[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman (15 page)

EVANS TEA SHOPPE DID SERVE GOOD ice cream—it came in a long dish, pink and white with raspberry sauce and chocolate crumbs sprinkled on top. Mr. Evans worked in the back of the shop, baking and making ice cream. Blodwen, his wife, an immense jolly woman with a strong Welsh accent, served them. Though animals were not usually allowed inside, she was charmed by the big black Labrador, who looked very meek and offered his paw. Mrs. Evans lifted the edge of the tablecloth. “Ooh look you now, there's a lovely dog, he is. Sit him under the table now. Indeed to goodness, who'd be keepin' a fine dog like him outside with no ice cream!”

As Ned tucked into his ice cream, which came on a tin plate, Ben tuned in to the dog's thoughts. “Delicious, wonderful stuff. Just the thing after a hard morning's shopping!”

Ben put his feet on the dog's back as he answered. “You great furry fraud!”

Ben pulled aside the lace curtain. From where he was sitting he could see an ancient, rambling, one-story building at the square's northwest corner. It was a jumble of wattle and daub, stonewalling and patches of worn brick, with crumbling mortar, makeshift repairs against the ravages of time. The faded roof of thatch sat on it like a badly fitted wig with a raggedy fringe. A large bump sticking up in the center of the roof gave it an odd, rather comical aspect. The whole thing was fronted by an overgrown patch of greenery and a rickety fence, partially broken by bushes growing through it. Sunlight shading through high hawthorns lent it an air of picturesque dilapidation. He pointed with his spoon.

“Is that the place they call the almshouse?”

Alex looked up from his ice cream. “Yes, but you'd best stay away from it, Ben. The mad professor lives there!”

Ben laughed, as if the other boy was joking. “Haha, mad professor?”

Amy backed her brother's statement up. She whispered, “It's true, Ben, a mad professor does live in the almshouse. He doesn't like people and he seldom comes out—even Wilf Smithers and the Grange Gang don't go near there. They say he has a double-barreled shotgun and he's not afraid to use it. Alex is right, keep away from the almshouse!”

From her side of the table Amy could see Mr. Mackay's office. “Look, Ben.” She pointed. “There's Miz Winn coming out of the lawyer's office. I wonder what she was doing in there?”

Even from a distance it was plain to see that the old lady's dander was up. Mr. Mackay, a small, dapper lawyer, was standing between Mrs. Winn, Obadiah Smithers, and Maud Bowe, anxiously trying to prevent trouble. He was not having much success. The old lady, her chin thrust forward pugnaciously, was wagging a finger at Smithers and Bowe, evidently giving them a piece of her mind. Several times the pair tried to walk away, but she confronted them, not giving up until she had said what she wanted. It was Mrs. Winn who finished the argument as well. She stamped her foot and marched off, leaving her foes dumbfounded. Mr. Mackay scuttled back into his office, glad to have all three away from his premises before they attracted too much notice.

Amy nodded admiringly. “Here she comes, good old Winnie. Oh, Ben. I wish there were more folk in Chapelvale like her. She won't give up without a fight!”

The blue-eyed lad licked the last of his ice cream from the spoon. “Who knows, maybe there are, once they get stirred up enough to do something about their problems.”

Mrs. Winn's black-button boots clicked sharply on the floor as she marched into Evans Tea Shoppe. Her cheeks were quite pink and she was obviously irate. She rapped twice on the counter. “A pot of Ceylon tea and a hot buttered scone, if you please, Blodwen!”

Blodwen gave her a cheery nod. “Indeed to goodness, Winnie Winn, there's bothered you look. Sit you down, dearie, I'll bring them right to you!”

Amy moved swiftly to make room as Mrs. Winn came to sit at the table. She blew out a long breath, took a small mirror from her bag, and began primping the hair that wisped out either side of her navy blue straw boater hat. Her order arrived swiftly; she poured a cup of tea, took three good sips, and tried to compose herself. Then she spoke.

“Well! The very nerve of that Smithers and that young snippet with the dreadful London accent!”

Ben felt like smiling at her indignation, but he put on a serious face. “Did they upset you, Miz Winn?”

She drew herself up and took another sip of tea. “Upset me? Certainly not! I wouldn't lower my standards and allow myself to be upset by the likes of them. Do you know, they made me a cash offer for my home and the almshouse? A piffling sum! When they saw I was not impressed, they doubled the offer. Hmph! I told them they could quadruple their paltry money, it still wouldn't budge me an inch!

“Then Smithers said he had taken legal advice, he said that if I still refused their offer after his scheme was under way, he could have me forcibly put out of my home and he could take possession of the almshouse without further permission!”

Blodwen Evans had been lingering nearby, eavesdropping, as she usually did on any good village gossip. She moved in to collect the empty ice cream dishes. “And what did Mackay have to say about that, Winnie?”

The old lady seemed to deflate, her voice dropped to a murmur. “He said Smithers and his friends had the law on their side. That unless I can prove valid ownership and proper legal documents I haven't a leg to stand on.”

Blodwen Evans gestured with a thumb to where her husband was at work in the back of the shop. “Aye, Smithers made my Dai a miserable offer as well, but what can we do, we ain't got the money to fight him. My Dai says we'll prob'ly have to take the offer for the teashop an' move back to Wales. Still, that may not be. I've talked to a lot of folk. There's Pettigrew the newsagent, Riley the ironmonger, Mrs. White from the sweetshop, and Mr. Stansfield the butcher. They say it can't happen, you know. Look you, even Smithers can't demolish a whole village just for some old limestone!”

Ben interrupted her. “He can, Mrs. Evans, and he will, unless something is done to stop him.”

Any further conversation was cut short by loud banging on the wall from the alley outside. A row of willow-pattern plates standing on edge upon a shelf began to tremble and clatter under the pounding vibration from the outside of the wall. Mr. Dai Evans came running out into the shop, wiping flour from his hands and untying his baking apron.

As his wife hurried to steady the plates, she called to him. “It's that young Smithers an' his gang again, Dai!”

He dashed outside. Amy was about to rise when Ben stopped her. “Wait a moment, let's listen.”

From outside Dai Evans could be heard shouting. “I know it's you, Wilf Smithers, no use leanin' against that wall, lookin' as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. Go on, be off with the lot of you!”

Wilf Smithers's voice sounded out impudently. “It wasn't us! We've got as much right to lean against this wall as anyone. Why blame us?”

Mr. Evans's voice shook with temper. “I know it was you lot. If you're not gone from here in two ticks, I'll call the constable!” Dai walked back into the shop, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, shaking his head and muttering. “I tell you, Blodwen. They'll have us out of here one way or the other. I'll be glad to get back to Wales, look you!”

Blodwen set the last plate straight and was just moving back to the counter when the wall shook in time with the chanting of the Grange Gang outside.

“Dai diddly eye dai . . . Dai Dai!”

She had to hurry to get back to her plates. Dai Evans grabbed a metal hooked pole he kept for pulling down the shade blinds. “Right, that's it, boyo, I've 'ad enough!”

Ben was on his feet, with Ned beside him. He stood in front of Dai, his voice calm. “You'll end up in trouble yourself if you go 'round breaking heads with that thing, Mr. Evans. Leave this to me.”

Dai stared at the lad's steady blue eyes, unsure of what to do, until Mrs. Winn stood up. “Do as he says, Mr. Evans, you can trust the boy.”

As Ben walked from the Tea Shoppe, Dai Evans stood to one side, avoiding Ned, whose hackles had risen. The big, black Labrador was growling, low and ominous.

There was a moment's silence, followed by screams, yells, and barking, then the pounding of feet. Ben strolled back into the shop and sat down. He winked at Blodwen Evans. “More ice cream, please, marm, and a pot of fresh tea for Miz Winn. My turn to pay for this one, pals.”

Five minutes later the dog returned and flopped down beneath the table, passing Ben a thought. “I chased 'em up as far as the station, where they ran into the waiting room. Stationmaster didn't like it much, he was chasing them out as I left. Wilf tried arguing with him, said he'd tell his dad that the stationmaster was driving them out into the teeth of a wild dog. Stationmaster didn't seem bothered, said he didn't care if there was a pack of wolves outside, they weren't allowed on railway property without a valid ticket for a train journey. Told them to go and play their silly games elsewhere. Any ice cream left?”

Ned was the hero of the hour. Dai and Blodwen Evans refused to take any money for tea or ice cream. Dai knelt by the table, feeding the Labrador a plateful of vanilla ice cream with fresh milk poured over it. Ned lapped away happily as Dai ruffled his ears.

“There's a good dog, you are, wish I 'ad one like you, boyo. How did you get him to do it, Ben?”

It was Amy who answered for Ben. “It was nothing really, Mr. Evans, it's just that Ned can't stand noise or bad manners.”

Ben grinned at her over his plate of ice cream. “Well said, Amy, you're getting to know Ned rather well!”

MAUD BOWE SAT PRIMLY AT THE Smitherses' table with Obadiah and his wife, Clarissa. They waited in silence as the maid served a gammon ham salad. Obadiah poured himself a glass of claret, ignoring his wife and Maud, who preferred barley cordial in the afternoon. When the maid had retired, shutting the door behind her, Maud continued her one-sided argument. Mr. Smithers dismissed her every point, overriding everything she said. Though in the light of what had taken place with Mrs. Winn, it was Maud who was winning the debate.

She tapped the spotless white damask tablecloth with a dainty finger. “As I've said, sir, this is going to cost us quite a bit!”

Smithers took a large swig of wine and stifled a belch. “Nonsense, m'girl, everything's well in order, take it from me.”

Mrs. Smithers gazed at her salad, slightly shocked that a young girl would argue with her husband, a thing she never dared do. But Maud persisted. “Everything may well be in order with the rest of the villagers, sir. But Mrs. Winn is the one who is digging her heels in, she's going to be trouble. If she refuses our offer, we'll have to wait seven clear days just for a possession warrant. That's what my father says, and he knows the law, believe me!”

Smithers poured himself more claret, stuffing a piece of gammon into his mouth with his fingers. Table manners were not his strong point. He pointed a greasy finger at Maud. “Good man, your father, nice fellow. But he doesn't know everything. Not by a long chalk, missie!”

Maud hid her revulsion of the ill-bred northerner, but spoke out pertly in her father's defense. “My father knows his business, sir! He has made contracts with building firms that will not wait seven extra days. If Mrs. Winn is not out of her house on the deadline stated in the clearance notice, it will cost our scheme dearly with penalties for broken agreements. I hope you are aware of the position that delays can put us in!”

Mrs. Smithers flinched as her husband's temper broke. He sprayed ham and claret into the air as he shouted. “Don't you dare to tell me my business, girl! I know these villagers better than you or your father. Hah! What has that old Winn biddy got to prove her claims, eh? Nothing! We'll be saving ourselves money by clapping a compulsory court order on her. A mere pittance set by the county developer, that's all she'll get for her house! As for the almshouse, it belongs to nobody, we'll get that free! The rest of the villagers are too disorganized to resist us. They know virtually nothing about the law, we'll pay 'em the set rate for their properties. Little enough that'll be, I can tell you!”

He sat back, digging a scrap of ham from his teeth with a fingernail. But Maud would not be browbeaten. Wiping her lips daintily on a damask table napkin, she pushed aside her plate and rose from the table. “I'm going to my room, sir. Nothing has changed, we need to get the old lady out of her house by the appointed time. Whilst I'm upstairs, I'll give some thought to the problem. Perhaps you would do well to follow my example!”

She swept out of the dining room without another word, leaving Obadiah Smithers spluttering to his wife. “Cheeky little snip, who does she think she's talking to, eh? She's not twelve months out of some fancy finishing school. Hah! I was building my fortune the hard way, long before she was born. Right?”