âToday is Miss Fairface's turn,' Mindy announced. âI saw them going into a shop near the Castle.'
âMiss Fairface is tougher than he realises,' said the Major. âShe knows how to take and not to give.'
Denny said in a firm voice: âI think Ferguson is a cruel and violent man. I think he beats that boy he looks after, the dog too, I daresay. I saw blood on his stick. Dried blood, but blood and plenty of it.'
âHe ought to be beaten himself,' said Mindy.
âYou wouldn't do it yourself though, would you Mindy?' said the Major. He knew that, although Mindy was a successful Castle worker, much appreciated by the people â all high-ranking â that she worked with, she came from a poor London background where you met violence with violence and knew how to defend yourself. She had come to the Castle a wild-eyed thin young girl as servant to Miss Fanny Burney. Miss Burney had hated Castle life as Lady-in-Waiting to a Royal princess, but Mindy was clever and had learnt from Fanny how to behave.
âNo,' said Mindy, and the Major thought, with some amusement, that she said it with reluctance. âNo, my hands aren't strong enough. He's stronger than he looks, is Ferguson.'
âSo she's had a brush with him,' thought the Major. âWonder what he tried on. What did he do to you? And what did you do to him? What a girl you are! I do love you, Mindy!'
To his surprise, he found he meant it.
When Mindy left a few minutes later, having delivered the laundry she had done for them (as she explained to them, she could no longer bear the sight of a badly ironed shirt), the Major knew he had lost his heart for ever.
He looked around for Denny to talk to, but he was nowhere in sight.
Â
Charlie was speeding through the streets. When he got to the boy's house he hoped that Felix Ferguson was not yet home, but he thought he could tell from the expression on the dog's face that he was not. The Crowner was one of those people to whom animals responded at once, and not kindly.
Charlie climbed in through the back window and looked around for Spike.
He found him lying on the floor in the hall, his back against the wall. There was a long blue bruise down the side of his face.
âDid he do that to you?'
The boy nodded.
âAll right,' said Charlie, âI'm going to take you away. Gather up what you want to take.'
The boy got together his small pathetic traps: a broken comb, a white cotton square with ragged edges â obviously his handkerchief â and a battered, small, black notebook. Charlie, although not tall, was strongly built. âHop on my back. I'll help â hang on. Here we go. Come on Dog!'
The strangely assorted trio climbed the hill to the Castle. Charlie knew an entrance at the side and went through. He put the boy down on a chair, which was in a recess and used by the messengers. He stood beside him, resting a little after his exertions, with the dog crouched at his feet.
As soon as he had recovered his breath, Charlie said, âCome on. Let's go and find the Major.'
Charlie knew how to get in, whether the Major was there or not. The door gave before him and the three of them were in.
No Major Mearns.
âWhat's all this?' demanded a voice from the door. Major Mearns stood there, looking stern.
âThey're homeless,' said Charlie. âThere's lots of rooms in this Castle. I've seen them. No, I know what you are going to say: they are not yours to fill. But the King would not want this pair to be homeless.' Charlie added with a grin: âAnd he need never know. I don't suppose he goes round all the rooms.'
âKings get to know more than you might think,' said the Major, but he did not sound worried.
They were all surprised when Mindy and Denny came into the room together.
âWe hear you've got another dog here.' This was Mindy.
The Major groaned. âYou can't keep anything quiet in this place.'
âI'm not against dogs,' said Denny, âI like them.'
âThe King wouldn't say anything. He's got half a
dozen dogs himself. Anyway, there's no reason for him to know.'
âWe won't tell him,' said Mindy. âBut someone else might.'
âHe's only here until I can find a proper home for him. And for the boy,' said Charlie. âThey were with a man who used to beat them,' he explained.
âYou'd better leave the boy and dog here. That's what castles are for, isn't it? To shelter those in need?'
Charlie looked thoughtful, but he understood what the Major was doing. âTrust me', he seemed to be saying.
âSo what do we call the boy?' he went on. âWe don't want this man to know they're here.'
Charlie looked at the Major and understood that he knew exactly who Spike and âthe man' were. He studied the boy and made his own decision. âJo.'
âAnd the dog?'
âTom.'
The boy shook his head, tapped his breast and said: âTom', then pointed at the dog: âJo.'
âSorry,' said Charlie, surprised. âGot it wrong, did I? You are Tom and he is Jo.'
âAnd what are you to be called, Charlie?' questioned an amused Major, wanting to bring him in on the game.
âCharlie!' he said fiercely. âI am Charlie.'
âAnd,' he added in his mind, âI will be famous one day, and everyone will know my name.'
The Major, guessing he had hit a sensitive point in the young rescuer, offered soothingly: âI daresay you could
stay here too, if you like â tuck you away beside the dog and boy.'
Unsure if that was a real offer or a joke, Charlie shook his head. âNo, of course I will come in and see them both, but I will stay in the Theatre â I like it there.'
Both the boy and the dog saw him go with calm faces.
âI'll be coming back for you, remember!' he said from the door. âAnd you'll both be coming to London with me when I go.'
Â
The Theatre always felt welcoming to Charlie. It wasn't that actors were always happy, but they knew how to ride out the ups and downs of life. And he felt they were teaching him.
All the same, he had no intention of going into adult life as an actor. He could already tell what he was going to do and it meant more education than he had now. It meant going back home and demanding it from his father. He thought his father would do his best â might even be pleased.
Sometimes the Theatre was busy with people rushing around with cheerful faces, and sometimes all was quiet. Today was a quiet day.
Without surprise Charlie saw a mouse run across the floor in front of him. It looked a plump, well-nourished mouse and this did not surprise him either. He would not have been surprised to see a rat; there was plenty to eat in the Theatre, and mice and rats went where the food was. Miss Fairface had told him she had once seen a fox.
Charlie would have liked to see a fox. He sat down on a bench wondering if one would come along if he waited. And how long would he have to wait!
Miss Fairface came in carrying her make-up bag over one arm. This in itself was something he saw in his everyday life, although he could not imagine his mother with one.
âYou all right?' asked the actress.
âYes, just wondered if I would see a fox like you did. If I sat here quietly.'
âYou might. What will you do if you do see one?'
âJust look, I expect.'
âI don't expect he'd bite â be more frightened of you than you were of him.'
âThat's when animals bite,' said Charlie. âHumans bite too.'
Miss Fairface looked at him thoughtfully. âYou're growing up very fast, Charlie.'
âI am going back to London.'
âI think I'm surprised you left, Charlie,' said Miss Fairface with a smile. âYou seem such a natural Londoner. So you're going? Any special reason?'
âI think it has something to do with that growing up.'
âI won't ask why.'
âI think I had better â I mean, ask myself why I'm going. I don't think Felix Ferguson will be pleased with me â¦
âI wanted to warn you about that, Charlie, and also to ask you to help me find Henrietta's murderer.'
âDo you think it's Felix?'
âWho is that woman â or man â who was here and gave you the basket?'
âI don't know who it was, I didn't see the face under the bonnet, but I saw her dress and shawl in Felix's house,' whispered Charlie.
âHe's got plenty of enemies, don't you worry! I wouldn't call him the most popular man in Windsor.'
âNo,' said Charlie thoughtfully.
âThere's a tale that he killed a young girl who worked in the Theatre and buried her under the floorboards here.' Miss Fairface looked around her as if she might pick out the actual board.
âDidn't anyone look to see?' Charlie was both surprised and shocked. Perhaps it wasn't true; it sounded like a made-up tale.
âI suppose the manager back then didn't want to find anything. Anyway, he died himself soon after.'
Yes, Charlie found it an interesting story! Theatre people were great storytellers, he had noticed. That did not mean they believed them, they just enjoyed doing it. He had noticed the pull himself. Easy and enjoyable to be a storyteller.
Miss Fairface got up from the bench to leave, saying she had to rest before the performance that evening. She disappeared from Charlie's sight, but he could still hear her talking to someone. âProbably Ally Anderson, the wardrobe mistress,' he thought, but at first he wasn't sure; Miss Fairface was much easier to hear. Actresses learn to project their voice, Miss Fairface had told him.
But, yes, that sharp, low mutter was Mrs Anderson. She had a sharp tongue too when it suited her, but it was a stupid soul who quarrelled with a woman who made a good cup of tea like she did, and Charlie never did; and he noticed that Miss Fairface never did either.
He smiled. He knew a bit more about Miss Fairface than when he had first come to Windsor. She was friendly, but with more men friends than women; and she preferred a comfortably placed businessman or lawyer, rather than an actor.
âMoney!' thought the cynical boy. One day she would marry (if she wasn't married already â he kept an open mind there), but then it would be to an actor. Performers had to marry performers. She had said that to him herself. He had told Major Mearns what she had said, and he had nodded. âOh yes, it's like being a Royal; you have to marry a Royal or it doesn't work. They're different sorts, you see.' He had added thoughtfully: âJust as the rogues, thieves and killers who come in and out of my life are different and born that way.' He looked appraisingly at the boy. âAnd you are a different sort, Charlie. I didn't see it at first, but I see it now. Or perhaps you are just growing into it.'
Charlie did not smile, for this was a serious matter. He felt there was something important inside himself like the seed of a plant.
You had to admit it with the Major; he could put his finger on it sometimes.
Â
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Charlie left the issue of his destiny undecided for the time being. It needed some thinking about. Meanwhile, a body had to be found.
âThat floor looks difficult. How would I get it up? Or where to start?'
He began to pace the floor of the entrance hall, pondering the possibilities.
âYou might kill a person in the entrance of a Theatre, but it's not easy to bury a body there.'
Charlie walked around thoughtfully. He couldn't see anything on the floor that hinted that it had been dug up. He couldn't think of anywhere else to look except that little wash place and lavatory no one used because it stank so.
Stank â¦smelt ⦠A body would smell!
He had smelt one once before when, as a small boy, his family had moved to a house near a cemetery. The cemetery had been a little bit casual about burying its dead. His mother had soon moved them out of that house saying she knew why the rent was so low.
Charlie walked up and down outside the door, but he did not go in.
âWhat are you up to?' said a voice behind him. It was Fred, the stage set helper (he only carried in the furniture; the producer preferred his own assistants to do more â or even did it himself).
âJust poking around, Fred,' said the boy.
âWell, don't poke.'
Fred, who had good days and bad days, was clearly having one of his bad days. Charlie did not like the man.
He had seen him beating a dog, but as the dog promptly bit Fred, who retired bleeding and shouting, the dog had got the better of the clash. He turned out to be the live-in pet of the owner of the nearby ale-house where Fred would certainly not find himself welcome.