shoulders!" Between them they struggled out of the schoolyard, carrying their limp burden.
Regina turned on Ben immediately. "You're responsible for that. Couldn't fight him fair and square. Coward!"
Amy pushed herself between Regina and Ben. "Don't be silly, Wilf did that to himself!"
Regina took a swinging slap at Amy's face, but Ben's arm blocked it. He seemed to touch Regina at a point
between ear and neck. Instantly she rose on tiptoe as he kept up the pressure with a slightly bent forefinger. Amy was
amazed—the girl was standing rock-still, with her chin tilted upward and an expression of silent anguish on her face.
Ben's voice was soft, but with a hint of steel in it. "Listen to me, Regina, I've got you by a nerve point—painful,
isn't it? I don't like hurting anybody, so save yourself some pain and say that we must not fight and I'll let you go."
The big girl's jaw was clenched so tight that all she could manage was something that sounded like "Gnn, ee
nust nok kite!" Ben released her and she dashed off sobbing, with the rest of the Grange Gang trailing behind sullenly.
Alex was lost in admiration. "Where did you learn to do that, Ben? You could've licked Wilf with one finger.
Show me how you did it, go on, Ben!"
The flaxen-haired boy thrust his hands into his pockets, ignoring his friend. "Oh no, pal, you'd be going about
paralyzing anyone who came near you. What's the use of fighting, kicking, and punching another person just to prove
your point? It only ends up with both of you getting hurt and solving nothing. Come on, I'm due back for dinner soon,
have to get cleaned up. Don't want to disappoint Miz Winn."
They parted at the corner of the lane and turned. The dark-haired girl watched Ben lope off toward Mrs. Winn's
house. Alex looked at his older sister, puzzled. "So Ben isn't a coward?"
Amy shook her head, slowly. "Far from it!"
"Then why wouldn't he fight Wilf? He could have beat him easily with those secret things he knows."
Ben had now gone out of sight around the bend in the lane.
Amy gave her brother a long look before she replied. "You know, there's a lot more to Ben than either of us
imagine. He has a sort of air about him—confidence, that's it. He acts as if he can do a great deal of things. Of course
he could have beaten Wilf. I think he didn't fight because he knew he could win, but he didn't have to prove it to
himself. It must be good, to be like that. He didn't need us when he went to meet Wilf, but he let us come. He said he
needed us. You know, Alex, I think he was trying to give us a bit of confidence in ourselves. D'you see what I mean?"
Alex squinted his eyes. "Hmm, not quite, but one thing I do know, though. Our friend Ben is like nobody I've
ever met."
23.
THE BIG, LOPING LABRADOR MET BEN ON the way up to the house. He sniffed Ben's hand. "Where've
you been all afternoon, young master?"
The boy grinned as they ambled along together, exchanging thoughts. "You were sniffing to see if I'd had
anything nice to eat while I was out. Well, I didn't. I've made friends with the man at the almshouse. His name is Jon,
you'll like him. He's not a bit mad, like they'd said. I'll take you over to meet him tomorrow." Ben roughed the back of
his dog's neck. "Our friend Wilf, I think he's hurt his hand, took a swipe at me and punched a brick wall."
Ned interrupted. "Huh, I know that." Ben stopped. "How'd you know?"
The black Labrador winked one eye. "Horatio took me on a guided tour of Chapelvale. We found the place
where that Smithers man lives, that lad of his, too. It's a big new house in its own grounds, up past the railway station.
I was sniffing about outside, when Dai Evans and another fellow, the chemist I think, brought young Wilf home to his
parents. Hoho, he must have given that wall a right old whack! You should see the wads of bandage and the splint on
his arm—he was the color of sour milk. Anyhow, before I could stop him, that half-witted cat followed them into the
house. I got as far as the driveway, when Mr. Smithers came roaring out with a garden rake, so I got out of the way
fast. Well, I went around the back of the house to see if I could locate Horatio. Huh, there he was, being fed a saucer
of milk by a nice girl called Hetty.
"Now, there's a girl I could take to. She stroked me a bit, said I was a nice fellow, which I am of course, and
gave me a great gammon hambone, with lots of meat on it. Then she said she was finished working for the day and
put on her hat and coat. She knew Horatio. I think he pops over there regular and lets Hetty feed him, the furry little
fraud. Anyhow, she picked Horatio up and said she'd better get him back home. So I went along with them both. Huh,
I notice she didn't offer to carry me!"
Ben tweaked Ned's tail. "I don't blame her. Where is she now?"
The dog shambled up the driveway to the house. "Inside with Winnie, you'd better go and meet her."
Hetty was a thin, angular woman, clad in a long bottle-green coat with an old fox-fur collar, lace-up kneeboots,
and a worn green felt hat that had seen better days. She sat at the kitchen table with Mrs. Winn, a pot of tea and some
sliced fruitcake between them as they chatted animatedly. Mrs. Winn introduced her to Ben.
"Ah, Ben, this is Hetty Sullivan, an old friend of mine. Her mother used to be maid here when I was not long
married and my son Jim was young. Hetty is the maid up at the Smithers house now. She often calls in for tea and a
chat on her way home. Come and sit with us."
The boy pulled up a chair, listening to Hetty's tales of woe as Mrs. Winn poured tea for him. Hetty was one of
those people who always had a tale to tell, usually in the manner of a complaint.
"Smithers! Don't talk to me about that family! 'Hetty fetch this, Hetty do that.' I'm at their beck and call every
second. I wish I could work for you, Miz Winn, like my old mum used to. I always liked this 'ouse."
Mrs. Winn poured more tea for Hetty, remarking wistfully, "I wish I could afford for you to work here, Hetty
my dear, but I'm only a widow on a Royal Navy pension. I can understand you not liking to work for Smithers—I
wouldn't fancy the job."
Hetty pursed her lips as she sipped her tea. "No more you wouldn't, marm! That Obadiah Smithers, nasty bossy
man, always asking me t'leave the room, so he can talk business, if you please! Then there's the other young madam,
Miss Maud Bowe, wants waitin' on 'and an' foot. Wants to get back to Lunnon, that's what she needs t'do. An' that
young Master Wilfred, dirty towels, muddy bootmarks, bad manners. Cheeky wretch, you should see the mess he
leaves the bathroom in every day. But his mother won't hear a word said agin him. No, she drifts about there, givin'
her orders like she was a bloomin' duchess or somethin': 'I think we'll have the gammon for lunch, Hetty, boil those
potatoes until they're floury, Hetty, you may pour the tea, Hetty.' Humph! An' her the daughter of a Yorkshire sack an'
bag maker. Oh, I notice these things, y'know. There ain't many secrets in the Smithers 'ouse that Hetty Sullivan ain't
over'eard!"
Ben nodded sympathetically. "You haven't had it easy working for them, eh, Hetty?"
The maid primped at her lank, mousy hair. "I certainly 'ave not, Master Ben!"
Ben seemed very concerned at the maid's plight. "What'll you do for a job if Smithers carries out his plan and
takes over the village for his cement business? Surely you'll be out of house and home, won't you, Hetty?"
She tapped the tabletop with a stick-like finger.
"D'you know what Smithers said, 'e said I could live there, in
the spare room, an' he'd deduct lodgin' out of me wages. There! What d'you think of that, eh?"
Ben played the gossipy maid like a fish on a line. "So it looks like he's got things well in hand. Does he talk
much about the new venture?"
Hetty looked this way and that, as if others were listening in on the conversation, then put a hand to the side of
her mouth and dropped her voice to a confidential half-whisper. "Just between me'n you, 'e never stops talkin' about it.
Now, I'm not one for gossipin' an' repeatin' things, but you should've 'eard the argument Mr. Smithers an' Maud Bowe
'ad this mornin' over breakfast. It was fearful, I tell you, fearful!"
Mrs. Winn caught the nod from Ben, so she immediately took over his role, leaning forward to Hetty like a
conspirator, whilst dismissing the boy. "Er, Ben, perhaps you'd better go and wash up for dinner." As Ben left the
room, he heard Mrs. Winn murmuring to the maid. "Oh, poor Hetty, you look so upset. Tell me all about it, dear."
It was seven-thirty that evening. Hetty had departed, taking with her a jar of homemade blackberry jam and Mrs.
Winn's condolences for the indignities she was forced to bear under the Smithers regime. Ben was sitting with Ned at
his feet, Mrs. Winn with Horatio at hers, all replete after a Sunday dinner of Winnie's roast lamb and vegetables,
followed by trifle with fresh cream. Ben waited, containing his curiosity until the old lady was ready to divulge what
Hetty Sullivan had told her earlier. Mrs. Winn allowed Horatio to leap up onto her lap, and she stroked him as she
related the maid's conversation.
"It's not good news, I'm afraid. Apparently Hetty heard every word. They were shouting and ranting at each
other. Smithers is confident of the Chapelvale takeover and kept ignoring Maud's argument that something urgent be
done about me. Apparently I'm the fly in their ointment. Smithers reckons the other villagers will fall into line; he can
bully them with his legal jargon, compulsory purchase orders, and talk of big-money London investment companies.
But he's finding it difficult to push me about—I'm the only one who is resisting him, you see!"
The strange boy's blue eyes showed their admiration of the plucky old lady, and he winked knowingly at her.
"And you intend fighting Smithers and the Londoners every inch of the way. Good for you, marm!"
Horatio jumped down from Mrs. Winn's lap. She shook her head wearily. "I don't let others see it, but I'm a bit
frightened really. I own this house and I can prove it, but the rest? Oh dear, it's all a bit up in the air. Captain Winn
knew more about it than me. What a pity he's not here to help. The almshouse is a big building—it takes up an entire
corner of the village square. It was always regarded as belonging to the Winn family, all the village land, too. I just
took it for granted.
Nobody ever asked me to produce title deeds, or confirmation of ownership. Not until Smithers and his London
acquaintances came along. If I want to carry on the fight, I need proper proof of ownership!"
Ben interrupted her. "What else did Hetty tell you she overheard?"
The old lady fiddled with her worn wedding ring. "Well, Maud Bowe told Smithers that they would lose the
contract if they don't have me moved out and the almshouse in their possession by the due date. Smithers blustered a
bit, but wasn't quite sure how to deal with the problem. Then Maud said that she had friends in London who could
take care of me."
Ben looked questioningly at her. "Friends?"
The old lady looked worried as she continued. "Aye, friends she called them. But Smithers knew what she was
talking about. He said that he'd have nothing to do with Maud's plan, said he was a man with a respectable family and
high standing in the village, and that he didn't want paid bullies coming here from London!"
This was an unexpected turn of events, though Ben was not surprised at the things big-city business firms would
come up with in achieving their aims. He tried not to let his concern show. "Oh, and what are these so-called big-city
friends supposed to do?"
The old lady fussed with her apron strings. "Frighten me out of my house, Maud said. Smithers told her that if it
came to light, he'd deny all knowledge of the whole thing. But she replied that it was only the same thing he had been
trying to do through his bullying son and the gang he has around him. That seemed to shut Smithers up."
Ben had a question to ask. "When are these 'big-city friends' supposed to arrive in Chapelvale, Miz Winn?"
She shrugged. "Hetty never said, but she did mention that the minute Wilf arrived home this afternoon, Maud
went up to her room to write a letter."
Ben pondered this for a moment. "Suppose it takes a letter two days to get to London from here. Give it another
day for these people to get themselves organized, and say the better part of a day for them to travel up here. Four days.
Say sometime next Thursday, late afternoon."
Mrs. Winn rose and started clearing dishes from the table. "What are we going to do, Ben?"
Gazing out of the window at the glorious summer evening, Ben patted his dog's head. "Leave this to us, Win-
nie!"
24.
WHEN JONATHAN PRESTON took down the shutters from the almshouse back windows, morning sunlight
flooded in. It was nice to have a bit of light and fresh air in the old place, he thought, taking the lamps down from the
beam and extinguishing them. A piece of floorboard timber, weighted down by two bricks, stood on the table; he
lifted them to one side. The old ship's carpenter smiled with satisfaction at the two pieces of paper he had rejoined
skillfully with fish glue and rice paper as a backing. He held it up to the light, looking at the four small holes,
murmuring to himself. "Good as new, writing's all joined up proper now.
"Lord, if it be thy will and pleasure,
Keep safe for the house of De Winn thy treasure."
He gazed at the paper awhile, then put it down, massaging the corners of his eyes with finger and thumb. "Wish
I knew what those four little holes mean!"
He was putting the kettle on for tea and cutting some bread and cheese, when Ben's face showed at the window.
"Morning, mate. Is it all right to come in? I've brought my friends along."
Jon straightened up, one hand on the small of his back. "Bring 'em in, lad, by all means!"
Amy and Ned climbed through the windowspace with Ben. Alex followed behind, a touch hesitant. When they
were introduced, the old seaman cut up the cheese rinds with his clasp knife, feeding them to the black Labrador and
scratching vigorously behind the dog's ears. "This dog o' yours, Ben, he's a fine animal. Aren't you, boy?"
Ned gazed adoringly at the old carpenter, passing a thought to Ben. "What a nice old cove. He certainly knows
how to treat a dog. Mmmmmm! Carry on, sir, more to the left, ah, that's it. Best ear scratcher I've met in many a year.
Mmmmmm!"
Ben nudged the dog with his foot. "Move over a bit, Ned, you're beating me to death with that tail of yours!" He
pointed to the rejoined paper on the table. "You've done a good job there, old friend. Found any more clues or bits of
information?"
Jon shook his head. "Nothing, lad, though I was just going to give this place a good cleanup to see what I might
come across. Would you and your pals like t'help me?"
Amy rolled up her sleeves. "Right, tell us what to do!"
Sweeping the floor was out
of the question. It raised too much dust, but there was lots of old timber needed
stacking outside. Ben and Amy passed it out through the window, and Alex and Jon stacked it up against the outside
wall. They worked right through until midday, when they stopped to have a small lunch of the old seaman's bread and
cheese and a cup of tea. All four sat on the window ledge, surrounded by dust motes, which swirled in the air like tiny
golden specks. Jon appeared well satisfied with the job they had done thus far.
"Looks a lot better, don't it. Now that old floorboard plankin' is out of the way, I'll be able to move my table into
the corner."
The younger boy had lost his initial shyness about Jon and pointed to the table. "Look at that table's far leg.
You'll either have to fix it or find another one."
Jon stared at the leg in question, which up until then had been hidden behind a stack of wood. "Aye, so I will,
mate— there's a piece of it missin', see. 'Tis balanced on that tin biscuit box. Must've been like that since I arrived
here an' I've never noticed it. Let me see, now."
The old man took the two bricks he had used as weights. Standing on edge atop of one another they were the
depth of the tin. "Ben, Alex, hold that table up an' I'll wedge these under."
It was a heavy table, and the two boys gasped as they held it up. Amy pushed the tin out of the way whilst Jon
stuck the bricks in position. "All right, you two, let it down easy, careful now!"
Jon tested the table, it was solid and unmoving. "That's shipshape! Let's take a look at that rusty, old tin box,
Amy."
Amy placed the box on the table. "Feels like there's stuff inside!"
Jon traced the lip of the tin lid. "Rusted tight, hah! Villier's Afternoon Tea Wafers. Some years since I set eyes
on them. Only one way to find out what's inside, mates!" Jon had a useful-looking can opener on his clasp knife. He
punched it through the corroded metal and began vigorously working it along the edge. The tin was not as weak as it
first appeared to be, and the old seaman's opener caused a skreeking noise that made the three young people wince. He
stopped only when he had cut down three edges. "Papers!"
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