by Joan Aiken
The young man who had looked out before stood with a paint-brush in his hand, considering a half-finished painting on a large easel.
‘Oh, it’s you again, is it?’ he said, seeing Simon’s perplexed face come round the door. ‘What d’you want?’
Simon found something reassuring in his rather brusque manner.
‘Please, are you Doctor Field, sir?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘The old lady upstairs is very ill. Could you come and look at her?’
‘Certainly. Just a moment while I wash my hands.’
While Doctor Field was washing, and fetching a black bag of medicines from his bedroom, Simon stared at the picture on the easel.
‘Like it?’ said the doctor, coming back.
‘Yes,’ said Simon, ‘I do, very much. But I’m not sure about this bottom right-hand corner. It seems a bit too dark.’
The doctor gave him a surprised look before waving him out of the door and hurrying upstairs. He brushed past the two girls and the geese without comment, and made his way in to Aunt Jane’s bedside. ‘One of you two girls come and help me,’ he said, so Sylvia went, while the other two remained on the landing in a silence of anxiety and suspense.
They had to wait some time, while Dr Field made a thorough examination of Aunt Jane. Then he and Sylvia came out on to the landing again.
‘She’s your aunt, is she?’ he said sharply. ‘Well, you’ve been neglecting her. She’s suffering from malnutrition.’ As none of them appeared to understand this word he added impatiently, ‘Under-nourishment. She’s been starving herself.’
Sylvia began to cry quietly.
‘Oh, poor, poor Aunt Jane! I should never have left her.’
‘I’m to blame, too,’ said the doctor angrily. ‘I saw her coming upstairs, a couple of weeks ago, with her shopping – one egg and an apple. I should have guessed.’
‘What does she need, sir?’ said Simon quietly. ‘I’ll go out and get it.’
‘Firstly, champagne. She’s too weak to take anything else at the moment. You needn’t bother about that, I’ve a bottle in my room. Then beef-tea, eggs, milk, butter, honey.’
‘We’ll go and get them,’ said Bonnie. ‘Come on, Simon. I saw a basket in Aunt Jane’s parlour. Sylvia, you stay with the doctor and see to the champagne. Can you direct us to the nearet market, sir? We have only just come to London and don’t know our way about.’
Dr Field told them how to find the nearest market, and they ran off with their basket, while Sylvia helped administer a few teaspoonfuls of champagne to Aunt Jane, tipping it between her motionless lips.
‘You’re the old lady’s niece, are you?’ the doctor said. ‘I’ve only been in this house a month. I thought she had no kin at all. It’s high time she was properly looked after.’
Sylvia considered the doctor. He had a kind, sensible face, and she was inclined to confide the whole story to him and ask his advice, but thought she had better wait till the others returned.
Simon and Bonnie soon came back. They were loaded, for, as well as the food, Simon was carrying a small sack of coal, and Bonnie had a blanket and a fleecy shawl.
While they were out they had had a short, brisk argument.’
‘Simon, this is your money we’re spending – your year’s money. We shouldn’t be doing it.’
‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ he said uncomfortably. ‘Anybody would do all they could to help that poor old lady.’
‘Well, I shall pay you back as soon as I possibly can, Simon, if I ever get my own home and money back, but otherwise you do understand you’ll have to wait till I can earn some money, and gracious knows how many months that will be!’
‘Oh, get along with you, girl, you’re wasting time,’ said Simon good-naturedly.
Dr Field suggested that they should do their cooking downstairs in his room in order not to disturb the invalid, so Bonnie, first borrowing Aunt Jane’s cookery book, set about scraping some beef and putting it to simmer with carrots and a teaspoonful of brandy. Simon lit a fire in Aunt Jane’s room, and Sylvia tiptoed about cleaning the place and setting it to rights. Every now and then Dr Field came and administered another teaspoonful of champagne, and presently he reported with satisfaction an improvement in the patient’s breathing and a tinge of colour in her cheeks.
‘Your cousin’s cooked you a meal,’ he said to Sylvia and Simon after a while. ‘Better come down and eat it in my room.’
They realized they had not eaten all day, and were glad to come down. Bonnie had cooked a great pan-ful of bacon and eggs, which she cordially invited the doctor to share.
‘Are you all cousins?’ said he, when they were eating, among the paints and bottles of medicine.
‘Oh no. Sylvia and I are, but Simon’s no relation.’
‘Where are all your parents?’
They looked at each other, and, without the need for discussion, decided that they could trust the doctor. Bonnie told him the whole story, ending with the sight of Mr Grimshaw at the lawyer’s office that morning. ‘And oh, sir,’ she ended, with tears in her eyes, ‘can you tell me if the ship my parents sailed in truly sank? Truly?’
‘What was its name?’
‘The Thessaly.’
‘Yes, my poor child,’ he said sadly. ‘I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I read the report in The Times myself. It was said that the captain should never have set sail, knowing the dangerous state of the ship’s hull. It was said that someone must have paid him handsomely to do so, and it was rumoured that he himself had escaped in a small boat, some hours before the wreck.’
Bonnie could not speak for a moment. She turned away to the window and bit her lip.
Dr Field went on hastily to break the unhappy silence:
‘The whole business sounds to me like a plot, hatched up beforehand between this Miss Slighcarp of yours, who’s evidently a thorough wrong ’un, and her precious friends Grimshaw and Mrs Brisket. Whether Gripe the lawyer has a hand in it too we can’t be sure, but I’ve a friend who’s a lawyer, and as soon as old Miss Green’s fit to be left I’ll go and see him, and ask him what he knows about Gripe.’
‘Oh, could you, sir? Thank you indeed.’
Their faces of gratitude evidently touched his heart, for he said gruffly, ‘A couple of you can bed down here if you like. I’ve plenty of cushions. Just shift some of those books and pictures and the skeleton off the sofa.’ (Sylvia gave a faint scream. She had not noticed the skeleton before.) ‘One of you should sleep upstairs with the old lady. And you’d better all get yourselves a wash and brush-up. You look as if you can do with it.’
The beef-tea was ready now, and Sylvia, with the doctor’s help, fed some of it to Aunt Jane through a straw. She opened her eyes once or twice, but seemed hardly conscious of her surroundings yet.
With the aid of a couple of the doctor’s blankets Sylvia made herself up a couch for the night by the side of Aunt Jane’s bed. They were all tired, and went to sleep as soon as they lay down.
In the middle of the night Sylvia awoke. She had left a nightlight burning, and by its faint glimmer she saw that Aunt Jane had raised herself on her pillows and was looking wonderingly about her.
‘Mind, Auntie,’ said Sylvia, springing up. ‘You’ll uncover yourself!’
Carefully she arranged the woolly shawl round her aunt’s shoulders again.
‘It is Sylvia! But no,’ said Aunt Jane mournfully. ‘I have so often dreamed that she came back. This must be just another dream.’
‘No it isn’t!’ said Sylvia, forgetting to be careful in her joy and giving her aunt an impetuous hug, ‘it really is me, come back to look after you. And I’ve brought Bonnie too.’
‘Sylvia, my precious child,’ Aunt Jane murmured, and two tears slipped down her cheeks.
‘Now, Aunt dear, you mustn’t! You must get strong quickly. Please try to sip some of this,’ said Sylvia, who had been hastily heating up the beef-tea over the nightlight.
Aunt Jane sipped it
, and soon, for she was still very weak, she slipped off to sleep, holding Sylvia’s hand. Sylvia, too, began to doze, leaning against her aunt’s bed, half-awake and half-dreaming.
She dreamed that she was on top of a mountain, the black ridge that they had crossed before they reached Herondale. She saw Miss Slighcarp coming up from Blastburn at the head of a pack of wolves. Sylvia was dumb with fright. She was unable to move. Nearer and nearer Miss Slighcarp came, tramp, tramp, tramp …
Suddenly Sylvia was awake. And listening. And there were footsteps coming up the stairs.
She lay palpitating, with her heart hot against her ribs. Who could it be? The night was still black dark. No light showed under the door. If it was the doctor, surely he would be carrying a light? The steps were very slow, very cautious, as if whoever it was wanted to make as little sound as possible. Sylvia knew that she must move – she must –
A frantic cackling, hissing, and honking broke out on the stairs. There was a yell, a thud, more cackling, pandemonium!
‘What is it?’ said Aunt Jane drowsily.
‘Oh, what can it be?’ cried Sylvia, pale with terror. But the noise had shaken her out of her paralysis, and she seized a candle, lit it at the nightlight, and ran to the door.
The scene that met her eyes when she held the door open was a strange one. At the top of the stairs were two indignant geese, still hissing and arching their necks for battle. Prone on the stairs, head down, and cursing volubly, was Mr Grimshaw. Simon held one of his arms and Bonnie the other.
Dr Field, in a dressing-gown, looking sleepy and considerably annoyed, was emerging from his front door holding a piece of rope, with which he proceeded to tie Mr Grimshaw’s hands and ankles.
‘Breaking into people’s houses at three in the morning,’ he muttered. ‘That’s really a bit high! It’s bad enough having children and geese camped all over the place.’
‘It was lucky the geese sounded the alarm,’ said Bonnie, pale, but clutching Mr Grimshaw gamely.
‘True,’ Dr Field agreed. ‘Now, lock him in the broom-closet. Good. I’ll just run down and bolt the outside door, then perhaps we can have a bit more sleep. We’ll get to the bottom of all this in the morning.’
Yawning, they all went back to bed, but Sylvia declared she was too scared to sleep without Bonnie, and so they brought up more of the doctor’s cushions and made a double pallet beside Aunt Jane’s bed.
11
DR FIELD’S FACE at breakfast next morning was grim, and the children were all rather silent. The unseen presence of Mr Grimshaw in the broom-cupboard put a damper on their spirits.
‘What do you suppose he was trying to do?’ whispered Bonnie.
‘Oh, very likely just see if you were there,’ said Dr Field doubtfully. ‘Or try to frighten the old lady into handing you over if you should turn up later. At all events, you and the geese between you put an effective stop to him. I shall take him straight to Bow Street after breakfast and put him in charge of the constables.’
Luckily Aunt Jane was a great deal better this morning. After the doctor had inspected her, he pronounced that she might be given a little warm gruel and some tea and dry toast, which Bonnie and Sylvia prepared. Aunt Jane greeted Bonnie kindly and declared that she would never have recognized her – which was very probable, as the last time she had seen Bonnie had been at her christening. Then Sylvia announced that she would remain with the old lady while the rest of the party went off with the prisoner; the very sight of Mr Grimshaw, she said, made her feel sick with fright. Dr Field considered this to be a sensible plan, and he told Simon to go out and whistle for a hackney-cab.
Mr Grimshaw was released from his closet, but his bonds were not untied. He was sulky, threatening, and lachrymose by turns; in the same breath he begged for mercy and then swore he would get even with them.
‘That’s enough, my man. You can spare your breath,’ said Dr Field, and showed him a blunderbuss, ready primed, which he had taken out of his desk drawer. At sight of this weapon Mr Grimshaw relapsed into a cowed silence.
‘Shall I get my fowling-piece?’ exclaimed Bonnie, and then remembered that it was with the cart in Hampstead.
Dr Field looked slightly startled but said he thought one weapon should be sufficient to keep the scoundrel in order.
At this moment Simon came back to report that a cab was waiting below, and after a solicitous farewell to Aunt Jane and Sylvia, bidding the latter keep the door locked and admit nobody, they took their departure.
At Bow Street they waited only a very few minutes while the doctor haled his prisoner into the Constabulary Office; he soon reappeared, accompanied by a couple of burly, sharp-looking individuals who marched Grimshaw between them, and they all piled into the cab again.
‘Where is he to be taken now?’ said Bonnie.
‘We shall go to Mr Gripe’s office for some explanation of Grimshaw’s behaviour,’ Dr Field told her. ‘He has said that he worked for Mr Gripe.’
They were soon back in the region of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and drove up to the house that Bonnie and Sylvia had seen the day before. A scared-looking clerk, hardly more than a boy, admitted them into a waiting-room, and next moment a thin, agitated, grey-haired man hurried into the room, exclaiming, ‘What can I do for you gentlemen? I am Abednego Gripe.’
He appeared excessively surprised to see the children and the manacled Mr Grimshaw. Bonnie soon decided that he could not have hatched a dark plot to obtain possession of Willoughby Chase – he looked too kind and harmless.
One of the Bow Street officers spoke up.
‘I am Sam Cardigan, sir, an officer of the constabulary. Here is my card. Can you identify this person here?’ indicating Mr Grimshaw.
‘Why yes,’ said Mr Gripe, looking at Mr Grimshaw with distaste. ‘His name is Grimshaw. He was a clerk in my office until he was dismissed for forgery.’
‘Aha!’ said the other Bow Street officer, whose name was Spock.
‘Have you ever seen him since you dismissed him?’ said Dr Field.
‘No indeed. He would have a very cold reception in this office.’
‘And yet he was seen entering here yesterday,’ snapped Cardigan.
Mr Gripe seemed surprised. ‘Not to my knowledge.’
Cardigan looked thunderously disbelieving and was about to burst out with his suspicions of Mr Gripe, when the little clerk who had let the party in, and who had been standing in the doorway with eyes like saucers, piped up:
‘Please, sir, I saw him.’
Mr Grimshaw darted a furious look at this speaker.
‘Who are you?’ said Cardigan.
‘Please sir, Marmot, a clerk. Yesterday while Mr Gripe was out having dinner, th-that gentleman as is tied up there came and asked me to give him the address of Miss Jane Green, sister to Sir Willoughby.’
‘And you gave it him?’
‘Yes, sir. He said he wished to take her some dividends.’
‘Dividends, indeed!’ growled Dr Field. ‘Wanted to murder her more probably.’
‘Certainly not,’ said Grimshaw, pale with fright. ‘I merely wished to ascertain from her if these children, who are the runaway wards of a friend of mine, had taken shelter with her.’
‘At three o’clock in the morning? A fine story! More likely you wanted to terrify her into signing some document giving you power over the children. And what about this Letitia Slighcarp?’ continued Dr Field, glaring at the lawyer. ‘Were you responsible for sending that female fiend to feather her nest at Willoughby Chase?’
Mr Gripe looked very much alarmed. ‘She is a distant relation of Sir Willoughby. She came with the highest references,’ he began. ‘From the Duchess of Kensington. I have them still.’ He pulled out a drawer in a cabinet and produced a paper. Cardigan scanned it.
‘A patent forgery,’ he said at once. ‘I have seen the Duchess’s signature on many documents and it is utterly unlike this.’
‘Then I have been duped!’ cried Mr Gripe, growing paler still
. ‘But what can have been the object of this deceit?’
‘Why,’ said Bonnie indignantly, ‘Miss Slighcarp has taken our whole house for her own, dismissed all the servants, sent me and my cousin to live in a school that is no better than a workhouse or prison, and treated us with miserable cruelty! And I believe, too, she and Mr Grimshaw had some hand in seeing that Papa and Mamma set sail on a ship that was known to be likely to sink!’
‘This is a bad business, a very bad business,’ said Mr Gripe.
‘No, no!’ cried Mr Grimshaw, now nearly dead of terror. ‘We were not responsible for that! The ship was sunk by an unscrupulous owner to obtain the insurance. It was when I learned – through a friend who was a shipping clerk – that they were to sail on the Thessaly, that the plan took shape. I had seen Sir Willoughby’s letter to Mr Gripe, asking him to seek out his cousin Letitia Slighcarp, as an instructress for his daughter and so – and so – ’
‘And so you conspired with Miss Slighcarp and forged her credentials,’ said Mr Gripe angrily. ‘It is all very plain, sir! Take him away, gentlemen! Take him away and keep him fast until he can appear before a magistrate.’
‘After that it was very dull,’ said Bonnie, reporting the scene to Sylvia later. ‘I had to tell the Bow Street officers every single thing I could remember that Miss Slighcarp had done, and the clerk wrote it all down, and Mr Gripe looked more and more shocked, especially when I told what I had seen when we looked through the hole in the secret panel and watched them tearing up Papa’s will and all the other documents.
‘And the end of it all is, Sylvia, that Mr Grimshaw is committed to prison until the Assizes, when he will stand his trial for fraud, and the Bow Street officers are to go to Willoughby tomorrow to seize Miss Slighcarp!’