17

"Is my coronet on straight, Sophie? Are my gloves properly buttoned? These diamond buttons stick so—"

"Come on, come on, Hettie, there's not time to waste, I can hear the cheers! His Majesty will be here at any moment!"

The Duke took his wife's arm and fairly ran her down the stairs. Sophie and Dr. Field followed protectively near. As yet, nobody had noticed them. The castle servants appeared to be in a state of disorganization, all milling about downstairs; neither Midwink nor Fibbins had appeared to help their Graces.

As they descended, Buckle's voice could be heard below, giving orders to a large number of people: "You all know what you have to do—every soul to be out at half-past eight. After the fanfare and the dinner—disperse! Each carry something: Midwink take charge of the jewels, Scrimshaw the plate—"

"Good evening, Mr. Buckle," the Duke said. "Are the arrangements for his Majesty's reception all complete?"

Buckle whipped around. For an instant an ugly expression came over his face, but this was rapidly replaced by his usual pale-eyed, impassive stare.

"Quite ready, your Grace," he replied smoothly. "I am glad to welcome your Graces back to Battersea."

"Well, you won't be when you hear our news!" the Duke snapped. "We know that you're a damned scoundrel, who palmed off your own whey-faced brat in place of my nephew and niece, and tried to murder me three times! But your crimes have caught up with you, and I shall be surprised if you don't end your days in the Tower, you rogue! The Bow Street men and the Yeomanry are on their way now; we don't want any unpleasant scenes at present, but as soon as his Majesty has left you'll be arrested."

Mr. Buckle's eyes flashed, but he replied in a low, even tone, "Your Grace is mistaken. I intend to amend my ways. I see my faults—I am truly sorry—and in future your Grace will have nothing to complain of."

"Well," said the Duke, a little mollified, "if you are truly sorry—"

"William!" exclaimed the scandalized Duchess. "Don't believe a word the hypocrite says! I am sure he has not the least intention—"

"Hark!" interposed Sophie. "Here is his Majesty! I can hear the fanfare, and the students cheering."

Indeed, as the royal sleigh left the frozen Thames, along which it had sped from Hampton Court, and crossed the short snowy stretch of park to the castle, the assembled students burst into loyal shouts.

"Hooray for Jamie Three!"

"Long live King Jim, good luck to him!"

"Yoicks, your Majesty!"

The Duke and Duchess, with Sophie behind them, ran down the red-carpeted front steps of the castle to greet his Majesty while the students formed a ring and, with snowballs and horse chestnuts, kept the inquisitive wolves from coming too close.

"Sire, this is a happy day. We are so pleased to welcome you to our humble roof—"

"Och, weel, noo, Battersea, it's nice to hear that. And how's your gude lady?"

The King was a little, dapper, elderly Scottish gentleman, plainly dressed in black, with a shovel hat on top of his snuff-colored wig; he carried a slender hooked cane, and a large black bird perched on his wrist which, at sight of the Duchess, opened its beak and gravely remarked, "What's your wull, my bonny hinny?"

"Mercy on us!" exclaimed her Grace. "Where did your Majesty get that heathen bird?"

"Why, ma'am, the Sultan of Zanzibar gave her to me for a Christmas present. And I find her a great convenience—don't I, Jeannie, my lass?—for there's a wheen Hanoverians aye trying to slip a wee drop of poison into my victuals, so I e'en employ Jeannie as a taster—she takes a nip of brose and a nibble of parritch, and soon has the poisoned meat sorted. Not that I mean to decry your hospitality, ma'am, but one must be careful."

"Why yes, yes, indeed one must!" The flustered Duchess then pulled herself together and graciously invited his Majesty to do himself the trouble of stepping into the banqueting hall. Sophie, following, noticed a pale gleam in Buckle's eyes, and thought he looked as if he meant mischief. She wished the Bow Street runners would come, or the Yeomanry—surely it must be nearly an hour since they parted from Simon? What could have happened? She could see that Dr. Field shared her worry, for he kept glancing at his watch.

"What time is it?" she whispered to him when a dour-faced female (Aunt Tinty, had she but known it) brought in the mince pies, with flaming prune brandy poured all over them.

"Twenty minutes to five," he whispered back. "Where the devil can that boy have got to with the Yeomanry?"

"Will you have a mince pie, your Majesty?"

"Na, na, thank you, Duchess. They play the very deuce with my digestion. But Jeannie will, won't you, lass?"

Jeannie ate several mince pies with every appearance of satisfaction, smacking her beak over the prune brandy.

"Are they safe?" Dr. Field whispered to Sophie.

"I brought them from Chippings," she whispered back. "I wouldn't trust the mince pies Mr. Buckle had provided."

Even so, none of the party save Jeannie felt inclined to sample the mince pies. She, after her fourth, perhaps because of the prune brandy, suddenly became overexcited, flew around the banqueting hall twice, pecked Mr. Buckle on the ear, and disappeared through a small open window.

"Jeannie—come back, lass!" cried her master, starting up. "A gold guinea to the man who catches her!"

None of the footmen seemed moved by this appeal; they stood motionless, and one or two of them sniggered. Sophie felt ready to sink with shame, but Dr. Field went to the window and shouted to the students outside, "His Majesty offers a gold guinea to the person who brings back his pet bird."

A tremendous cheer went up, and the sound of many running feet could be heard, accompanied by cries of hope and disappointment.

"Shall we adjourn to the library for coffee?" the Duke suggested. "I believe later on we are to see some fireworks." The party began moving up the stairs. "I daresay one of the students will soon bring back your bird—" the Duke was going on comfortably, when suddenly the most astonishing hubbub—shouts, shots, and crashes—broke out downstairs by the main doors.

"Gracious heavens!" cried the Duchess in alarm. "What can be going on?"

A somewhat bedraggled Gus burst through the castle doors and came charging up the stairs. His hair stood on end, one eye was blacked, and his face was covered by what looked like peck marks, but he held the squawking Jeannie triumphantly in both hands.

"Here you are, your Majesty!" he panted. "And I wish you joy of her! She's a Tartar! But sir and ma'am, and your Majesty, I don't think you should stay here, I don't indeed. Those villains downstairs are up to tricks, I believe. I had the devil's own job to get in, they were all massed about the hall with pikes and Pictclobbers. The sooner you are all out of the castle, the better it will be, in my opinion."

"Oh dear, oh, William!" lamented the Duchess. "We should never have let his Majesty come here—"

"Nonsense, Hettie. The Yeomanry will be here directly. All we need do is keep calm and retire to the library till it all blows over."

"Let us go higher up! That noise terrifies me—it sounds as if they are all fighting each other before coming up to murder us."

"What does his Majesty say?"

His Majesty had been busy settling Jeannie's ruffled plumes and politely affecting to be unaware of his hosts' problems. Appealed to, he said amiably, "Och, let us go higher up, by all means. Did ye not say there were to be fireworks? The higher up, the better view."

"I winna say nay to a wee dram," remarked Jeannie unexpectedly.

"Hush, ye ill-mannered bird. Lead the way upstairs, then, Battersea."

The Duke had the key to a small privy staircase leading to the battlements, and up this he led the King, while the rest of the party followed.

It was now almost dark, except for a fiery pink streak lying across the western sky; down below in the park the obscurity was broken by flashes as the students skirmished with the wolves and aimed a shot from time to time at Hanoverians in the castle doorway.

"Brave boys! They're keeping the scoundrels boxed in!" exclaimed the Duke. "When the Yeomanry come—oh, why don't they come?"

"But look—look who is coming!" Sophie pointed, almost stammering in her excitement. "The balloon! It must be Simon!"

"Why does he come in the balloon? Because of the wolves?"

"It is certainly Simon!"

An applauding shout went up from the students as the balloon drifted over them, shining in the light of the gas flambeaux which were now beginning to illuminate the park. Simon leaned over the side and shouted down urgently "Keep away from the castle! Away, for your lives!"

Then he threw out some ballast, and the balloon soared up to the level of the battlements. Grasping the hooked end of the King's cane, he was drawn close to the castle walls.

"Please, your Graces and your Majesty—don't waste a minute!" he begged. "Climb on board, quick! You are in the most deadly danger—there is not an instant to be lost! Sophie, Gus, Dr. Field—jump in as quick as you can!"

He sprang onto the battlements and helped the Duke lift his wife into the car.

"I say, ain't this a famous balloon, though?" said Gus, helping Sophie. "Will it hold us all, Simon, me boy?"

"Yes, yes—only hurry!" Simon was frantic with impatience as the King somewhat stiffly and gingerly clambered into the waist of the car, assisted by Dr. Field and the Duke.

At this moment Buckle rushed out of the attic door onto the roof, followed by Mrs. Twite.

"I told you they were escaping!" she shrieked, her face distorted with rage. "I told you I saw a balloon! After them, Eustace, quickly!"

Buckle started toward Gus, who felled him with a large snowball and leaped nimbly on board. Mrs. Twite threw herself at Simon and grabbed him around the middle.

"Oh, you wretch!" she exclaimed, pummeling him. "I'll teach you to come meddling, asking questions, helping them to escape just when the Cause is about to triumph!"

"Who the deuce is that harpy?" the Duke asked in bewilderment.

"Simon, quick—dodge her!" Sophie cried anxiously. Everyone else was now on board and the balloon was already moving away from the castle walls in the evening wind. Simon wriggled out of Mrs. Twite's grip, dodged her around some chimney stacks, tripped Buckle, who tried to intercept him, ran for the battlements, and, with a tremendous effort, hurled himself across the rapidly widening gap. He fell sprawling over the gunwale, half in and half out, but Sophie and Gus grabbed him and hauled him to safety. Meanwhile the car tipped and lurched terrifyingly, then sank a few feet. The Duke and Duchess with desperate haste flung overboard all the loose articles of baggage they could lay hands on to lighten the load: braziers, rugs, provision hampers all went tumbling into the park, and the balloon rose higher.

Mrs. Twite let out a fearful shriek of disappointed rage, but Buckle, with an oath, pulled out a pistol and fired at them.

"Mercy, mercy, he's hit the balloon! Oh, what shall we do?" cried the Duchess.

Sophie bit her lip. They could all hear the hiss as air rushed out of the puncture. The balloon started to sag.

"Dear me! Hadn't reckoned on anything like that," muttered the Duke.

"I have it!" cried Sophie suddenly. "The tapestry! Aunt Hettie's embroidery! Simon, can you climb up and lay it over the hole?"

She handed him the bundle of material and he swarmed up a guy rope and flung an end of the cloth over the top of the globe. Gus caught and held it tight on the other side, and the air escape was checked. Dr. Field scrambled to the tiller, to steady their progress, and the balloon glided, swayingly, down and away from the castle.

"Oh, oh, he's going to shoot again!" cried the Duchess.

Buckle, with deadly intent, was aiming at the balloon once more.

But as they watched, frozen in suspense, the thing that Simon had been expecting came to pass. With a noise so loud that it seemed no noise at all, the whole castle suddenly lifted up, burst outwards, and disintegrated in one huge flash of orange-colored light. The balloon rocked and staggered. Fragments of stone showered about them.

The Duchess fainted. Fortunately the hartshorn had not been flung out; Sophie was able to find it and minister to her Grace.

"Dod!" said King James. "Nae wonder ye were in sich a hurry my lad! We're obleeged to ye—very. Aweel, aweel, that rids the world of a muckle nest of Hanoverians—but I'm afeered there's no' much left of your castle, Battersea."

"No matter, no matter!" said the Duke somewhat distractedly. "To tell truth, I never greatly cared for it. I should much prefer to live at Chippings. We'll lay out a pleasure garden on the site—yes, that will be much better. Simon, my dear boy, I can't thank you sufficiently. We are indebted to you for all our lives. Sire, may I present to you my nephew Simon, Lord Bakerloo. As for those miserable Yeomanry and Bow Street runners, we might as well never have applied to them for all the help they have been."

But as they sank slowly toward the snowy grounds of the academy, a sound of martial music was heard: the banging of drums and squealing of fifes heralded the arrival of the Chelsea Yeomanry who came marching in brave array down the Chelsea Bridge Road, while along the bank of the river twenty Bow Street officers galloped at full speed, led by Mr. Cobb. Meanwhile the students, having observed the balloon's escape, had come running across the park, and all these forces converged to welcome the rescued party as they reached the ground.

Dr. Furrneaux was in the forefront.

"Ah, my poor sir, my dear friend!" he exclaimed, giving the Duke a bristly hug. "How I commiserate wiss you. Your home lost! destructuated by zese brigands! (Not zat I ever admired it, indeed, a most hideous building, but still, ze saying goes, does it not, ze Englishman's castle is his home?) And poor Madame, hélas! But nevaire mind, you shall live in ze academie, bose of you, if you wish. I make you most welcome, and my students shall design you a new castle, moderne, confortable, épouvantable! Ziss we shall do directly!"

"Oh, thank you, dear Dr. Furrneaux, but we think we shall retire to Chippings, and turn the castle grounds into a pleasure garden for you and your students. Meanwhile his Majesty has kindly offered beds at Hampton Court to myself and my wife and niece and nephew here, and Dr. Field."

"Niece and nephew?" Dr. Furrneaux stared in bewilderment first at Simon and Sophie, then at the Duke. "What is ziss? What of ze ozzer one—ze little Justin?"

"It was a case of mistaken identity" the Duchess explained kindly. "Simon is our real nephew and heir; he will be the sixth Duke of Battersea."

Dr. Furrneaux was aghast. "Ah, non, non, non, non, non, NON, NON! Ziss I will not bear! Ziss I cannot endure! I get me a boy, a good boy, a painter, a real artiste, a genius! And what do you do? You make of him a duke! Every time it is ze same! I say, pouaaah to all dukes!"

"Oh, come now, my dear Furrneaux—"

Luckily, perhaps, at this moment the royal sleigh, which had been summoned posthaste by the colonel of the Yeomanry arrived at the riverbank with its attendant outriders. The King and his guests were all packed in, under layers of swansdown rugs. Good-bys were shouted, whips were cracked.

"I'll be back in the morning early, Dr. Furrneaux!" Simon shouted. "For a long day's painting! And we'll mend the balloon."

"And collect Aunt Henrietta's tapestry!" Sophie called.

"And give a Christmas dinner to thank everybody for their help!" shouted the Duke.

Simon thought of another, sadder task, which he would hasten to perform: the small white stone on Inchmore's heathery slope with the name DIDO. And Sophie thought of the orphans at Gloober's Poor Farm to be rescued and given happy homes.

The sleigh-bells jingled, the horses began to move away in their felt slippers.

"Good night! Merry Christmas! God Save King James!"

"Merry Christmas!"

"And a Happy New Year!"

Faster and faster the procession glided off into the dark, a long trail of brilliant lights, red and gold and blue, winding along the frozen Thames to Hampton Court, until at last the glitter and the music of the bells died away, and the students went home to bed, and the mysterious peace of Christmas night descended once again upon Battersea Park.