The Wind on the Moon (23 page)

Then the Members of the Jury all wanted to make speeches in praise of Freedom and Justice and the British Constitution, but the Vicar had already formed a choir, and soon everybody was singing
Lilliburlero
. Then they marched into Midmeddlecum, singing to the tune of
Greensleeves
:

All the way they sang, with Constable Drum marching beside them and shouting, ‘Left, right; left, right; left! Pick up the step, you miserable sinners, or I'll see that none of you get any dinners. Left, right; left!'

He announced that he had changed his mind

And in Midmeddlecum Square they gathered round the statue of Queen Victoria and sang till they were so hoarse they could sing no more.

Only to Mr. Casimir Corvo did Dinah and Dorinda explain the part they had played in securing the release of the Members of the Jury, but he thanked them so handsomely, and appreciated their cleverness in so understanding a way, that they were perfectly repaid for the trouble they had taken, and wanted nobody's gratitude but his. This was just as well, because all the other prisoners thought they had been released because of the firm stand they had taken, and no one of them was prepared to show gratitude to anyone. Catherine Crumb, indeed, spread the tale that she had made thirty children hold their noses whenever they saw Mr. Justice Rumple, and she told everyone that Dinah and Dorinda had filled his house with dead animals; but it was well known that Catherine was a wicked girl who told lies every day of her life, so no one believed a word she said. The result was that in all Midmeddlecum the only grown-up person who ever knew the whole truth of the matter was Mr. Casimir Corvo.

He said to them, a few days after he regained his freedom, when they came for their dancing lesson, ‘If I had stayed in that prison for another week, I would have gone mad. If I had gone mad, I would have thrown myself out of a window. If I had thrown myself out of a window, I would have broken my neck. If I had broken my neck, I would have become altogether lifeless. But instead of that, I am now full of life, I am leaping and singing for joy like a trout in a stream and a cuckoo in the woods, and that is all due to you. My very dear Dinah—my charming Dorinda—I am your servant! And now let us dance. I shall teach you a magnificent Spanish dance in which you must be swift as a storm, and light as a bubble, and gay as a clown. It is called the Jaleo de Jerez.'

Mr. Corvo never taught his pupils any of those dances in which people do little more than walk about, with now a hop and now a slide in this direction or that; for in his opinion that was worth nothing at all. He liked the old dances of England and Spain and Scotland, of France and Poland and Russia, that were stately and vigorous, and these he taught with such tremendous enthusiasm that many of his pupils became so exhausted, after two or three lessons, that their parents had to take them away to the seaside for a long rest. But Dinah and Dorinda, having been kangaroos and learnt to jump, were now so strong that they could dance a Fandango and a Foursome Reel, a Schottische, a Mazurka, an Irish Jig, a Sailor's Hornpipe, and Lumps of Pudding, one after the other, without being tired at all.

They enjoyed their lessons with Mr. Corvo, and for two or three weeks lived very happily indeed. Their mother had gone to London, and Miss Serendip had hay-fever, so they were able to spend a lot of time with the Puma and the Falcon, who taught them how to do nothing. This is more difficult than it sounds, and only the animals are really expert at it. But Dinah and Dorinda made good progress in their studies, and soon were able to do
almost
nothing.

But then their mother came home. They went to meet her, and as soon as they saw her they realised that she was very worried. She was leaning out of the window as the train came into the station, and the long string of blue and yellow beads that she was wearing had in some way twisted round the handle of the carriage door. It took them several minutes to disentangle it and let her out, and then they discovered that she had lost all her luggage except a bag of plums that belonged to someone else.

‘Poor Mother,' they said. ‘Come home and have some tea.'

Then she told them that she was very anxious about their father, because she had not heard from him for several weeks. She had been to London to try and get news of him, but nobody could tell her anything about him. ‘And I shall not have a moment's happiness,' she said, ‘till I get a letter in his own handwriting assuring me that he is safe and well, and on his way home again.'

Now Dinah and Dorinda, though they often thought of their father, had never really worried about him. He was, they believed, perfectly able to look after himself in any circumstances, however dangerous. But when they saw how anxious their mother was, they could not help feeling anxious too, and like her they began to wait for the postman, and look for his coming, with growing impatience.

One day they saw him walking slowly down the road, and going to meet him they found him standing at the garden gate with a single letter in his hand. He was staring at it in a very curious way, and he gave it to Dinah without a word, though usually he was a friendly and talkative man.

The envelope was rather dirty, and on one corner there was a dark red stain.

‘That's blood,' said Dinah.

‘That's Father's handwriting,' said Dorinda.

‘I know,' said Dinah, and both of them looked at the bloodstain with frightened eyes. Their faces were white, and each could hear her heart beating.

‘I'm going to open it,' said Dinah.

‘But it's addressed to Mother.'

‘Suppose there is bad news in it? Mother isn't strong, and it might make her ill.'

‘But if it's bad news we shall have to tell her about it.'

‘We might be able to do something first,' said Dinah, and putting her finger into the flap of the envelope, tore it open.

The letter was quite short. Their father had written:
Though my news is not good news, you must not worry about me. I was arrested three weeks ago, and am now in a dungeon in the Castle of Gliedermannheim. I am quite well and I feel sure that I shall be released before long. The dungeon is not very comfortable, but I am not ill-treated, and my worst hardship is that I am forbidden either to write or receive letters. I send you this note by the hand of a friend who is going to England on business, and has consented to take it, though at great risk to himself. I ask you again to have no fear for me. Be patient, and all will be well. By good fortune I was wearing winter underclothing at the time of my arrest, so I am quite warm, though the dungeon is unheated
.

It was some little time before either Dinah or Dorinda could speak. They were horrified by what they read and by the thought of their father in a dungeon. They could imagine its darkness, the dank smell of a cave, the moisture on the rough stone walls, and the narrow shaft of light steeply descending from a little barred window in an upper corner. Their poor father! And how bravely he had written, making light of his misfortune and anxious only to comfort their mother, though he himself must be suffering both in mind and body. Perhaps he was chained to a wall!

‘We must rescue him,' said Dinah suddenly.

‘He's a long way from here,' said Dorinda.

‘Gliedermannheim is the capital of Bombardy.'

‘Its chief industries are the manufacture of musical instruments, chinaware, casks, and beer, while the surrounding country is rich in beech-woods, cherry-orchards, clay-pits, and flocks of geese,' said Dorinda. ‘Miss Serendip taught us that.'

‘Gliedermannheim is where Mr. Corvo comes from. He'll be able to tell us how to get there.'

‘I had forgotten that,' said Dorinda. ‘Oh, he's sure to help us, and I expect we shall need all the help we can get. We've never rescued anyone from a dungeon before.'

‘Till a few months ago we had never rescued anyone from anywhere. But we have a lot of experience now.'

‘Not with dungeons,' said Dorinda. ‘I feel that dungeons are very difficult. I wonder if Mrs. Grimble knows anything about them?'

‘She may,' said Dinah. ‘But you know she doesn't really like being asked to help people.'

‘Perhaps she would give us another bottle of medicine or a powder that would make us invisible. She knows how to make herself invisible.'

‘But if we both became invisible we should probably lose each other,' said Dinah. ‘And what about our clothes? Would they become invisible too, or would we have to take them off and go into a very cold dungeon with nothing on? And I suppose you want us to take some of the medicine to Father, so that he could become invisible too. But the bottle itself wouldn't be invisible, so the bottle would have to be carried by nothing, or by you or me looking like nothing, and what do you think the soldiers guarding the Castle would do if they saw a bottle swimming through the air towards them?'

‘They might think they were dreaming,' said Dorinda, ‘or they might pretend they saw nothing at all, for fear the others would laugh at them if they suddenly said, “I see a bottle!“'

‘It's far more likely,' said Dinah, ‘that they would guess what had happened. Everybody, at one time or another, must have thought what fun they could have if only they knew how to become invisible, and if a lot of soldiers saw a bottle floating about, they would probably say at once, “There's an invisible man!“ Then they would feel jealous of him, and begin to beat the air with their rifles, like beaters driving pheasants out of a wood.'

‘Would you feel a beating if you were invisible?' asked Dorinda.

‘Perhaps you would and perhaps you wouldn't,' said Dinah. ‘If you simply became transparent, like glass, I suppose you would; but if you changed into something like a cloud, you wouldn't. But I'm sure we'll have to think of something else, a more
ordinary
way of rescuing Father.'

‘You say that because you don't want to be invisible,' said Dorinda, who had been rather hurt by Dinah's objections to her idea.

‘Let's go and talk to Mr. Corvo,' said Dinah, bringing the argument to an end because she could not properly explain, even to herself, why she disliked the thought of becoming transparent. Dorinda continued to grumble a little, and finding a large round yellow tin on the road, kicked it before her all the way to Mr. Corvo's house.

Just as they arrived the door opened and two of Mr. Corvo's pupils came out. They were a fat little boy and a stout little girl, and both were dripping with perspiration and so tired they could hardly walk. Mr. Corvo had been teaching them a Cossack dance.

They could hear him playing the piano in a bold and brilliant manner and singing a fine cheerful song in some foreign language. But he stopped as soon as they went in, and greeted them warmly, pretending, as he often did, that they were fashionable ladies who had come to call. Then he saw how serious they were, and becoming serious himself, asked what was the matter. Dinah showed him the letter.

Mr. Corvo read it carefully and then said slowly, ‘I was born in Gliedermannheim. It is a beautiful town in a beautiful country, but now it is ruled by a cruel man, a tyrant, and all my people are suffering as never before. Your father is in great danger.'

‘We are going to rescue him,' said Dorinda.

Mr. Corvo smiled sadly. ‘That is not possible. There are many thousands of people in prison, throughout Bombardy, and as many people who dream of rescuing them. But never do their dreams come to life. The prisons of Bombardy are strong, the prison guards are fierce and cruel, and the country is ruled without mercy by the iron hand of its Tyrant, Count Hulagu Bloot. You can do nothing, my poor children. Nothing at all.'

‘We got you out of prison,' said Dinah.

‘And we got the Golden Puma and the Silver Falcon out of Sir Lankester Lemon's zoo,' said Dorinda.