his reputation, and feared the determined fury in his eyes. conscious
of his own power, he laughed and walked slowly to the horses’ heads.
The footman, who feared his master more than the angry crowd, climbed
down from the high ledge at the back of the coach on which he stood, and
followed the Squire to the front, where he grasped the bearing-reins and
steadied the frightened animals.
- 22 -
“The times are bad indeed,” said the Squire in a loud voice, “when a
gentleman must needs cut a passage for his own coach through such scum.
Follow on my hee ls, you” (this over his shoulder to the terrified
footman), “and we’ll reach White Friars over dead bodies if any of these
clodpoles oppose us.”
Thereupon he advanced so suddenly that those of the crowd immediately
threatened by the Bully’s weapon fell head over heels against their
fellows behind them, who were so tightly packed before that they were
seized with panic, and it was amidst groans from the fallen, shrieks
from the women and children and cruses from all, that the Squire of
Iffley’s equipage swept on towards White Friars.
Doctor Syn, still learning from the parlour window which was on the
first floor, saw that a lot of women and children were wedged in the
crowd directly in front of the entrance to the house, so, leaving his
companions, he r an down the white-paneled stairway, and, flinging open
the front door, dragged those nearest into the safety of the hall, at
the same time ordering others to follow their example. Thus a clearing
was effected in front of the Squire’s sword and the oncoming horses.
In this manner it did not take long to reach the house, where the
Squire called a halt.
“Await me here,” he cried to his servants. “and should any of this
rabble annoy you further, do not scruple to use strong measures.” He
then addressed h is stalwart coachman. “Get your artillery out of the
boot, you fool, and if your whip don’t do your business try flintflashing.”
Whereupon the coachman stood up, put the whip in its socket, opened
the locker beneath the box seat, and produced two horse-pistols and a
blunderbuss, which he lay on the roof of the vehicle.
It was then that the Squire saw, to his further annoyance, that the
way to the house was barred by the huddled women and children whom
Doctor Syn was shepherding.
“Faith, must I cu t my way through this lot, to keep an appointment?”
At this, and the sight of his yet drawn sword, the children cried and
whimpered, while some of the women set up a screaming. In a few
moments, however, Doctor Syn managed to calm their fears, assuring them
that he would see to their protection, and as soon as all was quiet he
confronted the Squire, and spoke clearly enough for all to hear.
“I believe, sir, that you take great pride in your title of “Bully’.
It is an epithet after your own heart, and no doubt you consider ‘Bully’
Tappitt to be something of a fine fellow. In that I suggest you are
wrong. If you look at a dictionary, providing, of course, that you
can read—you will find that a bully is a coward. And the
dictionary is right, sir, for what is more cowardly than a
strong man oppressing those he thinks weaker than himself?”
At this there was a mummur of approbation from the angry men
who were grouped around the coach.
“Hold your tongues, you rascals, when you hear your betters
speak.”
But more than his words, it was the sunlight gleaming on the
naked blade that silenced them. At which the Squire, with a
scornful laugh, turned his back on them and answered Doctor Syn.
“I think it takes more than a coward to have faced this mass
of dangerous discontents alone, sir.”
- 23 -
“I rather think that Bully Tappitt, in his vast conceit, saw no
danger in it,” replied the parson, with a sneer. “For your own safety,
however, let me tell you that your situation is very dangerous; for,
were I to use a little oratory against you, those stout fellows of
Oxford Town would duck you in the horse-trough younder. But I choose to
do no such thing. My cloth forbids it. I am man of peace. And I
recommend these good people to ignore your brutalities, and to continue
their merry-makings.”
At this some of the bolder spirits raised a cheer, but the Squire
took no heed, but continued:
“Merry-makings?” he repeated. “This Fair is a scandal to the
neighbourhood. What is it but an annual excuse for cheating,
quarreling, idle lewdness and drinking to excess?”
“Are you claiming a monopoly upon your own pet habits, sir?” asked
the Doctor scornfully.
This the Squire ignored, as well as the laughter the remark caused
amongst the crowd. He merely continued:
“I should have thought that the University, of which you are such a
bright ornament, would have used what influence it has to stop this
annual inconvenience.”
“The University, sir, agrees with the God in Heaven Whom it tries to
serve, in that the lives and happiness of these good people are vastly
more important than the trifling inconvenience that may trouble
gentlemen of your kidney.”
The Squire’s sword twitched angrily, but on hearing a chorus of
applause behind him, he had sufficient wisdom not to run his blade
through the body of a defenseless man before the eyes of so many hostile
witnesses.
“Have done with your incivilities, sir!” he cried angrily. “You
take advantage of your cloth, and think yourself secure by toadying to
peasants. I did not come here, at some inconvenience, to bandy words
with you, but to transact a piece of business with some ladies. Lead
the way.
“The sooner it’s over the better,” replied the Doctor.
He turned to lead the way, and saw that Tony Cobtree was standing in
the porch. The young attorney was dressed in the height of fashion as
became one of his station who had journeyed so far to woo his lady. The
Squire saw him too, and noted that his fingers were playing a dangerous
tattoo upon the beautifully chased gold hilt of his small-sword.
“Another security you had, eh, Doctor?” he sneered. “Your cloth and
popularity amongst the commoners were not sufficient. You must have an
armed coxcomb behind you.”
“You would find but little of the coxcomb in either of us, sir, if it
came to sword-play,” replied Syn haughtily. “But we are not
sufficiently interested to indulge you. Perhaps we set as much store
upon the rules of duelling as you do, and just as you value your station
in life—such as it is—why, so do we; and no man of breeding is
considered dishonoured by declining to meet one whom he knows to be
beneath him.”
“Have done with your glib talk, Mister Parson!” rapped out the
Squire, “and let us transact our business with these for eign women.
Where are they? And where is this Kentish lawyer that you spoke about?”
“Let me introduce myself, sir,” retored young Cobtree, coming
forward. “You, I understand, are this Iffley Squire, of whom we have
heard small good. I am Antony Cobtree, Attorney at Law, and here for
the convenience and protection of two respected Spanish ladies. I have
been recommended for this
- 24 -
office by my friend here, Doctor Syn of this University, and by two very
distinguished Justices of the Peace in the County of Kent, one of them
being Sir Henry Pembury of Lympne Castle, and the other my own father