‘I am extremely sorry, my dear Jimmie,’ Doctor Syn was saying, ‘but I had no idea that the old lady would be travelling by that coach. May I suggest, since the Cobtrees are such friends of ours’ (at which Mr. Bone grimaced appreciatively, thinking of the many broadsheets Sir Antony had put out against him), ‘that we have a little private transaction. You being as good a valuer as any of the Receivers, what do you estimate they are worth to you?’
Mr. Bone threw back his head and pulled at his ear as he made rapid mental calculations, but upon realising the full significance of what the Vicar had in mind, brought it sharply back again with a quick retort. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ he cried. ‘If you’re thinking of buying back the old Scotch lassie’s jewellery and are a-thinking that I’d let you do it, then my name’s not Gentleman James. I liked her so well that I came here tonight with the lot in my pocket, so will you kindly do me the honour of getting them back to her with my compliments? I should like to have done it myself, but my presence at the Court House might have embarrassed the Squire.’ At which statement Mr. Bone smiled somewhat ruefully, thinking that perhaps after all the life of a gentleman of the road was rather a lonely one. Doctor Syn thanked him warmly, knowing it was hopeless to argue further against his friend’s generosity. ‘Besides,’ went on Jimmie Bone, ‘I shall have made a tidy profit on the effects I lifted from that swaggering Bully.’
‘Upon which,’ put in Doctor Syn quickly, ‘I shall refuse to take my tithes.’ And they both laughed heartily.
But the Highwayman’s voice took on a more serious note as he asked, ‘What do you intend to do with the blackguard, since you told me of his wager to catch the Scarecrow? The blustering fool. As if he had a hope in hell. Would you like me to deal with him?’
‘Time enough to think of that, my dear James,’ replied the Vicar, ‘but there is something I would like. A glace through the papers in his wallet.’
‘Easy enough,’ said Gentleman Jim. ‘’Tis intact save for the paper money which I changed into gold before it could be traced.’
‘A wise precaution,’ laughed the Vicar. ‘’You’re incorrigible, Jimmie. For here I find myself aiding and abetting when I should be showing you the errors of your ways.’ Saying this as he went through the wallet quickly, and finding the paper he required, handed it to Mr. Bone for his enlightenment.
‘An I O U for a thousand pounds, eh? From my Lord Cullingford. Is your reverence about to aid and abet some other arrogant fool?’
Doctor Syn shook his head. ‘No, I intend to show that misguided fool the error of his ways and make him mend them.’
‘And I have no doubts but you will do it good and proper, and by the time you’ve finished with him he’ll be glad to follow the straight and narrow path.’ Mr. Bone, glancing at the wallet which the Vicar had returned, remarked: ‘’Tis so full of other I O Us that he’ll not miss a paltry thousand. And since you’re about to help this wayward youngster, I’ll follow your example and relieve the others,’ and he threw a fistful of scribbled slips into the fire.
Thus dismissing the subject of the coach and its occupants they fell to discussing more serious matters, plotting the manner of the ‘runs’ for the following week, and the false ‘runs’ that should precede them, to throw Major Faunce and his Dragoons on a false scent.
Mr. Mipps, having cleared the refectory table, unrolled a large survey map of Romney Marsh, pinning it flat for easy perusal. Over this they stood, while Syn’s long, pointed finger moved this way and that, as he unfolded his plan of campaign and fully explained his tactics. Indeed they looked for all the world like generals setting their plan of action before a major battle, while Mr. Mipps, as fussy over details as any aide-de-camp, followed the series of actions, making copious notes and rough diagrams in his undertaker’s notebook. Thus they worked for an hour or so poring over maps, listing movements of the ships and cargoes, settling the number of pack-ponies required, and discussing the merits of local horses necessary for the night-riders. Not that the Scarecrow depended upon the contents of his followers’ stables. Far from it. He had imposed a custom that had become almost a law, for by the ingenious method of various chalk-marks upon stable doors, the ostlers, who for the most part were in the game, saw to it that the doors were left ajar. Indeed, many a fine gentleman, even the Squire himself, spoiling for a good day’s sport following hounds, had, much to his chagrin, found himself mounted upon a tired and jaded animal, who, by reason of its equine inability to gossip, was unable to inform its spurring master of the questionable activities it had been forced into all night.
Their plans completed and the maps put away they had a hasty meal, washing down an excellent cold collation with fine red wine from Burgundy.
‘And will you be needin’ Buttercups tonight?’ asked Mr. Mipps.
‘Yes, indeed, Mr. Mipps,’ returned Dr. Syn. ‘And the panniers packed. You know I go a-visiting.’
‘Visitin’ my — ’Ave some more cheese, sir? Old Mother ’Andaway, o’ course. Worst of these false runs, which I owns is necessary for the foxification1 of authorities, is that you has the same dangers but hasn’t the happlause what goes with the openin’ of a cask. Oh well, we’ll stow away now. By the way, sir, what about them you-know-whats? When are you goin’ to fetch ’em from you-know-where?’
‘That’s all settled Bristol fashion, Mr. Mipps,’ replied the Vicar as the Sexton refilled the glasses. ‘I found occasion to visit our old friend Captain Pedro whose vessel lay in London Pool. He will by this time have already sailed and is expected across Channel.’
‘Why, blow me down! That takes you back. Pedro, me old amigo. Remember what he done up in Tremadoc Bay?’ And Mipps plunged back to reminiscences of this old and trusted member of the Brotherhood. Indeed they became so engrossed that it needed three cries of the curlew to bring them to their feet. Mipps to the stables to saddle the Vicar’s fat white pony, Buttercups, while Jimmie Bone handed back the old Scotch lassie’s jewels and took his leave, after settling his rendezvous for the following day. Doctor Syn went up the first flight of stairs where on the landing stood his old sea-chest. From this he took a selection of queer garments, strange comforts for the sick old body he was about to visit, anyone might have thought who could have seen him later filling the baskets that hung on either side of his pony’s saddle. Thus it was that the Vicar of Dymchurch on his fat white pony, followed by his Sexton astride the churchyard donkey, Lightning, ambled along the Marsh road, bidding a cheery good night to a picket of Dragoons, who marvelled at the old gentleman’s fortitude when they themselves were feeling none too courageous as they watched for any signs of the Scarecrow’s ghostly riders through the shifting curtain of sea-cloud. Indeed, such courage as they had completely left them when but a few minutes after the fearless old gentleman and his whimsical follower had disappeared, there came upon them suddenly, out of the encircling mist, a wild apparition-hideous face gleaming with a phosphorescent glow — it seemed to be one with the fiendish black fury it rode. In a panic, the terrified Dragoons leapt into the nearest dyke, while thundering hooves skimmed their submerged heads, and unearthly cries screamed away into the night.
1 Mipps’s own word for being fooled.
Chapter 6
In which Lord Cullingford Gains More Than He Loses
Upon leaving the Vicarage where he had been not a little irritated by the feigned stupidity of that odd-looking servant with the ridiculous name, who, he felt, knew more than he cared to impart concerning the Vicar’s return, Lord Cullingford, forced by hunger, betook himself back to the Ship Inn. Indeed, he had eaten nothing all day, having spurred his horse to its extreme limit to reach Dymchurch before Captain Foulkes. So feeling low not only in body but in spirits, he walked the short distance through the village and was conscious that all eyes were upon him. It was extremely disconcerting as he passed by cottage windows to know that the curtains were being furtively peeped through, and that his presence was being discussed by the invisible inmates. His feeling of discomfiture increased, however, when upon gaining the fastness of the ‘Ship’ and getting no attention in the coffee room, he had, perforce, to go into the bar parlour which up to the moment of his entrance had sounded like a veritable Tower of Babel. On his appearance this noise suddenly stopped, as again every eye was upon him, and our fine gentleman, wishing that he could vanish through the floor, had to shoulder his way through closely knotted groups of yokels who watched him with stolid amusement, whilst those who had any liquor left in their tankards emptied them quickly, hoping by this to convey their meaning to this finely dressed gentleman who, they felt, should buy his intrusion with a free round of drinks.