Brian Jacques - [Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

Hetty pursed her lips as she sipped her tea. “No more you wouldn’t, marm! That Obadiah Smithers, nasty bossy man, always asking me t’leave the room, so he can talk business, if you please! Then there’s the other young madam, Miss Maud Bowe, wants waitin’ on ’and an’ foot. Wants to get back to Lunnon, that’s what she needs t’do. An’ that young Master Wilfred, dirty towels, muddy bootmarks, bad manners. Cheeky wretch, you should see the mess he leaves the bathroom in every day. But his mother won’t hear a word said agin him. No, she drifts about there, givin’ her orders like she was a bloomin’ duchess or somethin’: ‘I think we’ll have the gammon for lunch, Hetty, boil those potatoes until they’re floury, Hetty, you may pour the tea, Hetty.’ Humph! An’ her the daughter of a Yorkshire sack an’ bag maker. Oh, I notice these things, y’know. There ain’t many secrets in the Smithers ’ouse that Hetty Sullivan ain’t over’eard!”

Ben nodded sympathetically. “You haven’t had it easy working for them, eh, Hetty?”

The maid primped at her lank, mousy hair. “I certainly ’ave not, Master Ben!”

Ben seemed very concerned at the maid’s plight. “What’ll you do for a job if Smithers carries out his plan and takes over the village for his cement business? Surely you’ll be out of house and home, won’t you, Hetty?”

She tapped the tabletop with a stick-like finger. “D’you know what Smithers said, ’e said I could live there, in the spare room, an’ he’d deduct lodgin’ out of me wages. There! What d’you think of that, eh?”

Ben played the gossipy maid like a fish on a line. “So it looks like he’s got things well in hand. Does he talk much about the new venture?”

Hetty looked this way and that, as if others were listening in on the conversation, then put a hand to the side of her mouth and dropped her voice to a confidential half-whisper. “Just between me’n you, ’e never stops talkin’ about it. Now, I’m not one for gossipin’ an’ repeatin’ things, but you should’ve ’eard the argument Mr. Smithers an’ Maud Bowe ’ad this mornin’ over breakfast. It was fearful, I tell you, fearful!”

Mrs. Winn caught the nod from Ben, so she immediately took over his role, leaning forward to Hetty like a conspirator, whilst dismissing the boy. “Er, Ben, perhaps you’d better go and wash up for dinner.” As Ben left the room, he heard Mrs. Winn murmuring to the maid. “Oh, poor Hetty, you look so upset. Tell me all about it, dear.”

It was seven-thirty that evening. Hetty had departed, taking with her a jar of homemade blackberry jam and Mrs. Winn’s condolences for the indignities she was forced to bear under the Smithers regime. Ben was sitting with Ned at his feet, Mrs. Winn with Horatio at hers, all replete after a Sunday dinner of Winnie’s roast lamb and vegetables, followed by trifle with fresh cream. Ben waited, containing his curiosity until the old lady was ready to divulge what Hetty Sullivan had told her earlier. Mrs. Winn allowed Horatio to leap up onto her lap, and she stroked him as she related the maid’s conversation.

“It’s not good news, I’m afraid. Apparently Hetty heard every word. They were shouting and ranting at each other. Smithers is confident of the Chapelvale takeover and kept ignoring Maud’s argument that something urgent be done about me. Apparently I’m the fly in their ointment. Smithers reckons the other villagers will fall into line; he can bully them with his legal jargon, compulsory purchase orders, and talk of big-money London investment companies. But he’s finding it difficult to push me about—I’m the only one who is resisting him, you see!”

The strange boy’s blue eyes showed their admiration of the plucky old lady, and he winked knowingly at her. “And you intend fighting Smithers and the Londoners every inch of the way. Good for you, marm!”

Horatio jumped down from Mrs. Winn’s lap. She shook her head wearily. “I don’t let others see it, but I’m a bit frightened really. I own this house and I can prove it, but the rest? Oh dear, it’s all a bit up in the air. Captain Winn knew more about it than me. What a pity he’s not here to help. The almshouse is a big building—it takes up an entire corner of the village square. It was always regarded as belonging to the Winn family, all the village land, too. I just took it for granted. Nobody ever asked me to produce title deeds, or confirmation of ownership. Not until Smithers and his London acquaintances came along. If I want to carry on the fight, I need proper proof of ownership!”

Ben interrupted her. “What else did Hetty tell you she overheard?”

The old lady fiddled with her worn wedding ring. “Well, Maud Bowe told Smithers that they would lose the contract if they don’t have me moved out and the almshouse in their possession by the due date. Smithers blustered a bit, but wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the problem. Then Maud said that she had friends in London who could take care of me.”

Ben looked questioningly at her. “Friends?”

The old lady looked worried as she continued. “Aye, friends she called them. But Smithers knew what she was talking about. He said that he’d have nothing to do with Maud’s plan, said he was a man with a respectable family and high standing in the village, and that he didn’t want paid bullies coming here from London!”

This was an unexpected turn of events, though Ben was not surprised at the things big-city business firms would come up with in achieving their aims. He tried not to let his concern show. “Oh, and what are these so-called big-city friends supposed to do?”

The old lady fussed with her apron strings. “Frighten me out of my house, Maud said. Smithers told her that if it came to light, he’d deny all knowledge of the whole thing. But she replied that it was only the same thing he had been trying to do through his bullying son and the gang he has around him. That seemed to shut Smithers up.”

Ben had a question to ask. “When are these ‘big-city friends’ supposed to arrive in Chapelvale, Miz Winn?”

She shrugged. “Hetty never said, but she did mention that the minute Wilf arrived home this afternoon, Maud went up to her room to write a letter.”

Ben pondered this for a moment. “Suppose it takes a letter two days to get to London from here. Give it another day for these people to get themselves organized, and say the better part of a day for them to travel up here. Four days. Say sometime next Thursday, late afternoon.”

Mrs. Winn rose and started clearing dishes from the table. “What are we going to do, Ben?”

Gazing out of the window at the glorious summer evening, Ben patted his dog’s head. “Leave this to us, Winnie!”

24

WHEN JONATHAN PRESTON TOOK DOWN the shutters from the almshouse back windows, morning sunlight flooded in. It was nice to have a bit of light and fresh air in the old place, he thought, taking the lamps down from the beam and extinguishing them. A piece of floorboard timber, weighted down by two bricks, stood on the table; he lifted them to one side. The old ship’s carpenter smiled with satisfaction at the two pieces of paper he had rejoined skillfully with fish glue and rice paper as a backing. He held it up to the light, looking at the four small holes, murmuring to himself. “Good as new, writing’s all joined up proper now.

“Lord, if it be thy will and pleasure,

Keep safe for the house of De Winn thy treasure.”

He gazed at the paper awhile, then put it down, massaging the corners of his eyes with finger and thumb. “Wish I knew what those four little holes mean!”