away.
When they got out onto Westminster Bridge, it was to find it crammed with traffic. Everyone appeared to be going to Vauxhall Gardens. Down on the floor, Beauty let out a low whine of distress. He was feeling sick with the stop, start, and stop-again movement of the gig, and Luke had bound the rope about his jaws very tightly.
‘Please may I unmuzzle Beauty?’ said Lizzie. ‘He is very quiet now.’
‘Suppose we’d better keep him in plump currant,’ said Luke, turning round and winking at Joseph. ‘He can’t do anything, not now we’re in the carridge.’
Lizzie untied the rope from about Beauty’s mouth. Beauty shifted restlessly and growled.
‘Quiet,’ said Joseph. Beauty looked up at Joseph with hate in his eyes. He blamed Joseph for his own discomfort, and the footman smelled faintly of cat. Beauty bared his teeth.
Joseph leaned down to cuff the dog, and Beauty seized his black velvet sleeve and tore savagely. Joseph let out a scream of outrage.
Beauty leapt from the slowly moving gig and vanished into the crowd, his leash trailing behind him.
Luke swore and swung the gig across the traffic to try to follow the dog. There was a sickening scratching sound as the gig slid along the side of an aristocratic carriage, leaving a long score in the varnish.
‘Oh, Gawdstreuth!’ swore Luke, who recognized not only the carriage but also the choleric face glaring out of the open window at him.
It was his master, Lord Charteris.
‘What are you doing here?’ screamed his lordship. ‘No, don’t answer. Bound to be a lie. Tell Blenkinsop to take the money out of your wages to pay for the revarnishing of my carriage and present yourself before me tomorrow in my study at two o’clock in the afternoon.’
Before Luke could say anything, Lord Charteris slammed up the glass and rapped on the roof with his cane as a signal to his coachman to drive on.
‘Well, that’s that,’ said Luke, swinging the carriage round. ‘I told old Blenkinsop I was going to see my granny in Euston what’s supposed to be dying.’
‘And he swallowed that?’ exclaimed Joseph. ‘You told Blenkinsop last year when we went to Ascot that you was at your gran’s funeral.’
‘Stow it,’ muttered Luke miserably.
‘We can’t go away and leave Beauty,’ cried Lizzie.
‘Oh, yes we can,’ said Joseph savagely. ‘You’ll never catch him now. Me, I don’t care if he’s drowned.’
Lizzie leapt from the gig, stumbling slightly as she regained her balance on the road, and then ran off into the crowd.
‘Let her go,’ said Luke. ‘She won’t find the dog, and it ain’t too far for her to get back.’
Joseph felt he ought to get down and go after Lizzie. But Joseph considered small feet aristocratic and was wearing his best shoes, which were two sizes too small for him. His toes throbbed and ached. He would have to tell some lies when he got back. But Lizzie would not let him down. She never did.
Lizzie ran to one of the bays on the bridge and looked across to Stangate on the south side of the River Thames. Sure enough, there was Beauty. Two youths caught at his leash and began to drag him away. With a cry of alarm, Lizzie set off running again. She ran down along Stangate, along Fore Street, until, in the fading light, she saw Beauty ahead, still being dragged along by the youths.
Beauty had had enough. He had just recovered from the shock of having found himself dragged roughly along. Enough was enough. He turned about and sank his teeth into the ankle of one of the youths, who let out a scream of pain and dropped Beauty’s leash. Beauty smelled trees and flowers and grass, all the scents of the country, all the scents of home. He scampered off as fast as he could, straight past the turnstile at the entrance to Vauxhall Gardens, and ran into the trees and lay down, luxuriating in his freedom.
Lizzie, who had seen him disappear into the gardens, decided there was nothing else for it but to follow him
When they got out onto Westminster Bridge, it was to find it crammed with traffic. Everyone appeared to be going to Vauxhall Gardens. Down on the floor, Beauty let out a low whine of distress. He was feeling sick with the stop, start, and stop-again movement of the gig, and Luke had bound the rope about his jaws very tightly.
‘Please may I unmuzzle Beauty?’ said Lizzie. ‘He is very quiet now.’
‘Suppose we’d better keep him in plump currant,’ said Luke, turning round and winking at Joseph. ‘He can’t do anything, not now we’re in the carridge.’
Lizzie untied the rope from about Beauty’s mouth. Beauty shifted restlessly and growled.
‘Quiet,’ said Joseph. Beauty looked up at Joseph with hate in his eyes. He blamed Joseph for his own discomfort, and the footman smelled faintly of cat. Beauty bared his teeth.
Joseph leaned down to cuff the dog, and Beauty seized his black velvet sleeve and tore savagely. Joseph let out a scream of outrage.
Beauty leapt from the slowly moving gig and vanished into the crowd, his leash trailing behind him.
Luke swore and swung the gig across the traffic to try to follow the dog. There was a sickening scratching sound as the gig slid along the side of an aristocratic carriage, leaving a long score in the varnish.
‘Oh, Gawdstreuth!’ swore Luke, who recognized not only the carriage but also the choleric face glaring out of the open window at him.
It was his master, Lord Charteris.
‘What are you doing here?’ screamed his lordship. ‘No, don’t answer. Bound to be a lie. Tell Blenkinsop to take the money out of your wages to pay for the revarnishing of my carriage and present yourself before me tomorrow in my study at two o’clock in the afternoon.’
Before Luke could say anything, Lord Charteris slammed up the glass and rapped on the roof with his cane as a signal to his coachman to drive on.
‘Well, that’s that,’ said Luke, swinging the carriage round. ‘I told old Blenkinsop I was going to see my granny in Euston what’s supposed to be dying.’
‘And he swallowed that?’ exclaimed Joseph. ‘You told Blenkinsop last year when we went to Ascot that you was at your gran’s funeral.’
‘Stow it,’ muttered Luke miserably.
‘We can’t go away and leave Beauty,’ cried Lizzie.
‘Oh, yes we can,’ said Joseph savagely. ‘You’ll never catch him now. Me, I don’t care if he’s drowned.’
Lizzie leapt from the gig, stumbling slightly as she regained her balance on the road, and then ran off into the crowd.
‘Let her go,’ said Luke. ‘She won’t find the dog, and it ain’t too far for her to get back.’
Joseph felt he ought to get down and go after Lizzie. But Joseph considered small feet aristocratic and was wearing his best shoes, which were two sizes too small for him. His toes throbbed and ached. He would have to tell some lies when he got back. But Lizzie would not let him down. She never did.
Lizzie ran to one of the bays on the bridge and looked across to Stangate on the south side of the River Thames. Sure enough, there was Beauty. Two youths caught at his leash and began to drag him away. With a cry of alarm, Lizzie set off running again. She ran down along Stangate, along Fore Street, until, in the fading light, she saw Beauty ahead, still being dragged along by the youths.
Beauty had had enough. He had just recovered from the shock of having found himself dragged roughly along. Enough was enough. He turned about and sank his teeth into the ankle of one of the youths, who let out a scream of pain and dropped Beauty’s leash. Beauty smelled trees and flowers and grass, all the scents of the country, all the scents of home. He scampered off as fast as he could, straight past the turnstile at the entrance to Vauxhall Gardens, and ran into the trees and lay down, luxuriating in his freedom.
Lizzie, who had seen him disappear into the gardens, decided there was nothing else for it but to follow him
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