‘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 the 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 Furneaux, 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, Furneaux! Much obliged to ’ee all!’
‘Indeed, yes!’ The Duchess smiled round 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 Furneaux 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 Grace,’ Sophie said shyly. ‘I learnt to swim at the Poor Farm; indeed we were obliged to, with the canal so close by – someone was for ever 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 Furneaux, 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 Furneaux 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 towards Battersea Castle, and 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 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 recipe.’
‘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 enamelled 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: 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 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, 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 8 Rose Alley, he saw Dido’s wan face pressed to the window-pane. 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 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 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.
9
THE DINNER THAT the Duke of Battersea gave Dr Furneaux’s students was long remembered at the Academy of Art. As the Duke explained apologetically, the menu was put together at such short notice that the guests could only expect pot luck; just a neatish meal. There were but three courses: the first consisted of oysters, lobsters, salmon, turtle-soup, and some haunches of turbot; this was followed by turkeys, chickens, a side of beef, and a whole roast pig; the last course consisted of veal-and-ham pies, venison pasties, salads, vegetables, jellies, creams and fruit. ‘Just a pic-nic,’ as the Duke observed. ‘But as we are all such near neighbours, I hope you won’t take offence that we haven’t been able to do better in the time.’
Neither Dr Furneaux nor his students showed any tendency to take offence. The students, many of whom had never seen so much food in their lives before, ate like famished wolves. Gus, sitting by Simon, and surrounded by high ramparts of oyster shells, had eaten steadily and in silence for an hour when at last he broke off to announce with a sigh:
‘It’s no use: I couldn’t cram in another crumb, not if you was to pay me. It does seem a waste with all that’s left! Ah well, this dinner ought to do me for a week, then it’s back to apple-peel and Mrs Gropp’s parsley. I must say, his Grace is a prime host, ain’t he, Fothers? Nothing behindhand about this set-out, is there?’
Fothers could not reply; he had eaten nineteen jellies and was leaning back in his chair with a glazed expression.
The Duke stood up and cleared his throat rather shyly, amid shouts of ‘Three cheers for his Grace!’ ‘Silence for the Dook!’ ‘Pray hush for old Batters!’
‘Gentlemen,’ the Duke said. ‘My wife and I are very happy to welcome you here tonight. You saved our lives yesterday and we shan’t forget it. There has always been a bond between my family and the Academy of Art ever since it was founded by Marius Rivière, who, as you may know, married my aunt, Lady Helen Bayswater. From now on the bond will be even closer. I should like to make this dinner an annual event—’ (‘Hooroar for Battersea!’ ‘Good health to old Strawberry Leaves!’) – ‘and I am also going to endow the Academy with five scholarships for needy and deserving students. They will be known as the Thames Rescue Bursaries. The first two have already been awarded by myself and Dr Furneaux in consultation to Mr Augustus Smallacombe and to Mr Simon – I’m afraid I don’t know your last name,’ the Duke ended, breaking off and looking apologetically at Simon, who was so astonished that he stammered:
‘M-mine, your G-grace? – I don’t know it either.’
‘Were you never christened?’ asked his Grace, much interested, ‘or had your parents no surname?’
‘Why, you see, sir, I was an orphan,’ Simon explained. ‘I never knew my parents.’
‘Then where –’ The Duke’s further question was interrupted by Jabwing the footman, who chanced to drop a very large silver tureen full of oyster shells with a resounding crash just behind his Grace’s chair. Then the students began cheering Gus and Simon so vociferously that no more could be said. The Duke smilingly nodded to Simon and indicating that he would very much like to hear his history on a later occasion, stood up and invited his guests to come and view the restored Rivière canvas.
They all trooped up the great flight of stairs from the banqueting-hall to the library. Here the end wall had been curtained off by a large piece of material – was it the Duchess’s tapestry turned back to front? Simon rather thought so – and when everybody had been marshalled in, and Dr Furneaux shoved to a position of honour at the front, the Duchess pulled a string to unveil the picture.
The material fell to the ground and there followed a silence of astonishment.
‘Devil take it!’ exclaimed his Grace. ‘What’s become of the picture? Scrimshaw, Jabwing, Midwink – where’s the Rivière gone?’
Nobody knew.
‘It was there this morning, your Grace,’ Jabwing said.
‘Well, I know that, stupid! You didn’t take it out for a last clean-up, did you, my boy?’ the Duke asked Simon, who shook his head.
The Duchess, feeling that the spirits of the party might be sadly lowered by this mishap, cried, ‘Oh, do not regard it, William! ’Tis odds but it’s merely been mislaid and will turn up directly if we do but keep our heads. Let us think no more about it, but, instead, amuse ourselves and our guests with dancing or diversions which I’m sure the young people would much prefer.’
‘Let’s play Hunt the Picture!’ exclaimed Gus.
‘Capital notion!’ shouted somebody else.
‘Huzza for Gus!’
‘We’ll find the picture
for your Graces, never fear!’
In a trice the high-spirited students had scattered from the library and were darting upstairs and downstairs, along galleries, through suites, in and out of closets, saloons, antechambers, armouries, falconries, heronries, butleries, and pantries all over Battersea Castle in search of the missing picture. They turned the whole place topsy-turvey in their enthusiasm, but the Rivière canvas was not forthcoming, though innumerable other pictures were whisked down from the walls and submitted for the Duke’s inspection.
‘Is this it, your Grace?’
‘Is this?’
‘Is this?’
Pictures were soon piled high in the library. But the Duke shook his head to all of them.
‘Dear me,’ sighed the Duchess, ‘I could wish that these delightful young people were a little less volatile.’
At that moment a chandelier, on which Fothers had been swinging from side to side as he examined some pictures that hung rather high up, fell to the floor with a loud crash. The chandelier was shattered but Fothers was unhurt, though he looked rather green.
‘Dashed uneasy motion,’ he murmured. ‘Like on board ship. Shan’t try that again.’
He picked himself up and went off to search in the muniment rooms.
‘Oh, fol-de-rol, my dove,’ said the Duke, ‘I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself so much. Never seen the old place looking so lively. Anyway, we won’t trouble our heads any longer about the picture – of a certainty some poor half-witted niddlenoll must have gone off with it – one of those whatd’yecallems with a mad craving for pictures. I’ll tell the magistrates about it tomorrow and ten to one the feller will be laid by the heels in a couple of days if he doesn’t walk in with it saying he’s Henry the Eighth.’
Soon after this Simon took his leave, expressing warm gratitude to the Duke and Duchess for their hospitality and for the unexpected and most welcome Thames Rescue Bursary. It was nearly time for his appointment with Sophie.