Dido and Pa (14 page)

"So you approve our scheme, my dear duke?"

"Oh, it is not for me to approve," said Sophie. "His majesty has already done so. For myself I think it is tremendous—superb. All I need now is to take a memorandum of times and places where the parties will need to assemble and in which order. I will transmit these to the king for his final assent."

She pulled out a small ivory writing tablet and began taking notes. "There! I believe I have it all recorded now: the household cavalry, the guards, knights, barons, aldermen; and the farmers, milkmaids, shepherds, yeomen. His majesty will have cause for infinite gratitude to you, your excellency! And now I shall take my leave."

She stood up, anxious to be gone.

The margrave seemed really disappointed. "Must you indeed go? Can you not remain and hear more of Bredalbane's music, played at greater length—those were but extracts—?"

"I wish I might. But the preparation for this"—Sophie tapped her notes—"must be put in hand at once."

"Could you not send a messenger?"

Wondering why the margrave was so anxious to keep her, Sophie said:

"No, your excellency. An affair of this kind, so complicated, deserves to have careful attention. I should give these instructions in person."

Really, she wished to tell Simon all about it as quickly as possible.

"Well ... if it must be so..." sighed the margrave.

As a redheaded page brought Sophie's greatcoat and helped her into it, the margrave turned to his chapel-master and said, "But a rare spirit such as the duke's must not be wasted. We must persuade him to take some part in our future music making, eh, chapel-master?"

Bredalbane looked quite sick with alarm but ducked his head over the spinet and stammered, "Yes, s-s-s-sir, my l-l-lord," making a variety of strange grimaces at his master as he shuffled various sheets of music together.

"I'll bid you good-bye, then, excellency," said Sophie, and turned to go, receiving, to her surprise, a wink from the redheaded page as he handed her Simon's Russia leather driving gloves.

Sophie never wore gloves for driving; bare fingers, she
found, gave more sensitive contact with the reins and the horses' mouths; so it was not until she reached Bakerloo House and handed the gloves over to Mogg that the chewed apple core was discovered, lodged in one of the fingers.

When Simon returned home, Sophie told him all about the margrave's plan. "Simon, he is such a strange man! I cannot like him! And yet this scheme of his seems truly—truly—" She hunted for a word.

"Well intended?"

"Yes. And—and remarkable! He seems most sincere in his love of music—quite unselfish in wishing the work of his chapel-master to be heard."

"What does he look like, this chapel-master?"

At Sophie's description of the red hair, the kilt, the mustache, Simon shook his head.

"I thought it might be Twite—but, no..." He frowned. "Just the same, I do not put any trust in that margrave. Let me see those notes again."

They both studied Sophie's outline of the tunnel program.

"It
seems
innocent enough," Simon was forced to admit. "Yet I wonder ... Could he, for instance, be planning to blow up the tunnel as the king passes through?"

"Oh Simon! What a shocking notion! Surely he could not have such a monstrous scheme in mind?"

"I'd not put it past him. After all, the Georgians blew up Battersea Castle. And it was a near thing with St. Paul's. Yet, now Bonnie Prince Georgie is dead, where would be the advantage? Still," Simon said thoughtfully, "I shall make sure that a vigilant watch is kept over the tunnel from now until the day of the opening. The gates can be kept locked until the very last moment; that will have the advantage of keeping wolves out of London also."

"Mercy! have they come so close?"

"As far as Greenwich and Blackheath. The weather favors them," said Simon, looking out at the falling snow, in which few citizens were about. "They can slink along byways without being observed."

Sophie was still anxious about the possibility of the margrave's dynamiting the new Thames tunnel while the king and two processions were passing through.

"I suppose a barge, or a ship floating down the river, could hold explosive—?"

"I will see that none are permitted on the day," said Simon, making a note. "What a head you have, Soph! Mind, they say that the river is likely to freeze if this cold weather keeps up. Ice is forming on the banks already. In which case no ships will be making passage up or down the river."

"No, but if it is frozen," said Sophie, wrinkling her forehead, "people might be able to
walk
on the ice, over the tunnel—"

"That will have to be forbidden also." Simon made another note. "Mogg! See that all these notes are taken round to the comptroller of the king's household at dawn tomorrow. I have to go out again at sunup," he told Sophie. "We have to try and clear the wolves out of Blackheath and
Rotherhithe. Otherwise, as soon as the tunnel is thrown open they will all come pouring through into London. I shall probably be gone all day."

"Suppose the margrave wishes to see you again?"

"I'm afraid you will have to go again. In any case, if I went now, he would be sure to notice the difference, as he has taken such a liking to you! But why should he trouble us again? His plan is being used; he must be content with that."

At this moment the margrave was saying to his trembling chapel-master:

"Come on! Out with it, man! What is making your teeth chatter so?"

"Oh, s-s-s-sir! I kept trying to signal you while he was here!"

"You looked like a Barbary ape with lockjaw. What was all that about? Why could you not speak up then?"

"S-s-sir! That young fellow—whoever he was—he was not the duke of Battersea!"

The margrave, who had been pacing nervously to and fro, stopped abruptly and stared at his musician. His former pallor had returned.

"How do you know?"

"W-w-why, s-s-sir, at one time I had the duke lodging with me, as a student, for some months; I could not mistake. That young man was very like him—a young brother, a relation perhaps; but it was not the duke. It was a s-s-substitute."

Mr. Twite suddenly gave a lugubrious giggle.

"When you think about it," he said, "it is rather droll ... is it not?"

The margrave did not reply, apart from a ferocious scowl, which made his chapel-master cower down, shivering, behind the spinnet.

Dido was roused in the morning by angry shouts. Evidently the Slut's hope about Mr. Twite had not been justified; he was furious to find the basement room unlocked and his daughter sharing the servant's accommodation.

"Using one of our best quilts too! How dare you! No breakfast or dinner for
you
today." And he aimed a blow at Is with the bunch of keys he held, which, if it had struck her, would certainly have cracked her skull. But Dido, shocked out of sleep, stumbled to her feet and knocked up his arm.

"Blister it, Pa! Leave the girl alone! Pick on someone your own size!"

She glared at him, skinny and tousled, looking, though she was not aware of it, very like the cat Figgin, likewise crouched snarling and spitting in a corner.

He glared back. "What in Ticklepenny's name are you doing down here, daughter? Get upstairs where you belong. And don't let me catch you down here again. And
you," he said to Is, "make haste: let out the lollpoops and scrub the floor in there, then run out and get us some breakfast."

"Yesssir," snuffled the Slut, ducking to avoid another blow.

"
I'll
go for the breakfast," said Dido. "And I'll sleep where I please, Pa; so you put that in your pipe and blow it! If I chooses to sleep with Is, I will. And if you don't lay off lambasting her, I won't teach that Dutchman—or I'll teach him naught but a load o' wallop, and then you'll be in trouble with your precious margrave."

Mr. Twite's jaw dropped. He gaped at her in horror.

"A present for the king from his nabs," said Dido. "Hah! A likely tale, I don't think! Find a better one! You must reckon I'm addlepated to swallow that. And if that was one o' the best quilts, preserve us from the worst! It's got holes big enough for a buffalo to fall through."

Defeated, and speechless for once, Mr. Twite retired upstairs.

Dido crossed the passage and peered into the fusty room where, shock-headed, blear-eyed, and yawning, the last of the lollpoops were taking their departure, while the Slut hurriedly swept about with her birch broom and sprinkled vinegar.

"Hey!" whispered a voice in Dido's ear. "Hey, Died o' Fright! I been a-laying for you! My brother wants a word with 'ee."

"Your brother? Who's he? And who are you—no, don't
say, don't say," as she recognized his crossed eyes steadily regarding her. "I knows who you are. You're the ap-plemonger's boy—Wally. I owe your dad a farden."

"Right, Died o' Fright! And never mind the farden. You don't know my Bro yet, but he wants to meet ye, wants to ask you summat, and tell you summat. When can you come out and have a barney with him?"

"Where is he?"

"Painting a pub sign. The Feathers, in Wapping High Street."

"I'll try and come along in ten minutes, tell him."

The cross-eyed Wally nodded, and ran off whistling.

To the Slut, Dido said, "Don't you fash yourself with what Pa said about breakfast, young 'un. I'll see you get fed."

"
I
ain't a-worrying," the Slut said with scorn. "Figgin fetches me breakfast, often as not."

"Figgin does?" Dido eyed the scrawny, ill-favored cat, rubbing and winding against his mistress's ankles. "He don't look as if he could find breakfast for a ghost. Where does he get it?"

"Down chimbleys!" said Is, unexpectedly. "'E used to be a chimbley-sweeper's mog. 'E goes down chimbleys all over Wapping—pubs, folk's houses, all sorts—and fetches me prog. Mostly it's fried herrings—stuff what he fancies hisself. Then we shares. Onct in a way he's brung me real posh grub—from his nabs's palace I reckon—chicking, and galangting, and mutting, and pudding. That were prime!" Her eyes shone at the memory.

"Love a duck! Well—I'll find summat for you today,"
said Dido. "And don't fret, either, if Pa or old hag Bloodsucker locks you in—I'll soon have you unbuckled."

She ran upstairs, thinking, it's a mercy someone looks out for the poor little article. Just the same, I'd not reckon on that skinny beast fetching her more than half a herring once in a way—judging from the size of her.

Upstairs she found Mrs. Bloodvessel still snoring and her father happily and dreamily extracting soft, yearning notes from his hoboy. He had two saltcellars on the bamboo table, and from time to time he would tip all the salt from one vessel into the other and then gaze at the result with his head on one side.

"Gimme the mish, Pa," said Dido. "I'll go and shop for breakfast. I ast the foreign gent last night what he fancies in the morning; he said coffee and toasted cheese."

Relieved at having this responsibility taken off his hands, Mr. Twite handed over a couple of shillings and instructed his daughter to bring back a gill of milk, bread, and a few slices of ham, as well as the coffee and cheese. Dido found a basket and let herself out into the wintry morning.

"You will not do anything
foolish,
will you, my sar-saparilly?" Mr. Twite called after her. "Remember, the fate of your friend depends on you."

"No, Pa," she answered shortly, and slammed the door. The hour was still early, and the smoke-blackened buildings and dingy streets of Wapping were silent under the falling snow. A barge hooted mournfully on its way upriver.

"Which way to Wapping High Street, mister?" said Dido pertly to the black-coated man on guard at the street corner. She wondered if he were the same who had been there last night; his hat was pulled so low, his muffler so high, that only two sharp eyes could be seen. He made no answer but pointed to the right.

"Don't strain yourself!" recommended Dido, and turned in the direction he pointed. When she reached the end of the street, he whistled shrilly on his fingers. She saw another black-coated man turn to watch her from the next corner.

Guess that old margrave keeps tabs on the whole neighborhood, thought Dido. Why? Don't he trust Pa? Or is it to keep an eye on the Dutchman? It can't be just to stop me from scarpering.

She walked by a whole series of silent boat basins. The tide was low; the black, weed-coated piles were veiled by flying snow flurries. A few anchored ships lay on the mud, waiting to be loaded or unloaded.

At the corner of Wapping High Street yet another black-coated watcher was stationed. Dido saw that it would be extremely difficult to run off unobserved—unless she jumped into the river and swam across the Pool of London.

In the High Street there were small shops, many stalls, and more people about, buying provisions. The stalls, Dido noticed, were almost all minded by children.

She virtuously bought bread, cheese, milk, and ham; she also slipped into a locksmith's shop, left her wax molds, and was told to come back for the new keys in five minutes; she
found the Feathers pub and saw a tall, plump boy up a ladder, busy painting the new sign; but how to attract his notice without being spotted by the margrave's men?

Dido strolled on along the pavement, looking casually about her.

The stalls along by the edge of the footway sold rhubarb, spices, combs, nutmeg graters, crockery, dog collars, pies, pictures in frames, lucifer matches, shrimps, boiled puddings, razor paste, pea soup—almost anything a person might need. The stall keepers, or younger boys and girls employed by them, were calling their wares: "
Orang-es,
two a penny! Cut
flo-wers,
penny a bunch!
Dom-in-oes,
tanner a box. Hot taties, all hot! Hot murphies, a ha'penny!"

Halfway along the street, very conveniently, Dido found a coffee stall, which sold, as well as mugs of steaming brown liquid, sandwiches, packets of coffee beans, and ready-ground coffee.

"Just what I needs," said Dido with a grin to the cross-eyed boy behind the stall. "Give us a quarter o' your best Jamaica, ground up, matey—and make sure there ain't too perishing much grated carrot in it. And my birthday's still March the fust!"