Black Hearts in Battersea

by Joan Aiken

  ‘Och, weel, noo, Battersea, it’s nice to hear that. And how’s your gude lady?’

  The king was a little, dapper, elderly Scottish gentleman, plainly dressed in black, with a shovel hat on top of his snuff-coloured wig. He carried a slender hooked cane, and a large black bird perched on his wrist which, at sight of the Duchess, opened its beak and gravely remarked:

  ‘What’s your wull, my bonny hinny?’

  ‘Mercy on us!’ exclaimed her Grace. ‘Where did your Majesty get that heathen bird?’

  ‘Why, ma’am, the Sultan of Zanzibar gave her to me for a Christmas present. And I find her a great convenience – don’t I, Jeannie, my lass? – for there’s a wheen Hanoverians aye trying to slip a wee drop of poison into my victuals, so I e’en employ Jeannie as a taster. She takes a nip of brose and a nibble of parritch, and soon has the poisoned meat sorted. Not that I mean to decry your hospitality, ma’am, but one must be careful.’

  ‘Why yes, yes, indeed one must!’ The flustered Duchess then pulled herself together and graciously invited His Majesty to do himself the trouble of stepping into the banqueting-hall. Sophie, following, noticed a pale gleam in Buckle’s eyes, and thought he looked as if he meant mischief. She wished the Bow Street Runners would come, or the Yeomanry – surely it must be nearly an hour since they parted from Simon? What could have happened? She could see that Dr Field shared her worry, for he kept glancing at his watch.

  ‘What time is it?’ she whispered to him when a dour-faced female (Aunt Tinty, had she but known it) brought in the mince-pies, with flaming prune brandy poured all over them.

  ‘Twenty minutes to five,’ he whispered back. ‘Where the devil can that boy have got to with the Yeomanry?’

  ‘Will you have a mince-pie, Your Majesty?’

  ‘Na, na, thank you, Duchess. They play the very deuce with my digestion. But Jeannie will, won’t you, lass?’

  Jeannie ate several mince-pies with every appearance of satisfaction, smacking her beak over the prune brandy.

  ‘Are they safe?’ Dr Field whispered to Sophie.

  ‘I brought them from Chippings,’ she whispered back. ‘I wouldn’t trust the mince-pies Mr Buckle had provided.’

  Even so, none of the party save Jeannie felt inclined to sample the mince-pies. She, after her fourth, perhaps because of the prune brandy, suddenly became over-excited, flew round the banqueting-hall twice, pecked Mr Buckle on the ear, and disappeared through a small open window.

  ‘Jeannie – come back, lass!’ cried her master, starting up. ‘A gold guinea to the man who catches her!’

  None of the footmen seemed moved by this appeal; they stood motionless, and one or two of them sniggered. Sophie felt ready to sink with shame, but Dr Field went to the window and shouted to the students outside:

  ‘His Majesty offers a gold guinea to the person who brings back his pet bird.’

  A tremendous cheer went up, and the sound of many running feet could be heard, accompanied by cries of hope and disappointment.

  ‘Shall we adjourn to the library for coffee?’ the Duke suggested. ‘I believe later on we are to see some fireworks.’ The party began moving up the stairs. ‘I daresay one of the students will soon bring back your bird –’ the Duke was going on comfortably, when suddenly the most astonishing hubbub – shouts, shots, and crashes – broke out downstairs by the main doors.

  ‘Gracious heavens!’ cried the Duchess in alarm. ‘What can be going on?’

  A somewhat bedraggled Gus burst through the Castle doors and came charging up the stairs. His hair stood on end, one eye was blacked, and his face was covered by what looked like peck-marks, but he held the squawking Jeannie triumphantly in both hands.

  ‘Here you are, Your Majesty!’ he panted. ‘And I wish you joy of her! She’s a Tartar! But sir and ma’am, and Your Majesty, I don’t think you should stay here, I don’t indeed. Those villains downstairs are up to tricks, I believe. I had the devil’s own job to get in, they were all massed about the hall with pikes and Pictclobbers. The sooner you are all out of the Castle, the better it will be, in my opinion.’

  ‘Oh dear, oh, William!’ lamented the Duchess. ‘We should never have let His Majesty come here –’

  ‘Nonsense, Hettie. The Yeomanry will be here directly. All we need do is keep calm and retire to the library till it all blows over.’

  ‘Let us go higher up! That noise terrifies me – it sounds as if they are all fighting each other before coming up to murder us.’

  ‘What does His Majesty say?’

  His Majesty had been busy settling Jeannie’s ruffled plumes and politely affecting to be unaware of his hosts’ problems. Appealed to, he said amiably:

  ‘Och, let us go higher up, by all means. Did ye not say there were to be fireworks? The higher up, the better the view.’

  ‘I winna say nay to a wee dram,’ remarked Jeannie unexpectedly.

  ‘Hush, ye ill-mannered bird. Lead the way upstairs, then, Battersea.’

  The Duke had the key to a small privy staircase leading to the battlements, and up this he led the King, while the rest of the party followed.

  It was now almost dark, except for a fiery pink streak lying across the western sky; down below in the park the obscurity was broken by flashes as the students skirmished with the wolves and aimed a shot from time to time at Hanoverians in the Castle doorway.

  ‘Brave boys! They’re keeping the scoundrels boxed in!’ exclaimed the Duke. ‘When the Yeomanry come – oh, why don’t they come?’

  ‘But look – look who is coming!’ Sophie pointed, almost stammering in her excitement. ‘The balloon! It must be Simon!’

  ‘Why does he come in the balloon? Because of the Wolves?’

  ‘It is certainly Simon!’

  An applauding shout went up from the students as the balloon drifted over them, shining in the light of the gas flambeaux which were now beginning to illuminate the park. Simon leaned over the side and shouted down urgently:

  ‘Keep away from the Castle! Away, for your lives!’

  Then he threw out some ballast, and the balloon soared up to the level of the battlements. Grasping the hooked end of the King’s cane, he was drawn close to the Castle walls.

  ‘Please, your Graces and Your Majesty – don’t waste a minute!’ he begged. ‘Climb on board, quick! You are in the most deadly danger – there is not an instant to be lost! Sophie – Gus – Dr Field – jump in as quick as you can!’

  He sprang on to the battlements and helped the Duke lift his wife into the car.

  ‘I say, ain’t this a famous balloon, though?’ said Gus, helping Sophie. ‘Will it hold us all, Simon, me boy?’

  ‘Yes, yes – only hurry!’ Simon was frantic with impatience as the King somewhat stiffly and gingerly clambered into the waist of the car, assisted by Dr Field and the Duke.

  At this moment Buckle rushed out of the attic door on to the roof, followed by Mrs Twite.

  ‘I told you they were escaping!’ she shrieked, her face distorted with rage. ‘I told you I saw a balloon! After them, Eustace, quickly!’

  Buckle started towards Gus, who felled him with a large snowball and leapt nimbly on board. Mrs Twite threw herself at Simon and grabbed him round the middle.

  ‘Oh, you wretch!’ she exclaimed, pummelling him. ‘I’ll teach you to come meddling, asking questions, helping them to escape just when the Cause is about to triumph!’

  ‘Who the deuce is that harpy?’ the Duke asked in bewilderment.

  ‘Simon, quick – dodge her!’ Sophie cried anxiously. Everyone else was now on board and the balloon was already moving away from the Castle walls in the evening wind. Simon wriggled out of Mrs Twite’s grip, dodged her round some chimney-stacks, tripped Buckle, who tried to intercept him, ran for the battlements, and, with a tremendous effort, hurled himself across the rapidly widening gap. He fell sprawling over the gunwale, half in and half out, but Sophie and Gus grabbed him and hauled him to safety. Meanwhile, the car tipped and lurched
terrifyingly, then sank a few feet. The Duke and Duchess with desperate haste flung overboard all the loose articles of baggage they could lay hands on to lighten the load: braziers, rugs, provision hampers all went tumbling into the park, and the balloon rose higher.

  Mrs Twite let out a fearful shriek of disappointed rage, but Buckle, with an oath, pulled out a pistol and fired at them.

  ‘Mercy, mercy, he’s hit the balloon! Oh, what shall we do?’ cried the Duchess.

  Sophie bit her lip. They could all hear the hiss as air rushed out of the puncture. The balloon started to sag.

  ‘Dear me! Hadn’t reckoned on anything like that,’ muttered the Duke.

  ‘I have it!’ cried Sophie suddenly. ‘The tapestry! Aunt Hettie’s embroidery! Simon, can you climb up and lay it over the hole?’

  She handed him the bundle of material and he swarmed up a guy-rope and flung an end of the cloth over the top of the globe. Gus caught and held it tight on the other side, and the air-escape was checked. Dr Field scrambled to the tiller to steady their progress, and the balloon glided, swayingly, down and away from the Castle.

  ‘Oh, oh, he’s going to shoot again!’ cried the Duchess.

  Buckle, with deadly intent, was aiming at the balloon once more.

  But as they watched, frozen in suspense, the thing that Simon had been expecting came to pass. With a noise so loud that it seemed no noise at all, the whole Castle suddenly lifted up, burst outwards, and disintegrated in one huge flash of orange-coloured light. The balloon rocked and staggered. Fragments of stone showered about them.

  The Duchess fainted. Fortunately the hartshorn had not been flung out; Sophie was able to find it and minister to her Grace.

  ‘Dod!’ said King James. ‘Nae wonder ye were in sic a hurry, my lad! We’re obleeged to ye – very. Aweel, aweel, that rids the world of a muckle nest of Hanoverians – but I’m afeered there’s no’ much left of your Castle, Battersea.’

  ‘No matter, no matter!’ said the Duke somewhat distractedly. ‘To tell truth, I never greatly cared for it. I should much prefer to live at Chippings. We’ll lay out a pleasure garden on the site – yes, that will be much better. Simon, my dear boy, I can’t thank you sufficiently. We are indebted to you for all our lives. Sire, may I present to you my nephew Simon, Lord Bakerloo. As for those miserable Yeomanry and Bow Street Runners, we might as well never have applied to them for all the help they have been.’

  But as they sank slowly towards the snowy grounds of the Academy, a sound of martial music was heard: the banging of drums and squealing of fifes heralded the arrival of the Chelsea Yeomanry who came marching in brave array down the Chelsea Bridge Road, while along the bank of the river twenty Bow Street Officers galloped at full speed, led by Mr Cobb. Meanwhile, the students, having observed the balloon’s escape, had come running across the park, and all these forces converged to welcome the rescue party as they reached the ground.

  Dr Furneaux was in the forefront.

  ‘Ah, my poor sir, my dear friend!’ he exclaimed, giving the Duke a bristly hug. ‘How I commiserate wiss you. Your home lost – destructuated by zese brigands! Not zat I ever admired it – indeed, a most hideous building. But still, ze saying goes, dos it not, ze Englishman’s castle is his home? And poor madame, helas! But nevaire mind, you shall live in ze Académie, bose of you, if you wish. I make you most welcome, and my students shall design you a new castle, moderne, confortable, épouvantable! Ziss we shall do directly!’

  ‘Oh, thank you, dear Dr Furneaux, but we think we shall retire to Chippings, and turn the Castle grounds into a pleasure-garden for you and your students. Meanwhile, His Majesty has kindly offered beds at Hampton Court to myself and my wife and niece and nephew here, and Dr Field.’

  ‘Niece and nephew?’ Dr Furneaux stared in bewilderment first at Simon and Sophie, then at the Duke. ‘What is ziss? What of ze ozzer one – ze little Justin?’

  ‘It was a case of mistaken identity,’ the Duchess explained kindly. ‘Simon is our real nephew and heir; he will be the sixth Duke of Battersea.’

  Dr Furneaux was aghast. ‘Ah, non, non, non, non, non, non, NON! Ziss I will not bear! Ziss I cannot endure! I get me a boy a good boy, a painter, a real artiste, a genius! And what do you do? You make of him a Duke! Every time it is ze same! I say, pouaaah to all Dukes!’

  ‘Oh, come now, my dear Furneaux –’

  Luckily, perhaps, at this moment the Royal sleigh, which had been summoned post-haste by the colonel of the Yeomanry, arrived at the river-bank with its attendant outriders. The King and his guests were all packed in, under layers of swansdown rugs. Goodbyes were shouted, whips were cracked.

  ‘I’ll be back in the morning early, Dr Furneaux!’ Simon shouted. ‘For a long day’s painting! And we’ll mend the balloon.’

  ‘And collect Aunt Henrietta’s tapestry!’ Sophie called.

  ‘And give a Christmas dinner to thank everybody for their help!’ shouted the Duke.

  Simon thought of another, sadder task, which he would hasten to perform: the small white stone on Inchmore’s heathery slope with the name DIDO. And Sophie thought of the orphans at Gloober’s Poor Farm to be rescued and given happy homes.

  The sleigh-bells jingled, the horses began to move away in their felt slippers.

  ‘Goodnight! Merry Christmas! God Save King James!’

  ‘Merry Christmas!’

  ‘And a Happy New Year!’

  Faster and faster the procession glided off into the dark, a long trail of brilliant lights, red and gold and blue, winding along the frozen Thames to Hampton Court, until at last the glitter and the music of the bells died away, and the students went home to bed, and the mysterious peace of Christmas night descended once again upon Battersea Park.

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  The Backstory

  Find out all about the author and learn some of Dido Twite’s weird and wonderful sayings!

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  Who’s Who in Black Hearts in Battersea

  Simon: the hero of our story, a boy of about fifteen with bright eyes and dark hair. He is a talented artist and has made his way to London to train at Rivière’s Academy of Art. He makes friends quickly due to his ability to work hard and his natural friendliness. He is an alert boy who knows how to take care of himself so it isn’t long before he notices something suspicious about the Twites.

  Sophie: an old friend of Simon’s from the time when they grew up together at Gloober’s Poor Farm. As children they were very close and so they are delighted to see each other again in London after many years apart. Sophie is a quick-witted girl with a talent for thinking up ingenious solutions in times of crisis.

  Dido Twite: the irrepressible, naughty and scrawny daughter of Mr and Mrs Twite. She is very irritating to Simon at first but he soon discovers that underneath her mischievousness and grubby appearance is actually just a neglected little girl in need of attention.

  Justin, Lord Bakerloo: the rather pale, cowardly and spoilt future Duke of Battersea. He is not gifted artistically despite pressure from his tutor Mr Buckle and art master Dr Furneaux and will do anything to get out of his art classes. Justin has a rather lofty view of himself and a tendency to look down on others.

  Mr Eustace Buckle: Justin’s strict, sour-faced tutor. He has a scheming nature which he keeps well hidden behind an air of respectability.

  The Duke and Duchess of Battersea (William and Henrietta): the kind and slightly dotty couple who reside in Battersea Castle. Although they are very important nobility and friends with the king, they are very trusting and often quite oblivious of the dangers around them.

  Mr and Mrs Twite (Ella and Abednego): the parents of Penny and Dido. They are a chaotic and untrustworthy pair and when Simon takes up lodgings in their house it doesn’t take him long to realise they are plotting something.

  Penny Twite: the vain and rude elder sister of Dido.

  Dr Furneaux: the principal of Rivière’s Academy of Art. He is a tiny French man wh
o looks like a prawn with his whiskery face and scuttling movements. He has a fiery temper but a kind heart.

  Mr Cobb and Mrs Cobb (Sam and Floss): the welcoming and caring couple who run Cobb’s Coaches, a successful blacksmiths and wheelwrighting company near to the Academy. Mr Cobb offers Simon work on his first day in London and soon becomes a good friend and ally.

  Dr Gabriel Field: the person who invited Simon to stay with him in London. But he has mysteriously gone missing and no one on Rose Alley will admit to having seen him, despite strong clues that he was there.

  Mrs Dolly Buckle: once married to, and had a child with, Mr Buckle before he managed to get rid of her. At the start of the story her location is unknown.

  Gus and Fothers: the high-spirited students whom Simon befriends at the Academy.

  Jem Suds: the stable boy at Battersea Castle.

  Midwink: the Duke’s scheming valet.

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  Test your knowledge of Black Hearts in Battersea

  (Answers at the end of the book. No cheating!)

  What very irritating thing does Dido do to Simon right before he has a shower?

  What area of natural science is the Duke most interested in?

  How did Sophie end up working for the Duchess?

  What do Mr and Mrs Twite call Simon?

  How did Sophie learn to swim?

  What food does Dido manage to find on board the Dark Dew to give to Justin and Simon?

  What game is played by the Duke, Duchess and Sophie on the train up to Chippings and what puts an end to it?

  What does Mrs Buckle insist on being called?

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  Who was Joan Aiken?

  Joan Aiken was born in 1924 in East Sussex. She didn’t go to school until she was twelve but, Joan read hundreds of books and loved to make up stories. In her early twenties some of her short stories were broadcast by the BBC and she began to make a career out of her writing. She did lots of different jobs including working for the BBC, writing copy for TV adverts and magazines. Her first book was a collection of short stories called All You’ve Ever Wanted.