Black Hearts in Battersea (22 page)

"
Vraiment,
zat is a difficulty. Aha! I have it. One student will paint, ze ozzer fight wiss ze wolves."

"Famous notion! But what does he fight with?"

"We know where there are some weapons," Simon interposed, and gave Gus the key to the castle vaults, explaining that the door led to them from the tunnel. "Watch out for Hanoverians, though; they may have somebody on guard."

"We'll clobber 'em if they do," said Gus joyfully.

Simon ran off to Chelsea Barracks with a lighter heart; plainly the students would be prompt to the rescue, should trouble arise in the castle.

Unfortunately he encountered great difficulty in carrying out his mission at the Barracks; they appeared to be deserted, and when at length he did discover an officer (engaged in taking a Turkish bath) he was told that half the regiment had been put to sweeping the snow off
Parliament Square, while the rest were away on Christmas leave. However the officer promised that he would try to get fifty men onto Chelsea Bridge in an hour's time, and with this unsatisfactory arrangement Simon had to be content.

He himself hurried back toward the castle, hoping that Mr. Cobb had been more successful at Bow Street.

As he reached the corner of the King's Road, his ears were assailed by a mournfully familiar music—a sad and breathy tooting which could come, surely, from only one player and one instrument. He looked about, and saw a tall thin man with a luxuriant black beard and mustaches, standing in the gutter and playing on a hoboy. In front of the man lay a cap, with a few coins in it.

"Mr. Twite!" Simon exclaimed.

The man started. "No, no, my dear young feller," he said quickly. "Must be mistaken, somebody else, not that name, Twite? No, no, quite another person."

But the tones were unmistakable in spite of the disguising beard.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Twite?"

The musician glanced quickly up and down the street.

"Well, my dear boy, since you
have
plumbed my incognito—avail myself of the chance of a word with you. Delighted to see you back, by the way—missed you."

Mr. Twite spoke in the most amiable, carefree manner, as if his had not been the hand which, at their last meeting, dealt Simon such a stunning blow. He led Simon into a doorway and went on confidentially, "A tombstone for
my wife I will not ask, for between you and me she was a thorn—"

"Tombstone? But—I don't understand." Simon was mystified. "Is Mrs. Twite dead?"

"No," replied her hubsand cryptically. "Not
yet.
But dear little Dido—the last of the House of Twite—the flower of the flock—I should wish that some suitable memorial be erected to her on the island of Inchmore. A simple stone with a simple legend—perhaps
Dido Twite, a Delicate Sprite?
"

"Yes—yes of course," said Simon, somewhat shaken. "But—you heard, then?"

"Those two sailors from
Dark Dimity
whom you so kindly liberated reached London yesterday and told my brother-in-law the whole tale. I'm delighted to hear that my dear young nephew Justin is still in good health."

"But—good heavens—if Buckle knows
that—
then the Duke and Duchess are in deadly danger. I must be off to the castle at once!"

"I most strongly advise you
not
to." Mr. Twite laid a detaining hand on his arm. "No indeed, that is the
last
place I should visit at present. But perhaps you were not aware that Mr. Buckle proposed to blow up their Graces and his Majesty shortly by means of dynamite?"

"
What?
"

"Buckle's somewhat
wholesale
arrangement is that, at nine o'clock, when he himself, and his followers, will have left the place, a lighted fuse will reach the charge in the vaults. The Duke and Duchess and his Majesty, peacefully
unaware of their solitude, will be alone in the castle preparing to watch from the library a display of fireworks which they have been told will take place as the clock strikes nine. Fireworks! My brother-in-law is seldom humorous, but that strikes me as a neat touch."

"But if that is so—let me go! I must run. I must warn them! Thank heaven it is only a quarter to five," Simon said, as the church clock's chimes rang out not far away.

"Wait, wait a moment, my rash young friend. To tell the truth," said Mr. Twite, again looking round cautiously, "I have of late become somewhat wearied by my dear wife and her family and their burning political ambitions. I resolved to rid myself of the whole boiling and start afresh, overseas, in a land where musicians are treated with respect. So—in short—I altered the fuse—
curtailed
it—timing it to explode at
five,
when my dear wife, brother-in-law, sisters-in-law, and the rest of them will still be inside the castle. Was not that an ingenious notion? I flatter myself it was," he said, rubbing his hands. "Dear Ella, her sisters, Eustace Buckle, Midwink, Jem, Fibbins, Scrimshaw, and that disagreeable fellow who calls himself young Turveytop—yes indeed, the world will be a more peaceful place without them. Dear me, the boy has not waited! Think, think, my impetuous young friend!" he called after Simon. "Reflect on what you are doing!"

But Simon, his heart pounding in his chest, was racing at top speed toward Mr. Cobb's yard.

"Is my coronet on straight, Sophie? Are my gloves properly buttoned? These diamond buttons stick so—"

"Come on, come on, Hettie, there's not time to waste, I can hear the cheers! His Majesty will be here at any moment!"

The Duke took his wife's arm and fairly ran her down the stairs. Sophie and Dr. Field followed protectively near. As yet, nobody had noticed them. The castle servants appeared to be in a state of disorganization, all milling about downstairs; neither Midwink nor Fibbins had appeared to help their Graces.

As they descended, Buckle's voice could be heard below, giving orders to a large number of people: "You all know what you have to do—every soul to be out at half-past eight. After the fanfare and the dinner—disperse! Each carry something: Midwink take charge of the jewels, Scrimshaw the plate—"

"Good evening, Mr. Buckle," the Duke said. "Are the arrangements for his Majesty's reception all complete?"

Buckle whipped around. For an instant an ugly expression came over his face, but this was rapidly replaced by his usual pale-eyed, impassive stare.

"Quite ready, your Grace," he replied smoothly. "I am glad to welcome your Graces back to Battersea."

"Well, you won't be when you hear our news!" the Duke snapped. "We know that you're a damned scoundrel, who palmed off your own whey-faced brat in place of my nephew and niece, and tried to murder me three times! But your crimes have caught up with you, and I shall be surprised if you don't end your days in the Tower, you rogue! The Bow Street men and the Yeomanry are on their way now; we don't want any unpleasant scenes at present, but as soon as his Majesty has left you'll be arrested."

Mr. Buckle's eyes flashed, but he replied in a low, even tone, "Your Grace is mistaken. I intend to amend my ways. I see my faults—I am truly sorry—and in future your Grace will have nothing to complain of."

"Well," said the Duke, a little mollified, "if you are
truly
sorry—"

"William!" exclaimed the scandalized Duchess. "Don't believe a word the hypocrite says! I am sure he has not the least intention—"

"Hark!" interposed Sophie. "Here is his Majesty! I can hear the fanfare, and the students cheering."

Indeed, as the royal sleigh left the frozen Thames, along which it had sped from Hampton Court, and crossed the short snowy stretch of park to the castle, the assembled students burst into loyal shouts.

"Hooray for Jamie Three!"

"Long live King Jim, good luck to him!"

"Yoicks, your Majesty!"

The Duke and Duchess, with Sophie behind them, ran down the red-carpeted front steps of the castle to greet his Majesty while the students formed a ring and, with snowballs and horse chestnuts, kept the inquisitive wolves from coming too close.

"Sire, this is a happy day. We are so pleased to welcome you to our humble roof—"

"Och, weel, noo, Battersea, it's nice to hear that. And how's your gude lady?"

The King was a little, dapper, elderly Scottish gentleman, plainly dressed in black, with a shovel hat on top of his snuff-colored wig; he carried a slender hooked cane, and a large black bird perched on his wrist which, at sight of the Duchess, opened its beak and gravely remarked, "What's your wull, my bonny hinny?"

"Mercy on us!" exclaimed her Grace. "Where did your Majesty get that heathen bird?"

"Why, ma'am, the Sultan of Zanzibar gave her to me for a Christmas present. And I find her a great convenience—don't I, Jeannie, my lass?—for there's a wheen Hanoverians aye trying to slip a wee drop of poison into my victuals, so I e'en employ Jeannie as a taster—she takes a nip of brose and a nibble of parritch, and soon has the poisoned meat sorted. Not that I mean to decry your hospitality, ma'am, but one must be careful."

"Why yes, yes, indeed one must!" The flustered
Duchess then pulled herself together and graciously invited his Majesty to do himself the trouble of stepping into the banqueting hall. Sophie, following, noticed a pale gleam in Buckle's eyes, and thought he looked as if he meant mischief. She wished the Bow Street runners would come, or the Yeomanry—surely it must be nearly an hour since they parted from Simon? What could have happened? She could see that Dr. Field shared her worry, for he kept glancing at his watch.

"What time is it?" she whispered to him when a dour-faced female (Aunt Tinty, had she but known it) brought in the mince pies, with flaming prune brandy poured all over them.

"Twenty minutes to five," he whispered back. "Where the devil can that boy have got to with the Yeomanry?"

"Will you have a mince pie, your Majesty?"

"Na, na, thank you, Duchess. They play the very deuce with my digestion. But Jeannie will, won't you, lass?"

Jeannie ate several mince pies with every appearance of satisfaction, smacking her beak over the prune brandy.

"Are they safe?" Dr. Field whispered to Sophie.

"I brought them from Chippings," she whispered back. "I wouldn't trust the mince pies Mr. Buckle had provided."

Even so, none of the party save Jeannie felt inclined to sample the mince pies. She, after her fourth, perhaps because of the prune brandy, suddenly became overexcited, flew around the banqueting hall twice, pecked Mr. Buckle on the ear, and disappeared through a small open window.

"Jeannie—come back, lass!" cried her master, starting up. "A gold guinea to the man who catches her!"

None of the footmen seemed moved by this appeal; they stood motionless, and one or two of them sniggered. Sophie felt ready to sink with shame, but Dr. Field went to the window and shouted to the students outside, "His Majesty offers a gold guinea to the person who brings back his pet bird."

A tremendous cheer went up, and the sound of many running feet could be heard, accompanied by cries of hope and disappointment.

"Shall we adjourn to the library for coffee?" the Duke suggested. "I believe later on we are to see some fireworks." The party began moving up the stairs. "I daresay one of the students will soon bring back your bird—" the Duke was going on comfortably, when suddenly the most astonishing hubbub—shouts, shots, and crashes—broke out downstairs by the main doors.

"Gracious heavens!" cried the Duchess in alarm. "What can be going on?"

A somewhat bedraggled Gus burst through the castle doors and came charging up the stairs. His hair stood on end, one eye was blacked, and his face was covered by what looked like peck marks, but he held the squawking Jeannie triumphantly in both hands.

"Here you are, your Majesty!" he panted. "And I wish you joy of her! She's a Tartar! But sir and ma'am, and your Majesty, I don't think you should stay here, I don't indeed. Those villains downstairs are up to tricks, I believe. I had
the devil's own job to get in, they were all massed about the hall with pikes and Pictclobbers. The sooner you are all out of the castle, the better it will be, in my opinion."

"Oh dear, oh, William!" lamented the Duchess. "We should never have let his Majesty come here—"

"Nonsense, Hettie. The Yeomanry will be here directly. All we need do is keep calm and retire to the library till it all blows over."

"Let us go higher up! That noise terrifies me—it sounds as if they are all fighting each other before coming up to murder us."

"What does his Majesty say?"

His Majesty had been busy settling Jeannie's ruffled plumes and politely affecting to be unaware of his hosts' problems. Appealed to, he said amiably, "Och, let us go higher up, by all means. Did ye not say there were to be fireworks? The higher up, the better view."

"I winna say nay to a wee dram," remarked Jeannie unexpectedly.

"Hush, ye ill-mannered bird. Lead the way upstairs, then, Battersea."

The Duke had the key to a small privy staircase leading to the battlements, and up this he led the King, while the rest of the party followed.

It was now almost dark, except for a fiery pink streak lying across the western sky; down below in the park the obscurity was broken by flashes as the students skirmished with the wolves and aimed a shot from time to time at Hanoverians in the castle doorway.

"Brave boys! They're keeping the scoundrels boxed in!" exclaimed the Duke. "When the Yeomanry come—oh, why
don't
they come?"

"But look—look who
is
coming!" Sophie pointed, almost stammering in her excitement. "The balloon! It must be Simon!"

"Why does he come in the balloon? Because of the wolves?"

"It is certainly Simon!"

An applauding shout went up from the students as the balloon drifted over them, shining in the light of the gas flambeaux which were now beginning to illuminate the park. Simon leaned over the side and shouted down urgently "Keep away from the castle! Away, for your lives!"

Then he threw out some ballast, and the balloon soared up to the level of the battlements. Grasping the hooked end of the King's cane, he was drawn close to the castle walls.