Black Hearts in Battersea (16 page)

He rolled the barrel into the sea and Justin, whimpering a little, was let down into it and pushed off with the oar, which Simon then passed to him.

"Fend yourself off from the rocks!" he shouted as the cask bobbed away.

"What about us?" asked Dido, doggedly clenching her teeth. "I can't swim."

Simon looked around once more. There were no other barrels, and the flames were coming uncomfortably close.

"It'll have to be this for you and me," he said, and laid hold of the broken spar which had hindered the men from launching the boat. Ropes were still made fast to it, and he passed a couple of these around Dido and tied her on as securely as he could.

"I d-don't like this above half," she said, shivering.

"Never mind. I'm going to push you in and then jump after you. Hold tight to the pole! Now jump!"

"Oh, my lovely new dress! It'll get ru—"

A wave closed over Dido, but she reappeared next minute, gamely clinging to the spar. Simon dived in and managed to grab the other end of it.

"That's the ticket! Now all we have to do is swim to shore."

"Can you see Justin?"

"Yes, he's floating on ahead of us. We'll be all right; you'll see," Simon said as reassuringly as he could. He gave Dido an encouraging smile and she smiled wanly back. She looked a piteous sight with her wet hair hanging in rats' tails over her face.

Simon swam with his legs, pushing the cumbersome spar ahead of him with his arms. It was an exhausting struggle. His heart grew so heavy in his chest, and beat so hard, that he began to feel as if it would work loose and sink from him like a stone.

"Are you all right, brat?" he gasped.

She made some indistinguishable reply. Presently he heard her say, "Are we nearly there?"

"Just keep going. Kick with your legs."

They labored on. Dido, looking back, cried out that the
Dark Dew
had gone! She had crumbled together like a burning ember and slipped under the waves.

"Lucky for us we weren't on board then," panted Simon. "And I should have been, Dido, if you hadn't come and set me loose. I owe you my life."

"But s'posing it was us that set fire to the ship?" Dido gulped miserably.

"Oh—as to that—very likely it wasn't. With all those drunk men on board, it's a wonder the ship lasted as long as she did."

A wave slopped against Simon's chin and he closed his mouth. He was beginning to feel very strange: his legs were numb from the waist down and hung heavily in the water.

"I—I'll have to stop for a minute, Dido," he said hoarsely. One of his hands slipped off the spar and he only just succeeded in grabbing it again.

"There's a rock, let's make for it," she said. "We can rest for a bit."

With a last effort Simon swam toward the rock. They managed to drag themselves up its slope, getting badly scraped by limpets, and lay side by side on the narrow tip, shivering and exhausted.

"Can you see Justin—or the land?" Dido asked after a while. She huddled closer to Simon. He opened his eyes with an effort, and moved his head, but could see nothing save cloud and driving rain. His eyelids flickered and closed again; he sank into a sort of dream, only half aware of Dido, who occasionally moved or coughed beside him.

Once or twice he realized that she was pushing food into his mouth—damp and salty raisins or crumbs of cheese.

"Keep some for yourself, brat," he muttered weakly.

"I ain't hungry..."

In Simon's feverish fancy the rock seemed to sway up and down as the
Dark Dew
had done—tilting, tilting, now
this way, now that ... Or was he on the branch of a tree, back at home in the Forest of Willoughby? Was that sound not the howl of the sea but the howl of wolves? No, it was the sea, but Dido was talking about wolves in the forest; her words came dreamily, in disjointed snatches:

"Climbing from one tree to the next ... I'd have liked that ... Shying sticks and stones at the wolves down below ... you could laugh at 'em ... it must have been prime.
I
wouldn't 'a wanted to go to London, dunno why you did. You
will
take me there some day won't you? To the forest? You said you would. And I'll throw stones at the wolves ... I'm glad you came to London, Simon. Nobody ever told me such tales afore ... and you took me to the Fair ... coo, that dragon was a proper take-in, though, wasn't it ... I liked the Talking Pig best..."

She coughed, and crept closer still against Simon. For some time there was silence, except for the harsh screams of gulls. Simon drifted further and further away toward the frontiers of unconsciousness.

"Simon," Dido said presently in a small voice. His only response was a faint movement of his head.

"Simon, I think the tide's coming in. It's coming higher up the rock. I—I don't think there's going to be room here for both of us. Maybe—maybe I'd better try and float to the shore to get help?"

Simon did not answer. His eyes were closed, and he lay limp, white, and motionless, with the waves breaking not three feet below him.

Sophie was puzzled. She had been staying at the Cobbs' for five days now, during which time Simon had not once come to sec her or to Work in Mr. Cobb's yard, Mr. Cobb was puzzled too.

"Simon's sich a reg'lar-working cove in the usual way. I hope there's nowt amiss," he muttered, looking with knit brows at the panel of a barouche which Simon had been in process of adorning with a viscount's coat-of-arms. "Here's thisyer job promised to Lord Thingumbob for Toosday, and looks like I'll be obleeged to cry rope, which am t my way. I hope the boys all right. Hey Sophie, lass! How about your taking a hack—here's a crown for the fare—and tooling round to Southwark to see if he's sick abed?"

Sophie agreed with alacrity and was about to fetch her bonnet when a small grubby boy sidled into Mr. Cobbs yard and made his way toward her.

Is you Miss Sophie? he asked, fixing her with a piercing eye.

Yes I elm, she replied. What can I do for you.?

"You're sure as how you're Miss Sophie? Cos I wasn't to give it to no one else, and, Croopus, I've had sich a time finding you. Fust I axes at the castle—nobody gammons—nearly gets chucked in a horse trough for me trouble. Then a gaffer says to come here.
Is
she Miss Sophie?" he demanded of Mr. Cobb.

"Miss Sophie she be," Mr. Cobb answered heartily.

"Then I can give it you." He handed her a very dirty folded bit of paper, and added hopefully "She says as you was very kind and 'ud likely give me a farden. And, please, I cooden come afore today, my Gammy's
that
strict I cooden give her the slip, but today she's laid up with a proud toe."

Sophie laughed at this and gave him sixpence, saying, "Thank you, my dear. Here you are, then; buy yourself some Banbury Cakes. But who told you to come?"

He looked conspiratorially around the yard, sank his voice to a whisper, and said, "Why,
she
done. Young Dido Twite. But she's gorn now—along o' the others." Then he bolted off between the carriages and vanished out of the gate.

Sophie opened the note which was addressed, in staggering capitals, to MIZ SOPHY.

Dere Miz Sophy, i thankx yu oust agin fer the dress, its reel Prime. Fust nue dress i iver wuz giv. Simon as bin kid naped in a Shipp. Me an Justin is goin 2 for the Lark, i like Simon an it isn Fare he shd be All Alone, the Shipp is the dark due. Yrs respckfly Dido Twite.

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Sophie, when she had read this letter twice. "He has been kidnapped! And Justin too! Can this be true? I must inform her Grace!"

"
Kidnapped?
Young Simon?" Mr. Cobb fairly gaped at her.

"Yes, on board a ship called the
Dark Due.
Do you know of such a vessel?"

"By Ringo, yes! She and a couple of others belong to that shifty, havey-cavey Nathaniel Dark, the one who ran off with Buckle's wife."

"Mr. Buckle? Justin's tutor? I didn't know he'd ever been married," said Sophie, momentarily diverted from her worry.

"It was years ago. Buckle was glad to be rid of the woman. By all I hear she never stopped talking. Dear knows what Nat Dark did with her, for he didn't marry her; left her in furrin parts, I daresay. He's a dicey cove; up to the teeth with the Hanoverians, too. That settles it," said Mr. Cobb, grabbing his hat from a mounting-block and cramming it on his head. "I'm for Bow Street. Young Simon said summat once about Hanoverians—"

"The Twites, in Rose Alley," said Sophie, nodding.

"Ah, and I said, Leave well alone. But when it comes to kidnapping—It's as plain as a pike what's happened: he's twigged their lay and been put away."

"But where will they have taken him?"

"Ah, there, lass, now you're asking. Those Dark ships goes coasting all the way up to Newcassel and then across to Hanover—they might put him anywhere that's okkud to
get at. Only thing is to nobble the bunch—at Rose Alley you say?—and winch 'em tight till they let's on where he's to. I'll be off to Bow Street."

Mr. Cobb started for the gate, then paused to ask, "Was you wishful to see me, Jem?"

"Only to ask was his Grace's curricle ready yet, Mr. Cobb?" said Jem, coming out from behind a pile of wheels.

"Ready this evening, tell Mr. Waters." Jem nodded and followed Mr. Cobb into the street, where he set off at a run toward the castle.

Sophie was not long in following him. Inquiring for their Graces, however, she learned that they were calling on his Majesty. Not surprisingly, the castle was in an uproar over the disappearance of Lord Bakerloo, and the Duke had gone to ask that a national proclamation be made offering a reward for information as to the whereabouts of the Battersea heir.

Sophie found the Duchess's embroidery (which was suffering from a week's neglect) and sat putting it to rights in the library, waiting for their Graces to return.

The whole chamber was still stacked high with the piles of pictures which the academy students had taken down during their vain hunt for the Rivière. There had been no time to rehang them in the more urgent search for Justin. Sophie, established with her embroidery on a footstool by the fire, was screened by a pile of canvases from the view of anybody entering the room.

Presently she heard two people speaking in low tones.

"This has put a pretty crimp in our plan," a voice said
angrily. "What was that fool, Dark, about not to notice he'd two other brats on board? And
Justin,
of all people—it couldn't be worse." Sophie recognized Midwink's tones.

"What I'll do to that boy when I catch him!" The other speaker was Mr. Buckle. "The whole thing nearly in our hands and he has to run off like a—like a guttersnipe! If those students hadn't been on the riverbank the other day—or if that meddlesome girl hadn't gone to the opera—Justin would have been Duke of Battersea by now and we'd be in clover."

"Well, as things are, he's not," said Midwink sourly. "And the old boy's still alive, and till we get Justin back we'd best
keep
him alive; we don't want some cousin stepping in and claiming the dukedom. I've got the poison but I won't use it till Dark brings back the boy."

"I only hope Dark has the sense to do so," Buckle said with a curse. "It drives me wild having to rely on such a nabble-head. And now we've got to shift the ken from Rose Alley—and if Jem doesn't warn Ella before the Bow Street runners get there—"

"Jem's trusty enough," Midwink said. "He took the Duke's fastest chaser—he'll be there by now. Where did you tell Ella to take the stuff?"

Buckle sank his voice to a murmur and Sophie could only catch the words, "vegetable cart." Midwink gave a cackle of laughter and said, "They'll never think of looking
there.
But are you sure no one will blab?"

"I don't believe there's a soul in the castle that's not a Hanoverian to the hilt," Buckle replied. "Barring the girl.
Now, as to my plan. Soon as we hear from Dark that he has Justin safe—if we hear before the mince-pie ceremony—"

"Aha, you mean to poison the Christmas mince pies?"

"No, better than that." Buckle dropped his voice again and Sophie missed the next words. He ended, "all sky-high together—and the wench as well. My heart's in my mouth, now, every time the Duchess looks at her. Why she had to pick
that
one, out of all the paupers at Gloober's ... I thought she'd died in the woods but it must be—"

"Hush!" said Midwink. "Is that the carriage? Best not be found here."

The two men left the room.

Sophie remained where she was, almost paralyzed by fear and astonishment. So
Buckle
was at the bottom of the plot—Buckle and Midwink! And Jem was with them, and had galloped off to warn the Twites to leave Rose Alley. And every servant in the castle—almost everybody—was a Hanoverian to the hilt. Moreover it was plain that the Duke and Duchess were in grave danger—two attempts at murder had only accidentally failed and a third, somehow connected with mince pies, was merely postponed until Justin's return. Why Justin? Sophie wondered, and then realized that if Justin became the sixth Duke of Battersea, following the murder of his uncle, he would still be so much under his tutor's thumb that Buckle would in fact control all the ducal power and money. Perhaps it was a blessing, then, that Justin had run away.

But meantime how to protect the helpless, elderly Duke and Duchess? The Duke had the greatest respect for
Buckle, and would be most unlikely to believe any accusation against him unless it were backed by positive proof. Perhaps the raid on Rose Alley would provide this; if not, it seemed to Sophie that the best plan would be to get the Duke and Duchess away from Battersea. But how was this to be achieved?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the Duchess, who arrived in a great bustle.

'Ah, there you are, Sophie, dear child! I am so delighted to see you again.

"We are to depart instantly for Chippings—his Majesty very sensibly suggested that that naughty Justin might have run off there for a bit of wolf-hunting. Pack me up a few odds and ends, will you, my dear, just for a night or two—warm things, it will be cold in the North—don't forget the croquet and my water colors. Ah, you have the tapestry, that's right. You are to come, too, of course, so pack for yourself as well. We start as soon as the train is ready."