[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

Will leaned over Jon’s shoulder and looked. His sigh of frustration was audible. “No message, just a lot of little lines.”

Later, Sergeant Patterson made more tea for them as Mr. Braithwaite gazed at the thin paper lying on the charge-office desk. “Hmm, lines and a few dots. Spaced out in, er, rather a, er, peculiar way. Hmmm.”

The lines and the dots seemed to have no connection.

The sergeant glanced at them as he passed out mugs of tea. “Very peculiar, ah’d say, what d’ye think, laddie?”

Ben stood with his eyes riveted on the paper. “I’d say

39

WILL’S MA TOOK LITTLE WILLUM TO visit Mrs. Winn that afternoon. Not having heard from Ben or the others, the anxious older woman was delighted to see them. They had tea and hot, buttered crumpets. Willum liked a dab of strawberry jam on his crumpet and sat on the carpet, the picture of happiness, his cheeks smeared with jam. Catching sight of Horatio, he crawled off in hot pursuit, attempting to get his sticky fingers on the cat, calling, “Fussy ca’, fussy ca’!”

Within minutes they had another visitor come calling. Hetty Sullivan, the Smitherses’ maidservant. Mrs. Winn hastened to top off the teapot and toast more crumpets. Hetty was a good sort—she rescued Horatio from little Willum’s attentions and put him out in the garden.

Willum protested aloud as she cleaned him up with a wet flannel and towel. “Gaaah, wanna fussy ca’!”

The three ladies had just settled down to their tea, when Delia came clopping up the lane. Mrs. Winn threw up her arms in mock despair. “Merciful heavens, it looks like open house here today—there’s a whole crew arriving!”

The servant girl could see the old lady was secretly pleased to have so many callers on a Thursday afternoon. “You stay there, Miz Winn, I’ll see to them.”

Mrs. Winn made a move to rise, then sat back down. “Thank you, Hetty, I’m afraid we’ve eaten all the crumpets. There’s a Dundee cake and a currant loaf in the larder. Oh, and you’d best get the big teapot out!”

Wiping their muddy boots on the doormat, Ben and his friends trooped in. The open-faced farmer’s wife swept little Willum up and hugged him. “You rascal, fancy findin’ you ’ere!”

The older woman’s cheeks were flushed to a rosy hue as she took Ben’s hand. “So many people, lad! Well, did you have any luck?”

The boy winked at Amy. “Show her.”

With a flourish the girl placed both of the candlesticks on the table. “St. Matthew’s treasure, the light bearers ’neath the ground!”

Mrs. Winn held up her hands, as if afraid to touch them. “Oh my! Oh goodness! They’re absolutely beautiful!”

Mr. Braithwaite picked one up and rubbed a fingermark off with his sleeve. “Er, beautiful indeed, marm. Byzantine, er, er, workmanship, hmmm, a long-lost art, yes, er, very good!”

Mr. Mackay folded both hands beneath the tails of his coat and paced around before holding forth. “Unfortunately, madam, we have as yet been unable to find the deeds to your land. In my estimation we now have the three pieces sent up by Bishop Peveril from the court of King Edward the Third: a chalice, a cross, and a set of candlesticks to grace the altar of the church, which later became the almshouse. But it is the deeds that are vital to our cause. And we do not have them! Each piece has given us a clue, leading to the next one, from Luke to John and on to Matthew. But I regret to inform you that the message we found with the candlesticks is very obscure and far, far too cryptic for us to search further. Rather a shame, seeing as the deadline is tomorrow morning.” He rolled out his prediction: “If the deeds are not found by then, Chapelvale will be in the hands of the developers!”

The old woman put down her teacup. “Where did you find the candlesticks?”

The younger boy answered. “Under the old police station yard. Constable Judmann wasn’t going to let us in, but Sergeant Patterson allowed us to dig there. He even helped.”

The Smitherses’ Hetty trundled in with a trolley, laden with tea and cakes. “Sergeant Patterson, ’e’s a nice bobby, where’s ’e now?”

Alex took a wedge of Dundee cake. “Back up at the station. There was a message coming in on the button machine. . . .”

“You mean the telegraph,” his sister corrected him. “The sergeant said he’d follow us up here after the message had arrived.”

Will’s ma was growing impatient. “Well, where’s this obscure clue? Don’t we get to see it?”

“Here ’tis, Sarah, see what you make of it.” The ship’s carpenter passed her the thin paper sheet.

Screwing her eyes up, Ma inspected it briefly before passing it to Mrs. Winn. “Lot o’ lines an’ dots, don’t mean a thing t’me!” she said as a knock at the door announced the sergeant’s arrival.