[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman Page 10

  “Leggo of me, I’m no friend of yours!”

  The smile had never left Ben’s face for a moment. “Oh, what a shame, I hoped we would be pals. I was looking to make new friends in Chapelvale.”

  The bullying girl grabbed Amy’s arm, digging her nails in cruelly. “I’ll be seeing you around!”

  But she instantly released her hold, wincing painfully. Ben had her other hand in a curious grip and was shaking it heartily.

  “Any friend of Amy’s is a pal of mine. Hope I’ll see you around, too. Look, Alex, I’m making new friends already!”

  He released Regina’s hand. She shot a furious glance at Wilf, who called to the rest of the gang. “Let’s get them!”

  Ben placed himself in front of Alex and Amy, backing slowly up the steps as the gang members began closing in. He whispered to his friends. “Get out of here, make a run for it. It’s me they want!”

  Alex was about to dash off, but his sister caught his arm. “We’re not going without you, Ben!”

  Before she could say any more they were surrounded. There was a panicked squeak from Tommo, the fat boy, followed by a deep, rumbling snarl. The gang froze!

  The black Labrador had come up behind them like a phantom. Hair bristling, muscles bunched, he stood panther-like, ready to spring to the attack, quivering lips pulled back to reveal his powerful canine fangs.

  Ben’s hand went up. “Stay, boy. . . . Stay!”

  Regina pulled a small gang member in front of her for safety. “It’s the dog! Do you own it?”

  Seating himself on the steps, Ben shook his head. “Who, me? No, I don’t own him, he just follows me about. Haha! He must like me, ’cos he’s not too friendly with anyone who tries to harm me or my friends. Ned, come on, boy, good dog!”

  Stiff-legged and growling with menace, the big, black dog stalked up to stand beside his mate, throwing out a thought. “Let me chase ’em, just for exercise. That big one, Wilf, I’ll rip the seat out of his pants! I don’t like him one bit!”

  Ben took hold of Ned’s collar. “Thanks anyway, but you stay put for the moment. Carry on with your fierce dog act.”

  Ned strained against Ben’s hold on his collar, rearing up on his hind legs as if trying to get at the gang. Ben did his part by showing difficulty holding the dog back and calling, “You’d best get going, pals, but walk, don’t run, whatever you do. Go on, I’ll keep him here until you’re well out of the way!”

  Amy had never seen the Grange Gang go so carefully. They retreated as if they were walking on eggs. From a distance, Wilf turned and pointed a finger at Ben.

  “I’ll see you again, when you haven’t got that dog with you!”

  The blue-eyed boy waved cheerily. “That’ll be nice, Wilf, take care of those scratches on your nose. It’s red enough as it is!”

  Mr. Braithwaite emerged from the library, scratching his head. “Er, could you stop your dog barking, please? Hmm, I can, er, hear it, y’know, in the, er, er, library. Oh, it’s stopped, hmm, very good, very good. Nice doggie, er, run along now.”

  Ned sent Ben a thought. “Huh, if I scratched as much as he does, you’d prob’ly say I had fleas and make me take a bath!” The towheaded lad could not help laughing aloud.

  Amy stared at him. “What’s the matter, Ben?”

  He flicked the hair from his eyes. “Oh, nothing really. You were right, Amy, Mr. Braithwaite is funny. I like him.”

  16

  OVER BREAKFAST ON SATURDAY MORNING, Ben had a request to ask of Mrs. Winn.

  “Miz Winn, that room across the landing from my room upstairs, the one with the thick door and brass lock. What do you use it for?”

  She looked at him over the rim of her teacup. “I don’t use it for anything, that was Captain Winn’s study. He called it his den. All his stuff is in there. I only go in once every couple of months to dust around.”

  Ben had made an educated guess that the room would be the captain’s private sanctum. Apart from one or two souvenirs he had brought home for his wife and some photographs that decorated the mantel, there was not much evidence of a Royal Navy ship’s commander about the rest of the house. Evidently Mrs. Winn kept the room as some sort of shrine to her husband’s memory. She watched Ben’s eyes carefully.

  Knowing what he was going to say next, he hesitated a moment before speaking. “Miz Winn, would it be all right if I took a look in there?”

  The black dog had wandered up to the table. She patted his head, feeding him buttered toast crusts, and kept Ben waiting on her answer, which she gave after a lengthy interval. “Is it important that you look in the captain’s room, Ben?”

  The boy nodded earnestly. “Time’s running short for your village. We might find something up there that could help.”

  She took a final sip of tea. “Right, then, you may take a look this afternoon, when we get back from shopping in the village. I’ll need your help to carry things, I’m not just shopping for myself anymore. Come on, then, let’s make an early start!”

  Hiding his frustration at not being able to search immediately, Ben thanked her and passed a thought to Ned. “Never mind hiding under the table, you’re coming, too!”

  Morning sun dappled through the trees growing behind the village square. The place hummed gently with that Saturday morning sound of folk doing their weekend shopping. Ben carried Mrs. Winn’s basket dutifully, wondering when she was going to finish getting her supplies. They had gone from shop to shop, the old lady bustling about, dropping items into the basket, talking aloud to herself. “There, sugar and rice and some nutmegs for my Sunday rice pudding. Come on, young man, keep up!”

  At last they emerged from the shop. Mrs. Winn pursed her lips, mentally itemizing the grocery list. “Oh dear, I forgot the tea! Maybe I’ll get some cocoa, too, a mug of cocoa’s nice at bedtime. Do you like cocoa, Ben? You stay here, I’ll go and get it.” She vanished inside the shop again.

  Ben changed hands, swapping the basket from right to left and tightening his hold on a package beneath his arm. He caught a thoughtwave from Ned. “Good boy, don’t let that basket drop now. Over here, Ben, look who’s with me.”

  The Somerses were sitting on the post office steps, stroking Ned, who was enjoying the attention immensely. Ben spoke aloud to the dog as he approached.

  “You great lazy lump, you should be carrying this. Whew! Miz Winn certainly takes some keeping up with for an old lady. Hello there, you two!”

  Amy pointed to the package beneath his arm. “What’s in the parcel, Ben?”

  To her surprise he looked faintly embarrassed. “Some new clothes. Miz Winn bought them. I didn’t want her to, but she thinks I need to look respectable for Sunday church service tomorrow. Move over there, pals.”

  Ben sat with them on the post office steps, watching folk following their weekend shopping routines as always. Shop doorbells tinkled as people came and went, standing beneath the canvas awnings, gossiping and viewing the goods behind the bull’s-eye-paned windows of drapers, chandlers, butchers, and dairy produce merchants. Housewives with heavily laden shopping bags hanging from the handles of baby perambulators, calling to husbands who were chatting to other menfolk outside the newsagent and tobacconists. Children with coned paper bags, emerging from the sweetshop, sucking on treacle toffees, aniseed balls, and nut brittle, gazing absently about to locate their parents. Ben could not help commenting.

  “Odd, isn’t it. You wouldn’t think that the place has less than a week left as a village. Don’t they care, what’s the matter with them?”

  The girl watched Ben’s intense blue eyes studying the scene. “My mum says it’s because they’re village folk, with a village mentality. She says they won’t accept it could happen to them. These village families go back centuries. They just don’t know what progress and change mean. If anything frightens them, they push it to the back of their minds and get on with their lives. Hoping it’ll go away, I suppose.”

  Alex’s face reddened, and he stared down at the step. �
��Like me. I try to ignore Wilf Smithers and his gang. I wasn’t much use to you yesterday, never said a word, just stood there like a lump.”

  Ben patted his friend’s arm reassuringly. “But you did do something, pal, you stood alongside Amy and me. It was Ned who saved the day. I was as scared as you or your sister—there was a whole gang of them. No shame in being afraid when you’re outnumbered more than three to one, right, Amy?”

  The girl could see their new friend was being kind to her brother, and she nodded. “That’s right, Ben. There’s better ways of being brave than letting yourself get beaten up by Smithers’s gang.”

  Ben rose as he saw Mrs. Winn approaching. “Your sister’s right, Alex. Courage shows itself in different ways—chin up, pal, you’ll see.”

  Mrs. Winn loaded more purchases into the basket and greeted the two young people.

  “Well, good morning, do you remember me? You came with your father when my cat was sick last year. Now let me see, you both had names beginning with A . . . Amelia and Alexander!”

  Alex had cheered up a bit, and he corrected her. “Amy and Alex, Miz Winn. I remember you gave us apple pie and lemonade. How is your cat now?”

  Mrs. Winn rummaged through her purse as she replied. “Horatio’s fine, thank you, fine. Ben, how would you like to take your friends for some ice cream? Evans Tea Shoppe makes their own, you’ll enjoy it. I’ll come over later for tea and a scone. Here, Amy, you can be in charge of the ice cream money. Don’t forget to buy one for Ned, too. He’s a good dog.”

  Ben picked up the basket. “Where are you going, Miz Winn?”

  Setting her lips tightly, she pointed at two figures entering a building on the square’s east side. “Right where those two are going, to my lawyer’s office. I’ve been hoping to see Mackay. Time’s of the essence, isn’t it.” She had said nothing about an appointment. “I’ll see you later.”

  As they watched Mrs. Winn walking swiftly across to the lawyer’s office, Amy nodded to the man who was ushering a young lady into the building ahead of him. “That’s Obadiah Smithers, Wilf’s dad. He’s the one who’s buying the village to turn it into a cement factory. I don’t know who the lady is, though.”

  Ben glanced at the pair. “Neither do I, but I saw them get off the train together when I arrived here. Maybe she’s from London, part of that firm Smithers has dealings with—”

  Alex interrupted. “Jackman Donning and Bowe, that’s who my dad said they were. Wonder which one she is?”

  17

  EVANS TEA SHOPPE DID SERVE GOOD ice cream—it came in a long dish, pink and white with raspberry sauce and chocolate crumbs sprinkled on top. Mr. Evans worked in the back of the shop, baking and making ice cream. Blodwen, his wife, an immense jolly woman with a strong Welsh accent, served them. Though animals were not usually allowed inside, she was charmed by the big black Labrador, who looked very meek and offered his paw. Mrs. Evans lifted the edge of the tablecloth. “Ooh look you now, there’s a lovely dog, he is. Sit him under the table now. Indeed to goodness, who’d be keepin’ a fine dog like him outside with no ice cream!”

  As Ned tucked into his ice cream, which came on a tin plate, Ben tuned in to the dog’s thoughts. “Delicious, wonderful stuff. Just the thing after a hard morning’s shopping!”

  Ben put his feet on the dog’s back as he answered. “You great furry fraud!”

  Ben pulled aside the lace curtain. From where he was sitting he could see an ancient, rambling, one-story building at the square’s northwest corner. It was a jumble of wattle and daub, stonewalling and patches of worn brick, with crumbling mortar, makeshift repairs against the ravages of time. The faded roof of thatch sat on it like a badly fitted wig with a raggedy fringe. A large bump sticking up in the center of the roof gave it an odd, rather comical aspect. The whole thing was fronted by an overgrown patch of greenery and a rickety fence, partially broken by bushes growing through it. Sunlight shading through high hawthorns lent it an air of picturesque dilapidation. He pointed with his spoon.

  “Is that the place they call the almshouse?”

  Alex looked up from his ice cream. “Yes, but you’d best stay away from it, Ben. The mad professor lives there!”

  Ben laughed, as if the other boy was joking. “Haha, mad professor?”

  Amy backed her brother’s statement up. She whispered, “It’s true, Ben, a mad professor does live in the almshouse. He doesn’t like people and he seldom comes out—even Wilf Smithers and the Grange Gang don’t go near there. They say he has a double-barreled shotgun and he’s not afraid to use it. Alex is right, keep away from the almshouse!”

  From her side of the table Amy could see Mr. Mackay’s office. “Look, Ben.” She pointed. “There’s Miz Winn coming out of the lawyer’s office. I wonder what she was doing in there?”

  Even from a distance it was plain to see that the old lady’s dander was up. Mr. Mackay, a small, dapper lawyer, was standing between Mrs. Winn, Obadiah Smithers, and Maud Bowe, anxiously trying to prevent trouble. He was not having much success. The old lady, her chin thrust forward pugnaciously, was wagging a finger at Smithers and Bowe, evidently giving them a piece of her mind. Several times the pair tried to walk away, but she confronted them, not giving up until she had said what she wanted. It was Mrs. Winn who finished the argument as well. She stamped her foot and marched off, leaving her foes dumbfounded. Mr. Mackay scuttled back into his office, glad to have all three away from his premises before they attracted too much notice.

  Amy nodded admiringly. “Here she comes, good old Winnie. Oh, Ben. I wish there were more folk in Chapelvale like her. She won’t give up without a fight!”

  The blue-eyed lad licked the last of his ice cream from the spoon. “Who knows, maybe there are, once they get stirred up enough to do something about their problems.”

  Mrs. Winn’s black-button boots clicked sharply on the floor as she marched into Evans Tea Shoppe. Her cheeks were quite pink and she was obviously irate. She rapped twice on the counter. “A pot of Ceylon tea and a hot buttered scone, if you please, Blodwen!”

  Blodwen gave her a cheery nod. “Indeed to goodness, Winnie Winn, there’s bothered you look. Sit you down, dearie, I’ll bring them right to you!”

  Amy moved swiftly to make room as Mrs. Winn came to sit at the table. She blew out a long breath, took a small mirror from her bag, and began primping the hair that wisped out either side of her navy blue straw boater hat. Her order arrived swiftly; she poured a cup of tea, took three good sips, and tried to compose herself. Then she spoke.

  “Well! The very nerve of that Smithers and that young snippet with the dreadful London accent!”

  Ben felt like smiling at her indignation, but he put on a serious face. “Did they upset you, Miz Winn?”

  She drew herself up and took another sip of tea. “Upset me? Certainly not! I wouldn’t lower my standards and allow myself to be upset by the likes of them. Do you know, they made me a cash offer for my home and the almshouse? A piffling sum! When they saw I was not impressed, they doubled the offer. Hmph! I told them they could quadruple their paltry money, it still wouldn’t budge me an inch!

  “Then Smithers said he had taken legal advice, he said that if I still refused their offer after his scheme was under way, he could have me forcibly put out of my home and he could take possession of the almshouse without further permission!”

  Blodwen Evans had been lingering nearby, eavesdropping, as she usually did on any good village gossip. She moved in to collect the empty ice cream dishes. “And what did Mackay have to say about that, Winnie?”

  The old lady seemed to deflate, her voice dropped to a murmur. “He said Smithers and his friends had the law on their side. That unless I can prove valid ownership and proper legal documents I haven’t a leg to stand on.”

  Blodwen Evans gestured with a thumb to where her husband was at work in the back of the shop. “Aye, Smithers made my Dai a miserable offer as well, but what can we do, we ain’t got the money to fight him. M
y Dai says we’ll prob’ly have to take the offer for the teashop an’ move back to Wales. Still, that may not be. I’ve talked to a lot of folk. There’s Pettigrew the newsagent, Riley the ironmonger, Mrs. White from the sweetshop, and Mr. Stansfield the butcher. They say it can’t happen, you know. Look you, even Smithers can’t demolish a whole village just for some old limestone!”

  Ben interrupted her. “He can, Mrs. Evans, and he will, unless something is done to stop him.”

  Any further conversation was cut short by loud banging on the wall from the alley outside. A row of willow-pattern plates standing on edge upon a shelf began to tremble and clatter under the pounding vibration from the outside of the wall. Mr. Dai Evans came running out into the shop, wiping flour from his hands and untying his baking apron.

  As his wife hurried to steady the plates, she called to him. “It’s that young Smithers an’ his gang again, Dai!”

  He dashed outside. Amy was about to rise when Ben stopped her. “Wait a moment, let’s listen.”

  From outside Dai Evans could be heard shouting. “I know it’s you, Wilf Smithers, no use leanin’ against that wall, lookin’ as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. Go on, be off with the lot of you!”

  Wilf Smithers’s voice sounded out impudently. “It wasn’t us! We’ve got as much right to lean against this wall as anyone. Why blame us?”

  Mr. Evans’s voice shook with temper. “I know it was you lot. If you’re not gone from here in two ticks, I’ll call the constable!” Dai walked back into the shop, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, shaking his head and muttering. “I tell you, Blodwen. They’ll have us out of here one way or the other. I’ll be glad to get back to Wales, look you!”

  Blodwen set the last plate straight and was just moving back to the counter when the wall shook in time with the chanting of the Grange Gang outside.

  “Dai diddly eye dai . . . Dai Dai!”