[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

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!”

18

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!”