But the soldier, by now thoroughly suspicious, pursued the subject still further. ‘But you didn’t intend to remain in the dark as to what was in ’em, eh?’
At this the Squire lost patience and exploded: ‘Well, dammit, man, what did you expect us to do — stand and look at ’em? It’s got my name on it. Read it yourself. A gift’s a gift. That’s Law.’
‘A bribe more like, and that’s not Law,’ parried the Major.
After so many years together in wild adventure, there had sprung up between Mipps and his master a system of signalling that had become almost thought-reading. During the above altercation this had been put into silent action, which resulted in the most innocent-seeming interruption from Mr. Mipps: ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sirs, for interruptin’, but the Vicar asked me to remind him about Mrs. Wooley’s complaint.’
The Vicar thanked Mr. Mipps warmly, as indeed he had forgotten all about it. He begged the gentlemen to excuse him, but he must ride out and give the old woman a few words of cheer and keep her in good spirits.
‘Then,’ said Major Faunce, intending not to lose sight of any possible clue, ‘you’ll not object to my sending a couple of my men with you, to see that her taste in spirits is not barrels of smuggled brandy?’
Doctor Syn replied almost gratefully: ‘Not at all, Major Faunce. On the contrary, I enjoy company on a long ride, and no doubt the poor old body will give them a glass of her parsnip wine for their trouble.’ Mr. Mipps helped him on with his long coat, and the Vicar thanked him, adding an extra benediction on his good servant for reminding him of his duties. Then turning to the Major he requested: ‘Pray, Major Faunce, do not fail to let me know what spirit those barrels contain. I must preach a very strong sermon against it next Sunday,’ and with the pleasantest of smiles he went out to mount his fat white pony, whilst the Sergeant gave instructions to the two troopers that Doctor Syn was to be escorted across the Marsh and watched, adding that in his opinion the Major had gone a bit too far, being suspicious of a poor old gentleman what was only doing his duty.
Indeed, the Major was at that moment thinking the same thing himself and feeling a trifle ashamed for having entertained the slightest suspicions about such a good and kindly soul as the Vicar of Dymchurch. If, however, he too had been able to read thoughts, he might have taken even stronger measures.
Chapter 11
More Compliments from the Scarecrow
Sir Antony was peeved. It was deucedly embarrasin’ bein’ left alone with this Faunce. It wasn’t like Christopher to let a fellow down, and he felt he had been left in the lurch. Indeed, the whole thing was Christopher’s fault, and it wasn’t like him to make mistakes. Why had he insisted on letting the fellows in? Easiest thing in the world to have sent them away. Could have told ’em the Revenue man wasn’t there. Yes, he decided that he definitely did not like that Revenue man. And here he was alone with Faunce and didn’t know what to say. The barrels were sittin’ there lookin’ at him. He’d got the devil of a thirst, and something was makin’ Mipps grin. Righteous indignation made him breathe more heavily than usual, as he punctuated each thought with a snort. Thus it was that the spigot became loosened, and during a mighty intake of breath which of necessity moved the Squire’s diaphragm, it fell with a clatter to the floor. Fortunately Major Faunce’s back was turned so he was able to kick it beneath the settee. He was so pleased with this manœuvre that he did not even notice that he had done it with his bad toe, but upon the Major’s turning round he decided that some explanation was due for the noise and the movement of his foot beneath the settee, and bethought himself of the Vicarage cat, knowing full well that it lived in the stables.
Making a series of jabbing movements with his foot as though inducing the playful animal to come out and chase his toe, he did some clicking noise with his tongue, and in the language usually employed when addressing cats he endeavoured to make his performance convincing. ‘Nice Pussy, then. Turn along. Puss, puss, buss.’
Once having embarked upon this course, he felt at a loss to know how to stop, and was about to go down on his hands and knees as further proof of its existence when Mipps came to his rescue by saying, in warning tones: ‘I shouldn’t, sir. She’s ever so spiteful.’
Straightening himself with a, ‘P’raps you’re right. N’other little family on the way?’ he gave Mipps a look of deep gratitude. Mipps, from a position of vantage, returned this with a confidential wink and a, ‘Yes. H’aint nature wonderful? D’you know, Squire, who I think it is this time? Mrs ’Oneyballs’s black Tom. ’Orrid cat. Roguish.’
The Squire, though grateful, felt that it really wasn’t fair of Mipps to pin a family of kittens on to Mrs. Honeyballs’s unsuspecting Tom.
Major Faunce wondered how he should next proceed, and, having discussed the matter in whispers with his Sergeant, had no mind to stay listening to kitten talk. He was extremely tired after two successive fruitless nights upon the Marsh, and in spite of the Squire’s presence, he determined to take charge. So approaching the barrels he said: ‘Well, Sir Antony, I suppose wwe had better get these over to the Court House and put in bond, and that will end my responsibility in the matter.’ Mipps, however, had other ideas upon the subject, saying he didn’t know how he was going to get ’em there, unless it were such good spirits as the barrels grew wings, and flew there. ‘I’d give an ’and myself only what with my gravedigger’s elbow I haven’t got a lift left.’
It was then that the Major realized that for once this odd little Sexton was talking sense, and he cursed himself for having sent his last two men with Doctor Syn, so he said to the Squire: ‘Egad, sir, the fellow’s right,’ and not wishing to admit his mistake, tried to cover it up with: ‘This is really the business of the Revenue man.’
The Squire saw his chance and pounced. ‘Well then, sir, let’s dispense with the Revenue and open ’em here — out of hand. ’Twill not be agains the law. Magistrate. Witness.’ He glowed with anticipation and thought it would serve Christopher right, too, for not being here to share. ‘Test it together. I give us full authority.’
Major Faunce agreed, saying that he didn’t mind showing Mr. Hyde that he could do his job a deal better than Mr. Hyde could his, and ordered the Sergeant to assist Mr. Mipps in opening the barrels. But Mr. Mipps needed no assistance. Indeed, he was there already, attacking the Vicar’s cask with the knowledge of an expert, when he suddenly stopped and said excitedly: ’Ere, where’s the bung-’ole? ’Asn’t go no bung-’ole. Something wrong with this barrel. Got a false top. ’Ope it ain’t goin’ to blow us sky ’igh.’
Mr. Mipps was nearly blown sky-high, for as he spoke the top of the barrel flew off and a pistol was presented at his head, as over the rim of the cask the head and shoulders of a girl appeared, three-cornered hat slightly awry. Dazzled by the sudden light she commanded them in ringing tones to put up their hands.
‘Haut les mains,’ she cried. ‘Vous-aussi. Les mains. Rendez vous tous.’
The hands of all four men had shot up in bewilderment as they stared at this wild little figure, hair a mass of tumbled auburn curls, her lovely face alight with fierce excitement, which, in the next instant, and upon astonished cries from Squire and Sexton, changed to an expression of surprise and wonderment as, looking quickly round the room, she recognized it. ‘Good Heavens!’ she cried. ‘’Tis the Vicarage. And we are not in France. Oh, Mr. Mipps, I thought you were a revolutionary rabble. Papa! Then we are safe. We are across the Channel. He did smuggle us, Papa. Don’t look so scared. ’Tis Cicely.’ The Squire, in his astonishment, had forgotten to drop his hands, and she continued, laughing gaily, ‘Pray drop your hands, sir. ’Tis Cicely.’ His fright and relief at seeing her turning to anger, he almost shouted, ‘Dammit, girl, what does this mean? Lud, Cicely, what a fright you gave me. Thought you were going to stay with the Pemburys. What do you mean, miss, going off without a word? What do you mean, miss, causing such anxiety? Damme, I shall need an explanation — I’m your father. Popping out of a barrel like a jack-in-the-box. In the Devil’s name where have you been, miss?’