Dido and Pa

  ‘You could go,’ Dido suggested to van Doon, who turned pale at the thought. ‘You know the Margrave, you came from there.’

  ‘Oh, no, no, no, I must not!’ the Dutchman said anxiously. ‘His excellency expressly forbids me to go there, unless he summons me. I must not be seen – I must not disobey his excellency –’ He broke into a sweat at the notion.

  ‘Oh; well, that ain’t no use then.’ Dido glanced at van Doon with slight contempt. She reflected, and said, ‘I reckon we’ll have to break in.’

  ‘But – how can you?’ Van Doon looked even more alarmed. ‘There are watchmen walking up and down all night long in the street outside. I have seen them.’

  ‘Aye, he don’t stint on watchmen, the Margrave,’ agreed Wally.

  Dido said, ‘But maybe if he got so many outside, he don’t trouble to have guards around inside –’

  ‘But how can we get inside?’ said Podge.

  ‘Over the roof? Down the chimbley, like Figgin?’

  ‘No go. Even if you sent her down.’ Wally nodded towards tiny Is, whose eyes grew round as saucers. ‘I were a sweep’s boy, when I were eight. Cinnamon chimbleys have to be swept with rods – they ain’t wide enough for a person.’

  ‘Then we gotta get in a window.’

  ‘The downstairs windows are all barred.’

  ‘You know a deal about it, Wally?’

  Wally grinned. ‘I were a cracksman’s boy when I were ten. Till Dad put his foot down. But Cinnamon’s one crib we never cracked. Only the windows opening on the garden ain’t barred – but you can’t get into that garden, there’s a twenty-foot wall with spikes on top; and it’s guarded in the street outside too.’

  ‘I know one lot of windows as ain’t barred,’ said Dido suddenly. ‘I was looking at ’em only this evening when Pa’s music was playing.’

  What a long time ago, she thought.

  ‘In the big salon? What use is that? Those look straight out on the river. You’d need a boat . . . ’ Wally’s voice died away as he considered the possibility of this; then Dido suddenly jumped up, exclaiming, ‘No! We’d not need a boat! We’d need a ladder – I lay you a noble to ninepence! You got a ladder, haven’t you?’ she said to Podge, who, puzzled, replied, ‘Sure; for sign-painting. I can bring it in ten minutes.’

  ‘But where are you going to put the sorbent ladder?’ said Wally crossly. ‘I’m telling you the garden wall is guarded –’

  ‘Come on!’ Dido was at the door already. ‘Let’s go and look. That’s one place they won’t be expecting anybody.’

  ‘I – I think I must stay here. This is no concern of mine? And I do not wish to anger his excellency,’ van Doon said. ‘The small one should stay with me also.’

  Is looked a little rebellious, but Dido said kindly, ‘No, mister, it ain’t your jug o’ gravy, you stay safe indoors and nurse your nose. And you stay to mind the house,’ she told Is. ‘You’re in charge now.’ Is nodded gravely.

  ‘I still don’t get the lay,’ said Wally, as Dido and the two boys ran down the front steps.

  ‘Why – this –’ Dido led them down the sloping cobbled slipway to the river, running past the end of the alley. ‘See? Frozen solid, ten feet, fifteen feet out! There’s a crust you can walk on, I reckon, all along the edge.’

  She proved this by doing so.

  ‘Jimbo! You’re right!’ exclaimed Wally, doing likewise. ‘But will it take all three of us, and a ladder?’

  ‘Can’t tell till we try.’

  Podge was a little harder to convince. He tested the ice; rapped on it; jumped on it; then he said to Wally, ‘You’d better not come. Who’d look after Dad if we both drowned?’

  ‘Hey, who are you talking to?’ cried Wally, affronted. ‘I’m the best swimmer!’

  ‘Oh, for Habakkuk’s sake, fetch the ladder and stop arguing,’ said Dido. ‘It’ll be daylight afore we’re done if you don’t bustle.’

  ‘Not for another four hours,’ said Wally, as Podge hurried off. ‘Come on; let’s see how far we can go.’

  By river the distance to Cinnamon Court proved nothing like so far as it was by road, along the mazelike streets of Wapping, zig-zagging among docks and creeks and inlets.

  Edging their way gingerly along the frozen crust, as close to the shore as possible, sometimes having to turn aside, skirting round gullies – but most of these were frozen solid – Dido and Wally took only seven minutes to reach the massive brick bulk of Cinnamon Court. There, above them, they saw the great row of arched windows, shining silver in the brilliant moonlight; there, beyond, lay the snow-covered garden, protected from the river by a ferocious criss-cross of spikes.

  ‘The window’s our lay, no question,’ whispered Wally, staring up. ‘No one would be looking for a prig to come thataway. Do they open, those windows?’

  ‘I didn’t notice,’ whispered Dido. ‘Come along back; we best not stand here gabbing.’

  ‘Lucky there’s no river traffic,’ she added as they retraced their steps. ‘Anyone on a barge’d spot us; you can see clear across the Pool, bright as day.’

  ‘I reckon the skippers are afeared of getting iced in. If this cold lasts – and Dad says it will – the river’s likely to freeze right over. Dad says it did that when his great-granddad was alive; you could skate from Greenwich to Hampton, and they roasted an ox on the ice.’

  ‘If it freezes, that’ll be handy for the wolves in Kent; they can come over on the ice,’ murmured Dido, and fell silent, thinking about Simon. When’ll we know? How can they find out? she wondered. But, at least, we’re doing our best for Sophie.

  ‘Does Podge want to marry her?’ she asked, out of this thought, and Wally, perfectly understanding her, replied, ‘How can he? She’s a duke’s sister, he’s a sign-painter. All he can do is give her presents.’

  ‘That’s rabbity!’ cried Dido with scorn. ‘You keep giving somebody presents – it makes you their slave. Or t’other way round.’

  Wally glanced at her in surprise, but said no more, for now they had reached the causeway by Bart’s Building, and there was Podge coming with the ladder.

  ‘Brought along a couple of your old tools as well,’ he said to Wally. ‘Never know what you’re going to need.’ He had a small black velvet bag slung over his shoulder.

  They each took a leg of the ladder, which was a fruit-picker’s one, free-standing, with a third leg at the rear. Being wooden, it was quite heavy; Dido, secretly, was a little anxious lest it prove too much for the ice. Cinnamon Court, she had noticed, lay by an outer bend of the river-bank where the current cut in and ran swiftly; along the bank there, the ice was not so wide, nor, presumably, so thick. But she kept this thought to herself.

  Reaching the wall of the Court they silently set up the ladder. Podge handed the black bag to Wally, who scurried up the rungs as quietly as a squirrel, inspected the end window, and set to work at its bottom right-handed corner.

  Podge cupped a hand round Dido’s ear and whispered, ‘Diamond wheel. Cuts a hole in the glass.’

  Whatever Wally was doing took a couple of minutes; meanwhile Podge was rubbing and kneading a lump of gum arabic in his hands, warming it and damping it with a pinch of snow. Wally reached down, took and delicately laid it against the circle of glass on which he had been working; then pulled; a neat glass disc came away stuck to the gum, which he passed down to his brother.

  Now a similar piece had to be taken from the middle of the window, to reach the hasp. Wally could not reach high enough, so Podge went up and did it. After which he carefully slipped his hand through the hole in the glass, twisted, pulled, undid the catch, undid the bottom bar, and the casement came open. Podge then put a knee over the sill and vanished inside. Wally went next, and Dido followed; they had to be pulled up by Podge, as the window was well above the top of the ladder. As soon as Dido was inside, Podge carefully pulled-to the window again.

  ‘Shows up like the very devil, an open window does,’ he whispered. ‘Now where?’

&nb
sp; Dido was sorry that she had not seen more of the inside of Cinnamon Court; but she remembered that it formed an ‘L’, with the river passing one end, the street passing the other end, and the garden in the angle. Cellars were under the river, Wally said, so that meant they must be below the big salon where they now stood.

  ‘Reckon we oughta go down,’ she whispered, pointing, and Podge nodded. ‘But let’s look in all the doors as we pass.’

  A wide, carpeted passageway, dimly lit here and there by wall lamps, led from the salon, turning left halfway along its length. Windows on the left looked into the garden. As they stole along, Dido reflected that breaking into a rich house was easy, for thick carpets favoured the burglar. She could not help being struck by Wally’s expert way with windows and locks; at each closed door, if it would not open, he slid into the keyhole a slender rod with a prong like a miniature tuning-fork; delicately tried it, listening with his ear close to the lock; adjusted, twisted once or twice, and each time the lock came undone.

  Reckon his boss musta been a topnotch cracksman, Dido thought.

  The rooms they inspected were all smaller reception rooms, and had no one in them; they were dark. But, towards the farther end of the long passage, music was to be heard, issuing softly from behind a closed door.

  ‘That sounds like my pa,’ breathed Dido into Podge’s ear. He nodded, and gestured her to put her eye to the keyhole.

  When she did so she could see, as if at a penny peep-show, a small, round image of her father sitting on a gilt chair by a bed, playing softly on his hoboy. She could not see the occupant of the bed, who lay sunk among a pile of soft pillows; beyond the bed was the frowning, intent face of Dr Finster staring down at something; his lips were pressed anxiously together, yet there was an expression of hope and relief on his face. Pity if Pa’s music is going to keep the Margrave from cutting his cable, thought Dido; if he was to kick the bucket a whole lot o’ folk would breathe easier.

  Her father’s face made her feel sad; it was so weary and haggard, although it had a look of devotion, like the doctor’s. Pa’s tired to death, thought Dido; but nobody asked him if he’d like to lie down and sleep, he just has to go on playing and playing . . .

  Moving on past the door she shook her head, beckoning the boys to follow.

  They found a servants’ stair and went down, past a duty room where a couple of footmen lolled, deep asleep, their heads and arms resting on a table. Empty bottles explained their slumber. Finishing up the wine from the party, thought Dido. Lucky for us.

  The whole house, hereabouts, seemed drenched in slumber. Not a sound from anywhere. How can they sleep so? wondered Dido, when the moon shines so bright!

  Down more, and steeper, stairs, and along another corridor, reversing the way they had come, stepping through squares of moonlight all the way from the windows on the garden side. Now they began to hear a soft, regular sound; Podge’s face became alert, then angry, for it was the sound of sobbing they could hear; it came from behind a door near the end of the passage.

  With immense caution, Podge opened the door, which was not locked. It gave on to a small room, all grey and pink, lit by a candle, where Sophie sat drooping in a chair while a kneeling page rubbed and chafed at her feet and hands. Scattered bandages lay on the floor.

  The page jumped in terror as they came in; but at sight of Dido a look of huge relief spread over his face. He was the red-head who had given her his basket of programmes.

  ‘Thank the powers it’s you!’ he whispered. ‘Me and Boletus was told to carry her down to one o’ the cellars, but Boletus is dead drunk and I couldn’t – wouldn’t. You come to take her away? But how? She can’t walk. Those bandages was tarnal tight. Her feet and hands are all numb.’

  ‘I’ll carry her,’ said Podge, and picked up the half-conscious Sophie.

  ‘We’ll never get her out o’ that window or down the ladder,’ muttered Dido. ‘It’ll have to be the front door. – I know. I got it. You can put her in one o’ them basket chairs they had for the sick folk; when I left they was still in the lobby.’

  ‘But the front door’s locked and barred,’ said the red-headed page.

  Wally silently exhibited his pick-lock.

  ‘And there’s guards in the street outside. They’ll cop you for sure.’

  ‘We’ll need to entice them away,’ said Dido. She reflected. ‘Ain’t there any other way out, bar the front door?’

  ‘There’s a stair from the cellar to the garden. And a door from the garden through the wall to the street. That’s locked too. And guards outside.’

  ‘Reckon we’ll manage,’ said Dido, and thought some more, while the three others watched her trustfully, and Sophie faintly moaned.

  ‘Can you come by a skeleton?’ she asked Red-head, who looked startled but replied, ‘For sure; there’s usually half a dozen in the cellars.’

  ‘Prime. That’ll save you a roasting. Can you take us to the cellars?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Right. Let’s go. Front door first.’

  As quietly as possible they made their way along passages and down stairs to the lobby, Podge and Red-head taking turns to carry the inert Sophie. At the top of the main stair leading down to the vestibule they paused. There sat the night porter on his stool by the door, and he was wide awake, playing solitaire patience.

  ‘Call him!’ Dido whispered to Red-head, who nodded and called, ‘Mr Chantrel – can you come and help me a moment.’

  ‘What’s the row, then?’ asked the porter, yawning, and he came slowly up the stairs, rubbing his eyes. As he reached the corner, Podge rose from where he had been hidden behind the rail, hooked a foot under the man’s legs, and threw him sharply to the floor. His head hit the post and he lay still.

  ‘Is he dead?’ breathed Dido.

  ‘No; just knocked silly.’

  ‘Better put him back by his stool. Now, unlock the front door, but don’t open it. And lay Sophie in one o’ them basket chairs.’

  When that was done – ‘You,’ said Dido to Podge, ‘stay here, with Sophie. And be ready to nip out the door and run like the devil when you hear us kicking up a row. Let’s have Sophie’s jacket – here – we can wrap her in this –’ taking a silken Chinese rug from the floor. ‘Understand? When you hear the ruckus – scarper!’

  Podge nodded. He was very pale. He tucked the rug carefully round Sophie.

  Dido and Wally followed the red-headed page, who led them through a green baize door, along a stone-flagged passage, and down a flight of stone steps to another, very massive door, which he unlocked; then he paused to light a candle.

  ‘His Nabs gave me this key, and the one for the cellar where we were to put Lady Sophie.’

  ‘Well, now we need to find a skeleton and put it there.’

  The cellars were dank, disgusting places, even wetter than Mrs Bloodvessel’s basement, most of them inches deep in river mud. Wally had to open the doors of several before they found a skeleton, half embedded in mud; they hauled it along to the cell which had been destined for Sophie, and dressed it in her jacket.

  ‘Now lock up the poor devil again,’ said Dido.

  Faint cries and groans had been audible while they were doing this. Now, when Wally undid another door, they found the imprisoned children and Chelsea Pensioners, who were all in a miserable state of fright and despair; they could hardly believe – especially the old men – that this was a real rescue and not just another devilish trick of the Margrave’s. But a few of the children knew Wally, and were prepared to trust him.

  ‘Now you’ve gotta find us an axe,’ Dido told Red-head. ‘We’ll be shovelling ’em up the stairs while you do that.’

  ‘An axe? Where’ll I find an axe?’

  ‘I dunno. In the kitchen, likely. Look sharp about it!’

  Wally and Dido shepherded the limping, bewildered group of captives up another flight of stone steps after Wally had carefully relocked the cell door. At the top of the steps a locked, iron-barred gat
e led into the moonlit garden. Here they waited, while Wally worked on the lock and Dido counted the group; there were fifteen of them, she was relieved to find, the same number as had been at the concert.

  ‘No one got ate by rats then?’ she asked the tiny lavender-seller, who said, ‘No, miss, but weren’t the rats just something! We took turns shying bricks and rocks at ’em – otherwise they’d a had us for sure.’

  While Wally undid the gate, Dido addressed the group in a whisper.

  ‘Now listen: I want you to listen real hard. Don’t go busting out across the garden as soon as Wally gets the gate open. Stay here in the shadow till I gives the word. Understand? We don’t want nobody to see you till we got a way for you to go.’

  Some of the children were sniffing back tears, and the old men were whimpering with fright and cold.

  ‘Stow that row!’ Dido hushed them. ‘You’re a sight better off than you was. Button up!’

  Having opened the gate, Wally slipped along in the shadow of the house to inspect the row of spiked posts which protected the river end of the garden.

  The sky was beginning to cloud over and more snow to fall, which Dido noticed with approval. Just so’s it don’t get warmer and the ice melt, she thought in sudden alarm.

  ‘The posts are only wood,’ Wally came back to report with relief. ‘Steel heads to ’em, and bedded in brick, but with an axe I can chop out a couple in no time.’

  Here, luckily, Red-head arrived with a meat-axe.

  ‘Now you better mizzle,’ Dido told him. ‘Get back to your own quarters, fast. And thanks! Wally’ll lock the gate behind you. Just tell His Nabs as how you put Sophie in the cell, and that’s all you know.’

  He looked a little wistful. Does he want to come with us? Dido wondered. But she was busy hushing the children and reassuring the old men; she had enough to worry about. Wally relocked the cellar gate, then hacked away two posts by the river, making a narrow passage through which the prisoners could wriggle through on to the ice. When that had been done –

  ‘Now: scarper, all of you!’ Dido told them. ‘Away from here as fast as you can pelt. Wally and I will soon be coming after to help any that’s in trouble – but help each other if you can – don’t wait. Go on – mizzle!’