Black Hearts in Battersea Read Online Free

would find an academy of art presided over by a Dr. Furnace.
    The beadle scratched his head.
    "Dr. Furnace?" he said. "Can't say as I recall the name."
    Simon's heart sank. Was Dr. Furnace to prove as elusive as Dr. Field? But then the beadle turned and shouted, "Dan!" to a man who was just emerging from an arched gateway leading a horse and gaily painted dust-cart with a cracked wheel.
    "Hallo?" replied this man. "What's the row?"
    "Young cove here wants Furnace's Art Academy. Know what he means?"
    Both men turned and stared at Simon. The man called Dan, who was dressed in moleskin clothes from cap to leggings, slowly chewed a straw to its end, spat, and then said, "Furnace's Academy? Ah. I know what he means. He means Rivière's."
    "Ah," said the beadle wisely. "That's what you mean,
me boy. You means Rivière's."

    "Is that far from here?" said Simon, his hopes rising.
    "Matter o' ten minutes' walk," said Dan. "Going that way meself. I'll take you."
    "Thank you, sir."
    They strolled off, Dan leading the horse.
    "I'm going to me brother-in-law's," he explained. "Does the smithying and wheelwrighting for the parish. Nice line o' business."
    Simon was interested. He had worked for a blacksmith himself and knew a fair amount about the wheelwright's trade.
    "There must be plenty of customers for a wheelwright in London," he said, looking about him. "I've never seen so many different kinds of carriages before. Where I come from it's mostly closed coaches and farm carts."
    "Countryfied sort o' stuff," said Dan pityingly. "No art in it—and mind you, there's a lot of art in the coachmaker's trade. You get the
length
without the 'ighth, it looks poky and old-fashioned, to my mind, but, contrariwise, you get the 'ighth without enough body and it looks a reg'lar hurrah's-nest. Now
there's
a lovely bit o' bodywork—see that barouche coming along—the plum-colored one with the olive-drab outwork? Ah, very racy, that is—Duke o' Battersea's trot-box; know it well. Seen it at me brother-in-law's for repair: cracked panel."
    Simon turned and saw an elegantly turned-out vehicle in which was seated an elderly lady dressed in the height of fashion with waterfalls of diamonds ornamenting her
apple-peel satin gown, and a tremendous ostrich-plume headdress. She was accompanied by a pretty young girl who held a reticule, two billiard cues, a large shopping basket, and a small spaniel.

    "Why!" Simon exclaimed. "That's
Sophie!
"
    His voice rang across the street and the young girl turned her head sharply. But just then a high closed carriage came between Simon and the barouche and, a succession of other traffic following after, no second view of the girl could be obtained.
    "I know that girl! She's a friend of mine!" Simon said, overjoyed. He looked at Dan with shining eyes.
    "Ah. Duchess's lady's-maid, maybe? Nice-looking young gel. Very good position—good family to work for. Duke very affable sort o' gentleman—when he comes out o' those everlasting experiments of his. Bugs, chemicals, mice—queer setout for a lord. But his lady's a proper lady, so I've been told. O' course young Lord Bakerloo ain't up to much."
    "Where does he live—the Duke of Battersea?" asked Simon, who had not been paying much attention.
    "Battersea Castle o' course—when the family's in London. Places in the country too, nat'rally. Dorset, Yorkshire—that where you met the gel? Now, here's me brother-in-law's establishment, and, down by the river, that big place with the pillars is Rivière's."
    Dan's brother-in-law's place was almost as impressive as the art academy beyond. Inside the big double gates (over which ran the legend "Cobb's Coaches," in gold) was a
wide yard containing every conceivable kind of coach, carriage, phaeton, barouche, landau, chariot, and curricle, in every imaginable state of disrepair. A shed at the side contained a forge, with bellows roaring and sparks blowing, while elsewhere lathes turned, carpenters hammered, and chips