Black Hearts in Battersea by Joan Aiken Page A

his teeth as he uncovered more and more of the large picture until there was only a patch as big as a top-hat left to clean.
    "Hilloo," remarked a supercilious voice behind his
shoulder after an hour or two had gone by. "How's the paint-scrubber getting on?" He turned to see young Lord Bakerloo surveying the cleaning operations somewhat scornfully. He seemed disposed to linger, however, rocking to and fro on his heels, picking up first one, then another of the cleaning tools until Simon longed to tell him to leave them be.

    "How's old Fur-nose?" he presently inquired.
    Simon replied that Dr. Furrneaux seemed in the best of health, and civilly asked after Lord Bakerloo's arm.
    "Can you keep a secret?" said Justin.
    "Of course."
    "Well, so can I. Mum's the word." Justin doubled up with laughter at his own wit and added, "You won't see me at that old academy again for a long, long time, I can tell you."
    Simon made no reply to this, but quietly got on with his work, while Justin wandered about behind him, occasionally singing snatches of a ballad which seemed to consist principally of the refrain:
"Hip-hap, habble-dabble-oh,

Shall we go

To Haberdashers' Row?"
    until Simon felt there was no place in London that he less wished to visit.
    "Devilish dull here, this evening, ain't it?" Justin presently broke off to say. He yawned until his face seemed
ready to split. "I almost wish I'd gone to the opera with the old gudgeons—not that Aunt Hettie asked me," he added sourly. "I believe Buckle peached on me; said I hadn't finished my lessons. By the bye, Uncle Bill charged me with a message to you. I was to ask if you was free to play chess with him on Sunday. Getting jumped-up in the world, aren't we? My oh me, playing chess with the gentry and nobil-itee."

    "Do you mean his Grace the Duke invited me?" Simon asked, ignoring the sneer in the last sentence.
    "O' course I do. Uncle Bill Battersea, mad as a hatter, see, growing much fatter, see, oh, devilish good. I'm a wit, I am!"
    Simon disagreed, but kept his opinion to himself. He said, "Will you please tell his Grace that I thank him kindly for the invitation but that I shan't be able to accept."
    "Blest if I see why
I
should carry your messages," Justin said. "Why can't you write him a note? Or can't you write?" he added rudely.
    Simon checked an irritable retort, calmly wrote a note on a page of his sketchbook, folded it into a cocked hat, and laid it on his Grace's fireside table.
    "Fancy that! We
can
write!" said Justin with heavy sarcasm. Plainly he was spoiling for a quarrel, and longed to provoke Simon into setting about him. Simon, instead, began to feel rather sorry for him; he seemed lonely and bored, disappointed at not being taken to the opera, and very much at a loose end.
    "Anyway why
can't
you come on Sunday?" Justin
inquired with the persistence of a buzz fly. "It ain't very polite to turn down Uncle Bill's invitation."

    "I'm taking Dido Twite to Clapham Fair."
    "
That
little bag of bones? What the dickens do you want to do that for?" Justin exclaimed, truly astonished. "She's as dirty as a gutter perch, and got no more manners or gratitude than a hedge fish."
    Simon remarked mildly that he had promised Dido a treat long since, and she had chosen to go to the Fair.
    "Well, I wish I was coming instead of Dido," Justin remarked frankly. "It's a prime good fair, I can tell you. I sneaked out last year and went with Jem the stableboy, but now old Buckle-and-Thong's living in the castle, keeping such a tight eye on me, I daresay I shan't be allowed."
    "You're welcome to come with me if you can get permission," Simon said.
    Justin's face lit up. "
Could
I? Oh, that'd be spanking. But," he added gloomily, "it's no use asking, for if Buckle heard I was going with you and Dido Twite he'd never allow it. It'd be the monkey's allowance, sure as you're alive. He don't permit me to associate with
low-born
persons. He's a sight stricter than Uncle Bill! I'd slip off