The moment Groat made his astonishing appearance and brought the trial of Toad to a summary end, the crowd erupted in a frenzy of clapping and cheering.
In no time at all the heroes of the hour (which is to say Toad, Mole, Badger, Ratty and Otter, and, most reluctant of all, Uncle Groat) were hoisted on the shoulders of the Village menfolk and transported outside on to the bridge, to a rapturous reception and a good many speeches.
The weather being chilly, and the heroes and their many supporters being thirsty, they very soon made their way to the Public House to enjoy free beer, at the expense of Toad, and much laughter and jollity, at the expense of nobody.
Most of the villains of the piece, which is to say the three Judges Perspicacious, Purposeful and especially Pitiless, as well as all the weasels and stoats in the vicinity and Mrs Ffleshe’s guests, beat a hasty retreat. The Judges went back to Town as fast as their carriages would carry them, and the Wild Wooders fled to the one place they could not be easily pursued, which is to say the Wild Wood.
Mrs Ffleshe and Lord Malice, however, lingered in the Court House, though not from any fear that if they went outside a medieval form of public justice might be meted out upon them. Neither was temperamentally inclined to such feelings of cowardice, and if confronted by the mob might very easily have faced it down.
No, there was a more potent reason why they stayed behind, which had to do with an emotion very different from fear.
It had not been lost on some in the crowd that in the dramatic exchanges between the Prosecuting Counsel and his chief witness there had been a certain expression of something more than mutual admiration.
Once the Court Room had emptied of its crowd, Lord Mallice found himself alone at last with Mrs Ffleshe with only the rack between them.
“O madam,” said he, “you were magnificent in all.”
“Lord,” said she, “I swoon to think of the questions you put, and your pauses between — so masterful, so proud, so eloquent in their brutal simplicity.”
“Let us speak not of me, Mrs Ffleshe, but thee’ said he, advancing upon her by way of the mangler and the thumbscrews.
“You stand accused, madam, of being unutterably ideal, how do you plead?”
“My Lord, if I am guilty it is because you have made me so. Prosecute me, cross-examine me, and when you have done, sentence me as you will!”
“To marriage, madam, that is my sentence.”
“To matrimony, My Lord, that is my answer!”
It may be a matter of surprise to some that such as these should be able to wrest from their adamantine hearts sentiments so gentle and so soft. But these were mortal beings born of mortal parents. Put another way, as a slug has a father and a snake a mother, so Mrs Ffleshe and Lord Mallice had parents once, and were young and soft and not to be utterly reviled.
But perhaps, after all, the spirit of Christmas understood better than any human being could that the best way of ridding the earth of tyrants is to make them experience love.
It may well be that these private sentiments so boldly expressed in what they thought was privacy saved the Parish Clerk from a wretched fate. For throughout their dialogue he had stood unseen at the top of the steps that led to that doleful door through which the condemned ought by rights to have finally gone but had not. In his hand was an ancient key, and before him the portal he had just unlocked, and below him the death-dealing torrent into which he was about to jump following the shameful debacle in his Court.
Then he had heard that word “matrimony” and he remembered that in the midst of death is life, and in life continuing duty.
“Lord and madam,” said he, turning, “in this your hour of need I am the one to plight you, for I am Registrar of Births (none today), Deaths (several very nearly, none finally) and Marriages (yours, hopefully). I am still wearing my black robe, I have my wig to hand, and beneath that Bench is the Book of Record.”
“You can marry us immediately?” said Mrs Ffleshe with something of her normal sharpness.
“Immediately, yes,” said the Parish Clerk. “Tomorrow possibly, after that with difficulty, for I may be retiring.”
“So you can marry us here and now?” said Lord Mallice.
“Immediately, yes,” said the Clerk.
“Don’t we need witnesses?”
“History shall be your witness,” said he, “but if you want real ones I shall summon Mr Deathwatch and Mr Beadle. They can sign the book.”
“What about the ring?” asked Mrs Ffleshe, as women often will.
“Plenty of those,” said the Parish Clerk, “in the Court House safe.”
He fetched a boxful of rings of all shapes and sizes.
“Whose are these?” enquired Mrs Fleshe in some surprise.
“The rings of the past condemned and now deceased,” said the Parish Clerk. “Now say after me…”
When, later that afternoon, the celebrations were well done — very well done — Uncle Groat, who was feeling a little tired, asked that they might all return to Toad Hall, there to recover a little, and talk and celebrate more peaceably.
He was all the more anxious to get to Toad Hall as he had not had time even to pause after his hasty journey from the north with the Badger and Miss Bugle. From their conversations on the journey south he and the Badger had formed a healthy respect for each other. Groat had explained very fully his impatience with life at the River Bank before he left it, and his desire to forge his own path through life, which he had done better and more successfully than most. For his part, the Badger left him in no doubt that a small effort now, and a big-hearted gesture, would make all the difference to the life of Toad, of the River Bank and of them all. Which Groat had come to see was true.
He had been reluctant to show his face in Court, since, unusually for a member of his family, he preferred to stay in the background. But he had seen the way things were going and that his intervention was needed if his nephew were not to suffer trials that might prove terminal, and so he had finally acted.
But enough was enough, and now he wanted to cede the Lordship to Toad and go back to peaceful retirement. Before that he proposed to extract a promise from Toad that the office would not be abused, nor even often used.
“Rather,” said he, “let a veil of silence fall over this painful incident in which the Toad family was so nearly humiliated and only survived by a show of bravado by you, and a display of timeliness by myself, upon which qualities you have built your reputation and I my fortune. Shall we now agree to put these twelve days behind us, and the memory of Nanny Fowle and Mrs Ffleshe as well, and never speak of them again?”
Solemnly, on the road between the Village and Toad Hall, Toad did so, and so did all the other River Bankers. They shook hands upon it, and kept that promise to their dying day.
By the time they reached Toad Hall, the Badger could see that Groat was tired and in need of rest. Badger was sensible as well of Groat’s natural desire to re—discover the place of his birth and early years without others impinging themselves, excepting Toad, who could, and would, impinge all he liked, for he was family.
“Come on, Uncle,” said Toad jovially when they reached the front door of Toad Hall once more, “let’s see if you can remember where Pater kept the champagne!”
As they ascended the steps the front door opened and out came Miss Bugle.
“Sirs!” she cried. “O, sirs! I never thought I would see Mr Groat and Mr Toad together at Toad Hall! Welcome back, welcome back!”
The others left them then, with promises that on the morrow, and perhaps in the days thereafter too, they would visit frequently and make up for time lost in the Village Gaol.
“O my,” said the Mole as they turned back out of the entrance to Toad Hall, “I have just realised that it is Twelfth Night, and dusk is nearly upon us! Now, Badger and Ratty, and Otter too, did you not say you would come to Mole End and be my guests?”
“We did indeed,” said the Rat. “Did we not, you fellows?”
Badge
r and Otter nodded their agreement.
“Well then,” said the Mole, “you had better hurry along with me, for time is running out and there is much to do if we are to enjoy ourselves before the decorations must all come down. Mole End has been neglected these twelve days past.”
Which was true, for even after he had escaped from the Village Gaol the Rat and the Otter had judged it imprudent for Mole to go back home.
“It’ll be under observation by the weasels and stoats and you’ll be needed to help when Toad is tried,” the ever practical Rat had said — and how right he had been!
“Mind you, it won’t take me long to light a fire, though getting the range warm enough for cooking may take a little while,” said the Mole as they cut across the fields.
“O dear, I fear Mole End will not be as welcoming as it would have been on Christmas Day. But then it really doesn’t matter because if we all muck in together we’ll have everything ship-shape and in working order in no time at all, as you would put it, Ratty!”
Mole chattered on happily, making excuses one moment and proclaiming his pleasure the next. While Badger, Otter and Rat said once if not a hundred times that all that mattered to them was that he was happy in his home, and content to see them there.
“O I am, I mean I shall be, because nowadays, don’t you see, it is you three fellows, along with Toad, who are all the family that I have. I see that now, and I have come to accept that I will never again— not ever—I shall never—” As they came in sight of Mole End itself, Mole’s chatter suddenly stopped, and his voice faded to silence; and well it might.
For his little home was not dark and cold, unit and unwelcoming. Why, there was candlelight at his windows, and a freshly decorated wreath upon his door! From the chimney there issued smoke that betokened a fire as bright and cheerful as the Mole had often said Twelfth Night fires should be.
“But I do not understand,” he whispered in astonishment. “I mean to say, there is no one who — there is surely no one now — I mean — I mean —“
He turned from one to the other, uncertain what to say and not daring to go on.
“It’s your home, Mole, you lead the way, commanded the Rat with a twinkle in his eye.
“O but I dare not even think what I want to hope!” cried the Mole.
“Then you had better hope what you cannot think!” responded the Rat with a laugh. “Off you go, Mole, and in you go —They watched as the Mole approached his home ahead of them. They saw him stop as a curtain twitched and a face looked out. It was female, it was Mole—like, and Mole could not believe his eyes.
He approached a little more and he was but three steps away when his front door opened and the light of festive welcome flooded forth in which, bright and cheerful, and her eyes as full of tears as Mole’s own, his beloved sister stood.
“O Mole!” she cried.
“O —” he whispered brokenly as he went to her and she took him gently in her arms, “O my!”
Rarely, perhaps never, was there a Twelfth Night celebration like the one that evening at Mole End. Such stories to be told and heard; such adventures to be relived; such emotions to be shared!
First Mole heard how Miss Bugle had insisted, absolutely insisted, that the Badger and she take time to find the Mole’s sister on their way north to visit Uncle Groat.
Then he heard that not only had they found her but better still it was Miss Bugle who persuaded Groat where his duty lay, for, she told him, “What use is wealth if it does not serve your family and friends before yourself? No use at all! Your brother Toad Senior said so many times!”
Mole’s sister then listened to the story of how he had been incarcerated, how he had escaped, and how Toad had been tried and acquitted.
Finally, the Badger and the others heard how she and the Mole had spent their childhood years, especially at festive times.
“My, was she a home-maker, was she a cook!” they exclaimed concerning their mother.
“Yet there are some things you did even better” said the Mole, “such as, for example, mince pies. Here, have some more, you fellows, for I’m sure you’ll never taste better than these!”
“That reminds me, Mole,” said his sister, pulling a piece of paper from her apron pocket, “here is a belated Christmas gift?’
The Mole looked at it, read it, folded it and tucked it into his jacket pocket.
“What is it?” asked the Badger.
“The recipe for these mince pies!” said the smiling Mole. “Which reminds me…”
He went to his larder and emerged a moment later with a jar of candied angelica. As he handed it round, and they exclaimed at its perfection, he told his sister, “And as promised, in return you shall have my recipe for angelica.”
So did brother and sister, and friends as well, see that Twelfth Night through.
As midnight approached, they all helped the Mole take down the decorations as tradition demanded they must. Then Mole and his sister walked down the little lane to his crab-apple tree, and they wassailed its health for the coming year.
Later, back in front of the fire, the Mole gave them each a pot of his crab-apple jelly, blushed with blackberries, made to a recipe his mother had taught him. Then they continued to talk till midnight came and with it the end of the festive season.
Finally, with great reluctance, Badger, Ratty and Otter bade their farewells to as happy a Mole as ever lived. They stood briefly together upon his threshold and made their wishes for the coming of Spring, of Summer and of Autumn that joys might be many, and fruits plentiful.
“Goodbye for now, you fellows,” he called softly after them, “and may your every wish come true!”
THE END
The Willows at Christmas Page 17
