[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman by Brian Jacques Page B

eye, a lot more.”
    She cleared away the plates and glasses, watching the crestfallen lad out of the corner of her eye. “Shall we say that you can stay here for a few days, then? I don’t think those bullies will bother coming ’round to harass me if they see Ned wandering in the garden.”
    Ben brightened up immediately. “Oh, thank you, marm! Ned’ll keep them away and I’ll help you ’round the house and do your shopping for you, and I can pay for lodgings, too. I have money, you know. . . .”
    Mrs. Winn held up her hand, cutting Ben off frostily. “Please, I’m not rich, but I have enough to get by on with Captain Winn’s pension. I’m not beholden to anybody, and I don’t need you to pay me—I’m allowing you to stay here as a friend.”
    Ned passed a thought to his master. “What a nice old lady Winnie is. This place feels just like home, whatever home’s supposed to feel like. Don’t forget to thank her for me. I’ve been trying to talk with that cat, Horatio, but he’s not got much to say for himself. It must be with his having no other creatures to speak to that he’s lost the art of conversation, poor fellow.”
    Ben answered the dog’s thoughts. “Well, when you do finally get chatting together, see what you can find out from him. It might give us a clue as to why we’ve been sent here.”
    Mrs. Winn tapped Ben’s shoulder. “Are you listening to what I’m saying, young man?”
    â€œWhat, oh, er, sorry, Miz Winn. I must have dozed off!”
    The old lady chuckled. “Hmm, you looked as if you were ready to drop off there, sitting and staring at the dog. I was just saying that you and Ned could take the rear upstairs bedroom. I sleep down here in the small sitting room nowadays. My left leg’s not too good, I need help getting upstairs. Perhaps you’d best go and take a nap. There’s a nice bathroom up there, too.”
    Ben rose gratefully. “Thank you, Miz Winn. Thanks for everything from both of us. I think I will take a bath and a nap.”
    The old lady took Ben’s hand. “Help me upstairs and I’ll show you your room. I’ll have dinner ready for you both at seven. Come on, Ned, good boy!”
    The Labrador looked questioningly at Ben. “I don’t mind the nap, but a bath’s out of the question. It’s not half an hour since I had a good scratch and lick!”
    Ben tugged at the black Lab’s tail as they went upstairs. “Miz Winn means me, not you!”
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    It was a comfortable room with a soft, old-fashioned bed. Ben picked up a framed sepia photograph from the bedside table. A young man and woman with two small boys stood on a palm-fronded verandah. The boy studied it. “Hmm, looks like India or Ceylon, some sort of plantation.”
    Mrs. Winn was mildly surprised at her strange guest’s knowledge, yet looking at his wise blue eyes, it seemed right somehow that he should know about the photograph. “Your second guess was correct, Ben. It’s Ceylon. That’s my son Jim with his family—he manages a tea plantation for a British company out there. I’ve not yet seen his wife Lilian, or the children. That photograph is all I have of them. Maybe someday they’ll come over for a visit. . . .”
    Mrs. Winn suddenly looked very sad, and she sighed. “Still, maybe it would be better for me if they stayed in Ceylon.”
    Ben became curious. “Why do you say that, Winnie?”
    She shuffled slowly out of the room as she replied. “I’ll tell you at dinner. Stay where you are, lad, I can manage going downstairs on my own quite well.”
    After a good hot bath, Ben dressed in a clean change of clothing from his canvas bag and lay on the bed, watching a shaft of late day sunlight on the floral wallpaper. Bird-song from the garden and the distant rumble of a train sounded