“My dear friend, you are right to feel aggrieved and I apologize if we have seemed over-secretive. Let me try to explain how the situation was and now is, though the story starts even before my time.”
As the Rat stoked the fire, and the Otter served up more mushroom stew, there unfolded a story so astonishing that the Mole could only shake his head at the folly of it all, and sigh at how one person could destroy the pleasure of so many; and then sigh again that the many should have allowed it to happen…
In the days of Toad’s father, generally known as Toad Senior, Toad Hall certainly had been the fountainhead of things social and celebratory along the River Bank, just as the Villagers had told the Mole earlier.
Toad’s father was good-natured and benign, and though it is perhaps true that he spoilt and overindulged his son — the Toad they knew and grew irritated at and yet very much loved — at least he never put on the airs and graces that the wealthy sometimes do, and he did his best to stop Toad doing so either.
As for Christmas at the Hall, it was the local high point of the year. and Toad Senior saw to it that those in the Village who regularly supplied the Hall with the goods and services that a great establishment needs were remembered and rewarded. So too were those individuals and families who needed support when the cold months of winter descended. In fact, there was not a family in the area who in one way or another did not find that their festive fire shone more brightly for the concern, generosity and seasonal thoughtfulness of the occupants of Toad Hall.
The trouble began a year after Toad Senior’s sad demise, which took place at Christmas.
“Didn’t Toad step into his shoes and continue the Hall’s tradition?” inquired the Mole, for this aspect of the matter had not been touched on at all by Mr Baltry or the Parish Clerk.
“Of course he wanted to,” said the Badger. “That animal may have many faults but none can deny his generosity of spirit and of pocket, and his willingness to help others, if only he can be persuaded to forget himself for a moment! Yes, I believe that he very much wanted to continue his father’s festive tradition of generosity. But you see, Mole, he was utterly prevented from doing so!”
Up to this moment, Mole’s expression had been simply curious; now, as the truth emerged, it darkened, and his brow furrowed.
After some months of grief and mourning Toad recovered sufficiently to host the Village’s Summer Fete. When autumn came and the nights lengthened, Toad joined in the Village’s Guy Fawke’s celebration in relatively high spirits, and all seemed set fair for Yuletide. None doubted that things would be much as they were before, though perhaps a little subdued that year out of respect for the memory of the late Toad Senior.
Then, in early December, a telegraphic communication arrived at Toad Hall for Toad. The source of the message was that smoke-blackened city in the north of the country to where Toad’s Uncle Groat, his father’s younger brother, had recently retired after a lifetime of fortune-making in the wide world.
“Of that wretched scion of the family, I shall say no more than this,” growled the Badger, interrupting himself. “He is Toad Senior’s younger brother and unfortunately he seems never to have recovered from the fact that, being the second-born, he is not heir to Toad Hall and its estates.
“As a consequence, he developed from an early age a grasping habit and a determination to have more, or make more, than his brother.
“As a young toad in residence at the Hall, Groat caused nothing but trouble and heartache to both his parents and older brother alike and finally left the country rather under a cloud. I believe he fled to North America, taking the family silver with him.
“Even then, and from afar, he sought to contest his brother Toad Senior’s claim to the Toad Hall estate, and to wrest from him all his inheritance on wholly specious grounds. A good deal of money was lost by Toad Senior defending himself against this mischievous action.
“When that failed, Groat returned incognito, having learned the arts of agitation and clandestine warfare in America, which is a hotbed of such things, and sought to whip up the weasels and stoats in the Wild Wood to revolution. In fact, he very nearly succeeded in having them advance as a body upon the Town and then on Parliament, bringing scandal and notoriety to the neighbourhood.
“Finally, when the long arm of the law reached out to grasp him — for selling shares in a nonexistent company and persuading many thousands of aged gentlefolk to part with their savings — he was arrested, arraigned and sentenced to twelve years’ hard labour in one of our strictest moorland prisons.
“When he was set free he never darkened the door of Toad Hall again, but with a small handout from his ever generous older brother, who extracted from all who knew about the affair, including myself, the promise never to mention it again, Groat established a business in the north. There, by dint it must be said of a habit of unstinting hard work learned in gaol and wise investment, he became very rich indeed. I believe his wealth increased still further when he set sail back to America, and there invested his money in the railway and steel industry, and latterly, though now very old, in the oil business, as they call it.”
“Would that be cooking oil, such as is used in certain of the bigger culinary establishments?” enquired the Mole.
Badger shook his head.
“We are not talking of frying pans, Mole, but of motor—cars. I have heard it said that Toad’s Uncle Groat became the richest toad in America, till he returned to his home in the north and retired.”
“My!” said the Mole, rather impressed. “But I still don’t see how this affects Toad’s Christmas.”
“You soon will,” said the Badger. “I mentioned that after Toad Senior’s demise, and some two decades after anybody had heard anything directly from Groat, a telegraphic communication came for Toad from a northern city. By then most folk along the River Bank had forgotten all about Groat — though some of the older weasels and stoats still revered his memory, and practised certain arcane rituals before his effigy in the deeper shadows of the Wild Wood. In fact, I have reason to believe they still do — hence our concern for your safety earlier this evening.”
Mole looked anxiously at the windows of the Badger’s parlour, where leafless branches fretted at the panes, and he shuddered at the thought of what terrible tortures and cannibalistic practices he might have been witness to, and victim of, had it really been the Wild Wooders who had taken him that evening.
He looked to the Badger to continue the tale, glad of the comfort of the fireside. To tell the truth, the Mole was more thrilled than anything else by what he had heard. He had no idea that Toad had such a colourful relative, and could now better understand why the Badger had always kept such a close eye on Toad’s behaviour. It was plain that in that troublesome animal there was as much of his uncle’s criminal and revolutionary tendencies as his father’s natural goodness.
Badger went on to explain that the telegraph from Uncle Groat announced that Nanny Fowle, formerly nanny to Groat and Toad Senior, and her daughter had fallen on hard times. Groat felt he had a duty of care towards them, and they would therefore be spending Christmas at Toad Hall, and Toad was to see to it “that every courtesy was extended to them, and no trouble or expense spared.”
Groat added, “It will do you good to think of others before yourself, which I understand is not a virtue your father ever taught you.”
“That’s rich, coming from him,” murmured Mole.
“By that time, Nanny Fowle was very old, and her daughter was no longer a girl but a woman, and no longer a married woman but a widow. She goes by the name of Mrs Ffleshe.”
“With two ‘ff’s’ and an ‘e’,” murmured the Mole almost without realising it.
“Be that as it may, Mole, Groat’s telegraph concluded with these ominous words in reference to Mrs Ffleshe:
‘You will not find her in any way difficult or unpleasant provided you accede to her occasional whim and agree at once to opinions she may from time to time
feel inclined to express with regard to your domestic arrangements, and upon three subjects in which she believes herself to be something of an expert: religion, politics and members of any sex other than her own, namely those who are of the male gender. On such issues I advise that silence is golden, and the virtue of turning the other cheek is to be practised. I suggest it is not much to ask of you these few days each year, and I know you will find it in your heart to accommodate her in the manner to which she likes to be accustomed.’
“Toad had never heard of Mrs Ffleshe, but he knew a little of Nanny Fowle, for his father, Toad Senior, used to wake up of a night in a cold sweat crying out her name in terror. Toad was told that she used to lock up his father in the coal cellar without a light as punishment, and steal his nursery food and eat it for herself. On another occasion she took him and Groat into the Village and showed them certain instruments of medieval trial and torture in the Court House there and threatened to use them if they did not behave better and do what she said. Such was Nanny Fowle.”
“And this lady and her daughter were those imposed on Toad by Groat?” said the Mole.
“Quite so’ said Badger. “People often feel they owe a debt to those who have taken advantage of them. Be that as it may, so many years had passed that Toad, who is by nature generous of heart if often foolish of mind, said he would accept the guests into the Hall and even invited Groat for that same Christmas. He began to grow suspicious, however, when Groat excused himself on rather dubious grounds. Toad then tried to withdraw his offer of hospitality, but swiftly received another communication, which read like a command. It reminded Toad that he, Groat, was still Lord of the Manor and might if he wished arrest any who did not show him fealty.
“You are probably not aware, Mole, that there is in the Village not only a Court House but a penal institution. Toad was left in no doubt by his uncle where he would be incarcerated if he continued to resist his uncle’s request. It was at this point that Toad realised that things were not quite as he had thought and the terrible possibility dawned on him that Groat might dispossess him if he wished.
“In his panic, he hurried here and sought my counsel. We took legal advice and the lawyer unexpectedly suggested that Toad should agree to the visit, and for a very disturbing reason.
“‘Having reviewed the papers in this case,”‘ said he in a lengthy letter to Toad, “and studied your Uncle’s latest communication, I fear that it appears that with your father’s demise he inherits a vestigial, residual and pejorative right of access to Toad Hall, and that as Lord of the Manor and Chairman of the Trustees of his brother’s will, he has the casting vote in any determination of its domestic arrangements, offices and income. Since he appears at this stage not to have any wish to exercise that right our advice is not to provoke him, but to accede to his wishes with regard to visitors.”
This was alarming indeed. It was news to Toad that a trust controlled Toad Hall and that Groat was chairman of it. Further enquiry established that this matter, and the question of Groat’s jurisdiction over Toad Hall as Lord of the Manor and its estate and income, was not quite as certain as his lawyer implied, but clarification would require a lengthy and expensive action through the Court of Protection, probably followed by an appeal before the Judges Inquisitorial — a prospect that naturally terrified the cowardly Toad.
“Such, Mole, were the unhappy circumstances leading up to that fateful first visit of Groat’s former nanny to Toad Hall. I will not go into details of how appalling this imposition has been, except to say that if Nanny Fowle was bad, Mrs Fleshe was far worse, being every host’s idea of an interfering, imposing guest.
“Why, I was there myself for dinner when she summoned the Cook and, having berated her in public, dismissed her before Toad could say anything! One year, she turned Toad out of his bedroom, complaining of the cold in her own, and to my certain knowledge when her friends come a-visiting — which they do at Toad’s expense — she banishes him to his old nursery, saying to his face that he is not her social equal and she does not wish to be let down my him.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed the Mole.
“In short, she is rude, grasping, importunate, snobbish, unkind, ungrateful and a bully, and has poor Toad in her thrall. He has become so ashamed of her treatment of him over the years, and of her rudeness to his friends, that five years ago he begged us never to mention her name or her existence.”
“Yes, he sat in this very room, Mole, and he wept openly,” said the Rat. “He told us that he is powerless to prevent her coming, and unable to stop her behaving as she does. She has now ruined his Christmas for many years and were it not for the loyalty and devotion of his housekeeper Miss Bugle he would long since have departed this life over Christmastide out of sheer misery and exhaustion.”
“But this is outrageous!” cried the Mole, rising. “And to think this lady is not even a relative! Something must be done!”
“Do you not think that we agree with you?” said the Badger. “We have racked our brains over the matter and can find no solution that is not criminal and might lead us to the dock. We have honoured our promise to Toad not to mention these matters to others. Yet the fact is that she has ruined not only Toad’s Christmas but the Village’s as well, for she adamantly refuses to allow him to purchase any seasonal supplies or offer charity in that quarter.
“One year, when he attempted to give money to the Village to make up for this loss of custom, the weasels reported him to her. She told Groat and Groat warned Toad not to do such a foolhardy thing again. ‘Charity ends at home’ were the words he used, if I remember aright.
“Nanny Fowle has long since passed on, but a pattern has been set and every year Mrs Ffleshe comes to stay for the festive season, often bringing guests whom she wishes to impress, and inviting others to give the impression that she is mistress of Toad Hall.
“Such is Toad Hall’s sad festive history in recent years. You were quite right in what you said earlier — there is a malaise along the River Bank. The Hall was always the centre of things here and without it the heart has gone out of Christmas, and I believe in the Village as well.
“I confess that it is not helped by the fact that we —that is Ratty and I — are bachelors, and so have no family with whom to celebrate Christmas. We have fallen out of the habit of it. As for Otter here, though he has his son Portly, he does not advertise the fact that Portly’s mother departed this area for sunnier climes some time ago.
“I did not mean to pry,” said the Mole, much embarrassed by this revelation.
“It’s all right, old fellow,” said the Otter jovially, “there are plenty of others about who are only too happy to furnish the Otter household with mince pies and suchlike when Christmas comes. That’s why I tend to be otherwise engaged at this time of year — fending em of! As for Portly, he is spending this Christmas with his mother, which is another reason that I am not much inclined to celebrate: I miss him!”
“O my,” said the Mole who now began to see the complexity of the situation. “But at least Mrs Ffleshe’s power does not extend to Mole End!”
“Mercifully not. But we felt it best not to trouble you with these matters.”
“I thought it was because I had done something to offend you!”
“My dear Mole!” cried the Badger, clapping him on the shoulder. “I am sure I speak for the others as well when I say that your presence amongst us this last year has been a pleasure and a joy, and we would be gravely distressed if you ever thought otherwise. As for your invitation to spend a little time with you over the festive season I for one apologise for my earlier reluctance and if you’ll oblige me by asking me again I will accept unreservedly.”
“I will oblige, I will!” cried the Mole happily, looking at once to the other two.
“We’ll accept as well if you’ll have us!” said the Rat and the Otter together.
“I shall send you the invitations tomorrow without fail,” cried the Mole.
�
�Good, then that matter at least is settled” said the Badger. “Now, Mole, it is our tradition, though one that seems very pale when set against what used to happen, to visit Toad on Christmas morning, if only to remind him that he has friends in the outside world. Mrs Fleshe is invariably rude, and her guests likewise, and poor old Toad is barely allowed to speak to us. We rarely stay longer than a few minutes. After that we retire to one or other of our homes and have a little repast and then go our separate ways, for our spirit is not in it. Perhaps this year…”
“Why, this year you’ll come to Mole End and I’ll give you a welcome that will keep you with me rather longer than a few minutes!” said the Mole, almost dancing about with excitement and glee.
“We shall be very obliged to you, Mole. Eh, Ratty? Otter?”
They nodded their heads so vigorously, and showed such pleasure on their faces to see the Mole’s pleasure, that it seemed for a time that not only were the trials and tribulations of the day quite forgotten, but the bigger problem of Mrs Ffleshe was as nothing too.
Soon the excitement of the day and the lateness of the hour began to take their toll. First, a gentle snoring came from Otter’s chair and then the sound of slow breathing from Rat’s. Till at last, with a final sigh, Badger rose and retired to the solace of his bed.
Which left just Mole awake, staring at the dying fire and pulling his plaid tighter about his chin but feeling happier than he had for weeks as he planned his menus for the coming Christmas feast and remembered how long it was since he had been honoured to have such company for Christmas. Company he could not better, not better at all, except — except —”Except for Toad, for he should be there as well, and we must see about that’ said the Mole. His face hardened with new resolution and he added, “We shall find a way to reinstate the festive season along the River Bank. O hang it! Someone must do something and it seems that someone must be me!”
The Willows at Christmas Page 5
