"Mr. Cumberbatch!" I was aware I was repeating myself, but I couldn't help myself. And after I had thought to get rid of him forever, here he was turning up again like the proverbial bad penny!
"Your servant, Miss Lee." He rose from the fireplace, where he had been warming his hands. "I have here a package of money and a letter from Mr. Swallow." He handed them over. Taking a paper-knife from the writing-desk I slit the letter open.
It read, after the usual salutations: "I am sending you Mr. Cumberbatch to accompany you on your journeys, on behalf of our firm, under your uncle's instructions. I have decided to send him as the other members of our firm are more advanced in years, and he is both young and fit. I might add, however, that he is unwilling to undertake this task, but I hope he will become reconciled as time goes on. We have equipped him as well as we could for his travels. He carries with him the moneys for your journey, which I must ask you to receipt as provided.
"He will be accompanied by the private investigator your uncle also insisted upon, a Mr. Danny Duveen. He has been provided with moneys for his travelling outfit." He ended up wishing us well.
I put the letter and the packet of money down carefully on the writing-desk, realising that I was prolonging the moment when I would have to turn around and face my unwelcome fellow-traveller. He didn't want to go, and I didn't want him either! What a pickle . . . I couldn't imagine a more dreary companion: dreary and useless.
Mrs. Early provided the diversion I needed by bringing in a tray of tea, so I was able to greet him pleasantly enough, offer him a cup of tea and assure him his room would be ready as soon as possible. All this while I had half an eye on the other occupant of the room, seeming intent on examining one of the prints on the wall. He was wearing a heavy caped coat reaching almost to his ankles, as if he wasn't very tall. I wasn't sure whether his turned back was indicative of boorishness, politeness as I spoke with Mr. Cumberbatch, or shyness.
"Did you both have a pleasant journey?" I asked, preparing to pour the tea.
"Not particularly. Dem' smoky carriage and the dem' carrier was late—"
"Mr. Cumberbatch: we do not use language like that in this house, nor will I tolerate it on the journey. You are not in the office now."
My other guest clapped his hands as he turned round. "Well said, Miss Lee, well said! I always say you have to watch your mouth in front of the ladies, so I do!"
I nearly dropped the milk jug.
"You! What on earth are you doing here?" The man who now faced me was even more familiar than Mr. Cumberbatch: it was the importunate young "poet" who had lived for a while at my lodgings, and who had both pestered me with his poems and followed me round wherever I went. What was his name? Random, that was it: Richard Random.
He came forward, flung his coat off over a chair and extended his hand.
"Hello again, Miss Lee! Danny Duveen at your service . . . Mine's two sugars and only a splash of milk."
"But—but you're Richard Random!"
"Was, Miss Lee, was! That was only an alias, if you know what I mean. In my line of work it is essential that you move along and leave no clues behind you. So, the name changes with the job, and so do the disguises. If you had any idea how hard it was to write that dreadful doggerel! I did say two sugars, did I not?"
So this was the man on whom my uncle had depended for his report on me! And I had always thought it was my hidden attractions . . . I had to admit he had been both clever and persistent. As for "disguise," he looked little different: unshaven, untidy, unruly black hair falling over his forehead, very blue eyes. His clothes, too, had seen better days. They were decidedly grubby, ill-fitting, a little out of date, with a compensating touch of the exotic: a multi-coloured scarf, a sporty yellow waistcoat, a green handkerchief hanging out of one pocket, a flashy red-stoned ring. He looked as if he had rummaged very quickly through Old Sol's second-hand clothes shop, or was about to take his turn at a provincial music-hall, singing Irish ballads.
Still, it had been my uncle's wish that he accompany me, and at least he had more spirit than the lack-lustre Claude. Meanwhile the tea was not getting any warmer, so I lifted off the cosy and poured to suit them both; it didn't surprise me one bit to find that Claude preferred his very weak with no sugar.
Mrs. Early tapped at the door to inform me that fires had been lit in the bedrooms, and was the luggage to be taken up?
"Please. Have you seen Master Toby?"
"He's in the kitchen with us, miss."
"Would you have him join me in here? And we will have supper in the dining—room at seven, if that is not too inconvenient?"
"No trouble at all, miss. I'll have hot water sent up to the gentlemen's rooms a half-hour before."
In came Toby a couple of minutes later, obviously having been taken in hand by Mrs. Early, for his hands and face were clean and his hair combed.
"Gentlemen, I would like you to meet Toby, my ward. He will be accompanying us on our travels. Toby, the gentleman on my right is Mr. Cumberbatch from the solicitor's office, the other—"
"But I know's him!" cried Toby, pointing at Danny Duveen. "He came round my ma's a couple of times, asking all sorts of questions 'bout you! He's just a snooper, miss!"
"And your ma sent me away with a flea in my ear, didn't she Toby me boy? Or rather a soapy fist round my head . . ."
"Only after you kicked over a bucket of lye!"
" 'Twas an accident, me boy, a pure accident! Tripped up over the damn' thing, didn't I? Could hardly see a hand in front of my face, down in that steam-filled basement you call a laundry—"
"Mr. Duveen! Toby! That'll do . . . And my remarks about swearing to Mr. Cumberbatch apply equally to you, Sir! Is that understood?"
"Slip of the tongue, Miss Lee, slip of the tongue . . . Won't happen again, I assure you!"
Now why was I so certain that it would?
Supper was an uncomfortable affair. In spite of the fire the room was chilly through lack of use, and although I was used to correct table manners, it was obvious my two guests were not, and their sloppiness affected Toby. Not only was he overawed with the formality of the room, the best china and cutlery, the attempts at polite conversation, he was also thrown by the fact that both men picked up their chicken bones and chewed them, quite contrary to the instructions I had given him only a day or two since, that one only picks up the bones of game-birds.
As a consequence of all this he managed to slurp his soup in one of the many silences, spilled his gravy on the cloth as he was pouring it, one of his roast potatoes shot across the table and onto the floor and he ate it instead of leaving it, he forgot and tried to eat his peas off his knife, so that by the time we came to the tapioca pudding he was too disheartened to choose five of the stewed plums to go with it, to make sure he was the "Rich Man," living in a mansion this year and clad in silks although that game he had always enjoyed working out.
Not that the conduct of the other two was any better. Claude's manners showed some promise, although using his cheese knife to pare his nails was an excruciating sight and he drank his wine in great gulps as though it were water or ale. Danny insisted on second helpings, and left half of them; he kept his elbows on the table and his cutlery at either side of the plate and talked with his mouth full. They both belched.
At the end of the meal I rose to my feet and surveyed the debris.
"Right, gentlemen! Pigs usually eat from troughs, but I will be lenient and elevate you to the kitchen from now on! I cannot have you setting my ward a bad example. I will ask Mrs. Early now to serve you tea or coffee in the morning-room, and will expect you for breakfast—in the kitchen—between eight-thirty and nine. Goodnight. Come, Toby!"
And I swept out leaving them looking as though lightning had struck.
The following morning Toby and I enjoyed our breakfast of porridge, bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade in peace and warmth. Afterwards we went up to the study and I taught him a little more about the maps we would use, and he helped me with the tracing. I had asked Mrs. Early to light a fire in the morning-room and left a message for Claude and Danny that I would meet them there at eleven for coffee. I learned later that Claude turned up for cold porridge at nine-forty-five, and Danny didn't appear at all.
At eleven-fifteen I was still waiting for them to appear, seething inside, but when they eventually arrived I saw at once what had held them up. They were unshaven, apologetic and obviously under the influence. Either one or both had bottles in their rooms.
I took the cold coffee back to the kitchen, ordered some more, extra strong, and left Mrs. Early with a special directive. The coffee sobered them up a little, but as I tried to explain our expedition, even showing them some maps, I might as well have been talking to my five-year-olds at the School. At last I gave up, instructing them both to take a walk to the village and back to "freshen up" (though I didn't mention the fact that I knew they had hangovers) and instructed them to return in time for luncheon.
This was a big mistake.
Neither of them turned up for the meal, and it was growing dark by the time they staggered up the drive, full of song and strong ale. It was no use reprimanding them, they were past it, so I asked Mr. Early to "escort" them up to their rooms, supperless, making sure there were chamberpots under their beds. He was to call them at seven-thirty in the morning, informing them that there was plenty of hot water for bathing and shaving in the bathroom, and that they were expected to be down for breakfast at eight-thirty prompt.
That morning we all breakfasted together. A couple of pale, shaky, but clean-shaven young men spooned down their porridge with little enthusiasm but the kedgeree went down better and by the time they reached the toast and the second pot of tea was on the table, they were at least communicating, even if it was only "pass the butter/any more toast/where's the sugar/another cup of tea" type of speech.
After that it was a lot easier as they apparently had very little spare cash left, and the stores of liquor they had brought with them rapidly diminished. The instruction I had given Mrs. Early on that first morning was to examine their luggage—snooping perhaps, but I was a young woman on my own, charged with leading an expedition with two unknown men as my escorts, and no chaperone. So it was up to me to find out as much as I could about my erstwhile companions before we started.
It appeared that Claude's luggage, apart from a couple of bottles of sweet sherry, was of the conventional sort—well-worn but clean and mended underwear and a couple of rather threadbare suits. He obviously was a mother's boy, because his pocket-handkerchiefs were embroidered in blue with his initials, a jar of menthol and eucalyptus cream and another of corn-cure were wrapped in tissue, there were lavender sachets and a silver-framed photograph of a beaky-nosed matron, the spit of her son. The travelling clothes the solicitors had provided were adequate, though when I checked them later with him, it was obvious he needed stronger boots and a travelling cape.
Danny Duveen's luggage, such as it was, was a different matter altogether. While Claude's clothes and effects were in a battered but well-polished suitcase, Danny only possessed a crumpled cardboard case which, according to Mrs. Early, contained the sum total of six whisky bottles, three empty, three full, two dirty shirts and some unmentionables, also filthy, two electro-plated hip-flasks (empty), a packet of what appeared to be recommendations for jobs, all in the same hand, two marked decks of cards and another envelope of what Mrs. Early described as Dirty Photographs in capital letters and a reddened face. (For the record I examined these later and can only report that I had a good laugh.)
What Mrs. Early appeared to be most shocked about in Danny's luggage was not the dirt or the photographs, but the lack of nightshirts: apparently it was a crime above all others not to go to bed decently clad. I forebore to tell her that I had done just the same in those stuffy August nights in London when the only relief was to cast everything off and open the window to one's nakedness.
So. Claude was more or less provided for, apart from stronger boots and a cloak, but Danny had nothing, as far as I could see, and was probably a con-man, a gambler, fond of the bottle, had little use for hygiene, and was not above indulging his lower tastes with a little wishful thinking.
I discussed all this with Ky-Lin, who had met both Claude and Danny, via Toby's pocket, a couple of times. He was the one who advised me to treat them as a couple of recalcitrant schoolboys who wouldn't learn their tables, and now advised me to go through what remained of my uncle's clothes for Danny, remarking that he was afraid I would still have to use some of my own money to kit them out.
"Of course," he added helpfully, "if that Irish fellow decides he doesn't want to go, then we can discount him, quite legally, I believe."
No chance.
I had agreed with Claude to furnish him with stouter boots and a cloak and, I must say, he was properly grateful, but when it came to Danny . . .
First of all I asked why he had not come properly equipped and got the sort of answer I expected: no list and no money. "Then what happened to the moneys supplied to you by the solicitors?"
"Oh, that . . . Well now to tell you the truth I thought those were to sort of set me on me way. Pay off the odd debt or two, you know . . ."
"Instead of which you got drunk as a skunk and gambled the rest away," I said equably.
"How did you—? Oh, come on now, Miss Lee. Darlin' girl, a lad has got to have his bit of fun before going on a life or death expedition, now doesn't he?"
"Not with somebody else's money," I said firmly. "And I am not your `darling girl': please remember that. And may I ask where your ordinary clothes are? Shirts, suits, shoes?"
He spread his arms wide, with what he hoped was a disarming grin. "In rags or in hock, truth to tell!"
"That's better. I prefer the truth. Now, if my uncle hadn't considered you capable of undertaking this journey . . . You can, of course, back out if you wish to, and no hard feelings?"
He looked horrified. "Oh, no, I'm going with you! Otherwise I don't get—"
"You don't get what, exactly?"
"The fifty quid the solicitors said your uncle promised."
So that was it. Right, Mr. Duveen would get just as much as he deserved and no more. I went through my uncle's belongings once again and found that he and Danny were of a size—had that been an added attraction I wondered—and that I could provide Danny with nightshirts, combinations, shirts, jackets, socks, caps, gloves and even shoes which needed no further alteration and which, luckily, Mrs. Early had not yet passed on. There was even a little-used pair of walking boots. So, in the end, all he would need was a travelling-cloak and, like Claude, a haversack and blanket. I heaved a sigh of relief.
Having sent off for the last of our requirements, I settled back for a few days, with Ky-Lin's help, trying to make our guests better prepared for the journey. By now they were what I would call "house-trained"—in other words they were bathed, shaven, appeared on time for meals, were polite and (more or less) tidy. That they were bored was quite obvious. Neither of them were readers or walkers or naturalists and the idea of helping Mr. Early in the garden was anathema to their town souls. There was no doubt they missed the metropolis. Most of the time they spent playing cards, probably with Danny's marked decks, so Ky-Lin and I decided a little further education was necessary.
One morning after breakfast I brought them up to the study, for a lesson in map-reading.
Their reaction was unexpected.
"What do we need to look at maps for?" said Claude, covering his mouth at the last minute over a tremendous yawn.
"So as you can find your way should we get lost on the way," said Toby, unfortunately catching the yawn and repeating it.
"Why then should we get lost?" asked Danny. "Sure the way is plain enough, is it not?"
I had a feeling of misgiving.
"Tell me," I said. "What have you two been told about the journey?"
Claude was the first to answer. "Mr. Swallow told me that you were taking one of your uncle's artifacts back to where it came from, that you were given a year to do it in, and that I was to accompany you to make sure the conditions were fulfilled."
"Did he tell you where we were going?"
He shook his head. My heart sank.
"And you?" I asked, turning to Danny.
"The solicitors said that I would get fifty pounds for acting as an escort while you went on a journey for your dead uncle."
"Do you know where we are going?"
"No, but at least it'll be better than here . . ."
I threw up my hands in despair and even Toby looked disbelieving.
"Mean to say as you two gents don't know we're walking to Chiney and back with a dragon's egg and a—" He clapped his hand over his mouth just in time; I had warned him not to mention Ky-Lin.
"Chiney?"
"I believe the boy means China, Claude me lad," said Danny. "Full of little yellow men."
"But isn't that a long way away?"
"Nearer than the other side of the moon," said Danny. "And they've probably got a decent rail service most of the way."
"I hope it's not too hot," said Claude. "I always get hay-fever in the summer."
"It's the thought of the rice that's putting me off right now. I never fancied rice pudding, even with a dollop of me mam's gooseberry jam . . ."
"Can't you send it by post?"
I decided it was time to intervene, but before I could open my mouth Toby took over.
"Let me, miss. Reckon I could put it straight and quicker." And he did. He explained as you would to under-fives about my uncle's will, got the original manuscript from the cabinet and briefed them on Summer's journey and ended by saying that my uncle believed the Eg, which he also produced, belonged to the dragons. He ended by dashing Danny's hopes of a rail service and Claude's of using the post, explaining to the latter that a dragon's egg was far too precious to entrust to a postman, and anyway they probably didn't have them in China.
I couldn't have put it better myself.
They both looked rather white when Toby had finished, though Claude tried a last-ditch stand.
"But there aren't any such things as dragons," he said. "We all know that!"
"This is what we have all been taught," I said. "Dragons don't exist and never did. Like fairies, elves, gnomes, brownies, goblins, trolls, ogres, giants, witches and wizards. If so, why are there so many legends, myths, folk-tales? I admit that I now have an open mind, and an open mind, gentlemen, is what you will need if you are to journey with us!"
"We've come all this way to—to take a lump of stone to China? Was your uncle out of his senses?"
"I don't believe so, Mr. Duveen. As I said, I have an open mind, but certain happenings, which I am not at liberty to discuss, have convinced me that there is more to this `lump of stone' than we imagine. Besides I am bound to this journey now, else I renounce all hope of inheriting Hightop Hall. So you see, I have a vested interest." Perhaps that would appeal to his mercenary instincts.
It did. "Would there be any treasure at the end of all this? If you're talking about legends, then they all had it that dragons were hoarders of fabulous jewels . . ."
"I doubt it," I said. "I think our rewards will be less substantial. If we succeed, I shall inherit this place; Toby will have had the adventure he's always wanted; for you, Mr. Cumberbatch, this is just part of your job, but it should prove more interesting than sitting behind a desk all day; Mr. Duveen, it means you will be free of debt for the time it takes to get there and back. That should be some incentive." I looked round at them all. "Now, shall we have a look at the maps?"
The next two weeks were pretty hectic. Eventually everything I had ordered came through, including two lengths of lightweight rope, a compass—"In case I'm not at hand all the time," said Ky-Lin—containers for salt, tea, sugar and water and tin plates, mugs and cutlery. It all sounded dreadfully Spartan and rather intimidating.
"Are you sure we hadn't better take a frying-pan and a stew-pot?" I said to Ky-Lin, intending frivolity, but he answered me seriously enough.
"I don't believe we shall need those, initially at least. And in order not to weigh us down too much, I suggest we buy them on the way."
Instead of heavy leather suitcases I had ordered two wicker ones, lined with oiled silk against the rain. They were much lighter, and it was agreed that Claude and Danny would share one, Toby and I the other, keeping items to a minimum, which meant underwear and spare shirts and sweaters, and any personal items we couldn't do without. Toby and I were easy, but the other two quarrelled until the day we left over what they considered essential.
As for the haversacks, it was agreed that Toby would carry the Eg, wrapped as usual in my shawl, and extra towels and toiletries; the men would take the ropes, plus the crockery and cutlery, and I would carry the maps, papers, sewing things and a small pair of binoculars. We also carried a blanket each. I was encumbered with a moneybelt, which I had no intention of handing over to either of the two men, although it was heavy, once I had changed the money into smaller coin.
Strangely enough getting all the paperwork through had been the most difficult. To get passports and all the requisite permissions from the embassies in London had proved frustrating. France, Germany and Bavaria were easy enough, and Russia came through at the last moment, but from China we heard nothing.
The date was agreed, we booked ahead on the overnight ferry to Holland and, through the same firm, a trip by ferry on the first stage of our journey up the Rhine. Mrs. Early packed whatever she could that would last us through at least part of our journey: salt, tea, sugar, dried fruits, shelled nuts, apples, long-lasting fruitcake and parkin, pickled eggs, a tin of cocoa, Liebig's extract of meat, packets of pepper, a jar of ready-mixed mustard, home-made chutney and pickles and a well-smoked ham. By the time these had been distributed between our haversacks, we were all visibly sagging.
That was not all—for the first two days of the journey the housekeeper had made sandwiches, pies, tarts, cakes, buns and biscuits, and included two large flagons of lemonade and barley water, which meant we had to burden ourselves with a huge hamper as well, but at least it would save money.
Hiring a small carriage from the village we made good time to catch the four-fifteen slow train to the coast, boarded the ferry and settled down on deck later in the evening. Leaning on the rail, I looked back at the lights of the coast and the still-shining blur that I took to be the white cliffs of Dover, a popular landmark.
It wasn't a cold night, nor was there much sea running, yet I had been shivering. I found it difficult to believe that we were really on our way and that here I was taking a trip by sea for the first time.
Toby joined me, and Ky-Lin leapt from one of his pockets to stand on the rail between us.
"Not superstitious are you, miss?"
"Don't think so Toby . . . Why?"
" 'Cos tonight's All Hallows' Eve—Samain, they used to call it."
"A good omen," interrupted Ky-Lin. "That was the night Summer set off on her travels, so she told me . . ."
But in spite of his optimism, I found myself shivering again.