"Because th'art doing it better and quicker nor onyone else—tha can get the row clean in five minutes, 'stead o' eight—if the manager finds out, likely he'll set all the rows o' claws moving at a faster rate, an' that'll be hard on t'other cleaners."
"Then they had better make tongs for everybody else," said Anna-Marie.
"More like they'll say as th'hands must make their own, as tha've doon. Onless Bob Bludward might persuade t'manager as how he invented the claws; then he gets paid for the notion, an' they might adopt it."
"But he did not invent them," said Anna-Marie.
"Tha hasn't got the idea yet, luv," said Rose. "Bob Bludward's the only chap as is allowed to invent new notions round here!"
During the next few weeks Lucas became more and more silent and withdrawn. Anna-Marie noticed this, worried about it, and asked him what troubled him, but he merely said it was nothing that could be helped.
"What do you think is the matter with him, Grand'mère!" Anna-Marie asked her grandmother.
"I think it is something connected with his work," said Lady Murgatroyd. "But there is no use trying to make him talk about it until he opens the matter himself."
Anna-Marie went on worrying about it.
One evening Lucas was unusually late home.
Mr. Oakapple had been a good deal better that day and, toward evening, was allowed up to sit in the rocking chair, looking much more like his old self. He and Lady Murgatroyd had been having a long and happy conversation about Sir Denzil.
How strange it was, thought Anna-Marie, putting the baby into her cradle with a wooden toy that Lucas had carved for her—he had not written much in his book lately—how strange that Grand'mère and Monsieur Ookapool were both separately so fond of the same person, in such different ways, and yet they did not know each other. And I was fond of him too, she thought; he was my papa; I was fondest of all! But it is sad that they grieved for him all that time and did not know he was alive; it is very sad. Papa could not have known that poor Monsieur Ookapool was so badly hurt, or he would have been sure to try to find out somehow if he was getting better. I know Papa was fond of him; I remember his telling me about a boy he knew who sang his songs so well; that must have been Monsieur Ookapool. I must tell him that sometime; perhaps he will like to hear it.
Now they were talking about Sir Randolph.
"I always made certain that he must have cheated in that wager somehow," said Lady Murgatroyd. "I was away from home at the time, visiting my cousin Gus Holdernesse in London. But my husband had a favorite retriever called True, who always slept in his bedroom. Gabriel Towzer, who was our butler then, told me that True never barked until Denzil arrived; I'm sure that if a stranger had come into Quincy's room he would certainly have barked."
"How do you think Sir Randolph could have cheated, then, ma'am? And if you did think so, why did you take no action to have the matter investigated?"
"Why should I bother?" said Lady Murgatroyd simply. "My husband was dead, my son was dead—so I thought. And there was a lot of boredom and unnecessary formality about the old life that I was glad enough to escape. I have been quite contented—much more so than Sir Randolph, I am sure. His life was wasted from first to last. The only person who could have made anything of him was Mary Dunnithorne—and she, not surprisingly, refused to marry him when he asked her. She married Lucas's father instead!"
Anna-Marie was not interested in Sir Randolph. She felt that he was better forgotten. "Have you told Monsieur Ookapool about Handel's tuning fork, Grand'mère?" she asked.
Lady Murgatroyd had not, and the tuning fork was fetched. Mr. Oakapple was fascinated by it, and held it in his hands for a long time, turning it over and over.
Lady Murgatroyd also brought out her flute and a couple of recorders. They passed a pleasant hour in singing and playing; Anna-Marie was discovered to have a natural aptitude for finding her way through a tune by ear on either instrument. Bet was enchanted at all this musical activity and remained absolutely motionless, gazing and beaming, for a whole hour.
But presently Anna-Marie began to play a good many wrong notes.
"You are becoming tired, ma petite," said her grandmother. "We had better stop."
"It is not that," said Anna-Marie. "But, Grand'mère, I am so anxious about Luc. He has never been so late as this before. What can be the matter?"
"I expect he will turn up by and by," said Lady Murgatroyd. "I asked him to buy me some oil of camphor; perhaps he has gone round by the market and been delayed."
But more time passed, and still Lucas did not come. Anna-Marie became so worried that she could not sit still, but wandered about the big untidy room, into Lucas's room and out again; several times she went to the front door and looked out, to see if there was any sign of him coming across the park, but it was snowing again, and there was nothing to be seen.
"Lucas is so sensible," Lady Murgatroyd said. "It seems unlikely that he would have got into any kind of trouble."
"But, Grand'mère, that sewer is such an awful place! I know he hates it, although he insists on continuing to work there. And I do not at all like the sound of that Gudgeon who works with him. Oh, how I wish he would come!"
Another half hour went by. At last Anna-Marie could stand the inactivity of waiting no longer. "I am going to go and search for him," she announced.
"But where will you go, child? It is certainly strange that he has not come home by this time," agreed Lady Murgatroyd, now rather troubled herself. "But you cannot go down into the sewers to look for him, if he is still there—"
"No but I could tell the other men. I must do something," Anna-Marie said, clenching her hands together in the urgency of her anxiety. "I feel that some bad thing has happened to Luc—I feel it here"—and she pressed a fist against her ribs.
"It is very singular that he is so late," Mr. Oakapple agreed. "In general, Lucas is a very reliable, punctual boy; I have never known him play truant or get into scrapes; in fact it is just the other way round; instead of going out he is always writing away in that brown book of his."
"The hour is rather late for Anna-Marie to be wandering about the town by herself," Lady Murgatroyd said. "Julian, if I go with her, do you think that you can contrive to keep an eye on the baby?"
Mr. Oakapple did seem a little daunted by this suggestion, but he agreed that it was the least he could do in exchange for the care and hospitality that he was receiving.
"I daresay she will go to sleep very soon," Lady Murgatroyd assured him. "And all you have to do to keep her amused is to sing to her, after all!"
"Well, I will do my best, ma'am. If only I had a fiddle and could still play it," he murmured, sighing.
Lady Murgatroyd paused in the act of wrapping herself up in a thick blue cape made from her own handwoven material.
"Have you ever considered learning to play the violin left-handed?" she said. "People have done it, you know. I daresay we could find you an old instrument to practice on. Of course, it might be rather awkward playing in an orchestra, but then that isn't your first wish, is it?"
Mr. Oakapple stared at her. His mouth opened, but he did not speak.
"After all, it is time you got back to playing," Lady Murgatroyd went on calmly. "Are you ready, petite-fille? Right, let us go."
And leaving Mr. Oakapple silent and preoccupied, staring at his two hands, they went out into the snowy night.
"Where do you intend going first?" Lady Murgatroyd asked her granddaughter as they walked down the hill into Blastburn.
"First I shall go to the market place, and see if Monsieur 'Obday is still at his stall. He might know whether Luc and that Gudgeon had come out from the sewer at the end of the day."
"A good plan," approved Lady Murgatroyd. So they went to the market and made their way to Mr. Hobday's stall. Anna-Marie was interested to observe that quite a number of people appeared to know her grandmother; either she had given them music lessons, or helped them in other ways. She was greeted with much good
will and civility as Madame Minetti. An old man limped up to thank her for writing a letter for him to his son in Wales; the boy had written back and all was well. A woman came to say that the medicine had stopped her baby's fits; and another man thanked her for her help in connection with some character called Old Nye.
"He's a changed creetur, ma'am; I dunno what you done, you mun ha' bewitched him! He's peaceful as a babby an' works twelve hours a day."
"What a lot of people you know, Grand'mère!"
"Yes; it is queer," Lady Murgatroyd remarked. "Living in the icehouse, I have many more friends than ever I did when we lived at the Court and used to give so many parties."
"Who was old Nye, Grand'maman?"
"He was a donkey—a most intractable, obstinate character," Lady Murgatroyd said, laughing.
"What did you do to him?"
"Blew up his nostrils; that is a good way of becoming friendly with animals."
"I wonder if it would work with people? Did you do that with Redgauntlet also? He is much nicer than he used to be; he always would snap and snarl at me whenever he saw me."
"Well, poor thing, he seems to have had a very disagreeable master. I expect he finds his life much more enjoyable now that he has to go out and catch his own dinner in the park."
Mr. Hobday, luckily, was still at his stall, tidying up and pulling down the shutters for the night.
"Monsieur 'Obday, Monsieur 'Obday," cried Anna-Marie, running up to him. "Have you seen my friend Luc ou ce vieux Gudgeon? Luc has not come home to supper yet, and we are so anxious about him!"
Mr. Hobday paused in what he was doing. A somewhat shifty expression came over his face. But he spoke with exaggerated heartiness. "Halloo, 'tis the yoong lady! Haven't seen you about for a two-three weeks. Cigar business not so good lately?"
"No—I am working at Murgatroyd's Mill now," Anna-Marie said shortly. "But, monsieur, about Luc—have you seen him?"
"Why, he were here 'smornin' at his reg'lar time. But then, I doan't see him evenings, ye know—he gives the tosh to old Gudgeon an' goes straight home."
"Well, have you seen Gudgeon then?"
"Nay, he goes straight home too. I'll see him in the morning, sithee."
"I am not interested in the morning," Anna-Marie said impatiently. "Where does he live, this Gudgeon? We will go to his house and ask him when he has last seen Luc."
A deeper shade of uneasiness passed over Mr. Hobday's face. He began fiddling with his stock, picking things up and putting them down. "Oh, I wouldn't do that, missie," he said without looking at Anna-Marie. "He's a foonny old cove, is old Gudgeon. He might act a bit okkard if you was to go a-bothering of him. He don't care for folks going to his house; might scare you a bit."
"Just the same I think we had better go to see him," Lady Murgatroyd said.
Mr. Hobday had not noticed that Anna-Marie had a companion, for Lady Murgatroyd had been standing somewhat behind her, in the shadow. He started violently and dropped a china jar which he had been holding. It broke.
"I think you had better give us this Gudgeon's address," Lady Murgatroyd said calmly.
"Y-y-yes, ma'am. He lives in an owd boat doon by th' Tidey River, in Wharf Lane. 'Tis the only one there; ye can't mistake."
"Thank you; we will go there directly," said Lady Murgatroyd, and walked away, leaving Mr. Hobday staring after them with drops of sweat rolling down his wizened cheeks, although it was a cold night.
"I am thinking, Grand'mère," said Anna-Marie as they walked away. "Wharf Lane is a dark, dirty place, down by the river—it would be good if we buy two torches to take with us. We can get them here."
She turned aside to a lamp-oil and candle stall, which also sold articles known as "rats"—bundles of rushes or rags, tied to sticks and soaked in tar. Anna-Marie bought a couple of these for twopence apiece, and they hurried in the direction of Wharf Lane, through streets that became progressively darker and narrower and dirtier, until they were making their way down a tiny narrow passageway that would have been dark as pitch if they had not begged a light for their torches from a night watchman who was keeping guard over a load of hides on Tanner's Wharf.
"You seem to know this part of the town quite well?" said Lady Murgatroyd.
"Oh yes; when I am hunting for my cigar ends, you see, and the boys would not let me search the big streets, I went everywhere, partout. I do not find many here though," said Anna-Marie.
"Well, it is lucky for us you came here; otherwise we would certainly have lost our way a dozen times over."
The old boat occupied by Mr. Gudgeon was visible merely as a darkish bump on the riverbank when they first saw it.
"What if he is not at home?" Lady Murgatroyd said, but when they came closer to the boat they could see that a dim smoky light showed through one of the portholes. And there was a strong greasy smell of frying fish.
Anna-Marie banged on the side of the boat. When this produced no response, she picked up a stone and banged harder and louder. Still there was no answer from inside the boat, though it was plain that somebody was in there, for movements and footsteps could be heard.
"Well, we had better go in," said Anna-Marie, and climbed up onto the boat. "Mon Dieu, this boat smells even worse than Luc when he comes home before he has washed himself."
Indeed it was evident that a good many of the articles retrieved from the sewer were stacked and stored on Mr. Gudgeon's boat; there was hardly any deck space left. Lady Murgatroyd followed Anna-Marie, and they found a pair of doors, leading to a cabin, and knocked again.
This time there was no doubt that they had been heard, for the movements inside ceased completely, and there was a long, suspicious silence.
Anna-Marie rapped again, imperatively, with her stone.
"Who be there?" growled a surly voice.
"Open!" called Anna-Marie.
"We want to speak to you," added Lady Murgatroyd.
Anna-Marie rattled the door. It was finally unbolted and slowly pushed open. Anna-Marie could just recognize the figure that stood there, outlined against the light, as Gudgeon, by his white hair and tosher's costume, but he was so dirty that his features were hardly visible, even when they stepped closer with their flaring torches.
"Mr. Gudgeon!" said Anna-Marie. "We are anxious about Luc. Where is he? Did he leave the sewer with you this evening?"
For several minutes Gudgeon did not reply. At last, looking sideways at them in a curious manner, he muttered, "Woe to him that increaseth that is not his."
"Mr. Gudgeon!" said Lady Murgatroyd. "Where is the boy, Lucas, who works with you?"
"Hypocrites die in youth, and their life is unclean."
"Mr. Gudgeon— Where id Lucas?"
"I have gathered the peculiar treasure of kings. But two hundred pennyworth is not sufficient."
"Please, Monsieur Gudgeon!" cried Anna-Marie desperately. "Will you not tell us what has happened to Luc? We are so anxious about him."
Mr. Gudgeon became angry. He banged his fist furiously against the doorjamb and thundered at them: "Woe to them that draw iniquity with cords! Woe unto you that are rich, to you that are full, to you that laugh. Leave the cities and dwell in the rock! Hear this, thou that art given to pleasures!"
"Do you think he is mad?" Anna-Marie whispered doubtfully to Lady Murgatroyd.
"Perhaps—Mr. Gudgeon!" said Lady Murgatroyd loudly. "Will you please give us a clear answer? We want to know about the boy who works with you. Is he here?"
"I was left alone and saw this great vision. The weaned child put his hand in the cockatrice den. And the whole herd ran violently down! Behold he drinketh up the river and hasteth not."
"Oh, mon Dieu!" exclaimed Anna-Marie. She was half crying. "How can we find out what he means? He talks nothing but rubbish!"
Mr. Gudgeon retired inside his cabin for a moment, and then suddenly reappeared, looking extremely menacing, waving a rusty saw. "Trouble me not, the door is shut!" he shouted at them.
They backed away from
him, warily.
"Do you suppose he might have Luc inside there?" Anna-Marie whispered.
"I think we should try to see."
However, Mr. Gudgeon waving the saw was a fairly alarming sight, as he advanced toward them with the whites of his eyes gleaming in the torchlight.
"D-do you think we should call the constables?" asked Anna-Marie with her teeth chattering. "J'ai peur, moi!"
"I think we shall have to. His manner is certainly very strange. And the things he says do seem as if they might have something to do with Lucas."
They clambered quickly but cautiously off the boat. Then Mr. Gudgeon suddenly surprised them by leaping off the boat himself, and bounding away from them along the riverbank, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Hast thou entered into the treasure of the snow? Or hast thou seen the treasure of the hail? I wash myself in snow water and make my hands clean, for I slew a lion in a pit on a snowy day!"
Shouting and flourishing the saw, he disappeared into the darkness.
"I must confess/' said Lady Murgatroyd, "that I do not like the look of this at all. However, now seems a good moment to inspect the inside of his boat. Do you take a quick look, my child, while I keep watch in case he decides to come back again."
Accordingly Anna-Marie scrambled back on board and, trembling but resolute, edged her way into the smoky cabin, which was lit only by a fire burning in a brazier. She held her torch high and looked around. The stench in here was so thick that it was like being surrounded by frightful fur; quite plainly, Mr. Gudgeon never cleaned either himself or his dwelling. Bones,old crusts, half-eaten carrots, lay scattered among muddy and unappetizing-looking treasures which had either been rejected by Mr. Hobday or never shown to him. The inside of the cabin was so squalid that, quite apart from her fear of Gudgeon returning, about fifty seconds of it was all Anna-Marie could endure.
There was no sign of Lucas.
"Iln'est pas la," she reported, jumping off the boat.
"Well that's a relief, at all events," said Lady Murgatroyd. "For really I began to believe that poor madman might have Lucas tied up in there, or be intending to slice him up for his breakfast."