‘Sorry, Mr Ffoulkes,’ said one of the oldest boys, while another, treading heavily on Alfie’s chilblains, muttered to his friends, ‘Who does he think he is, blasted choirmaster – he’s got no authority over us.’
Richard nudged Alfie and together they slid behind the backs of two heavily built boys. Richard turned the handle of the door and, in a moment, they were alone.
‘This is the Dark Cloister. It leads straight into the Abbey,’ said Richard. ‘The choir always goes down this way and I’m one of the choir so nobody can question me – I’ll say that I’ve left my hymn book in the choir stalls.’
Richard led the way. Alfie could see why it was called the Dark Cloister; it was black as pitch and without Richard’s grip on his arm he would have stumbled. He was glad when they came into the dim light of the Abbey and made their way to the choir stalls. No one else was there.
‘Let’s sit here for a few minutes and we can talk,’ said Richard as he sank down on a bench at the very back row of the stalls.
Alfie looked around. It was a good place to talk because each of the benches had a carved kneeler in front of it and these rose so high that they almost completely hid the boys from sight. In any case, the Abbey was very dark, with just a pinprick of light coming from a red lamp on the altar.
‘I’ve got an idea and it’s a jolly decent one,’ announced Richard. ‘I thought I could search old Boris’s room and get the evidence. The only thing is, the only safe time to do that is when he’s playing the organ here in the church. He’ll be playing tonight for Evensong service.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ said Alfie resolutely. He was the one who should get that fur coat with the evidence. He was determined about that.
‘Well, I don’t think that is possible,’ said Richard. ‘You see I’ll need you to take my place in choir. Old Ffoulkes is as blind as a bat, but he does count heads. If there aren’t sixteen heads sticking up from the stalls, he’ll go raving mad and not rest until he discovers who is missing. He’s got a very nasty temper and it will mean a first-class beating for me if he catches me missing evensong.’
‘Well, I can’t sing a note and my hair is black and yours is blond,’ pointed out Alfie.
‘Yeah, it mightn’t work. He’s probably more likely to miss a voice than to notice about hair colour,’ said Richard thoughtfully. ‘Especially as I’m the best treble in the choir; he’d probably miss me.’
‘I’ve an idea.’ Alfie’s voice rose with excitement and quickly he hushed it. ‘My brother Sammy is a great singer – he has a really high voice – and he has hair just like yours. We could dress him up in these clothes. He’s nearly as big as I am, so they’d fit him well.’
‘That’s the solution, then,’ said Richard triumphantly. ‘Let’s go and get him. We’ve plenty of time. As long as we are in our places before evensong starts, we’ve nothing to do this afternoon.’
‘There’s only one problem, though,’ said Alfie slowly. ‘My brother is blind.’
Sammy had not been born blind, but when he was about two years old he had been very ill with the spotted fever. When he recovered, it was obvious that he had no sight left. The boys’ grandfather was a gifted musician and fiddle player and he had worked with Sammy and taught him to sing hundreds of songs.
He has a golden voice, their grandfather used to say to his daughter when she worried about her son’s blindness. It will see him through life, don’t you fret. Now Alfie and Sammy’s mother was long dead, and Sammy sang on the streets for money. The blind boy with the fine voice was the biggest earner in Alfie’s gang.
How Sammy would envy Richard and how he would love to have a chance to sing in the most famous church in London, Westminster Abbey itself! Alfie thought hard, shushing Richard when he tried to speak.
‘We’ll manage,’ he said eventually. And then after a minute, ‘So you just come into the Abbey and go to your places before the service?’
‘That’s right,’ said Richard, ‘and it’s not fair; the rest of the school are still out enjoying themselves.’
That was good news to hear. That meant that he and Richard would be able to go through the school up to the organist’s room without the danger of meeting hordes of boys.
‘And the church would be as dark as this?’
‘Even darker. Evensong starts at four o’clock and at this time of year the place is as black as pitch, except for the candles, of course.’
‘And people, ordinary people, are allowed into the service.’
‘That’s right.’
Alfie sat back with a grin. He loved this sort of thing. He was a great planner. He worked out the details in his mind.
Sarah, he thought. She was always neatly and tidily dressed in good clothes these days. She could accompany Sammy to the church. Somehow they would get him into the seat ahead of time.
‘My friend, East, sits next to me. We could tell him the secret.’ Richard was peering at Alfie’s face in the dim light.
He was a funny fellow, Alfie decided. Why on earth would he climb the roof of the Abbey at night when all the other boys were tucked up in their beds? He never took another boy with him; he had told Alfie that. He lived on excitement. Alfie had known a few people like that – mostly they went to the bad, and made a living robbing coaches or breaking into houses . . .
Still, it’s none of my business, he thought, rising to his feet. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
First Richard had to listen to Sammy’s voice. If that was good enough – and Alfie had no idea of the difference between an alto and a treble – then, in the hours that remained to them before four o’clock, Richard could teach Sammy whatever song was going to be sung that night.
And, while the service of evensong was being sung and while the organ was being played by Mr Ivanov, then Richard and Alfie could find the evidence to prove that Boris, as Richard called him, was the Russian spy wanted by Scotland Yard.
CHAPTER 11
SAMMY SINGS
Tom and Mutsy were doing tricks in Trafalgar Square when Richard and Alfie arrived. Tom held up a card with a picture of four rats and Mutsy gave four short barks and then whined.
‘Stay, Mutsy,’ whispered Alfie as he saw the dog’s head swivel towards him. He knew that, despite the noise of the horses’ hoofs, the cab drivers’ shouts or the street sellers’ cries of ‘Hot muffins for sale’, Mutsy, the genius dog, would hear his master’s voice and obey.
Tom, on the other hand, gave the two well-dressed young gentlemen just a quick glance and went on impressing the small crowd in front of him with Mutsy’s knowledge of arithmetic. Alfie giggled to himself as he watched. Obviously Tom had not recognised him.
The pair was doing well. Mutsy barked ten times at the picture of ten rats, and the pennies rained down when he did a little dance on his hind legs, picked up a tin plate from the ground and carried it carefully from person to person, his lips pulled back from his teeth in obedience to Tom’s command to smile. From time to time, his brown eyes rested on Alfie with such a look of longing that Alfie found it hard to resist spoiling the act by going and patting him.
‘My dog,’ he said proudly to Richard when Mutsy had deposited the plate, heavy with coins, at Tom’s feet. Alfie snapped his fingers and Mutsy came to him immediately, winding himself round and round Alfie’s legs in an ecstasy of love.
‘Mutsy!’ said Tom, scandalised at the dog’s behaviour towards a well-dressed young toff.
‘He’s not doing any harm,’ said Alfie, trying to speak in a toff’s voice; but Tom was not deceived. His eyes widened and he glanced quickly around.
‘You go ahead,’ said Alfie in a low voice. ‘We’ll be along in a while. Where’s Sammy? And Jack?’
‘Jack’s gone to get some coal out of the river for the fire and Sammy’s at home with Sarah. He was a bit worried when you didn’t come home. Said he didn’t have the heart to sing this morning.’ Tom mumbled the words as he started to put the cards back into their box. He did not look at the two
well-dressed young gentlemen, but discreetly kept his attention on what he was doing. His sharp eyes had flickered across the square to a heavily built man standing by one of the two fountains and in a minute he and Mutsy were gone.
The man did not look after Tom; his attention was on Richard. Although he was not wearing the fur coat today, but a plain black wool cloak-like garment, Alfie immediately recognised him as the organist from Westminster. He nudged Richard, but it was too late. Boris came plunging across.
‘You there, young master! You’re one of the boys from the choir at Westminster School, aren’t you? Young Master Richard Green; that’s right, isn’t it?’
Rapidly Alfie slid behind the chestnut seller. There was little he could do for Richard now – just watch and listen.
‘I’ve been looking at the headmaster’s punishment book and I see that you were punished a few months ago because you were seen on the roof of the Abbey at night-time. Were you there last night?’
‘No, sir! Certainly not, sir!’ Richard sounded quite shocked at the idea.
‘Don’t you lie to me! I know there were a couple of boys on the roof last night. I saw one go up myself. That one wasn’t you; it was a rough boy from the slums, a bare-footed boy; but the policeman said he caught a glimpse of two boys and one of them was wearing a hat. Now you’re going to be in trouble, Green, unless you tell me where I can find that other boy, the bare-footed lad.’
Alfie froze, standing very still. What would Richard do? He knew nothing of the Westminster choirboy; he had just shared a few dangerous hours with him. Richard had no responsibility for him. What would he decide? Would he betray Alfie?
‘Boy, sir?’ Richard sounded puzzled. He was certainly a good actor. Alfie could see how his eyes glittered with excitement.
There was a note of uncertainty in the Russian’s voice when he said, ‘It was you on the roof last night, wasn’t it?’
He doesn’t know, thought Alfie with relief. He just checked through the punishment book until he found the name of someone who had once climbed the roof of the Abbey.
Richard gave a light laugh. ‘Not me, sir. Browne Minor had some goodies, a nice tuck-box of cake and pasties from home in Kent last night, sir. We had a bit of a feast, sir.’
Boris Ivanov stared at him intently while Alfie held his breath. Richard looked relaxed and slightly amused and waited quietly until the organist turned on his heel and strode off.
‘He’ll have it in for you now,’ said Alfie, rejoining him.
Richard shrugged. ‘Not worried,’ he said. ‘He’s not important; Mr Ffoulkes is in charge of the choir and he’s not going to have me expelled. I told you, I’m the best treble in the choir, and he needs me. Boris is not even a proper master, he’s only the organist. Let’s go and see your brother.’
‘Did you get a chance to see what was written on the paper that he pulled out of the postbox?’ Back at the cellar, Sarah was her usual clear-headed, thoughtful self. She had welcomed Richard, glad that she had bullied Jack and Tom into tidying up the cellar to pass the long hours this morning while they had been waiting for news of Alfie. Sammy had been given the task of cleaning the frying pan and kettle, and she herself had washed the one small window that looked onto the pavement. There was a cosy fire because Jack had brought in a new lot of coal which he had picked out from the River Thames at the place where the coal barges moored by Hungerford Bridge.
The cellar looked bright and cheerful, she thought with satisfaction as she looked around. It was lit by firelight and filled with the smell of sausages, bought with one of Inspector Denham’s sixpences and now frying gently on the pan placed on top of the glowing coals.
Sarah saw Richard give an admiring glance around, commenting on how cosy it was and seating himself beside the fire. Alfie seemed pleased with his praise, though Sarah reckoned that to a Westminster schoolboy like Richard it was probably a very poor place. He wanted to please, she thought, but quickly turned her attention back to the solving of the spy mystery. The five pounds that Inspector Denham promised would keep the boys safe in the cellar for the rest of the winter. The puzzle had to be solved.
‘Just drawings,’ Alfie was saying. ‘I couldn’t see very well.’
‘And the paper that he ate?’ asked Tom. ‘Imagine eating a piece of paper! What was written on that?’
‘Sort of nonsense,’ said Alfie with a frown. He was proud of his quick brain and hated not to understand things straight away. ‘The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog,’ he said reluctantly and Tom sniggered. ‘I think it had some numbers on it too, but I didn’t see them properly. They was written too small,’ added Alfie.
‘Easy to remember,’ said Sarah thoughtfully. ‘Look how you remember it, although you only saw it for a second. Must mean something. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.’
‘Don’t see how,’ argued Tom. ‘What could foxes and dogs have to do with Russian spies?’
‘Perhaps it’s just the first part of the message,’ said Sammy quietly. It was the first sentence that he had spoken since he heard about the plan for him to sing at Westminster Abbey with the other choirboys. That had brought a flush of excitement to his pale cheeks.
Richard looked across at him. He had been a little embarrassed about how to deal with a blind boy, but now he had got used to it.
‘Let’s have a go at the Magnificat, Sammy,’ he said, stuffing the last sausage into his mouth and tipping some more beer into his mug. ‘By Jove, I like your tipple! Good for the throat, this sort of stuff. The boys at Westminster School used to always have beer, but now they just have tea. Beer’s much better,’ he said approvingly.
‘I’ve listened to your choir practising it,’ said Sammy confidently. ‘I only know the first verse, though. You’ll have to teach me the rest.’ He stood up unselfconsciously and began to sing. Even Tom was frozen into stillness as Sammy’s high, pure voice filled the little cellar and echoed from the rafters overhead.
‘My God! You’re better than me! You reached that high C more easily than I do. You’d better sing softly or else old Ffoulkes, blind as a bat though he is, will scent out a stranger.’ Richard sounded very taken aback and Alfie smiled to himself at the Westminster boy’s astonishment. He supposed it did seem amazing that a poor boy like Sammy could sing as well as the best choirboys of Westminster. He felt pleased that his brother had won the approval of a toff like Richard.
‘Do all the boys go to evensong, or is it just the choir?’ Sarah was working out how they would get a blind boy into the choir stalls of Westminster Abbey without anyone noticing. Pity that Tom was not the musical one, she thought, but then, when she saw Sammy’s face, flushed with excitement, she changed her mind. Poor Sammy, he did not have a great life. Singing with the most famous boy choristers in the whole of London would be a wonderful thing for him – something that he would look back on for years.
Life’s not fair, thought Sarah, not for the first time. She was not especially musical herself, but it was easy to hear that Sammy had a purer, higher voice than Richard and yet Richard had been in the Westminster choir for four years, with singing lessons twice a day.
Why was it that Sammy had no chance of a life like that?
Why was it that Alfie seemed so keen to impress a boy like Richard? Jack, who was shy and modest, had not said a word and Tom was showing off a bit too much. Why, she asked herself, was she so pleased that she had tidied up the cellar before Richard’s visit? He was just a boy of their own age. Did having money and going to a swell’s school make you more important?
And why was it that Alfie, with all his brains, had to risk his life to earn a few pounds to keep the four boys housed and fed?
CHAPTER 12
PERIL AT THE ABBEY
By the time the church bells sounded three in the afternoon, Alfie had dressed Sammy in the clothes that Richard had lent; the clothes belonging to Smith Minor, the boy with measles. He, himself, was glad to put his own ragged clothes on again. Tom had sne
ered at his ‘toff’s rig-out’ and they had quarrelled and Tom had flung out of the cellar in a fit of temper. Jack had disappeared soon after. Alfie was pleased neither was there when it came to changing back.
If it came to a chase he would prefer bare feet and knee-length breeches, he thought as he brushed the shoulders of the black frock coat and placed the top hat on Sammy’s newly washed blond curls.
‘Sammy and Richard look quite alike,’ said Sarah as she came back from the shop with a pair of thick socks. She looked critically at the blind boy and nodded. They were the same height and had the same blond curly hair. ‘Try the boots with those socks, now, Sammy,’ she suggested.
And that worked well. The thick pair of socks meant that the boots fitted his feet. Richard straightened the hat, adjusting the elastic to fit Sammy’s head.
‘Take off your hat when you get inside the Abbey,’ he ordered. ‘And then when you get to the place in the choir you’ll have to put on your surplice – just pull it over your head. I can’t do that for you.’ Richard sounded nervous.
‘Don’t fuss,’ snapped Sarah, who was feeling anxious herself. ‘We’ve got it all set up. If the Abbey is as dark as you say, then Tom can easily make his way under the seats and be behind the choir stalls before you walk over with Sammy. He’ll help him if necessary. When the service is over, you just change places. I’ll take Sammy out and you go back into school with your friends.’
‘And I’ll be in that passageway behind the choir stalls,’ said Jack.
‘Don’t forget to sing softly, Sammy,’ said Richard for the tenth time. ‘You don’t want to make old Ffoulkes suspicious.’
‘What are you worrying about? It’s easier than jumping across a four-foot space when you’re thirty feet above the ground,’ said Alfie with a grin and was pleased when Richard grinned back.
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