[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

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, Winnie!”

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!”