8

It was late that night before Simon returned to his lodgings; the Twites' part of the house was all in darkness and he had to feel his way up the steep stairs by the light of the moon which shone in at the landing window. He did not trouble to light a candle in his room but was about to undress and jump into bed when an unexpected sound made him pause.

The sound, which came from the bed, was a muffled and broken gulping, somewhat resembling the grunts of a small pig.

"Who's there?" Simon said cautiously.

The only reply was a dejected sniff. Beginning to guess what he should see, Simon found and lit his stump of candle; it displayed a small miserable figure curled up on his bed with its face hidden in the pillow.

"Dido! What are you doing up here? What's the matter?"

She raised a tear-stained face and said woefully, "Ma won't let me go to the Fair!"

"Why not? Have you been naughty?"

"No, I never. But she was in a fair tweak about summat Pa said—they was at it hammer and tongs, I heard him shouting that she was under the thumb of her havey-cavey kin and would have us all in the Pongo—and then when I asked about the Fair she just glammered at me and said no."

"Well, you were a dunderhead to ask her when she was cross, weren't you," Simon said, but not unkindly. He sat down on the bed, put his arm around her, and gave her a consoling pat on the back. "Why don't you be extra good for a day or two and then ask her again; it's odds but she'll have forgotten she forbade you."

"N-no," said Dido forlornly. "Acos when I said why couldn't I go, she said acos I'd got no warm dresses that were fit to wear outdoors."

"Lord bless us! Can't she buy you something, or make you something? You don't have to keep indoors all winter, surely?"

"She said she couldn't get anything till Friday fortnight when Pa gives her the housekeeping. It's not fair!" said Dido passionately. "She was allus favoring Penny—only just afore Penny run off she had a candy-floss shawl and three pair of Manila gloves and a blue-and-white-striped ticking overmantel! Ma jist don't like me, she never buys me anything!"

This was true; Simon saw no point in disputing it.

"And that's another reason why Pa was cagging at her," Dido went on. "Acos she'd spent all the housekeeping on Penny's duds and a load of Pictclobbers."

"What are Pictclobbers?" Simon asked, pricking up his ears.

"I dunno." Dido was not interested. "They put 'em in the cellar. And now there won't be nothing to eat but lentil bread and fish porridge till Friday fortnit and I can't go to the Fair."

"Would your ma let you go if you had something to wear?"

"She said yes. But she knew I hadn't got nothing, so it was a lot of Habbakuk."

"Oh," said Simon. He reflected. "Well, look, don't be too miserable—I've a friend who might be able to help, she's very clever at making dresses, and perhaps she'd have something of hers that she could alter. I'll ask her tomorrow. So cheer up."

Dido's skinny arms came around his neck in a throttling hug. "Would she? Simon, you're a proper nob. I'm sorry I ever put jam on your hair. I think you're a bang-up—slumdinger!"

"All right, well, don't get your hopes up too high," he said hastily. "Your ma may not agree, even if I can get something."

"Oh, it's dibs to dumplings she will, if she gets summat for nix," said Dido shrewdly.

"Now you'd better nip back to bed before you get a dusting for being out of your room."

"It's all rug. They're out; Pa's playing his hoboy at Drury Lane and he got tickets for Ma and Aunt Tinty to go tonight."

"Still I expect they'll be in soon; anyway I want my sleep."

"Oh, all right, toll-loll," said Dido, whose spirits had risen amazingly. "But I'm nibblish hungry. I'm fed up with fish porridge—hateful stuff."

"There's a bit of cheese on the table."

"I've et it."

"Oh, you have, have you? Well, here, take this sausage, and be off, brat, and don't take things that don't belong to you another time."

"Slumguzzle," said Dido impertinently, but she gave him another hug (thereby anointing his hair with sausage) and condescended to leave him in peace.

Just before he went to sleep a drowsy thought flickered through his mind. Dido had said that Mr. Twite was playing his hoboy at Drury Lane. Drury Lane. Was not that where the Duke and Duchess and Sophie had met with their misadventure? Was there any connection between the two events?

Next morning, as he ran down the front steps, he saw a small pale face at the downstairs window directing at him a look full of silent appeal. He waved reassuringly but did not stop to speak, as he was late, and, moreover, saw Mrs. Twite approaching with a basket of herrings, presumably for the fish porridge. She gave him a chilly nod, scowled reprovingly at Dido, and passed within. Simon wondered what she would say if she knew Dido had told him that the housekeeping money had been spent on Pictclobbers. What were Pictclobbers, anyway? He was pretty sure they were not coal. Pistols or muskets seemed more likely.

It was a cold, gray November morning, but presently the sun rose, dispersing the river mists and gilding the last leaves on the trees. Dr. Furrneaux ordered his students outside to "paint hay while ze sun shines," as he put it.

Simon was sitting on the riverbank not far from the academy, hard at work on a water-color sketch of Chelsea Bridge with the dreamlike pink towers of Battersea Castle behind it, when a handsome pleasure barge swept under the bridge, traveling upstream with the tide. It passed close to Simon so that he was able to see the Battersea Arms (two squirrels respecting each other, vert, and az., eating mince pies or) embroidered on the sail.

"Good morning, Simon!" a voice called, and he noticed Sophie leaning over the forward rail. She wore a white dress with red ribbons and carried the usual assortment of needments for the Duchess—a basket of shrimps to feed the gulls, a book, a parasol, a battledore and shuttlecock, and a large bundle of embroidery.

Simon waved back and called, "What time shall you be home? Can I see you this evening?"

"We shan't be late," Sophie answered. "His Grace and my lady are off to Hampton Court to take luncheon with his Majesty, but we shall return directly afterwards because my lady is still tired from last night's adventure. I'll come round to Mr. Cobb's at nine—will you be there?"

"That will do famously" Simon called. The Duke, who, dressed in full court regalia, was steering in the stern, saw him and waved so enthusiastically that he nearly dropped his pocket handkerchief overboard.

The day passed pleasantly in the warm autumn sunshine. At noon the students lit a fire and brewed acorn coffee; later, Dr. Furrneaux came out and criticized their work. He discussed Simon's picture with ferocity, going into every point, often seizing the brush to alter some detail, until his whiskers were covered with paint.

Gus winked at Simon behind the principal's back and whispered, "Bear up, cully! The more old Fur-nose thinks of you, the more he's into you." Then his eyes widened, looking past Simon, and he exclaimed, "Stap and roast me! What the deuce is the matter with that boat?"

Simon turned to look at the river. A boat was coming from the direction of Hampton Court, but, for a moment, he did not recognize the ducal barge, so strange an appearance did it present. It was creeping along low in the water with hardly any of the hull visible, and the whole craft was curiously wrapped about in folds of material, so that it looked more like a floating parcel than a boat. Somebody had just jumped off it, and as they watched there were three more splashes, and they saw the heads of swimmers making for the shore.

"It's sinking!" exclaimed Gus.

"And the rowers have jumped clear," said Simon, recognizing the cream-and-gold livery of the swimmers. "But where's the Duke and Duchess and Sophie?"

In a moment he saw them as the barge, carried along by the outgoing tide, slowly wallowed past. They were all in the stern, the Duke and Sophie trying to persuade the Duchess to jump for it.

"Indeed you must, ma'am!" implored Sophie. "When the ship sinks—and she will at any minute!—we shall all be sucked under."

"But I can't swim!" lamented the Duchess. "I shall certainly be drowned, and in my best court dress too—murrey velvet with gold sequins—it will be ruined and it cost over twenty thousand—"

"Hettie, you must jump! Never mind the perditioned dress!"

"But it weighs twenty-three pounds—it will sink me like a stone. Oh, help, help, will nobody help us?"

"All right, your Grace!" shouted Simon, pulling off his shirt. "We're coming!"

Half the students of the academy dived joyfully off the bank and swam to the rescue, delighted at such a diversion, and this was just as well, for next minute the barge filled up completely, turned on its side, and precipitated the three passengers into the water. The Duchess would undoubtedly have sunk had not, by great good fortune, her voluminous skirts and petticoats filled with air for a few moments so that she floated on the surface like a bubble while Sophie supported her.

"Dammit!" gasped the Duke. "I can't swim either, come to think! I never—aaaargh!" He disappeared in a welter of bubbles, but luckily Gus and Fothers, forging through the water like porpoises, both reached the spot at that instant and were able to dive and grab him. Meanwhile Simon, Sophie, and half a dozen other students managed to land the Duchess while others swam after the barge and steered it to a sandspit on the far side of Chelsea Bridge.

Dr. Furrneaux, meanwhile, after wringing his hands and whiskers alternately, when he saw that the rescue was safely under way, had very sensibly organized some more students into building up a fine blaze from the embers of the noon fire so that the victims of the wreck could warm themselves immediately. The setting sun and the huge bonfire threw a red light over the strange scene, steam rose in clouds from those who had been immersed, while others ran to and fro fetching more branches.

"By Jove!" said the Duke as he stood steaming and emptying water out of his diamond-buckled shoes. "What a scrape, eh? I fancied my number was up that time—so it would have been too, if it weren't for your plucky lads, Furrneaux! Much obliged to 'ee all!"

"Indeed, yes!" The Duchess smiled around warmly upon the dripping assembled students. She looked much less bedraggled than anybody, as the upper part of her body had never been submerged, thanks to the speed with which she had been towed to land. "You are a set of brave, good souls. You must all come to dinner at the castle as soon as possible."

Dr. Furrneaux beamed with pride and affection for his students. "Yes, yes," he said, "Zey are a set of brave garçons when it comes to a tight pinch—it is only ze hard work zey do not always enjoy!"

"What happened to the barge?" Simon asked Sophie as they stood drying themselves. "How did it come to sink?"

"Nobody knows exactly," she answered. "It was certainly all right when we reached Hampton Court. But on the way home it seemed to move heavily in the water and when we had gone a certain way—I do not know where we were—"

"Mortlake, or thereabouts," the Duke put in.

"It seemed to be sinking lower and lower, and suddenly her Grace gave a scream—we were all on deck, but she looked down the companionway and saw there was nearly a foot of water in the cabin, and more coming in. There was a hole in the side! So I had the notion of passing her Grace's tapestry under the hull, over the hole, and pulling it up tight against both sides, to stop the leak. We did so, and it worked tolerably well for quite a long way—"

"Ay, my child, it was a brainwave," the Duke said. "Had it not been for your clever wits 'tis a herring to a ha'penny we'd ha' been shipwrecked at Putney or some such godforsaken spot where we would undoubtedly have perished with not a soul to hear our cries. For you could not have rescued both of us, Sophie my dear, and as for those cowardly jobberknolls of rowers, they were no more use than a fishskin fowling piece—I'll turn every last one of them out of my service, so I will. Where are they?"

The rowers, however, when they reached land, had prudently made off and did not even wait for their dismissal; they were seen at Battersea Castle no more.

"Alas for my tapestry, though," the Duchess sighed. "I fear it will be quite ruined."

"Nonsense, my dear," her husband exclaimed. "We'll have it dried and cleaned, and you'll see it will be as good as new. And even if it ain't quite the same, I'd as lief keep it—do you realize that tapestry has saved our lives twice? And each time thanks to adroit little Miss Sophie here? We are much in your debt, my dear."

"Where did you learn to swim so well?" the Duchess inquired.

"Oh, it was nothing, your Graces," Sophie said shyly. "I learnt to swim at the Poor Farm; indeed we were obliged to, with the canal so close by—someone was forever falling in. But please think no more about it my lady. Look, here comes the carriage and I am persuaded your Graces should be taken home immediately and be put to bed with three hot bricks each to avoid all danger of an inflammation."

"Quite right, my child, quite right! Hettie! let us be off. Dr. Furrneaux, will you bring all your students along to take pot luck with us tomorrow night? Ay, and I've something famous to show you all, my big Rivière canvas which this good boy has cleaned."

Dr. Furrneaux gladly accepted on behalf of his students and expressed his eagerness to see the restored painting. Amid hurrahs and waving caps the carriage drove away toward Battersea Castle. As night was now falling fast, the students decided to abandon work and make a party of it. More acorn coffee was brewed; those who had money went and bought potatoes in Chelsea Market to roast in the embers, while those who had none fetched chestnuts from Battersea Park or merely danced minuets and quadrilles by the light of the moon.

When the chimes of the Chelsea Church clock boomed out the hour of nine, Simon recollected his appointment to meet Sophie. He set off at a run, though wondering if the task of caring for her rescued mistress might have prevented Sophie coming out again.

She had not failed him, however. He found her sitting with the Cobb family, helping Mrs. Cobb hem pinafores for Libby while she regaled them all with a lively account of the shipwreck.

Simon asked how the Duke and Duchess did.

"Famously snug," said Sophie. "They both went to bed with hot bricks, and I gave them a dose of the poppy syrup that I made according to Mrs. Cobb's receipt."

"Ay, you can't beat my poppy syrup," said Mrs. Cobb complacently.

"And they were both very kind to me," Sophie went on. "The Duke gave me five guineas and this gold enameled watch—see, Libby, how pretty it is with the blue flowers—and her Grace gave me a week's holiday, besides two beautiful dresses and five lengths of stuff to make things for myself. But what was it you wanted to ask me, Simon?"

Simon explained the troubles of poor Dido Twite, with an unfeeling mother, a diet of fish porridge, and no dress to wear to the Clapham Fair. Sophie's kind eyes misted in sympathy as she listened, and Mrs. Cobb cried, "Well, I declare! Fancy treating a child so! She could have some of Libby's clothes, but they'd be too small, I daresay."

"It's the simplest thing in the world," Sophie said, "I can use some of the stuff her Grace gave me to make the child a dress—it will take no time at all to whip it together if you can give me some idea of her size, Simon."

"Oh no, that's a great deal too good of you," he objected. "I wondered if you'd have some old dress put by that you could cut up for her, Soph."

Sophie however declared that the Duchess had given her so many things she could easily spare some material—"The poor little thing, let her have something really pretty and new for once. There is a blue merino that might be just the thing. Is she dark or fair?"

"She is always so grubby that it is hard to tell," Simon said doubtfully. However he thought the blue merino would do very well.

"I'll make it tomorrow," Sophie promised. "As I've the day off, it's odds but I'll have it finished by the evening."

"Come and do it here," offered Mrs. Cobb. "You'll be company for me, my dear; Cobby's off to Hackney to look at some carriages."

"Soph, you are a Trojan," Simon said. "I made sure you'd be able to help." A bright idea struck him. "If you have the week off you could come to the Fair too, couldn't you? We could make a regular junket of it. It's on Sunday—the day after tomorrow."

"Why, I should love to!" Sophie said, her eyes sparkling at the thought.

They agreed to fix a meeting time and place next evening, when Simon came to fetch the dress.

Dido's problem was now solved but, as Simon walked home after having escorted Sophie to the gates of Battersea Tunnel, he reflected that the cloud of mystery in which he moved seemed to be thickening daily. He wondered if he ought to warn the Duke that danger threatened—if it did—or would that merely raise unnecessary alarm in the kindly old gentleman's breast? But the sinking of the barge seemed highly suspicious, following, as it did, so soon after the fire in the opera box. Not for the first time Simon wished that Dr. Field were at hand to advise him. It seemed more and more plain that the doctor must have stumbled on some piece of the Hanoverian plot and been put out of the way.

As Simon climbed the steps of Number Eight, Rose Alley, he saw Dido's wan face pressed to the windowpane. He wondered if she had been there all day, and gave her a reassuring smile and wave. She darted out to intercept him in the hall.

"Have you got the mish? Come in here—Ma's got a gentleman visitor in the kitchen and Pa's asleep." She pulled him into her untidy bedroom.

"It's all right," Simon said. "My friend's making you a dress and she'll have it finished by tomorrow night. So all you have to do is get cleaned up—you can't wear a new blue merino dress looking like that."

"New blue merino!" breathed Dido, round-eyed. "Coo, I'll wash and wash and wash! But what about the mint sauce? Wasn't it dear?"

"No, because my friend had the stuff given to her as a present."

"New stuff and she give it away to someone she didn't even know? She must be loose in the basket!" Such generosity seemed hardly conceivable to Dido.

"Shall I tell your Ma about the dress?"

"Best not jist now. She's been out all day visiting Aunt Minbo at Hampton Court and come home as cross as brimstone! She said I wasn't to disturb her while the gentleman man visitor was there or she'd clobber me."

"All right, I'll tell her in the morning. Good night, brat," said Simon. Hampton Court! he thought. Could there be some connection between this visit and the wreck of the barge?

On his way upstairs he happened to glance back just in time to see Mrs. Twite's visitor come quietly out of the kitchen.

It was Mr. Buckle, the tutor.

"There must be a connection between Battersea Castle and this house," Simon said to himself positively as he got into bed. "And it's time something was done about that load of Pictclobbers in the cellar. I'll go to Bow Street and inform the constables tomorrow."

He wondered what would happen to the Twite family then. Presumably Mr. and Mrs. Twite would be haled off to jail. What would become of Dido? Surely children did not get imprisoned for the misdoings of their parents? Would the poor little thing have to go and live with one of her disagreeable aunts?

Recalling the new dress and the Fair, he resolved to put off his visit to Bow Street until Monday. Let Dido have her one day of pleasure. "After all," he thought, "a day's delay can't make much odds."

He went to sleep.