[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

Jon gazed up at the sky, thinking aloud. “Only trouble with that is, it’s daylight. How could the heavenly twins watch Sol’s dying face?”

The younger boy plucked a blade of grass and chewed on one end. “What’s a Sol?”

Ben had heard the expression before, so he explained. “Sol is a name given to the sun. The sun sinks in the west, you’ve heard the expression. The dying sun sank into the west. I’ve read it in books many a time.”

Amy nodded. “Ben’s right. So what we’re looking for are two things. Heavenly twins standing ever gazing at Sol’s dying face.” She walked out into the churchyard, grass rustling against her long skirt. Ben followed her. Together they stopped, about halfway across, and leaned on one of the many crooked moss-grown gravestones, staring at the back of the almshouse. Ben saw the twins straight away, but he waited a moment until Amy caught sight of them. She leapt upright, pointing. “There they are, underneath the middle window: the twins!”

Two gracefully fluted columns of limestone formed the window edges. Beneath them, as if supporting the columns with their wings, stood two carved stone angels, facing outward, their hands joined in prayer, faces looking upward to heaven. Amy’s voice caused a prowling jackdaw to take flight as she shouted shrilly, “The heavenly twins standing ever gazing at Sol’s dying face!”

Ned looked accusingly at his master, passing a thought. “You knew that, didn’t you? Before Amy called out, you’d guessed where the angels were. I must say, though, having seen a real angel, those two don’t bear much resemblance, huh!”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Don’t be hard on the stone-mason, Ned, he’d probably never seen an angel.”

“‘Turn as a third Gospelmaker would to the house named for the rock,’ ” Alex read out loud. “Now I’m really stumped. I don’t know any Gospelmakers.”

The old carpenter drew a silver watch from his pocket and consulted it. “Well, we can all go home and think about it. You’ll be wanted for dinner soon. I say we meet back here tomorrow, same time?”

Alex grumbled a bit; he was certain they were on to something, but Jon was right. Ben and his dog stood with Amy on the other side of the wall, waiting while her brother bid his newfound friend good-bye. Alex held forth his hand.

“See you tomorrow morning, then, Jon. Don’t worry, we’ll solve it. We’re doing something to save Mrs. Winn’s village for her. Not like some of the dead and alive types around Chapelvale, eh, mate?”

Alex’s hand vanished inside the old carpenter’s huge grasp. Jon’s eyes crinkled into a fond smile as he shook it. “Aye, mate, we won’t go wrong with you helpin’ us!”

Dinner had already been served at the Smithers house. Maud Bowe retired outside to the garden, where she sat, perusing the illustrated pages of a book entitled Fashion Hints for the Lady about Town. Though she gave the impression of enjoying her country stay, Maud was longing to be back among her friends in London. Young Wilf slouched out into the garden, a heavy bandage and splint on his right arm, which was resting in a sling. He scowled at Maud and slumped down into a cast-iron chair, drumming his heels hard against the legs. Maud glanced over the top of her book at him.

“Wilfred, do you have to make that din?”

He drummed his steel-tipped boot heels louder, staring defiantly at her. “Name’s not Wilfred, it’s Wilf!”

Closing the book, she stared primly at him. “All right, then. Will you cease that infernal noise, Wilf?”

He stopped, smiled maliciously, and started drumming again. “I can do what I like ’round here. I live here, you don’t!”

“I’ll tell your father!”

“Go and tell him, I don’t care.”

Maud massaged the side of her forehead daintily. The noise was really getting to her. Finally she stamped her foot.

“Why don’t you go up to your room? I thought you were supposed to be injured. You should be in bed!”

Wilf was enjoying tormenting her and beat his heels faster. “Mother says I need fresh air. You go up to your room!”

Maud knew she had lost the battle of wills. Before she retired to her room, she stood over Wilf, hissing nastily. “Stupid village clod! Wilfred, Wilfred, Wilfred!”

Wilf continued drumming, grinning smugly at her.

“Miss Maudy toffee nose!”

She stalked off without another word, her thoughts racing. Maybe when her father’s toughs came up from London, she could find a reason for one of them to give Wilf an accidental cuff across the ear. They were good at things like that.

When she had gone, Wilf produced pencil and paper from his sling and began laboriously writing, trying to use his left hand. It was useless, Regina would write for him. This time he would fix Ben for good, without violence or fighting. He sat waiting for his gang to visit.

26

DUSK WAS TAKING THE PLACE OF DAYLIGHT. Outside the lace-curtained windows, a nightingale’s melody was punctuated by an owl-hoot, and dusty moths beat their wings on the windowpanes, in an effort to reach the interior light.