They spent half an hour on that, by which time Adelaide could read START, HOME, FINISH and the four colours.
"We'll have to do writing too," Becky told her. "I'll look for a copy-book this afternoon. You can learn the most elegant hand they've got. In fact you'll have to learn all kinds of things, won't you? You'll need more than a reading and writing teacher. You'll need--"
But she never finished the sentence, for that was the moment when the bomb went off.
There was a powerful BANG and a blast of air that blew the curtains up and slammed the window shut, breaking all the glass. Both girls ducked instinctively, Becky grabbing for the papers on the table and Adelaide turning to crouch by the sofa, wide-eyed.
After the first shock, Becky leapt up to see what had happened. Adelaide joined her at the window. Becky had been aware of the sound of a carriage drawing up outside the house, a horse blowing hard and shaking its head, only a second before the explosion; and as the dust that had risen in a great cloud drifted over the dry road and the laurels, she saw it - shattered. The horse lay twitching in the shafts, messily, and the coachman lay still. Halfway up the garden path, unharmed, mesmerized, stood the figure of Herr Strauss, Prince Rudolf of Razkavia.
For a moment no one moved. Then the Prince turned to look up at the window, his eyes seeking Adelaide's, and then the entire road seemed to come to life: doors opened, servants appeared at gateways, a nursemaid with her two small charges craned to see, a stout gentleman with a walking-stick ran clumsily up, a butcher's boy with a basket of meat cast a professional eye at the horse; and then from nowhere the strawhatted detective, J. Taylor, appeared at the side of the Prince and spoke quietly.
"That's the detective," said Becky. Her voice was shaking.
Adelaide said nothing. She was watching with fierce concentration. J. Taylor glanced out at the road and snapped his fingers at the butcher's boy, who dropped his basket inside the gate and took off his cap.
"Go and find a copper," they heard J. Taylor tell him.
"Quick as you can. We'll need a doctor, too, to certify the death. Do that in under ten minutes, and there's half a crown for you. Hop it."
"I've seen him before," Adelaide said quietly. "I know I have."
J. Taylor seemed to know how to take charge of things; he appointed the stout gentleman to keep guard over the shattered carriage, he tore a curtain loose from the broken door and laid it gently over the dead man, he took a clasp knife from his pocket and did something to the horse, which fell still. He wiped the knife clean and stood up, his eyes meeting Becky's and moving to look expressionlessly at Adelaide; and then he joined the Prince and entered the house.
"You gone pale," said Adelaide critically.
"Hardly surprising," said Becky.
"Doesn't suit yer. Listen, when Rudi - the Prince - comes in, you pretend you don't know who he is."
Becky was about to argue, but there came a knock on the door, and the Prince himself came in.
"My dear. . ." he said.
Adelaide ran to him almost protectively, but stopped. Behind the Prince was the jaunty figure of the strawhatted detective, serious now, and as he stepped into the doorway Becky had the most curious sensation: because J. Taylor and Adelaide were looking at each other with an almost electric intensity.
The moment passed.
The Prince, who seemed dazed - at all events, he hadn't seen what Becky had, that fierce reciprocal glance - gathered himself and said, "My dear. I am sorry to interrupt your lesson, but I must ask Miss Winter to leave us now. As you have seen, Miss Winter, I am in some danger. I think it has passed for the moment, but I would not want to expose you to any more of it. This gentleman will escort you home."
Adelaide said, "No, Becky - stay a moment. She'll come down in a minute, Rudi." She pushed the door to, shutting the men out. Then in a fierce whisper she said, "What's his name? That feller in the straw hat? What's he called?"
"I gave you his card - oh, of course, you can't read it," said Becky, and went to pick it up from the little bamboo table. "J. Taylor, Consulting Detective, care of Garland and Lockhart, Photographers, Orchard House, Twickenham. . . What's the matter?"
Because her pupil had clutched a hand to her heart, and gone pale. Her great dark eyes were wide. Then she snatched the card from Becky and sank into a chair as the colour rose in her cheeks again.
"You'd best go," she said hoarsely. "Go on. He'll be waiting. But you come back, you hear?"
"I promise," Becky said.
Bemused, she left the room and went downstairs, to find the Prince standing anxiously in the hall. She tried to remember not to curtsy as he nodded to her, and then she went out to join J. Taylor, Consulting Detective, in the garden.
Extracts from
DICKENS'S DICTIONARY
OF
LONDON,
1879.
AN UNCONVENTIONAL HANDBOOK.
During the 1870s the son of Charles Dickens, who was also called Charles, compiled a fascinating guide to Victorian London, which Philip Pullman found invaluable when writing The Tiger in the Well.
Cabs. - The cab laws of London are now, except with regard to the distinctions drawn somewhat arbitrarily here and there between four-wheelers and hansoms, very simple and easy to be remembered. The main points to bear in mind are: that luggage carried outside is always to be paid for; that hansoms, though charged at the same rate as "growlers" when hired by distance - which is almost the only time when there is any particular gain in hiring them - cost 6d. an hour more when hired by time, and 8d. an hour more when standing still; and that you cannot make a man drive you about by the hour for more than one hour at a time. As for calculating fares, that must depend entirely on your own power of judging distance. Some people when in doubt take the driver's ticket, and tell him to name his own fare; and when he is satisfied that he will be summoned if he be found to have overcharged, the plan is no doubt efficacious. The difficulty is to impress that conviction on his mind. A better plan is to judge by the time occupied, and it will be found that about 1d. per minute is fair to both parties. For 15 minutes 1s. 6d. should be paid, but 14 minutes may be taken to be within the 1s. This is not an official rate, but it will save trouble and generally prove right. It is as well to start with the clear understanding that, doubtful character as cabbie too often is, he is really by no means so black a sheep as he is sometimes painted.
Chops and Steaks - It is only recently that a great superstition as to chops and steaks has been exploded. It was for very many years a popular delusion that west of Fleet-street chops and steaks could not be had - or, at all events, could only be had in a very inferior style. The West-end chop or steak, it is true, was for a long time difficult to come at, and, as a rule, exceedingly bad when you got it, although the grill-loving Londoner was even then able to go to Stone's in Panton-street with a tolerable certainty of finding what he wanted. This house, which dates from the beginning of the century, and has long been well known to literary London, still holds its own, although grills have of late years grown up round it in all directions. The Inns of Court Hotel, the Criterion, the Gaiety, the Royal Aquarium, the St. James's Hall, the "Holborn", and the "Horseshoe" restaurants, and many of Spiers and Pond's railway refreshment-rooms make a specialty of their grills, and the foreign reader of the DICTIONARY who wishes to try this peculiarly English form of meal can be recommended to any of these places. The City itself absolutely swarms with chop-houses, and it is only possible here to say that anywhere about Finch-lane and Cornhill the grill business is thoroughly well understood and well done. Between the City proper and the West-end is the "Cheshire Cheese", Wine-office court, Fleet-street, one of the old fashioned chop-houses, specially famous for a rump-steak pudding on Saturday afternoons.
Invalid Carriages and Chairs are supplied in endless variety, and with every sort of ingenious appliance; and for the convenience of those who fortunately have only temporary need of such assistance, arrangements are also made for their hire.
A self-propelling chair can be obtained at from 32s. to 42s., a mechanical invalid's bed at from 42s. to 63s. and a bath-chair at 42s. per lunar month. There are but few houses in the trade, whose names will be readily found in the Post Office Directory.
Jews. - The tangible benefits which flow from civil and religious liberty may be seen in the improved social and political status of the Jews of London, since the abolition of the Test Acts and the passing of the Jewish Emancipation Bill. Until within a comparatively recent period the Jews were deprived of the privileges of the universities; and as that of the capital was the first to break down the barrier of caste, the Jews affect the University of London more than any other seat of learning in the United Kingdom. A large number of Jewish youths pass through the City of London School, whence they have carried off many of the most important prizes, scholarships, &c. The community have their own college for the study of the Hebrew language and Rabbinical Law in Creechurch-lane, Leadenhall-street. Within the memory of living men the Jews of the metropolis were scarcely ever to be found resident outside their own quarter, at the east end of the City. Social persecution kept the chosen people together as in a sort of Ghetto; but the large spirit of toleration has scattered them broadcast over the City. As a people they are much less orthodox than formerly. Indeed, the London Jews are probably the most liberal of their race. Rag Fair, as it is called, the greatest old clothes market of the metropolis, is held in an open space close to Houndsditch. Sunday morning is its busiest time. Houndsditch is the head-quarters of the fancy warehousemen, mostly Jews, who supply the hawkers and small shopkeepers of London with combs, razors, sponges and mock jewellery for the ornamentation of the ambitious poor and others. The London artisan often purchases the tools of his trade in Petticoat-lane on Sunday mornings; where also may be bought the highly spiced confectionery in which the children of Israel delight - the brown and sweet "butter cake", the flaccid "bola", the "stuffed monkey", and a special pudding made of eggs and ground almonds. The Jews are divided into sects, all agreeing as to the fundamentals of faith, but having somewhat different customs and ceremonies. They include the Portuguese, Polish, and German Jews. There are shops for the sale of Hebrew books, and articles used in the rites of the synagogue, in Bevis Marks and Bloomsbury.
Ladies shopping without male escort, and requiring luncheon, can safely visit any of the great restaurants - care being always taken to avoid passing through a drinking bar. In some cases a separate room is set apart for ladies, but there is practically no reason why the public room should be avoided. At some of the great "omnium gatherum" shops, and at institutions such as South Kensington and the Royal Academy, luncheon can be obtained, while several confectioners at the West-end particularly study the comfort of ladies.
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First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2016
This electronic edition published by Scholastic Ltd, 2016
Text copyright (c) Philip Pullman, 2016
The right of Philip Pullman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him.
eISBN 978 1407 18014 4
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Philip Pullman, The Tiger in the Well
(Series: Sally Lockhart # 3)
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