‘No, not the charming fellow who served with Colonel Troubridge here,’ echoed Mipps. ‘His younger brother, and as like him all them years ago as two peas in a pod.’
‘Well, well, that’s very interesting,’ nodded the Vicar. ‘We must endeavour to entertain Major Secundus, as we did Major Primus.’
‘No, no, sir,’ protested Mipps. ‘Faunce is the name, sir.’
‘Yes, Mr. Mipps, I stand corrected,’ smiled the Vicar. ‘My mind seems to be playing truant tonight and at that moment I was back in the Lower Third at Canterbury School.’
To which Mipps, slightly mystified, replied, ‘Oh well, of course if you’re going back to your second childhood, p’raps you’d like me to fetch you a nice hot glass of milk before tellin’ you the rest of the news!’
‘Well then,’ continued Mipps, ‘item number two. There’s a new Revenue Officer come to Sandgate, and he’s been nosin’ round here too, though I ain’t expectin’ much trouble from him neither, for all they say he’s smart as paint. We’ll soon blister it, eh, Captain?’
‘Mr. Mipps’ — warned the Vicar.
‘Oh, sorry, sir. Quite forgot — eh, Vicar. Wants to see you alone. I don’t do. Leastways I didn’t, so he said. Still, he’ll soon know who does and who doesn’t round ’ere. But knock me up solid, I’d forgotten all about that there Kitty-run-the-street.’1
‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Mipps. And what might that mean?’
1 Marsh term for the common heartsease or pansy.
‘Well, sir,’ explained the Sexton, ‘someone else come nosin’ round ’ere today and wants to see you most particular. I shushed him off but back he come. Wouldn’t go away. Said he’d wait. Sat there. Missus ’Oneyballs had to dust round him. Ever such a ernful1 young gentleman he was. Look like Will-Jill to me.’
‘Mr. Mipps, would you do me the favour of speaking in plain English?’
‘Sorry, sir. Forgot I was talking to the Lower Third. Well, since you’re so judgmatical,2 ’alf past two, it was, to be exact. As fine a young dandy as ever you did see comes prancin’ up the path. I ’appen to be puttin’ a nice bit of manure into the rose-beds at the time, and not wantin’ to be disturbed, I nips into the tool’ouse, and lets Missus ’Oneyballs deal with ’im, but, blow me down, if she don’t come and find me. I give her a talkin’ to, but she says I’d better come and keep a weather eye on him, ’cos she wasn’t goin’ to be left alone with him, not with ’Oneyballs workin’ two miles away. So in I goes, and there he be. And that’s what I told you, see?’
‘Yes, Mr. Mipps,’ nodded the Vicar, ‘you have done full justice to your powers of observation. I gather from your graphic tale that someone has been here who wished to see me.’
‘Right, sir. You’ve got it, sir. First shot, sir.’ Mr. Mipps was delighted as he added, ‘And what a one you was for layin’ a gun, sir.’
‘Mr. Mipps,’ warned the Vicar again, then asked: ‘And what did you do with the young dandy?’
‘Do with him? Nothin’ I could do with him till he get so ’ungry that he stopped titherin’3 about and went back to the “Ship” to get somethin’ to take the sad look off his face. Leastways I ’opes it do, if he’s goin’ to come ’ere again, which he said he would, first thing tomorrow mornin’. Oh, blow me down, give me his card he did. Now where did I put it? Oh yes — ’ere.’ And out of the depths of his capacious pocket he produced an assortment of queer objects. Spigots for barrels, bits of tarred string, measurements for coffins, a twist of tobacco, and amongst all these slightly bedaubed with fish manure, was a card that he triumphantly handed to Doctor Syn. Which said gentleman was not at all surprised when holding the delicate piece of paste-board that had lost its elegance since morning, to find that the name engraved on it was Clarence, Viscount Cullingford.
‘Clarence,’ snorted Mr. Mipps as the Vicar read the name aloud. ‘Silly sort o’ name for a silly sort o’…’ Mr. Mipps did not finish the sentence, but added, ‘Don’t bother your ’ead about who he is or what he wants. I’ll flip
1 Mournful.
2 Critical.
3 Tither about, to waste time, to dawdle.
36 round to the “Ship” and soon get charted up on him.’ But he took care not to mention that he had already slipped there and gained several drinks from the gentleman in question.
‘You need not trouble, Mr. Mipps. I have him spotted. Well, what else? Nothing to report from the Court House?’
‘Coo — I should say there be and well you knows it. The ’ullabelaybaloo started as soon as you’d gone. I ’ave ’ad Sir Antony round ’ere every day with his face as long as a yardarm askin’ for you. Got tired o’ sayin’ you’d gone preachin’ in London. He finally writes a note which he says I’m to give you the first minute you gets back.’
‘Well, I’ve been here more than a minute, Mr. Mipps.’
‘That’s right. So you ’as and ’ere it is.’ And from the desk, Mipps handed Doctor Syn a letter which read as follows:
Nov. 12th, 1794
The Court House,
Dymchurch-under-the-Wall,
Kent.
My Dear Christopher,
Not knowing your whereabouts in London I have been pestering the good Mipps for knowledge of your return. Will you send word of your arrival, for I find myself in need of your counsel. In fact, my dear Christopher, I am confoundedly worried, the reason being that Cicely, ever wayward, has vanished into thin air. She rode off saying that she had a mind to visit the Pemburys at Lympne, but we now find that she never went there, and not a sign have we had from the naughty miss since. Caroline is in a pretty pet as her Aunt Agatha is due here for a visit, and she wanted our girl to make a good impression. I know you cannot fully appreciate the trials and tribulations of a family man, nor understand my mortification when Caroline looks at me as though it were my fault. So do be a good fellow and come and help me out. Yours affect.,
Tony.
Which appeal from an obviously harassed paterfamilias caused the Vicar no astonishment. He almost appeared to have been expecting it. Nor did he show the least surprise on hearing outside the window footsteps crunching the shingle and someone whistling quietly the opening bars of ‘The British Grenadiers’.
Chapter 5
Mr. Bone Whistles the Same Tune
Mr. Bone stepped into the Vicarage and greeted Doctor Syn with the easy familiarity of an old friend. He was invited to divest himself of his riding-coat and partake of the best brandy in Dymchurch, which he did with obvious appreciation, standing with his back to the fire while the Vicar sat comfortably in the corner of the settle. The brightly burning logs and the candles in their sconces over the mantelpiece reflected upon the lofty moulded ceiling the shadow of the highwayman, whose giant frame dwarfed the hovering Mipps as he tithered about the room, filling churchwardens from the generous pot of Virginian tobacco, and keeping the glasses, his own included, up to the brim. His inquisitive nose and the quivering tarred queue behind that balanced it made him look more foxy than ever as he chuckled with delight at Doctor Syn’s account of the journey by coach, of Foulkes’s discomfiture, and the bravery of the little old lady with quaint manner and an even quainter dog; which same old lady in the Cobtrees’ best spare bedroom was now, with the help of Lisette, changing into evening finery. If the gentlemen at the Vicarage considered her manner quaint, they might have considered her language to be more so when she was reminded by her empty jewel-case that Gentleman James had not left her a single bauble. In fact she rated him so fiercely that had Gentleman James but heard her he might have considered her no lady. The old lady was well-nigh forced to borrow her dog’s bracelets. How surprised she would have been then had she known that at that very moment the fate of her missing jewelry was being discussed by none other than the learned pleasant gentleman with whom she had travelled and the robber himself, and this but a stone’s-throw away at the Vicarage.