[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman (33 page)

Flash interrupted further complaints by climbing back into the front passenger seat. “It sez 'Adford. Any good?”

Gripper explored the sketch with a grimy finger, repeating, “Hmm, 'Adford, 'Adford, lemme see . . . Hahah! There 'tis!”

Up in the far corner of the drawing, a road leading out of Chapelvale was marked “Hadford Rd.” Gripper realized that it was totally the wrong way to be approaching their destination. Hadford Road was at the north side of Chapelvale. Coming up from London, they should have entered by the south road, which ran parallel to the railway line. But he did not offer this information to the others.

Instead he announced proudly, “See, I wasn't lost. Told yer I knew the way, didn't I, eh?”

He continued driving, assuming that they agreed by their silence, until Flash spoke his thoughts over the chugging engine noise.

“But you said it was a four-hour drive. We been on the road since five this mornin'!”

Gripper had an explanation, as he always did. “Oh yerss, but lookit all the times we 'ad to stop. When that farmer was goin' t'chuck a rock, when those cows blocked the lane, when we turned inter that farmyard by mistake, when youse 'ad ter push the motor backwards, when we asked the post office lady the way. It all adds time ter the trip y'know, all adds time!”

Chunk sighed wistfully. “I liked the post office lady, she was gonna give me some water. Wish I 'ad a glass now.”

Flash laughed mirthlessly. “Worrabout a glass o' beer, that's wot I need. An' a good plate o' steak 'n' kidney pie. I'm starved, I only 'ad a slice o' toast fer breakfist.”

Chaz dabbed the scarf to his injured nose. “Yuh, bee too, I'b huggry, you nebber stopped for food, nod once!”

It was rapidly going dark. Gripper clenched his teeth as he bumped over a fallen branch lying in their path. “Sharrap about food, you lot! Eat, eat, that's all youse think about. One more word outta you, Chaz, an' I'll stop this motor an' give yer a knuckle sandwich. How'll that do yer, eh, eh?”

“Whoo!”

Gripper did not realize it was a nearby owl that had hooted. “You, that's who, Chaz. Now, shut yer gob!”

“Bud I nebber said nothig, Gripp.”

Gripper nodded. “Just as well y'never, loose-lips. Aye aye, is that lights, up on that 'ill ahead?”

Chunk replied, “That'll be 'Adford, can we get summat to eat when we gets there?”

Gripper kept his eyes riveted on the road. “We could if we was stoppin' there, but we ain't. Mister Bowe's daughter'll be wonderin' where we've gotten to.”

Flash pulled a face. “Oh, that one, liddle miss snotty nose. My daddy sez you got to do this, my daddy sez you gotta do that. An' she looks at yer like yer sumthin' she stepped in!”

Gripper sniffed. “She can look at us any way she wants to, as long as 'er daddy pays up. Five guineas apiece fer puttin' the frighteners on some old dame, just so she'll leave 'ome. Not bad money fer a small job like that!”

Chunk's stomach gurgled so loud it could be heard above the growl of the engine. He patted it sorrowfully. “Don't know about five guineas. I'd settle fer a paperful of fish an' chips right now, wiv salt an' vinegar on 'em.”

“Can't you think of nothin' but yer stummick, y'great lump!”

A further abdominal gurgle almost drowned out Gripper's statement. Chunk gazed mournfully at the passing countryside. “Well, I can't 'elp it if me stummick's bigger'n yours, Gripp.”

“Aye, if yer brains was as big as yer stummick, you'd be in charge o' the country, Chunk, doin' the prime minister out of a job. That's wot you'd be doin', mate!”

“Why, 'as the prime minister got a big stummick, Gripp?”

“The prime min . . . Jus' go back t'sleep, willyer, Chunk!”

Flash propped his feet up on the dashboard. “Kin I 'ave a snooze, too, Gripp?”

Gripper let go of the steering wheel with one hand. He gave Flash a numbing punch on his shin. “No, y'can't. You keep yer eyes open fer more signs!”

“ ‘ B E OF GOOD HEART,LIKE A FLAME pure and true, May the light of St. Mark bring my words unto you. E.D.W.' ” Mr. Braithwaite and the ladies sat in the gathering gloom, staring at the paper as Amy read the rhyme for the third time.

Ben entered the room with a lighted taper. “Jon told me to bring some light to you before you ruin your eyesight staring at that paper.”

Mrs. Winn had neither gas nor the new electric light, favoring the old ways, and kept four ornate oil lamps in her sitting room. The boy lit them all, one on the mantelpiece, two on the window ledges back and front. He touched his taper to the wick of the largest lamp with its tall glass chimney and a cream-hued bowl. This lamp stood on the same table as the paper and gave off a wonderfully soft glow.

Ben chuckled. “Now you can see to think properly. Miz Winn, I'm going out with the men.”

A worried frown creased the old lady's brow. “So that's what you were all discussing in the kitchen. I knew as soon as the sergeant read out the telegram about the four men coming here in the motorcar. Be careful, Ben, and do exactly as Sergeant Patterson tells you—they could be dangerous.”

There was something in the blue eyes of the strange boy from the sea that told the old lady he had faced danger many times. His hand felt reassuring as he touched her shoulder lightly. “We can take care of this, Jon, Will, Mr. Mackay, Alex, the sergeant, and myself. No need for you to worry.

“Don't open the door to anybody until you've looked through the window to see who's there. I'll leave Ned with you, just in case.”

Little Willum had played himself out and lay on the sofa, surrounded by cushions. As his mother covered him with an old plaid traveling rug, Ned came to sit by her.

Eileen patted the big dog's head. “I'd like to see anyone try t'get past Ned if he didn't want 'em to come in. You go on, Ben. We're safe enough. Tell my Will not to forget Delia's nosebag an' water bucket.”

Amy touched the boy's hand. “Be careful, Ben, and good luck!”

He paused at the door, tossing hair back from his keen blue eyes. “Good luck to you, too, pal. Don't worry, I'll keep my eye on Alex for you. Stay, boy!”

The black Labrador winked at Ben. “All right, shipmate, I'm only coming to the door to see you off.”

When they had departed, Mr. Braithwaite suddenly began pacing the room earnestly. Hetty whispered to her friend, “Lookit that ole buffer scratchin' away at 'imself, Winnie. The shoulders of that gown look as if 'e's been sprinklin' 'em with talcum powder!”

Mrs. Winn suppressed a smile. “Ssshh, he's deep in thought.”

Mr. Braithwaite stopped, holding up a finger, like an orator about to deliver a speech. “Hmph! It, er, occurs to me, er, ladies, that we should, er, light a candle in one of those holders, as it were. Yes, very good, to see if the light of St. Mark brings any, uh, er . . . words to us. Yes?”

Mrs. Winn opened a drawer in the table. “It can't do any harm, I suppose, I keep some candles in here.”

Mr. Braithwaite took a candle. Using his library key, he scraped the wax at its base until it fit the socket of one golden candlestick. When he had lit it, the old scholar stood holding the candlestick in one hand and the paper in the other.

“Right, er, very good so far. Er, er, hmmmmmm.”

He was at a loss what to do next. Will's ma, Sarah, came to his rescue, her voice mounting with excitement. “Give it to me now, I think I might know the answer!” She practically snatched both candlestick and paper.

The young girl watched curiously as Sarah held the paper over the flame. “Be careful, you might burn it!”

The old woman moved the paper back and forth across the flame confidently. “When I was a little girl, me 'n' my pals used t'send messages to each other, invisible notes. All you need is some white vinegar or lemon juice to write with, even an egg white'll do. See! I knew I was right, somethin's showin' on the paper. Here!”

Heat from the candle flame had caused markings to appear! They were rather faint, but still discernible.

The excited maidservant hugged the younger girl with a sob in her voice. “Oh, I 'ope it's somethin' that'll put a spoke in ole Smithers's wheel. What does it say, Mr. Braithwaite, sir? What does it say?”

Scanning the paper, the old scholar shook his head. “Er, nothing really, just shapes and, er, dots, so to speak!”

The women gathered around the table to view the odd markings.

Hetty was both angry and disappointed. “I never learned to read or write, but that ain't no writin'. I can see that. An' it ain't nothin' a body could read, I'm sure!”

Will's ma glanced at Mr. Braithwaite. “What d'you think, sir?”

He stared at the markings blankly. “I, er, tend to agree with Miz, er, hmmm!”

Sarah turned her attention to Amy. “An' you, girl, what d'you make of it, eh?”

Amy picked up the thin sheet of paper with the lines and dots on it.

“I'd place this paper over that paper and see if it matches up.”

The dairyman's wife clapped her hands. “So would I, m'dear, try it!”

Amy placed the thin paper over the thicker one, lining up the first dot over the one beneath.

Mrs. Winn kissed Amy. “Thank you, you clever, pretty girl!”

The black Labrador stood with his paws upon the table, passing a thought to Horatio, who had prowled in. “We mustn't forget to thank good old Edmund De Winn, too, eh?”

“Mrrrowr! Sardine, milk, waaiow! 'Ratio hungry!” Ned stared down his nose at the cat. “Don't think too hard—you'll damage that amazing brain of yours!”