you been all afternoon, young master?"
The boy grinned as they ambled along together, exchanging thoughts. "You were sniffing to see if I'd had
anything nice to eat while I was out. Well, I didn't. I've made friends with the man at the almshouse. His name is Jon,
you'll like him. He's not a bit mad, like they'd said. I'll take you over to meet him tomorrow." Ben roughed the back of
his dog's neck. "Our friend Wilf, I think he's hurt his hand, took a swipe at me and punched a brick wall."
Ned interrupted. "Huh, I know that." Ben stopped. "How'd you know?"
The black Labrador winked one eye. "Horatio took me on a guided tour of Chapelvale. We found the place
where that Smithers man lives, that lad of his, too. It's a big new house in its own grounds, up past the railway station.
I was sniffing about outside, when Dai Evans and another fellow, the chemist I think, brought young Wilf home to his
parents. Hoho, he must have given that wall a right old whack! You should see the wads of bandage and the splint on
his arm—he was the color of sour milk. Anyhow, before I could stop him, that half-witted cat followed them into the
house. I got as far as the driveway, when Mr. Smithers came roaring out with a garden rake, so I got out of the way
fast. Well, I went around the back of the house to see if I could locate Horatio. Huh, there he was, being fed a saucer
of milk by a nice girl called Hetty.
"Now, there's a girl I could take to. She stroked me a bit, said I was a nice fellow, which I am of course, and
gave me a great gammon hambone, with lots of meat on it. Then she said she was finished working for the day and
put on her hat and coat. She knew Horatio. I think he pops over there regular and lets Hetty feed him, the furry little
fraud. Anyhow, she picked Horatio up and said she'd better get him back home. So I went along with them both. Huh,
I notice she didn't offer to carry me!"
Ben tweaked Ned's tail. "I don't blame her. Where is she now?"
The dog shambled up the driveway to the house. "Inside with Winnie, you'd better go and meet her."
Hetty was a thin, angular woman, clad in a long bottle-green coat with an old fox-fur collar, lace-up kneeboots,
and a worn green felt hat that had seen better days. She sat at the kitchen table with Mrs. Winn, a pot of tea and some
sliced fruitcake between them as they chatted animatedly. Mrs. Winn introduced her to Ben.
"Ah, Ben, this is Hetty Sullivan, an old friend of mine. Her mother used to be maid here when I was not long
married and my son Jim was young. Hetty is the maid up at the Smithers house now. She often calls in for tea and a
chat on her way home. Come and sit with us."
The boy pulled up a chair, listening to Hetty's tales of woe as Mrs. Winn poured tea for him. Hetty was one of
those people who always had a tale to tell, usually in the manner of a complaint.
"Smithers! Don't talk to me about that family! 'Hetty fetch this, Hetty do that.' I'm at their beck and call every
second. I wish I could work for you, Miz Winn, like my old mum used to. I always liked this 'ouse."
Mrs. Winn poured more tea for Hetty, remarking wistfully, "I wish I could afford for you to work here, Hetty
my dear, but I'm only a widow on a Royal Navy pension. I can understand you not liking to work for Smithers—I
wouldn't fancy the job."
Hetty pursed her lips as she sipped her tea. "No more you wouldn't, marm! That Obadiah Smithers, nasty bossy
man, always asking me t'leave the room, so he can talk business, if you please! Then there's the other young madam,
Miss Maud Bowe, wants waitin' on 'and an' foot. Wants to get back to Lunnon, that's what she needs t'do. An' that
young Master Wilfred, dirty towels, muddy bootmarks, bad manners. Cheeky wretch, you should see the mess he
leaves the bathroom in every day. But his mother won't hear a word said agin him. No, she drifts about there, givin'
her orders like she was a bloomin' duchess or somethin': 'I think we'll have the gammon for lunch, Hetty, boil those
potatoes until they're floury, Hetty, you may pour the tea, Hetty.' Humph! An' her the daughter of a Yorkshire sack an'
bag maker. Oh, I notice these things, y'know. There ain't many secrets in the Smithers 'ouse that Hetty Sullivan ain't
over'eard!"
Ben nodded sympathetically. "You haven't had it easy working for them, eh, Hetty?"
The maid primped at her lank, mousy hair. "I certainly 'ave not, Master Ben!"
Ben seemed very concerned at the maid's plight. "What'll you do for a job if Smithers carries out his plan and
takes over the village for his cement business? Surely you'll be out of house and home, won't you, Hetty?"
She tapped the tabletop with a stick-like finger. "D'you know what Smithers said, 'e said I could live there, in
the spare room, an' he'd deduct lodgin' out of me wages. There! What d'you think of that, eh?"
Ben played the gossipy maid like a fish on a line. "So it looks like he's got things well in hand. Does he talk
much about the new venture?"
Hetty looked this way and that, as if others were listening in on the conversation, then put a hand to the side of
her mouth and dropped her voice to a confidential half-whisper. "Just between me'n you, 'e never stops talkin' about it.
Now, I'm not one for gossipin' an' repeatin' things, but you should've 'eard the argument Mr. Smithers an' Maud Bowe
'ad this mornin' over breakfast. It was fearful, I tell you, fearful!"
Mrs. Winn caught the nod from Ben, so she immediately took over his role, leaning forward to Hetty like a
conspirator, whilst dismissing the boy. "Er, Ben, perhaps you'd better go and wash up for dinner." As Ben left the
room, he heard Mrs. Winn murmuring to the maid. "Oh, poor Hetty, you look so upset. Tell me all about it, dear."
It was seven-thirty that evening. Hetty had departed, taking with her a jar of homemade blackberry jam and Mrs.
Winn's condolences for the indignities she was forced to bear under the Smithers regime. Ben was sitting with Ned at
his feet, Mrs. Winn with Horatio at hers, all replete after a Sunday dinner of Winnie's roast lamb and vegetables,
followed by trifle with fresh cream. Ben waited, containing his curiosity until the old lady was ready to divulge what
Hetty Sullivan had told her earlier. Mrs. Winn allowed Horatio to leap up onto her lap, and she stroked him as she
related the maid's conversation.
"It's not good news, I'm afraid. Apparently Hetty heard every word. They were shouting and ranting at each
other. Smithers is confident of the Chapelvale takeover and kept ignoring Maud's argument that something urgent be
done about me. Apparently I'm the fly in their ointment. Smithers reckons the other villagers will fall into line; he can
bully them with his legal jargon, compulsory purchase orders, and talk of big-money London investment companies.
But he's finding it difficult to push me about—I'm the only one who is resisting him, you see!"
The strange boy's blue eyes showed their admiration of the plucky old lady, and he winked knowingly at her.
"And you intend fighting Smithers and the Londoners every inch of the way. Good for you, marm!"
Horatio jumped down from Mrs. Winn's lap. She shook her head wearily. "I don't let others see it, but I'm a bit
frightened really. I own this house and I can prove it, but the rest? Oh dear, it's all a bit up in the air. Captain Winn
knew more about it than me. What a pity he's not here to help. The almshouse is a big building—it takes up an entire
corner of the village square. It was always regarded as belonging to the Winn family, all the village land, too. I just