the marquis's memory 22

 sorry to be so late.  Slept in, and not feeling good. A lot been going on.

 

Chapter 22

 

“I do-ant know if anyone knows this,” said Farmer Yarrow, sinking a heavy wet, “But someone left a horse and curricle in moi beet field.”

“What did yew du with un?” asked Noah-Nelson.

“Well, I tuk them ow mare intu moi stables; fair tremblin’ with exhaustion she were, and not cooled proper, neither. I put the curricle in moi yard. And umma thinkin’ it be powerful loike them ow mare wass bin driven boi thet intemperate duzzy-hidded clergyman with the horrible face fungus.”

“Ar, reckon thass prolly hisn, orl roight,” said Noah-Nelson. “On the run, he be, account o’ tryin’ tu kill the markiss, ar, an’ Mister Endicott, too, wass his lordship’s friend, tu pretend tu be the markiss.”

“How’s he plannin’ on doin’ of that?” scoffed Yarrow.

“Well, without half a dead sheep on his face, he du luk passing loike his lordship,” said Noah-Nelson, scratching his chin. “Account o’ how he turned up with wass left o’ his fizz well blacked up wi’ bruises-loike, an’ tryin’ tu show off how he kin ape his lordships mannerisms an’ gestures.”

“Well, thass a load o’ owd squit,” scoffed Yarrow. “Yew kin tell he int his lordship moment he oopens his mouth.  He sounds loike some koind o’ butler or bailiff, wass harf aerble tu talk loike a toff, but not quoite.”

“Ar, and it seems he’s a footman,” said Noah-Nelson, “So yew read that rightabout.”

“Wass he think he cin pass unself off as the markiss for?” asked Yarrow. “Reckon he mus’ be dicked in the nob.”

“Ar, well, mebbe he is,” said Noah-Nelson, “But thass a fact that he was gwine tu torture his lordship to foinde out more about his love loife an’ all, so craezy loike a fox he moight be, but he du be whoolly wicked, too.”

“Mebbe I should hev Sam and Abel watch where he left them ow carridge,” said Yarrow.

“Mebbe yew shood,” said Noah-Nelson. “Moind, larst thing Our sin of un, was gwine through the pond wi’ Ragged Robin ahoind him, but he were too quick for us tu catch up.”

Yarrow gave a long pull on his pint.

“Ar, well, that goat’s a caution, but he oony chases them as have kicked un,” he said.

“Well, wass yew’ve sown, so shall ye reap,” said Noah-Nelson, sententiously. “He whipped a welt on Sarey, too, so he do-ant be much good wi’ animiles, no he hint.”

“Well, we’ll git the hue an’ cry out arter un in the mornin’,” said Yarrow. “He’s a furriner; won’t be anywhere wass he can foind tu hoid wass locals do-ant know.”

“Ar, thet shood be good part o’ a fair bit o’ fun,” agreed Noah-Nelson.

 

oOoOo

 

As the sky lightened, Ragged Robin woke up, stretched, and considered. He might try butting the tree to add to the misery of his prisoner; but the tree was a fairly solid one, and Robin had respect for his head and horns. He knew to a nicety how much force was needed to tumble over a human without causing enough damage to be in serious trouble, but shaking a big tree like this was a little out of his league.

Besides, there would be bran mash in his stall for breakfast, and if he played his cards right and made enough of a nuisance of himself, second breakfast of porridge at the vicarage, and third breakfast of buttered toast from a thoroughly cowed Mr. Endicott at the Priory.

Robin lifted his tail to leave a final reminder of his opinion, and loped off up the lane, pausing only to exchange pleasantries with Napoleon, whose inadvertent intervention had prevented Robin’s game being spoiled with a gone to earth. In Robin’s opinion, yesterday had been a very good day indeed. Today could only be better if he could isolate young Sol Cubitt from his fellows and express his opinion on brats who threw stones.

But first, bran mash.

 

oOoOo

 

Many of the village would be late up, since Farmer Yarrow had sent out a summons. He had his grown sons to help out, but not everyone was as fortunate, and he wanted to make sure that all the small farms and smallholdings had their barns and ricks searched for a dangerous criminal, lest the same dangerous criminal decided to make his getaway by sneaking into farmhouses and threatening a farmer’s wife as soon as her man was off to his day’s work.

Most of the outlying farmers appreciated this concern, the exception being Bessie Pierce and her husband, Lije, who had gone to bed early and who did not appreciate being rudely interrupted by the ire of Black Scots Charlie, who would, stated an irritable and naked Bessie, from her bedroom window, have let them know all about any other intruder and would likely have marked him up as well.

This was true enough; though Charlie was not a rooster who appeared at the Cockpit, any owners of roosters who did were glad of this reprieve. Where Ragged Robin had a sense of humour, Black Scots Charlie had a sense of entitlement, and a mean streak.

The impromptu hue and cry fled before the rooster’s ire.

They could, at least, be fairly sure that James was in nobody’s barn waiting to terrorise anyone in a house.

 

oOoOo

 

James himself could have told them this, and might even have given himself up had the hue and cry come to his overnight perch. He managed to doze, fitfully in his tree, and woke up to realise that the goat appeared to have gone.

Cautiously, he descended, and stood in Robin’s offering. He growled, being beyond curse words.

He noted that if he had run along the staithe, he might have leaped into the small sailing vessel at the far end, where surely some sailors would have come to his rescue. He was incorrect in this thought, as the crew of the Calypso lived at the Priory, though checking her over daily.

James also noticed a small boat on the estuarine mud, with the tide well out. How hard, James asked himself, could it be to row a boat? Effete aristocrats rowed at Oxford and Cambridge. Even that red-haired chit had seemed to think she could row. And the river was narrow at the moment. If he pushed the boat to the edge, he would not have to row far, and could walk from the other bank to the edge of the river bed. It would be easy.

James set off along the staithe, and scrambled down beside the small rowing boat, the one Pip had rescued Geoffrey in.

He jumped the last few feet, and felt a momentary disquiet as he sank into muddy sand. But it was only mud, mud was soft stuff. He hung on to the staithe – the most sensible thing he could do, as it happened – and pulled one foot out.

The other went in further. James let go of the staithe, to try to heave up the other leg, and managed to flounder out of reach of it. He was now up to his thighs and could feel the slow, but inexorable suction of the thixotropic sands so prevalent along the Orwell and the Stour.[1] James screamed in real terror.

 

oOoOo

 

Geoffrey and Pip were a trifle preoccupied with their own cries of mutual pleasure as they woke up with each other to be immediately aware of the distress of a third party. However, as they rose and took a desultory wash in the water Pip kept for the purpose, in a water-butt filled by rain, they became aware of the frantic yelling and screaming. They dressed, hurriedly, and left the sty, though careful to shut it against casual discovery.

“Cuh!” said Pip. “Some duzzy fule hev got stuck.” Her native accent asserted itself over this shocking occurrence.

“There’s rope on the Calypso,” said Geoffrey.

They ran along the staithe, and looked down on the terrified James, who looked up into the face of a wrathful marquis, and screamed louder.

“NO! you’re dead and you’ve come to drag me to the grave!” whinnied the footman.

“If he doesn’t want to be heaved out, we could always leave him there,” said Pip. “It’ll please the crabs.”

“If he isn’t sucked under before the tide comes in to drown him first,” said Geoffrey.

“Five guineas says he drowns in the tide coming in before he’s sucked deep enough to drown in the mud,” said Pip.

“Taken,” said Geoffrey.

“No! Please! Help me!” yammered James.

“Seriously, you are asking for aid from the man you intended to murder?” said Geoffrey.

“But you’re no murderer! If you leave me here, you’re killing me!”

“Not in law,” said Geoffrey. “Nothing says I have to rescue you from a situation you got yourself into, you know. I can stand and watch the tide creep in – and you can see for yourself, that it’s now closer than it was – and you can also see by the seaweed on the staithe how it comes right up the side there; and all I have to do is… nothing.”

“Oh, Gawd, oh, Gawd, oh, milord, please don’t let me drown!” cried James.

“You’ll like as not hang for kidnapping me, you know,” said Geoffrey. “Now, of course, if you swore to plead guilty and tell them all about it, I could ask them for clemency and see you transported.”

“On my oath, milord, I’ll plead guilty! Just get me out of here!” wailed James, who could see the speed of the tide race.

“I’ll be back with a rope,” said Geoffrey, running to the Calypso.

“If he doesn’t get back in time, would you care to wager which gets you first, the crabs or the lobsters?” said Pip.

“You’re a monster!” moaned James.

“You whipped Effie’s prize sow, and planned to torture my Geoffrey; I heard you say so,” said Pip. “You’re a pretty vile character. I just want to know which one not to eat for fear of eating you second-hand, as you might say.”

James was inchoate with terror by the time Geoffrey got back with the rope, and some waves were lapping into the pool into which he was sinking.

“Put a loop of rope about your chest, under your arms and tie it off,” said Geoffrey.

James managed a knot which slipped as soon as Geoffrey put a turn about one of the uprights of the staithe to help him pull.

“Oh, what a little girl he is,” said Pip, tying a workmanlike running knot. “Put the loop around your chest, you ninny.”

It looked horribly like a noose to James, but he did as he was bid; and Pip ran the standing part of the rope in a figure of eight around two stanchions for a better grip. Geoffrey pulled.

The water in the hole actually helped reduce the suction, and with James clinging to the rope, and Pip helping Geoffrey, James was pulled clear with a horrible squelching sucking noise.

“Really, James, you might at least say, ‘Pardon me,’” joked Geoffrey.

“I hate you,” said James, with feeling.

“Really? I’ve never given you that much thought, myself,” said Geoffrey.

Now James was free, Geoffrey and Pip might manhandle him onto the staithe. Geoffrey promptly wound the rest of the rope around his body, pinioning his arms and Pip absently took the end of the rope to tie it off in a manner which looked fairly secure to Geoffrey.

“Now what do we do with him?” asked Pip.

“A drink, for pity’s sake,” moaned James.

“I was going to leave him on the Calypso, go and get some breakfast, and then sail into Ipswich with him to hand into charge of someone, along with the evidence of his letter and commonplace book,” said Geoffrey.

“You burgled my room?” cried  James.

“Not your room; Simeon Pigeon’s room,” said Geoffrey. “You hired it. But you got thrown out.”

“Let him have some brandy,” said Pip.

“What, compassion?” asked Geoffrey.

“No, I want him so drunk he can’t try to escape,” said Pip.

“Good thought,” said Geoffrey.

They marched James onto the Calypso, and Pip tied his feet whilst Geoffrey went below for some brandy. He poured most of the bottle forcibly into James.

“I’ll take you back to Effie,” said Geoffrey.

Pip sighed.

“I suppose I do need to face the music,” she said. “Just get him locked up as soon as you’ve breakfasted.”

“I will, my love,” said Geoffrey.

 

 

Geoffrey walked Pip up to Effie’s cottage, and Pip opened the door and went in.

She was immediately accosted by Effie.

“Philippa! Where have you been? You naughty child, what have you been up to?”

Pip turned round, opened the door, and walked out.

She was walking down the road before Effie realised what was happening, and followed her.

“Philippa! How dare you! You have not even answered me.”

Philippa turned, her eyes blazing with fury.

“How dare I? how dare you!” she hissed. “You know where I went; Pigeon said he would come and tell you. I went to rescue Geoffrey, and you should know that.”

“But that was so foolish, Philippa! You should have told me, and we could have woken Mr. Endicott to go and rescue him!”

“Oh, really? And when you and Mr. Endicott went chasing him did you find him?”

“He… he must have turned off, and we were delayed because Mr. Endicott had to stop to help me up,” said Effie.

“And then you turned towards Ipswich because you never thought of him going to Shotley,” said Pip. “And doubtless if I had wasted time persuading you that Geoffrey was in danger, and I wager you’d have tried to brush it off as childish imagination, then you and Mr. Endicott, nice people as you are but with no more imagination between you than a haddock, would have gone off again towards Ipswich. Whereas I hung on the back of James’s curricle, until he slowed at Shotley Point where he tied up Geoffrey in a fisherman’s shack. He left him there, having hit him too hard, and I cut his ropes, got him into a boat, and rowed upriver with him, and hid him in my sty for safety. And there we stayed until he was sensible enough to move.  And you knew this already, because Pigeon told you,” she added. “But knowing isn’t enough; you call me naughty, which is more than Geoffrey did. He was grateful to me for saving his life. I wager you wouldn’t care if he had been tortured to death, so long as I had a clean gown and a bonnet.”

“That’s enough of that, miss! Tortured to death, indeed, your imagination is running riot,” said Effie, sharply. “And who was this James you mention? It was Matthew Marks who caused all this.”

“I heard what James James said, and he told Geoffrey he was going to torture him,” said Pip. “Really, Effie, what sort of fool are you? A man in an obviously false beard is also going to give a false name, and Geoffrey recognised him as a footman, who liked to give impressions of his master, and looked enough alike him to convince himself he could kill Geoffrey and take his place.”

“Oh, that is too far-fetched!” cried Effie.  “You had better forget the romance you are making for yourself, and come inside; I forgive you, child, for being so foolish.”

“You’re trying to pretend to yourself that nothing happened now we are both safe, aren’t you?” said Pip. “Do you know, I don’t think I care to come inside ever again if you try to punish me for telling the truth. I may, after all, have to testify in court about it. I’m going to live on the Calypso; and when Geoffrey comes back with the crew, I will tell him that you tried to make me lie about it. Are you in cahoots with James James, the former footman? Did he offer you the chance to be marchioness if Geoffrey died, and he succeeded in taking his place?”

“Philippa! How can you make such a suggestion? I love Mr. Endicott, and I would never do anything so infamous, anyway.”

“Well, if you accuse me of having an overactive imagination, madam, I shall use it to wonder what is your motive in trying to silence me,” said Pip turning and walking away.

 

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[1] I’ve lost a perfectly good pair of riding boots in that mud, rescuing a little idiot who couldn’t obey instruction.