Major Faunce cut in with: ‘Sounds more like our English Scarecrow to me. There’s his signature on the barrels.’
Cicely replied to this with spirit that since he had not been in France, how could he know anything about it? ‘Everyone in Paris these days looks like a scarecrow. They’ve all gone mad — wild. Scarecrow! L’Épouvantail! they all shout. But it might mean anyone. They might have meant me, for a looked scarecrow enough.’
‘They did not mean you, Miss Cicely!’ The voice came from the dark shadows by the front door. Harsh, impersonal, yet with a hint of humour, as it continued: ‘Your revolutionary clothes suited you admirably.’
All had turned suddenly upon the sound, and there was no mistaking who it was. There he stood, masked and mysterious, the dreaded Scarecrow himself — with two thousand guineas for his capture. No one could move, for he held two heavy pistols in his hands, and bowing said: ‘L’Épouvantail, at your service.’
This movement caused Major Faunce’s hand to fly to his belt, but the harsh voice rapped out: ‘Don’t move! I have you covered, gentlemen.’ And thereupon, seeing Mr. Mipps, who indeed appeared to be terrified, he ordered him to disarm the red-coats. ‘A wise precaution,’ laughed the Scarecrow, ‘since I see the Major’s fingers twitching to be at his belt. It would be foolish to disobey, and we don’t want to rob the Revenue man of the little surprise I have prepared for him. I must ask you, gentlemen, to oblige me by stepping into those barrels.’
Mr. Mipps had rapidly removed both swords and pistols from the soldiers, and at the moment resembled a miniature arsenal.
The Scarecrow spoke to him, ordering: ‘Here, you, little man. Assist the gallant red-coats into those convenient casks.’
A brave man, the Major’s first instinct was to refuse, but the Scarecrow went on inexorably: ‘Come, come, Major, if the ladies can use these to travel across the Channel, surely you will not mind a little trip along the sea-wall. Why, I envy you the experience of seeing Mr. Hyde’s face when he opens them. I dislike being kept waiting, Major. Make haste!’
There was nothing for it. The reluctant soldiers had to squeeze themselves into the barrels as best they could. Mr. Mipps having put down all the weapons save one, almost seemed to be enjoying prodding the Major in with his own sword, as with oaths and protests they disappeared, as Mr. Mipps, putting on the specially constructed lids, encouraged them to stay snug and have a nice trip.
The Scarecrow went swiftly to the door and opened it, calling three times the eerie cry of the curlew, and from the shadows came four masked and hooded figures. Upon swift orders from the Scarecrow they went to the barrels, waiting whilst he changed the wording on each, so that the chalked message now ran:
To Nick Hyde, Rev. Man, With Comps. From Scarecrow.
Then, lifting the barrels, they carried them to a covered cart that waited on the sea-wall. When all was ready to move, the Nightriders mounted their wild steeds and escorted the strange cargo swiftly and silently along the straight coast track to Sandgate.
Chapter 12
In which Cicely Forgets Her Gloves and Doctor Syn Forgets to Remember
Maria sat sulking — a forlorn heap — on the settle by the fire. She was tired and dispirited, with a head that throbbed from her cramped voyage. She was no longer the centre of interest and she resented it. Here she was, home and safe after her terrible experiences, only to find that the ghastly creature had followed them here. She couldn’t understand it. And what was more, Papa seemed to be amused, for there he was at the window laughing and watching the Scarecrow giving his dreadful orders. Maria felt that he should be paying more attention to his miserable daughter. As for Cicely — there she was looking as fresh as though she had just left her own bedroom at the Court House to go a-riding. Sitting astride the long, low fire-stool, in the most unladylike manner, she too seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it, looking up to the window and laughing. Maria could not laugh when she thought of that poor Major, and was annoyed because she would have liked to have seen more of him. He was really quite attractive; she wished she had not looked so dreadful. This thought plunged her into tears again, and it was then that the Scarecrow returned, closing the door, and sweeping them with a low bow.
‘I must apologize, ladies, for my somewhat crude sense of humour,’ he said, ‘but I fear I could not resist playing the eel to those elephants. You need your papers, of course, Sir Antony.’
The Squire looked surprised. Now where had he heard those words before? He tried to remember, but his mental efforts were interrupted by the Scarecrow saying: ‘May I express my gratitude, Miss Cicely, for your admirable attempt to keep my identity a secret?’
Cicely got up from the stool and went over to him boldly. Maria thought she went too close, and turned her head away disgusted.
‘It was the least I could do, sir,’ said Cicely in a warm tone. ‘And I might have succeeded had not this goose here blabbed all.’ She turned and entreated: ‘Papa, Maria, have you no word to say?’
Maria buried her head in a cushion. ‘I don’t want to speak to him. Papa, tell him to go away.’ And then, hoping for sympathy: ‘Oh, my poor head! ’Twas terrible, the discomfort.’
This did not produce the desired effect upon Cicely, who, with a show of spirit at her sister’s ill manners, said with some impatience: ‘Fiddlesticks,
Maria. The discomfort of a few hours is better than losing your head. Lud, miss, pretty though it is, ’tis sometimes foolish enough.’
The Squire, agreeing with Cicely that Maria should at least thank the gentleman, said that although he could not yet understand what had happened or what had not happened, he was naturally indebted to the Scarecrow for what he had done, but, damme, he was placed in such an awkward position. As Magistrate he ought to arrest him, at which the Scarecrow, bowing low, asked him if he would care to try.
Sir Antony, knowing that he had not a chance of doing so, blustered to hide his confusion and said that it would be a poor sort of gratitude. ‘And you, sir, know that, or you would not risk being here. But what I want to know is’ — and Sir Antony came to the point — ‘law-breaker as you are, what made you do it?’
‘Call it a whim if you like, sir,’ answered the strange creature, and he turned slightly towards Cicely, ‘though I am more pleased to call it my admiration for high courage. You have a daughter, Sir Antony, you could be proud to call son. Ask me how I knew of her brave venture? I have spies everywhere. Oh, call me what you will — rogue, scoundrel, rascal — aye, Sir Antony, even “smuggler”, but I have ever been in love with the gallant spirit of the Marsh.’
The Squire was beginning to understand. Cicely had done a brave thing. Indeed, she had done a generous thing too, for Maria had never been overkind to her. He warmed to his daughter, and he wished after all she had come and told him what she was going to do, though he knew in his heart of hearts that, being the clumsy fool he was, he would not have been able to help her. He warmed, too, towards this curious mystery of a man before him. He wished to ask him a lot of things, but all that came out was stammered in the usual tongue-tied fashion, that as Lord of the Level he appreciated his sentiments and admired his debt, and damme, admired his ingenuity, but it must have failed him lamentably this time if all he could think of was to send his daughters home to him in barrels. ‘Why the devil did you have to do that, sir?’
The Scarecrow laughingly explained, ‘Because, my dear sir, and I fear you know this is true, the one thing that always crosses the Channel safely is my contraband.’