“There are no buts about it, Mrs Ffleshe,” said the Badger, taking charge. “The master and, I believe, owner of this establishment, has suffered a slight accident and needs to rest, and I intend to see that he does.”
“Sir!” said Mrs Ffleshe, barring their way. “You are a brute to speak to a lady so!”
“Madam!” said the Badger, “I command you to get out of our way or I shall be forced to conclude that the only brute in this establishment is of the female gender!”
“How dare you, sir!” said she, but back away she did, and in they went, with Miss Bugle following, leaving Toad’s tormentor and her guests fuming by the door.
VIII
Councils of War
“We must do something about this situation, for it simply cannot be allowed to continue a moment longer!” said the Badger later that day, when Toad had recovered somewhat.
They were in Toad’s bedroom, and Toad was now warm and comfortable, his lower half encased by damask sheets and the best lamb’s-wool blankets, and his top half propped up by a good many lace-edged pillows, which Miss Bugle had brought in for him.
Spread about the room were the remnants of the luncheon that Mrs Ffleshe’s guests had enjoyed more formally in the dining room below. It had been evident even to her that Toad could not be left to recover alone, or his friends left unfed, and so — with some firm prompting from Miss Bugle — trays of food had been brought up, and an enjoyable time had by all.
There had been apologies to Mole, for he had had everything ready for his own party, but though he was grateful for their concern he was, in truth, much happier that Toad was sharing this part of the day with them, albeit in unusual and dramatic circumstances. His own party could wait a day or two longer.
No reference was made by any of them at first to Toad’s flight and desperate leap into the River. The circumstances of his doing so had been witnessed and understood by the Mole and the Badger, and the drama had served most of all to underline the extremes to which he had been finally pushed by Mrs Ffleshe.
It was as well that they had been there, as well that they had known how to act, and that the Badger had the firmness to insist on Toad’s return to Toad Hall and the privacy of his bedroom. The foolhardiness of Toad’s action and the fact that it had endangered the lives of others was not discussed, least of all by Toad himself.
However, lying there at his ease as he now was, the centre of attention, his friends clustered about what might have been his death bed, and clutching a glass of his very best champagne (which, as he explained, was for medicinal rather than celebratory reasons), he had begun to see his action in an heroic light.
“Did I hesitate? I did not! Did I tremble? No! I saw that a bold statement had to be made, and one that she would understand and fear! One of us had to be the first to cast a stone at the Goliath of the River Bank and naturally it had to be myself Death and oblivion? Did I risk it in the name of our shared liberty? I did. Did I think of myself? I did not. Therefore, my friends, I ask you now to raise your glasses in a toast to one who can fairly claim this day to have fought the good fight and —”
“Toad, I must ask you to desist,” growled the Badger. “We are all very glad you survived your own foolishness but the less said on the subject now and in the future the better. Instead, I must ask you as I ask us all to turn our minds to the matter in hand. This annual visitation of Mrs Fleshe, which has been the ruination of so much, cannot be allowed to continue. To make it plain: we must decide upon a course of action that will rid us of Mrs Ffleshe. I hesitate to say such things about a lady, but then she is no lady who drives her host so far!”
“She is a brute,” observed the Rat.
“She is worse than a mother-in-law;” opined the Otter, who had a distant experience of that particular species of female.
“I confess that she is certainly not someone I would feel especially pleased to welcome to Mole End!” murmured the Mole.
“Well then, what are we to do?” said the Badger.
He stood up and paced about as he often did when he was thinking hard and an idea was imminent. Yet it was the Mole who spoke first.
“I cannot say quite what we should do,” said he cautiously, “but I would like to make a small suggestion that might lead us to an idea. I believe I am right in saying that the Lord of the Manor in these parts has very considerable jurisdiction in local matters.”
“I know all about that,” said Toad dismissively, “but unfortunately the gentleman who holds that office is my Uncle Groat, and he’s the one who encouraged Nanny Fowle and Mrs Ffleshe to come in the first place.”
“Yes, but —” continued the Mole.
“Pooh!” cried Toad. “I hardly think Groat will help us.”
“Let us hear Mole out,” said the Badger soothingly. “Unless I am much mistaken, I do not think that anybody in these parts, including you yourself, Toad, has been in touch with Groat in recent years, so we cannot be sure where he stands on these matters. Perhaps if he realised what damage Mrs Fleshe has done… There can surely be no harm in writing and telling him.”
“Mmm,” said the Badger, nodding his head, “a good point. Well said, Moly!”
“What is more,” continued the Mole, who had given considerable thought to the matter since visiting the Village and meeting the Parish Clerk, “might it not be possible to ask Groat to invoke the ancient laws of the Village Court of which he is Lord and Judge and ask him to exile Mrs Ffleshe from the River Bank for ever?”
“You refer to that medieval institution which may in certain circumstances be summoned by the Lord of the Manor, namely Groat?” said the Badger.
“I do!” cried the Mole excitedly, rather relieved that the Badger knew what he was talking about.
“Yes, I have considered that possibility in the past, Mole,” said the Badger, “and I believe there is much we could do if Toad’s uncle were willing, not least arrest Mrs Ffleshe and clap her in irons —”
“Arrest her?” cried Toad excitedly.
“We are talking theoretically, Toad,” said the Badger, “so please do not get too excited. Indeed, it is precisely because such notions as these might overexcite your imagination and raise false hopes that I have not mentioned them before.
“The trouble is, Mole,” continued the Badger, “in the absence of Groat, nobody else can exercise such jurisdiction and act against her. In fact, she could act against us under the ancient laws of vagrant rights, for by virtue of her sojourns at Toad Hall Mrs Fleshe has earned the right of the Court’s protection.”
“Do you have any idea what they are talking about, Otter old fellow?” enquired Toad.
“No,” replied the Otter truthfully, “no idea at all.”
“You, Ratty? Do you understand?”
“I can’t say I do,” came the response, “but when Badger starts talking like this, and with Mole to give him support, I can’t help feeling that something helpful might come out of it.”
“Badger,” said the Mole, rising and pacing about alongside him, “I confess I didn’t quite understand everything I was told by the Parish Clerk, but he did urge me to mention to you his view that after so many years’ absence Uncle Groat may be deemed to be — O, drat, I wish I could remember the term he used!”
“In absentia perpetua,” murmured the Badger, a look of hope coming into his face.
“That’s it! In which case, Toad could act in his uncle’s place as Lord of the Manor, since he is —”De facto Lord,” said the Badger.
“That’s right!” exclaimed the Mole. “And — if only he dared — he could —”
“He could have Mrs Ffleshe arrested for disturbing the peace!” said the Badger excitedly.
“Could I?” said Toad.
“Or perhaps simply for being a public nuisance,” said the Mole.
“Really?” said Toad, sitting up.
“Or for being a nag, and I believe the punishment for that involves the ducking stool!” said the Badger.
&nb
sp; “O yes, yes!” cried Toad, rubbing his hands.
“Or, even—” began the Badger, frowning.
“Yes?” asked Toad cheerfully. “What else might I arrest her for, seeing as I am, as I have always believed and as I was born to be, Lord of the Manor and all I can survey from the Village church tower?”
“This is only a technical possibility, Toad, but I suppose you might, if you could prove her guilty of witchcraft, have her burnt at the stake.”
“Perhaps that’s going a little far,” said the Mole, “and I don’t think —”
“Well, never mind, never mind — let’s get on with it!” said Toad impatiently.
It is often the case that the great tide of history simultaneously sweeps into shore two people with the same idea, each thinking their idea is original. Scientists, inventors, social reformers, even artists and writers rise up and cry “Eureka!” only to hear their cry echoed by another from somewhere across the world.
Less usually, however, do those two people have that idea under the same roof, and within the same hour. Yet so it was that Christmas Day at Toad Hall.
While Toad and his friends were beginning to see that a medieval court might be the place to seek just retribution for the sins (if such they were) of Mrs Fleshe, she and her guests were coming to a similar conclusion regarding Toad.
Mrs Fleshe had been particularly looking forward to that particular Christmas luncheon, for after many years trying she had finally won acceptance for her invitation to “The Hall” as she referred to it (she expunged all references to Toad on her invitations) from several personages not only of importance, but of influence as well.
Normally, such people as sons of Law Lords (one of those) brothers of police commissioners (two of those) and widows of bishops (three of those) are cautious about such invitations from those who might be considered parvenus. However, Mrs Fleshe’s decade or more of cultivating these people had finally borne fruit, and all at once. They had all said yes, and they had all been standing on the front steps of the Hall when Toad had gone rushing out.
In addition, and much to Mrs Ffleshe’s delight, for it was a most unexpected bonus beyond her wildest dreams, the son of the Law Lord had brought along his father, Lord Malice, founding partner of the firm Mordant, Mallice and Thrall, a gentleman who more than half the widows and single ladies in the land had been seeking to make the acquaintance of since he had become a widower.
If truth be known, it was the father and not the son Mrs Fleshe had been interested in and here, the best Christmas present she could have wished for, was his tall, cadaverous, pallid but otherwise delightful form upon her doorstep. She had admired him from afar for many years, following his career to the heights of the legal profession in the columns of The Times, and she unashamedly saw in him the final peak in her ascent to the aristocracy.
To win a Lord’s hand, what more could an ambitious lady desire?
Imagine her feelings, therefore, when Toad rushed past her as she stepped forward to shake his hand and bowled the object of her desires down the steps and nearly under the wheels of his carriage.
So it was that their luncheon, having been so dramatically blighted by Toad’s rushing out, and then by his being carried back in again corpse-like and sopping wet, had got off to a poor start.
It is never easy eating canapés and supping white wine and making polite conversation in such circumstances. Nor when it finally comes — late on this occasion because of the interruptions — does goose look quite so appetising, or stuffing taste quite so delicious, or Brussels sprouts go down quite as easily.
It does not help either when the table has been so carefully laid for nine when only eight sit down, the empty seat being for that gentleman who even now might be taking his last breath in the room above. In such circumstances Christmas toasts and party banter fall flat, very flat indeed.
So it was that for the first hour or so the only sounds to be heard in the dining room of Toad Hall during Mrs Ffleshe’s long-planned luncheon were the scraping of cutlery on plates, the clatter of teeth and dentures chewing at over-roasted parsnips, the clenching of Mrs Ffleshe’s jaw and the audible furrowing of her brow.
Yet despite all, and much to her relief, it was Lord Malice who, as the main course ended, broke the ice by asking his hostess a question that all of them had wished to ask but had dared not.
“This Toad fellah, does he live here?”
“Well, he has… rooms here, yes,” said Mrs Ffleshe.
The company relaxed.
“He’s a kind of caretaker, then?” pressed Lord Malice, who in his younger days had built his reputation on the vigour of his cross-examinations. He sensed at once, however, that in Mrs Ffleshe he had finally met a witness who was his match, which perhaps explained the sudden colour in his cheeks and glint in his eye.
“A poor one,” said she.
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“We have an important collection of oil paintings here at the Hall and this morning he wantonly destroyed one.
“Dereliction of duty, then?”
“He bruised my arm when I attempted to stop him!”
“Assault and battery.”
“And then he encouraged his friends to call me names, terrible names, names such as should never be applied to a lady”
Here, astonishing though it would have seemed to any who had normal dealings with Mrs Ffleshe, she succeeded in squeezing out of her eyes not one but two tears.
“Madam,” said Lord Malice, “take your time, I beg you. Usher, give her a glass of water!” This he addressed to his son, who was well used to his father’s forgetting where he was. Indeed, his son had more than once found himself being cross-examined for murder, and at least once for treason, at the breakfast table.
“I ask you now, madam, to tell the court what he encouraged his friends to call you.”
There was a hush.
“Brute,” she said.
There was a gasp.
“So, to the charges of dereliction of duty and assault and battery must be added libel and slander in the first degree.”
“There is more, sir, far more.
“Yes, madam?” said Lord Mallice with relish.
Given this ready opportunity to make an impression, Mrs Ffleshe took it, and fulsomely. In the space of less than twenty minutes she had set such a catalogue of crimes at Toad’s door that Lord Malice had discovered in them four counts of high treason, in addition to the eight charges of criminal malfeasance, fifteen counts of treacherous negligence and thirty-seven acts of malice aforethought (on which subject his Lordship’s reputation had been built).
“In addition,” declared Lord Mallice in a smug and satisfied way, “I have lost count of the innumerable lesser charges that arise from the accused’s behaviour as an ingrate pernicious, malefactor overt and felon fraudulent, any one of which, in cases where the defendant has a previous conviction, becomes a capital offence. Now then, Mrs Ffleshe, has this gentleman who calls himself Toad of Toad Hall ever, to your knowledge, been convicted of any crime before a court in this land?”
“I believe he has,” said Mrs Ffleshe. “He was convicted of stealing motor-cars.”
Lord Malice sighed with pleasure and then raised his arms in a weary way as if to say there was little point in any further questioning.
“It is all up with him,” he pronounced solemnly. “I suppose his extraordinary behaviour today could be offered as evidence of an unsound mind in any plea of mitigation, though I believe I might offer a robust defence of the position that he was merely indulging in a foolish act of winter bathing. Then again, the fact is, Mrs Ffleshe, that you have been harbouring a criminal in this house, but I think a sensible judge would not take you to task for that, for you did it from kindly motives, born of pity and ignorance of what he was and is, did you not?”
“I did,” said Mrs Ffleshe, attempting to summon up a tear or two more but this time failing. “Out of kindness I did it, and in latter years
he has forced me to care for him much against my wishes, and been cruel to me.
“Then I believe we should discuss what we should do over pudding — for I presume that a plum pudding is in the offing, it being Christmas Day. As a Law Lord Emeritus, it is my duty to aid society’s victims, of which you are one, so naturally I shall represent you.
It was Mrs Ffleshe’s turn to sigh.
“However, as protector of one you now know to be a criminal infernal, if I may use the correct legal phrase, it is your duty to turn him over to the law;” he continued. “We have present here two gentlemen related to the fraternity of police commissioners who can be sworn in at once and can arrest him. We also have at least one lady, so far silent, who is I believe a bishop’s wife, and maybe more, whose moral views can therefore be taken as unimpeachable, though it might be prudent at this juncture to ascertain what they are.”
Lord Malice turned to the youngest of the bishops’ widows.
“Madam,” said he, “how do you think we should act in the best interest of the soul of this soul-less defendant?”
“What I have heard of him is quite scandalous!” cried the bishop’s widow “And I believe he should be given a fair trial and condemned, and as soon as possible.”
By now the mood of the luncheon party had changed for the better, for there is nothing more enjoyable in a group of people than to find a common enemy.
A lively discussion ensued as the plum pudding was served, and then brandies and cigars — a discussion at which, though in normal circumstances they would have retired that the men might smoke, the ladies were invited to stay, and contribute, which all did forcibly.
“To sum up,” said Lord Malice later, “the verdict of this jury is that he is guilty till proved even more guilty and that it would be a pity if his case were to be allowed to clog up the courts for years, during which time he would continue to live at the cost of the taxpayer. We therefore seek justice that is fair but swift and summary, and in that matter I have a suggestion to make.”
The Willows at Christmas Page 10
