Obadiah snorted. "Who gives a fig what she likes. She'll get what she's given in my house, and be thankful for
it!"
Mrs. Smithers nodded and left the room.
Obadiah watched his son swigging lemonade and stuffing cake. "Never mind Evans and the rest. I've got them
well under control. Mrs. Winn's the fly in the ointment—have you and your friends been 'round to her house lately? I
need her out of there."
Wilf stopped eating and gnawed at a hangnail. "There's a lad always hanging 'round with her. He's got a black
dog with him, big, vicious thing. Makes it hard to do anything with them around, but I'll try."
His father's face hardened, he grabbed Wilf's arm tight. "I've seen them. Listen, don't let the dog bother you.
The moment it bites you or your pals, let me know. I'll get the constable to round it up and have it destroyed. I'm
surprised at you, though, Wilf. That boy is half a head shorter than you and a lot lighter. Big fellow like you should be
able to whale the livin' daylights out of him, that'd teach him a lesson. You're not scared of him, are you, son?"
Wilf's face grew even redder. "Me, scared of that shrimp? Huh!"
His father smiled. "Good boy, just like me when I was your age. You find a way to get him on his own and give
him a good thrashin'. Don't let up if he cries, show him who's boss. Will y'do that for me, eh?"
Fired by his father's words, Wilf nodded vigorously. "I'll do it, all right. I owe that one a few good punches!"
Obadiah released his son's arm. Digging into his vest pocket, he produced an assortment of silver coins and
gave them to him. "Here, buy your friends some toffee and tell them to keep old Ma Winn on her toes."
Wilf jammed two slices of sultana cake together and took a bite. He ruled the Grange Gang with an iron fist, not
toffee, and he would keep the money. "Thanks, Dad, I will," he lied.
19.
MRS. WINN TOOK A KEY FROM A JUG ON THE kitchen shelf. "Let's take a look at the captain's room,
Ben." Ned's ears rose slightly. "I'd better come with you, a good bloodhound may be required to search the room."
Ben tugged his dog's ear lightly. "You're no bloodhound, Ned."
The Labrador sniffed airily. "I should hope not—great, mournful-looking lollopers, that lot. But you know I'm
pretty good at sniffing things out, so come on, my old shipmate!"
Ben helped Mrs. Winn to negotiate the stairs, trying not to show his impatience at her lack of speed. He told
himself that he, too, would be old one day, then caught Ned's thoughtful observation. "Will you? When'll that be?"
The door was a heavy mahogany one, shining from layers of dark varnish, with brass trimmings.
Mrs. Winn gave the key to Ben. As he fitted it into the lock, he gave an involuntary shiver. Images of the sea
welled up in his mind, ships, waves, wind, thrumming sails. He pictured himself and Ned long, long ago, locked in the
galley of the Flying Dutchman, whilst outside, Vanderdecken murdered the seaman Vogel by shooting him. Then Mrs.
Winn's hand was on his arm, breaking the spell.
"Ben, are you all right, boy?"
Reality flooded back, and he straightened up, turning the key. "I'm fine, Miz Winn. It was the lock, bit stiff I
think. There, that's got it. Ladies first!"
It was a proper old seafarer's room, all shipshape and Bristol fashion, as the saying goes. Captain Winn had
been a meticulous man, always storing things tidily. Framed certificates and merit awards, alongside pictures of
various ships, carefully posed crews, and the captain himself depicted with groups of his numerous friends, hung in
even lines on the walls. There was a brass-railed table, which had once graced a ship's cabin. On it stood a sextant and
a globe.
In a corner a polished shell case stood, serving as a receptacle for some rolled-up charts and a couple of walking
canes with carved heads. A rolltop desk took up most of another corner. Beside it were two sea chests. One was a
beautiful example of carved Burmese teak, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and custard-colored ebony. The other was a
plain, black, naval-issue, officer's steamer case, with the name "Captain Rodney Winn. R.N." neatly painted on it in
white enamel.
Mrs. Winn had to remove some interesting specimens of conch and nautilus shells from the top of the desk
before she could open it. From a tiny drawer she took two keys, one plain and serviceable, the other very ornate, with
a red silk tassel hanging from it. She unlocked the two chests, handing over the keys to Ben.
"All the captain's personal papers are in the desk and these two boxes. When you finish up here, make sure you
lock everything up and put the keys back, Ben. I don't want to rummage through all this. Too many memories. Far too
many ghosts for someone of my age. Hmm, I'll have to come up here tomorrow and have a good dust around. Captain
Winn couldn't abide dust, hated it! Oh, would you like to see something, lad? Take a look at this."
She opened a wall cupboard, which was actually a built-in wardrobe. All the captain's uniforms, from
ceremonial dress to everyday duty, were hung from a rail. Below, on shelves, his accoutrements were
displayed—white gloves, cotton and wool for different climates, leather ones for formal occasions. Various ties,
cravats and bows, medals bars, ribbons, stars, and other decorations were placed with care alongside gold-braid sleeve
bands. Most of all, Ben admired a magnificent Royal Navy captain's sword and sheath, complete with gold tassels. He
turned to comment on it to Mrs. Winn, but she had gone.
Ned's thought confirmed this. "She's gone downstairs, looking rather sad, too. What a good woman. Wouldn't it
be nice if we could stay here for good, Ben. You remember that saying, there's no place like home. I'm beginning to
realize what it means. I really like it here."
The lad sat down on the carpet, next to his friend, and stroked beneath his chin as he passed back a wistful
thought. "I know what you mean, pal, but you know as well as I do, when the time comes to move on we've no option
but to go."
They sat in silence for a moment, imagining what it would be like if they were ordinary mortals, growing older,
growing up, staying in one place, living a normal life.
The big Lab broke the spell by butting Ben in the stomach and playfully knocking him flat on his back. "Come
on, shipmate, aren't we supposed to be helping Miz Winn save her home and land by searching the room for clues?"
Ben opened the captain's chest. "This looks as good a place to start as any."
The Royal Navy chest was literally crammed with old dispatches, charts, and long-out-of-date yellowed
newspapers, all in careful order.
Ben flipped through them, Ned watching him rather impatiently. "Anything of value there, Ben?"
The boy looked up from his task. "Not really, it's all like a record of Captain Winn's career, admiralty orders,
sea blockade plans, and these newspapers. Look, 1854, war declared against Russia by Britain and France. September
fourteenth, the Allied armies landing in the Crimea, the siege of Sevastopol. It goes on and on, British history, right
through the Indian Mutiny, up to Africa and the Zulu wars in the late 1870s. No family history here that would help us.
Let's have a look at this fancy trunk."
He opened the carved chest. This looked more interesting at first glance, it had a fragrance of flowers, rose and
lilac. Fine, dark red tissue paper separated the contents. Ben unpacked it and found a Chinese dragon-embroidered