[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman Page 15

  “Hmm, baptismal font, every church has one, though I’ve never thought of a font being in this old place. Hmmm.”

  Ben patted Ned as he lumbered by. He spoke aloud to the dog, so his three friends could hear.

  “What’s the matter, old boy, not comfy enough under there? Let’s take a look.” Dropping on all fours, he crawled under the table. “Hahah!”

  At the sound of Ben’s exclamation, Amy crouched and stared under the table at him. “Something there?”

  “I think so, it’s a sort of raised square bit with a broken part sticking out the middle. Will that be it, Jon?”

  The old ship’s carpenter nodded to Alex. “It may be. It may be. Let’s move this table. You take one side. Lass, take care of the two bricks under the leg. Stay there, Ben!”

  The table was moved, the boy stayed on all fours by the remnants of the baptismal font, looking up at Amy for approval. Instead, it was the Labrador who received her hug.

  “Good old Ned, it was due to you we found it, good boy!”

  If a dog could ever smirk, Ned did. He flicked his tail toward his master. “Sorry about that, pal, but credit where it’s due, y’know. Nothing like a hug from a pretty girl, eh!”

  But Ben was more intent on solving the mystery than bantering with Ned. He watched Jon trace the graven lettering around the limestone base with his clasp knife blade, reading aloud. “ ‘In nomine Patris, et filius, et spiritus sanctus.’ In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—I remember that from Sunday Mass when I was a lad. This is it. This stub is probably the column of the font basin. How did the rhyme read, boy?”

  “Take the Commandments paces west,

  away from the bless’d naming place.”

  Alex walked over and stood by the font base. “Ten paces west from here. Anyone got a compass?” He met Jon’s slightly disapproving stare blankly. “How’r we supposed to know which way west is?”

  The old ship’s carpenter smiled. “I can tell you’ve never been to sea. Show him, lad.”

  Ben faced the open rear windows, warm with afternoon sunlight. “West’s where the sun sets, over there.”

  Alex began measuring out ten paces solemnly in the right direction. Amy sat down on the floor beside her strange friend, and whispered to him. “Jon said that as if you’d been to sea. Have you, Ben?”

  He tried to shrug off the question. “The sea? Oh, for just a little bit, nothing much really.”

  She stared curiously into his clouded blue eyes. It started to race through his mind again—how could he tell her: wind, waves, storm, the world of waters. A dumb boy and a half-starved dog, crouching in the galley of the Flying Dutchman, with a captain (Vanderdecken) roaring oaths at the heavens as he tried battling his way around Cape Horn in the teeth of winter gales. Murder on the high seas, an angel dropping to the deck, the numbing shock of being plunged into an icy green maelstrom of ocean.

  He was wrenched back to reality by Jon clapping a huge arm about his shoulders. “Are you all right, lad?”

  The feeling ebbed. He shook himself. “Er, yes, mate, I’m fine. Bumped my head on that table when you moved it. I’ll be all right, it’s nothing.”

  His dog had caught Ben’s thoughts. To distract Amy he leapt on her and began licking her face.

  She tried laughingly to push him off. “Hahaha, what’ve I done to deserve all this? Get off me, you great silly dog!”

  Ben shook a finger at her as he held Ned’s collar. “Don’t blame him, Amy, you started all the hugging off!”

  Her brother called, “I’m about three feet from the window here. That’s ten paces. What happens now?”

  The old ship’s carpenter took over. He paced out ten steps, going past Alex to arrive one pace outside the open windows in the churchyard. “Your pace was shorter than the person who wrote the rhyme, mate. Mine is slightly longer, I think. But it’s somewhere about here.”

  They joined him outside in the late afternoon. Amy brought the translation with her, she read the next part.

  “To where the heavenly twins stand ever

  gazing at Sol’s dying face.”

  Alex winked at Jon. “That’s got nothing to do with going to sea, I’ll bet. Come on, mate, let’s see you solve this one!” A real friendship was beginning to show between the hesitant boy and the old carpenter.

  Jon ruffled Alex’s hair as he looked around. “Give me a bit of time, matey, we’ll crack it!”

  The Labrador snickered as he passed Ben a thought. “The heavenly twins, that could be us!”

  The boy struggled to hide a grin. “Heavenly? Not you, mate. Now stop fooling about and help us.”

  Amy sat on the windowsill. “Heavenly twins. . . . Maybe it’s those two stars, you know, the sign of Gemini. They’re always called the heavenly twins!”

  Jon gazed up at the sky, thinking aloud. “Only trouble with that is, it’s daylight. How could the heavenly twins watch Sol’s dying face?”

  The younger boy plucked a blade of grass and chewed on one end. “What’s a Sol?”

  Ben had heard the expression before, so he explained. “Sol is a name given to the sun. The sun sinks in the west, you’ve heard the expression. The dying sun sank into the west. I’ve read it in books many a time.”

  Amy nodded. “Ben’s right. So what we’re looking for are two things. Heavenly twins standing ever gazing at Sol’s dying face.” She walked out into the churchyard, grass rustling against her long skirt. Ben followed her. Together they stopped, about halfway across, and leaned on one of the many crooked moss-grown gravestones, staring at the back of the almshouse. Ben saw the twins straight away, but he waited a moment until Amy caught sight of them. She leapt upright, pointing. “There they are, underneath the middle window: the twins!”

  Two gracefully fluted columns of limestone formed the window edges. Beneath them, as if supporting the columns with their wings, stood two carved stone angels, facing outward, their hands joined in prayer, faces looking upward to heaven. Amy’s voice caused a prowling jackdaw to take flight as she shouted shrilly, “The heavenly twins standing ever gazing at Sol’s dying face!”

  Ned looked accusingly at his master, passing a thought. “You knew that, didn’t you? Before Amy called out, you’d guessed where the angels were. I must say, though, having seen a real angel, those two don’t bear much resemblance, huh!”

  Ben raised his eyebrows. “Don’t be hard on the stone-mason, Ned, he’d probably never seen an angel.”

  “‘Turn as a third Gospelmaker would to the house named for the rock,’ ” Alex read out loud. “Now I’m really stumped. I don’t know any Gospelmakers.”

  The old carpenter drew a silver watch from his pocket and consulted it. “Well, we can all go home and think about it. You’ll be wanted for dinner soon. I say we meet back here tomorrow, same time?”

  Alex grumbled a bit; he was certain they were on to something, but Jon was right. Ben and his dog stood with Amy on the other side of the wall, waiting while her brother bid his newfound friend good-bye. Alex held forth his hand.

  “See you tomorrow morning, then, Jon. Don’t worry, we’ll solve it. We’re doing something to save Mrs. Winn’s village for her. Not like some of the dead and alive types around Chapelvale, eh, mate?”

  Alex’s hand vanished inside the old carpenter’s huge grasp. Jon’s eyes crinkled into a fond smile as he shook it. “Aye, mate, we won’t go wrong with you helpin’ us!”

  Dinner had already been served at the Smithers house. Maud Bowe retired outside to the garden, where she sat, perusing the illustrated pages of a book entitled Fashion Hints for the Lady about Town. Though she gave the impression of enjoying her country stay, Maud was longing to be back among her friends in London. Young Wilf slouched out into the garden, a heavy bandage and splint on his right arm, which was resting in a sling. He scowled at Maud and slumped down into a cast-iron chair, drumming his heels hard against the legs. Maud glanced over the top of her book at him.

  “Wilfre
d, do you have to make that din?”

  He drummed his steel-tipped boot heels louder, staring defiantly at her. “Name’s not Wilfred, it’s Wilf!”

  Closing the book, she stared primly at him. “All right, then. Will you cease that infernal noise, Wilf?”

  He stopped, smiled maliciously, and started drumming again. “I can do what I like ’round here. I live here, you don’t!”

  “I’ll tell your father!”

  “Go and tell him, I don’t care.”

  Maud massaged the side of her forehead daintily. The noise was really getting to her. Finally she stamped her foot.

  “Why don’t you go up to your room? I thought you were supposed to be injured. You should be in bed!”

  Wilf was enjoying tormenting her and beat his heels faster. “Mother says I need fresh air. You go up to your room!”

  Maud knew she had lost the battle of wills. Before she retired to her room, she stood over Wilf, hissing nastily. “Stupid village clod! Wilfred, Wilfred, Wilfred!”

  Wilf continued drumming, grinning smugly at her.

  “Miss Maudy toffee nose!”

  She stalked off without another word, her thoughts racing. Maybe when her father’s toughs came up from London, she could find a reason for one of them to give Wilf an accidental cuff across the ear. They were good at things like that.

  When she had gone, Wilf produced pencil and paper from his sling and began laboriously writing, trying to use his left hand. It was useless, Regina would write for him. This time he would fix Ben for good, without violence or fighting. He sat waiting for his gang to visit.

  26

  DUSK WAS TAKING THE PLACE OF DAYLIGHT. Outside the lace-curtained windows, a nightingale’s melody was punctuated by an owl-hoot, and dusty moths beat their wings on the windowpanes, in an effort to reach the interior light.

  It was just before Mrs. Winn’s bedtime. She sat at the kitchen table with Ben, trying to help him with the riddle. He had told her of the discoveries that he, Amy, Alex, and Jon had made so far. The old lady seemed tired and despondent. “Do you really think any of this will help me and the village, Ben? Time’s growing shorter by the day now. This all sounds a bit airy-fairy, compared to the way Smithers and his London firm are forging ahead. I looked at one of those clearance notices posted in the square. It’s so official, so full of legal jargon. All ‘wheretofore’ and ‘hereinafter’ and ‘clause B subsection D,’ it made my head spin. Oh, I wish we could come back at them with something more solid instead of a few ideas based on guesswork.”

  Ben saw the old lady was close to tears. She was plainly scared and worried by the entire situation. He took her hand. “Stop fretting, Miz Winn, everything will turn out for the best, you’ll see. Now come on, help me with this problem. ‘Turn as a third Gospelmaker would to the house named for the rock.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

  Mrs. Winn went to warm some milk. “There were four Gospelmakers: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. They’re always referred to in that order, so Luke must be the third Gospelmaker. Does that make any sense?”

  Ben watched her spooning cocoa and sugar into a jug. “Yes, yes. You’re right! So which way would Luke turn, north, south, east, west; left, right, backward, or forward?”

  The black Labrador, who was lying with his chin on both front paws, chuckled. “That’s a question—which way would Luke look. Luke look, get it?”

  Ben looked sternly at the dog. “This is no time for jokes. If you can’t help, then take a nap.”

  Ned closed both eyes, thinking, “Luke looks left.”

  Ben answered the thought. “How d’you know that?”

  The dog opened his eyes. “I can’t explain it, but it sounds right, doesn’t it? Luke looks left.”

  Ben said it aloud. “Luke looks left. What d’you think, Miz Winn?”

  She paused from stirring warm milk into the mixture in the jug. “Hmm, Luke looks left. . . . Of course, L is for left, R is for right. Luke starts with L, so that must be it. Well done, my boy!”

  Ned snorted aloud and closed his eyes again. However, he soon opened them again when the old lady filled his bowl with hot cocoa. She poured warm milk for Horatio.

  “He’s never been fond of cocoa, so I give him warm milk.”

  Ned threw out a thought as he slurped cocoa noisily. “Huh, foolish old feline!”

  Mrs. Winn was far too tired to continue clue-solving. Ben took her arm and walked her through to the downstairs room where she slept. When he returned to the kitchen, Ned was standing alert, watching the door. He communicated a thought to his master.

  “Keep quiet, mate. There’s somebody outside!”

  The patter of receding footsteps sent Ben hurrying to the door. He opened it in time to see the fat form of Tommo, scurrying through the gateway. A note had been fixed to the door with a tack. After allowing Ned out to check the garden for other intruders, Ben took the note in and read it. Wilf’s hand was useless for writing, he had dictated it to Regina, but her spelling and grammar were no better than his. Ben smiled as he perused the untidy pencil scrawl.

  I carn’t fight you cos my hand is dammiged, but I want to talk too you. Be outside Evans’s shop tomorrow night, ten minnits before midnight.

  W. S., Grange Gang Leader.

  P.S. You better be their!

  Ned trotted in from the garden, shaking his head. “No sign of anyone out there, Ben, what’s in the note?”

  The boy folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. “Just another of Wilf’s little games, tell you tomorrow. What say we go to bed now, eh, pal?”

  The Labrador wagged his tail lazily. “Good idea. Oh no, look who’s at the window!”

  It was Horatio. He had followed the dog outside and Ben, not knowing, shut the door on him. The cat stood tapping the windowpane and meowing plaintively. Ben let him in by the window, and Horatio cleared the sink in one smooth leap. Landing lightly on the floor, he glared accusingly at Ned.

  Ben chuckled. “What’s he saying?”

  Ned translated the cat’s thoughts. “The usual gobbledygook: sardines, milk, butterflies, mice, and so on. Says he likes being out of a night, but prefers to finish his milk inside.” The big dog drained his cocoa bowl.

  “Sensible cat. Come on, Ned, bed for us. Good night, Horatio.”

  Ned followed his master upstairs, chuntering to himself. “Sensible cat, my paw! Great, foolish furball, more like it!”

  27

  EARLY-MORNING SHOPPERS WERE drifting into Chapelvale village square, and shop-keepers splashed pails of water about, cleaning their section of walkway and entrance. A market gardener was delivering fresh vegetables and flowers to the green-grocers; the gardener’s horse clopped its metal-shod hoofs against the cobblestones, causing sparks to fly.

  Feeling slightly crestfallen, Ben arrived at the back of the almshouse only to find Alex and Amy already there with the old seaman. Furthermore, Amy had already solved the “Luke to the left” problem. Ben did not show his disappointment, telling himself that it was better for the villagers to help themselves anyway. He smiled at Amy.

  “Clever bit of thinking that, L for Luke and L for left. I lay for ages trying to sort it out in bed last night—my mind was a blank. Good job you solved it, Amy.”

  Jon sat down on the window ledge, stroking his beard. “Aye, our Amy’s a bright girl, but it still don’t solve much. Turn to the left yourself, Ben. What do you see?”

  Ben did as Jon bid him, looking off to the left in a straight line. “Hmm, nothing much, just the usual countryside, trees, farmland, some fields, and the church on top of the hill.”

  Amy stood alongside him. “We’re looking for the house named for the rock, though what that’s supposed to be goodness knows.”

  Alex had an idea. “Maybe there’s a house or a cottage out there called Gibraltar; that’s a rock. Sometimes people name their house after a place they’ve visited. Or a religious person might have named their house after the Rock of Ages, like in the hymn.”<
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  Ben nodded. “You could be right. Are there any places out there like that, named after a rock? Who’d know a thing like that?”

  Jon stood up. “Mr. Braithwaite will know. Let’s go and ask him.”

  As they were about to pull the heavy door of the almshouse shut behind them, a voice called out. “Now then, young ’uns, she’s runnin’ fine today!”

  A cheery, ruddy-faced fellow, clad in dairyman’s smock and gaiters, reined up a smartly varnished gig, pulled by a dun mare. Ben followed Amy and Alex as they ran to greet him.

  “Good morning, Will.” Amy patted the mare’s flank. “Is Delia over her colic? She looks well!”

  He eyed the mare fondly. “Ole Delia’s bright as a button, thanks to your dad. I don’t know what was in that medicine he gave her, but it certainly got rid of her colic. I’ve just finished my milk’n’eggs round, why don’t you come up to the farm for a visit? Eileen’d be pleased to see you. Hi, Jon Preston, you ole hermit. Fancy a cup o’ decent tea an’ some scones up at my farm’ouse?”

  Moments later they were in the gig, all sitting on empty milk churns and egg crates, as Delia jogged spiritedly up the back lane toward the hill beyond.

  Alex looked around. “Where’s Ned?”

  Ben shrugged. “Oh, that fellow, he’s probably off exploring somewhere. Don’t worry about the old boy, he’ll find us when he wants to. Is it far to the farm?”

  Alex gestured up ahead. “About halfway up the hill, it’s called Hillside Farm. Will Drummond is our local dairy farmer. His family’ve had a place up there for centuries. My dad often tends his animals when they’re ill. He says Will’s a good man, you’ll like him. Bet his mother knows if there’s a place named after a rock hereabouts. She knows everything!”

  Will’s wife, Eileen, was a bustling lady with an ever-present smile. Holding an infant of just over two years on her forearm, she came out into the cobbled farmyard to meet them. “Look, liddle Willum, ’ere’s daddy, an’ friends with him, too. Come on, Delia my beauty, I got an apple for ye!”