Black Hearts in Battersea (23 page)

"Please, your Graces and your Majesty—don't waste a minute!" he begged. "Climb on board, quick! You are in the most deadly danger—there is not an instant to be lost! Sophie, Gus, Dr. Field—jump in as quick as you can!"

He sprang onto the battlements and helped the Duke lift his wife into the car.

"I say, ain't this a famous balloon, though?" said Gus, helping Sophie. "Will it hold us all, Simon, me boy?"

"Yes, yes—only hurry!" Simon was frantic with impatience as the King somewhat stiffly and gingerly clambered into the waist of the car, assisted by Dr. Field and the Duke.

At this moment Buckle rushed out of the attic door onto the roof, followed by Mrs. Twite.

"I told you they were escaping!" she shrieked, her face distorted with rage. "I told you I saw a balloon! After them, Eustace, quickly!"

Buckle started toward Gus, who felled him with a large snowball and leaped nimbly on board. Mrs. Twite threw herself at Simon and grabbed him around the middle.

"Oh, you wretch!" she exclaimed, pummeling him. "I'll teach you to come meddling, asking questions, helping them to escape just when the Cause is about to triumph!"

"Who the deuce is that harpy?" the Duke asked in bewilderment.

"Simon, quick—dodge her!" Sophie cried anxiously. Everyone else was now on board and the balloon was already moving away from the castle walls in the evening wind. Simon wriggled out of Mrs. Twite's grip, dodged her around some chimney stacks, tripped Buckle, who tried to intercept him, ran for the battlements, and, with a tremendous effort, hurled himself across the rapidly widening gap. He fell sprawling over the gunwale, half in and half out, but Sophie and Gus grabbed him and hauled him to safety. Meanwhile the car tipped and lurched terrifyingly, then sank a few feet. The Duke and Duchess with desperate haste flung overboard all the loose articles of baggage
they could lay hands on to lighten the load: braziers, rugs, provision hampers all went tumbling into the park, and the balloon rose higher.

Mrs. Twite let out a fearful shriek of disappointed rage, but Buckle, with an oath, pulled out a pistol and fired at them.

"Mercy, mercy, he's hit the balloon! Oh, what shall we do?" cried the Duchess.

Sophie bit her lip. They could all hear the hiss as air rushed out of the puncture. The balloon started to sag.

"Dear me! Hadn't reckoned on anything like that," muttered the Duke.

"I have it!" cried Sophie suddenly. "The tapestry! Aunt Hettie's embroidery! Simon, can you climb up and lay it over the hole?"

She handed him the bundle of material and he swarmed up a guy rope and flung an end of the cloth over the top of the globe. Gus caught and held it tight on the other side, and the air escape was checked. Dr. Field scrambled to the tiller, to steady their progress, and the balloon glided, swayingly, down and away from the castle.

"Oh, oh, he's going to shoot again!" cried the Duchess.

Buckle, with deadly intent, was aiming at the balloon once more.

But as they watched, frozen in suspense, the thing that Simon had been expecting came to pass. With a noise so loud that it seemed no noise at all, the whole castle suddenly lifted up, burst outwards, and disintegrated in one huge flash of orange-colored light. The balloon rocked and
staggered. Fragments of stone showered about them.

The Duchess fainted. Fortunately the hartshorn had not been flung out; Sophie was able to find it and minister to her Grace.

"Dod!" said King James. "Nae wonder ye were in sich a hurry my lad! We're obleeged to ye—very. Aweel, aweel, that rids the world of a muckle nest of Hanoverians—but I'm afeered there's no' much left of your castle, Battersea."

"No matter, no matter!" said the Duke somewhat distractedly. "To tell truth, I never greatly cared for it. I should much prefer to live at Chippings. We'll lay out a pleasure garden on the site—yes, that will be much better. Simon, my dear boy, I can't thank you sufficiently. We are indebted to you for all our lives. Sire, may I present to you my nephew Simon, Lord Bakerloo. As for those miserable Yeomanry and Bow Street runners, we might as well never have applied to them for all the help they have been."

But as they sank slowly toward the snowy grounds of the academy, a sound of martial music was heard: the banging of drums and squealing of fifes heralded the arrival of the Chelsea Yeomanry who came marching in brave array down the Chelsea Bridge Road, while along the bank of the river twenty Bow Street officers galloped at full speed, led by Mr. Cobb. Meanwhile the students, having observed the balloon's escape, had come running across the park, and all these forces converged to welcome the rescued party as they reached the ground.

Dr. Furrneaux was in the forefront.

"Ah, my poor sir, my dear friend!" he exclaimed, giving
the Duke a bristly hug. "How I commiserate wiss you. Your home lost! destructuated by zese brigands! (Not zat I ever admired it, indeed, a most hideous building, but still, ze saying goes, does it not, ze Englishman's castle is his home?) And poor Madame,
hélas!
But nevaire mind, you shall live in ze academie, bose of you, if you wish. I make you most welcome, and my students shall design you a new castle,
moderne, confortable, épouvantable!
Ziss we shall do directly!"

"Oh, thank you, dear Dr. Furrneaux, but we think we shall retire to Chippings, and turn the castle grounds into a pleasure garden for you and your students. Meanwhile his Majesty has kindly offered beds at Hampton Court to myself and my wife and niece and nephew here, and Dr. Field."

"Niece and nephew?" Dr. Furrneaux stared in bewilderment first at Simon and Sophie, then at the Duke. "What is ziss? What of ze ozzer one—ze little Justin?"

"It was a case of mistaken identity" the Duchess explained kindly. "Simon is our real nephew and heir; he will be the sixth Duke of Battersea."

Dr. Furrneaux was aghast. "
Ah, non, non, non, non, non,
NON
, NON! Ziss I will not bear! Ziss I cannot endure! I get me a boy, a good boy, a painter, a real
artiste,
a genius! And what do you do? You make of him a duke! Every time it is ze same! I say, pouaaah to all dukes!"

"Oh, come now, my dear Furrneaux—"

Luckily, perhaps, at this moment the royal sleigh, which had been summoned posthaste by the colonel of the
Yeomanry arrived at the riverbank with its attendant outriders. The King and his guests were all packed in, under layers of swansdown rugs. Good-bys were shouted, whips were cracked.

"I'll be back in the morning early, Dr. Furrneaux!" Simon shouted. "For a long day's painting! And we'll mend the balloon."

"And collect Aunt Henrietta's tapestry!" Sophie called.

"And give a Christmas dinner to thank everybody for their help!" shouted the Duke.

Simon thought of another, sadder task, which he would hasten to perform: the small white stone on Inchmore's heathery slope with the name D
IDO
. And Sophie thought of the orphans at Gloober's Poor Farm to be rescued and given happy homes.

The sleigh-bells jingled, the horses began to move away in their felt slippers.

"Good night! Merry Christmas! God Save King James!"

"Merry Christmas!"

"And a Happy New Year!"

Faster and faster the procession glided off into the dark, a long trail of brilliant lights, red and gold and blue, winding along the frozen Thames to Hampton Court, until at last the glitter and the music of the bells died away, and the students went home to bed, and the mysterious peace of Christmas night descended once again upon Battersea Park.