Meeting his gaze dead level, Tinkler said, “Where did you last see it?” There wasn’t even the echo of a “sir” this time.
“In—in the mad eyes of that general who sent us over the top at …”
“Say it!” He was in command. “I don’t want to remember any more than you do. He killed ten thousand of us with that order, didn’t he? And you and me survived by a miracle … But say it!”
“Mal …” Ernest’s tongue was like a monstrous sponge blocking the name. He gulped and swayed and ultimately forced it out:
“Malenchines!”
“Yes. It was there. And I hoped never to see it again, neither. But I have … Now, sir, I’ll go and find out what they want.”
“No, Tinkler. We’ll go.”
As though uttering the terrible name had lifted a burden from his soul, Ernest was able to greet Mr. Stoddard and his companions and refer to their last encounter with scarcely a qualm. When they explained their errand he said at once he was sure it would be all right, though he was by no means so convinced as he sounded, and went on to inquire about prospects for the coming season.
The villagers exchanged glances. At length Mr. Stoddard shrugged.
“We’ve done poorly since the War. But there are a few good players coming along. Could do with more practice, though, and more coaching.”
Is that a hint?
Assuming it was, Ernest forced a smile. “Well, I might offer a bit of help there,” he said. Against his will a trace of bitterness crept back into his voice as he added, “My playing days are over, though, I’m afraid. Croquet is about my limit now, and I can’t even find partners for that …”
Struck by a sudden thought, he glanced around. “Don’t suppose any of you play, do you?”
A worried expression came and went on Tinkler’s face, but Ernest paid no attention.
“It can be quite a good game, you know. Not much exercise, but a lot of skill. If you can spare a few minutes I’ll show you. Tinkler, would you replace that hoop and bring me a mallet and a couple of balls?”
Strangely excited for the first time in years, he proceeded to initiate them into the mysteries of running a hoop, making one’s peg, croquet and roquet and becoming a rover, with such enthusiasm that the visitors’ stiffness melted and the youngest said at length, “Tell ‘ee what, Mr. Ernest, I wouldn’t mind ’aving a go some time!”
“Good man!” Ernest exclaimed. “And I tell you what, as well. I just remembered something. I was wandering around while I was on leave here once, and I came across some nets in one of the outbuildings. They may still be there. Have you got enough nets for practice?”
“No, sir!” said Hiram Stoddard promptly.
“Then let’s go and—”
A gentle cough interrupted him. It was Tinkler. Her ladyship’s carriage was rolling towards the house.
“Ah, fine! We can arrange about the mower. Aunt! Aunt Aglaia!”
Descending with the assistance of her groom and coachman Roger, who had been too young for the Army, Lady Peake fixed her nephew with a stony gaze.
“You are profaning the Sabbath!” she barked.
“What? Oh, you mean this?” Ernest waved the croquet mallet. “Not at all. I was just showing these people the rudiments in the hope they might give me a game some day.”
He might as well have been addressing the air. She went on as though he had not spoken.
“And what are these—persons—doing here?”
“Oh, they came to borrow the three-gang mower. For the cricket-field. Uncle Roderick always used to—”
“Your uncle is no longer among us! And when, pray, was this implement to be put to use?”
Hiram had removed his hat and not replaced it. Turning it around between his large callused hands, he muttered, “We thought we might make a start this afternoon, m’lady.”
An expression of triumph crossed Lady Peake’s face.
“So, like my nephew, you are a breaker of commandments. ‘The seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord Thy God. In it thou shalt do no manner of work!’ You may not borrow my mower, today or any other day. Return to the bosom of your families and pray to be forgiven.”
She waddled away towards the house.
“Sorry, Mr. Stoddard,” said young Roger. “But you know what she’s like. ’Course, it don’t apply to people working for ’er, do it? Like to see the look on ’er face if I answered back the same way: ‘No, m’lady, can’t drive you to church, can I? It’d be working on the Lord’s Day!’”
For a second it looked as though Hiram was about to tell him off for being over-forward, but he changed his mind.
“I’m awfully sorry,” Ernest muttered. “Never expected her to react like that … What will you do now?”
“Go back to the old way, I suppose, sir. Turn out men with scythes. Aren’t that many left, though, that can mow a good tidy outfield, let alone a proper pitch. One of them dying skills Gaffer Tatton always talks about. If you’ll excuse us, sir, we’d best make for the Plough before the rest of ’em head home for dinner, see who we can round up for the job.”
“Hang on! I’ll come with you! Just let me get my hat and stick! Roger, warn Cook I’ll be late for lunch!”
As he hobbled towards the house, they looked questions at Tinkler. He hesitated. At length he said, “It’s not exactly comeelfoh, is it? But his heart’s in the right place. Only his wits are astray. And a chance to stand up to her ladyship may be just what he needs. I’ll be there to keep an eye on him.”
At which they relaxed. But only a little.
Startled silence fell beneath the low timbered ceiling of the Plough’s single bar as they recognized who had come to join the company, and conversation was slow to resume. Only Gaffer Tatton, in his usual seat in the chimney-corner, went on talking as though nothing out of the ordinary were happening.
Or, at least, nothing so trivial as the presence of gentry.
He had finally stopped grousing about the lack of a fire to warm his aching bones, and had drifted on to the other subject preoccupying his mind—and, if truth be told, not his alone: the neglect of an ancient ceremony, to which he attributed their continuing misfortune. Making a valiant attempt to distract the visitor’s attention, Hiram led the way to the bar, re-introduced his brother Jabez the landlord and presented several of the others, even going so far as to include Mr. Ames.
Aware of the problem, Jabez said heartily, “Well, sir, since it’s the first time you’ve honoured my premises, let me offer you a glass! What’ll it be?”
Ernest looked about him uncertainly. For the past few minutes he had been out of touch with himself, anger at his aunt having taken control. Now, in this unfamiliar setting, among people who clearly were uneasy at his presence, he was at a loss. He glanced at Tinkler, who said suavely, “I can recommend Mr. Stoddard’s cider, sir. He makes it himself.”
“By all means,” Ernest agreed.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Tinkler,” the landlord said, reaching for mugs. “Allow me to offer you the same.”
And, as he turned the tap on the barrel, everyone tried to pick up the talk where it had left off. Instead the bad news about the mower circulated, trailing gloom around the room, and renewed silence.
Hiram invited his companions to take seats at the one partly-vacant table. Belatedly noticing them, and plainly still under the impression that it was the vicar they had been to see, Gaffer demanded their news.
“She won’t let us ’ave the mower,” Hiram said loudly and clearly. “Got to use scythes!”
Confused, Gaffer countered, “Don’t use scythes in well-dressing! Bain’t nothing used bar what’s natural!”