that's why you're in with a proper London company, and doing quite well out of it, too. My father's company often uses the methods he needs—legal or not—that's the way you get things done in this modern age. And don't look so self-righteous—you had children trying to get things done for you, that oaf you call a son and his gang. What were you paying them, eh, sweeties, pennies?

“Well, that's all changed, you're in the game now for better or worse. It'll be worse if we listen to your piffling ideas, but better all 'round if you leave it to experts. That old lady Winn, she'll be shifted sooner than you think and for good, thanks to my suggestion to my father, so stop acting like a silly oaf, though the habit seems to run in your family!” Maud's ankle-length taffeta dress rustled stiffly as she swept out of her chair and vacated the room.

Smithers sat openmouthed at the girl's impertinence, his heavy features flushing dark red. He gave vent to his ire with a bellow that would have done a stricken water buffalo credit, sending crockery and cutlery flying as his outstretched arms flailed across the table.

Sitting up in bed, Wilf heard the roar and the ensuing crash. He started with fright, upsetting his breakfast tray. A glass of milk, toast, lemon curd, and two soft-boiled eggs spilled into his lap. He sobbed, floundering about in the mess, his mind running riot. Had his father found out about last night, his second foolish scheme gone astray? It wasn't his fault if the Somers boy had gone and got himself murdered by the Mad Professor. Had the police found out yet, would they come around asking questions? Regina and the gang wouldn't take the blame, they'd lay it on him, their leader. Then what? Court, imprisonment . . . ? Regardless of the breakfast mess, Wilf pulled the coverlet over his head, wishing fervently that it would all go away. Tears, egg, milk, and lemon curd mingled on his face. He jumped as a timid knock sounded on the door.

“Finished with your tray, Master Wilfred?” It was only Hetty.

A muffled scream broke from beneath the stained counterpane. “Go 'waaaaaay!”