Dido and Pa (21 page)

He paused, looking at Sophie for her response.

"I—I see," she croaked, thinking the margrave must be as mad as a hatter. Yet he
looked
sensible enough. Better humor him anyway, until she could escape. "What—pray—had you in—had you planned to do with—with the real king?" she asked in a shaking voice.

"Oh, nothing inhumane," the margrave replied airily. "Nothing drastic, I assure you. There is a small island, Inch-more, off the coast of Scotland; it boasts a monastery, and the good monks also look after a number of persons whose
wits have gone astray; I plan that the king shall be—shall be accommodated there, as a religious or as a lunatic; the choice is up to him."

Sophie shivered at the thought; the poor king declaring, asserting, pleading that he was the real heir to the throne; who, in such a place, would pay the least attention?

"Now," the margrave went on in a mild persuasive tone, "you can see, dear Lady Sophie, that the help of you and your brother would be of
sovereign
value in such an undertaking. Known, as you are, to be his intimate friends, who would doubt you if you supported and countenanced my candidate? Who could doubt
him
? You know me; you esteem my musical taste; you must see the advantages of such a—"

"Oh, no," Sophie interrupted hoarsely. "Oh, no: that is quite,
quite
out of the question. I could not—we could not—be party to any such—it is a
wicked
plan—"

"Why?" The margrave's face flushed even redder. "To replace one honest dull man by another? One who will be influenced by me? Who will be imbued by my tastes, my intelligence—?"

"We are
fond
of the king."

"Pish! You have known him for so short a time."

"And his father before him."

"Do not forget that you would have great resources," the margrave went on softly, though his mouth was beginning to twitch rather, and his skin to go white in patches; it was plain that he was having to keep himself under severe control. "Your schemes for poor children (I understand that
you have some) could be greatly advanced. I shall have control of—"

"Stop! Stop!" cried Sophie indignantly. "You are talking wicked, wicked nonsense. How can you? No possible persuasion would tempt me—or Simon. It is a
mad
notion. How can you entertain it? You look to me like a very ill man—and you are not young," she went on impetuously, "you should be thinking of better things, using your powers in a better way, especially if you have not much time left"—ignoring the terrible look he gave her. "Oh, I can't stand it!" She was half choking with indignation; she stood up, hardly aware of what she did. "You should be ashamed of yourself; I had best leave you before I say what I really think..."

Only then did it occur to her that the door had opened and closed again behind her; two men had come in quietly and stood on either side of her.

"I am afraid, Dr. Finster," said the margrave, "that our charming guest is not to be persuaded; or not yet. Let her be secluded here for a further period of reflection; perhaps she may still come round to my way of thinking. Especially if she remembers that otherwise both she and her brother will certainly die;
that
is inevitable."

Sophie turned—opened her mouth to scream for help—and almost choked on a large handful of dry bandage that was rammed halfway down her throat. Another bandage, wound vigorously round her head several times, held the first one in place.

The man with the gray cravat whom the margrave had
addressed as Dr. Finster then bound her arms tightly together in front of her with more bandage, pinning it so that she could not reach the pin; she was pushed down into the pink marble chair from which she had risen, and her legs were fastened to its legs.

"There, Lady Sophie," said the margrave, who, though flushed and discomposed in appearance, took pains to maintain his calm manner. "I grieve that you must miss the concert, but it is quite your own fault. Perhaps you will have had second thoughts by the time it is over, when I will visit you again. I do sincerely hope so. Otherwise I am afraid you will have to be removed from this pleasant room to one of our cellars under the Thames. There, I fear—in spite of all our efforts—large numbers of rats are to be found; so many, indeed, that any person left down there for more than a day or so is rapidly reduced to mere bones—But let us not dwell on such matters. I will see you later."

As an afterthought he took the dead dove from the mantelpiece and laid it on her lap. Then he left the room, followed by the other two, Finster locking the door as he went.

The shock of the margrave's disclosure, the suddenness of what had happened to her, and the extreme discomfort of her position, made Sophie feel so ill and strange that, for a short time after they left, her head swam and she lost consciousness. She had no means of knowing, when she came round, how long she had been insensible, for there was no clock in the room. No sound was to be heard; she must be a long way from the music room. She struggled, tried to push
out the gag with her tongue, tried to wriggle her hands free—but without the least success; all she succeeded in doing was to edge down a silver bracelet which had been hidden under her cambric wrist-frill until it dangled uncomfortably over her knuckles. Perhaps I can bribe somebody with it, she thought rather hopelessly. But there seemed no possible way out of the trouble she was in. And that her brother was in. What will happen when Mogg comes back to pick me up? I suppose they will tell him that I accepted a ride in somebody else's carriage? He will be suspicious, of course, but he will go back to Chelsea. When he finds I am not there, what will he do? Suppose Simon has not yet come home? Even if somebody does begin to suspect—begin to wonder if I am still here—what can they do? And even if they do inquire, by that time I may be in one of those cellars under the Thames.... Her flesh crept on her bones at the thought.

Sophie was of a sanguine, cheerful nature, and not given to despair, but now she came very close to it. After a while, however, she began to be distracted by a shuffling, scuttling noise fairly close at hand.

Rats!
ran her first horrified thought. Even here—could it be? She was able to move her head, and did so, peering agitatedly about the room. The sound appeared to come from the direction of the elegant pink fireplace; but nothing could be seen there, save the stone pot of pale pink roses. These were suddenly displaced—the pot fell over—and a very dirty, angular black cat emerged from the chimney.

Even in her fright and distress Sophie had to smile: the
reality was so different from her expectations, and so different from her three frightening captors. Yet why should the sight of a cat be surprising? If there were so many rats under Cinnamon Court, there must be dozens of cats in the place, too; it stood to reason. No doubt they patrolled it from attic to cellar.

Sophie was fond of cats, and would have liked to call to this one—thin, scruffy, dirty as it was; but she had no voice. She made a muted noise in her throat, and the cat paused in its inspection of the room and stared sharply at her. It had a thin ugly face and large pale green eyes. No one could call you handsome, puss, Sophie said to it silently, but I am very pleased to see you. I'm glad you came here. Nice puss, good puss.

Now the cat, sniffing and peering about like a bloodhound, began to roam about, inspecting the room, plainly finding nothing that pleased it. By and by it passed closer to Sophie and suddenly noticed, for the first time, the white dove lying in her lap. Its interest at once aroused, it reared up on hind legs for a closer look.

No!
was Sophie's first horrified thought. Was
that
what you came for, you wretch? You shan't have it!—not my poor dove. I suppose I might have known that a cat in the margrave's palace would have bloodthirsty intentions....

But then more soberly she realized: this might be a chance for me. The only one. And it is only the cat's nature, after all. And my poor dove is dead; nothing will bring it back.

Come here, then, puss, she called to the cat silently, in
her mind. Come onto my knee. You shan't have the dove otherwise.

She laid her joined hands down over the dead dove.

The cat was interested; looked; hesitated; inched closer; jumped back. Sophie nearly went mad with impatience, remembering that the margrave might return at any time. The hour was late, she felt sure; the concert must surely have finished long ago.

At last, coming to a bold decision, the cat leapt onto the arm of Sophie's chair and reached a tentative paw down toward the dove, stretching out its thin neck and scrawny chin. By moving her tethered arm sideways, Sophie was just able to grab the cat by its scruff; and then working as fast as she could, she shuffled the silver bracelet, with the fingers of her left hand, over her right wrist and on over the cat's head. It let out a loud squall of indignation, wrenching itself free and jumping to the floor. Here then! Sophie said to it silently, and with her joined hands pushed the dove off her knee onto the green carpet. The cat, shaking its head furiously against the unaccustomed weight of its new collar, still could not resist the lure of the dove. With a triumphant pounce it seized the bird and retreated, growling and shaking its head, to the region of the hearth. Go on, then! Sophie urged it in her mind. Take the dove away. Go, go quickly, before somebody comes back.

The cat glared at her with ears flattened, as if daring her to reclaim the dove; and then turned and sprang up the chimney, dislodging a cloud of soot, which fell on the overturned pot and scattered roses.

How long it was after this that the margrave returned, Sophie had no means of knowing. A long, long time, she thought. Her head ached miserably, her throat felt dry and raw; she wanted to cough but dared not in case she choked; the bandages bit into her arms and legs until she began to wonder if her feet and hands would rot and drop off; they felt perfectly numb. But even so, in her terror for Simon she hardly noticed her own trouble. Where was he now? Could the margrave, at this very moment, be arranging for his death?

At times, in spite of her distress, her head lolled forward and she dozed, or half fainted; it was in the middle of one of these periods of half consciousness that the door opened and the margrave strode in. He looked, Sophie thought, starting out of her doze in terror, even worse than he had before. The fear she had felt then was nothing to what she felt now. Something had made him frightfully angry; and a large portion of that anger was about to spill onto Sophie.

Indeed, he addressed her furiously.

"Stupid, brainless little chit! How could I ever have thought you worth inviting to join my scheme? How dare you say that I look ill—that I have not much time left? How dare you?"

Sophie, unable to reply, could only look at him helplessly over the bandage across her nose and mouth. But he did not wait for an answer. Plainly what she said had been rankling in his mind during the last hours.

"
I am not ill!
" he stormed at her. "When my king is on
the throne, my chapel-master's music shall be played continuously, for twenty-four hours a day. In any case, I am better already, I improve daily. I have many, many years of life ahead—I am only sixty! And let me tell you," he went on, almost frothing at the mouth in his fury, "a blind seer, a very well thought of person whose predictions have all come true, forecast that in my sixty-first year I should have a great, great stroke of luck, of tremendous good fortune; the best thing I could ask, he said, the greatest blessing of my whole life. So what do you say to
that,
Lady Supercilious Sophie? Ashamed of myself? In a few days I shall be the supreme power in this kingdom. I don't give
that
for your notions"—he snapped his fingers. "Oh—" impatiently, as she rolled her eyes, unable to reply; coming toward her, he pulled out a silver knife. For a moment's heart-stopping terror she thought he was going to put her eyes out, but he slit the bandage behind her head, and thankfully she coughed and spat out the gag. "Well? What do you say?" he asked. "Will you change your mind? Have you thought over what I said?"

She shook her head.

A tap came at the door, which the margrave had closed behind him.

"Go away!" he shouted.

"Beg pardon, sir, but it's the midnight news. You said you wished to be—"

"Oh, to be sure. Bring it here, then."

A redheaded page came in with the newspaper. When he
caught sight of Sophie, his face went wooden with shock; but he said nothing, only bowed and handed the paper to the margrave, then left again.

"See!" cried the margrave. His voice vibrated with triumph. "I had heard a rumor earlier in the evening, but here is confirmation."

He held out the paper so that Sophie could read it. Her appalled eyes took in the headlines:

DUKE OF BATTERSEA MISSING:
Feared killed in wolf hunt.

"See!" cried the margrave again, triumphantly. "My luck holds! Events fall the way I need them, I do not even have to act. Do you understand? Will you be persuaded now?"

Sophie's heart felt like a lump of ice inside her. But she said shakily:

"So far as I can see, my lord, the best piece of good fortune for you would be that you should die,
now,
before you can do any more harm. No; I will not join you."

She shut her eyes then, because she did not wish to look at his face.

A fearful silence followed. She heard him draw a deep breath—and waited in terror. But a heavy thud followed; she opened her eyes again, involuntarily, and saw that he had fallen to the ground.

Next moment Finster and a couple of pages rushed into the room.

The moon was high, now, and cast a silver glare over the frozen snow, between the black houses. Wally's shadow lurched from side to side as he ran, sliding and stumbling, over the glassy surface.

"Died o' Fright!" he panted. "Thank the Lord I caught ye! There's worrisome news."

Behind Wally, Dido then saw his brother, Podge, who, larger and plumper, found even more difficulty in making his way over the slippery ground. He waved to Dido and she called: