by Anthology
“I imagine the area around Twiggers Corners would be the most likely place to start, don’t you, Muffin? Didn’t you say the greatest concentration of the markings was noticed there?”
It was Queenie who answered. “Wot’s left of them. There’s been ’undreds and thousands of people tramping around looking for them. There should be a lot left, ’owever. Why don’t you tyke Wellington with you. ’E’d sure appredyte the exercise! ”
Wellington was a huge mastiff, a gift to her from Muffin.
“A splendid notion,” said Sir Flinders. “I’ll pick him up at the stables. Don’t wait up for me. I shall probably be very late.”
They sat together on a heavy plush sofa and talked in lowered tones. Queenie looked gorgeous in one of her new lace caps and a flowered dimity which she filled both amply and admirably.
“I wish you’d been there to protect me the other night, ’Umphrey, I really do,” she was saying.
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, as I’ve said, ’e’d been ever so nice to me until then. A real proper gent, real charming, and ’e’d showed me nothing but respect. I was getting to be real fond of ’im, I must sye.”
Muffin ground his teeth but said nothing. She continued.
“Must ’ave been all that stryght gin ’e drank. ’E seemed mortified when I wouldn’t rush right off with ’im, so to speak. ’E said ’is time was getting short and I’d ’ave to myke up my mind. But the gin did affect ’im right queer. Chynged ’im a lot, it did.”
Muffin interrupted. “He’d never been drunk here before then?”
“Oh no, ’e was ever so proper, as I’ve said. But ’e was sore disappointed when I told ’im as ’ow although I wasn’t exactly promised, I was, well, sort of wyting, myebe.”
Muffin’s face began to burn as Queenie simpered, great dark lashes veiling her downcast eyes.
“Do you think he really wanted to marry you—or just well, carry you off in that infernal machine of his?”
“Why, ’Umphrey, do you think I’d of ’ad anything to do with ’im . . .?” This was a poser for Muffin. He cleared his throat to speak but Queenie spared his embarrassment by continuing.
“That night ’e just kept staring at me, ’urt like, with those lovely beautiful eyes of ’is . . . they’re just like the deers ’ave in your parks, ’Umphrey, only a nicer color.”
“Blast him,” groaned Muffin.
“But after a while, sye after six or seven nips of the gin, I could notice ’is expression chynging. ’Is eyes didn’t look so much like a deer’s any more but more like a bleedin tomcat’s.” She blushed prettily, adding rosy color to her already lovely cheeks. Muffin squirmed restlessly.
“What happened next?”
“ ’E drank a lot more gin and becyme somewhat abusive. ’E said this world was a stupid plyce and ’e’d be glad to leave it. ’E said . . . I ’ates to sye this, ’Umphrey . . .’E said if England was our foremost nytion and still allowed fat’eads like you to ’old ’igh public office, the world wouldn’t be ready for ’is kind for thousands of years any’ow!”
Muffin bounced to his feet in a rage. “The miserable swine! . . . I’d like to get my hands on that jackass . .
Queenie pulled him down beside her. “Looks like ’e was trying to get ’is ’ands on me! ’E kept drinking and acting queerer all the time. Finally ’e excused ’imself, sying ’is boots were ’urting ’im real bad and ’e did seem to ’ave an ’arder time walking than most do when the drink’s on them. ’Is boots were queerly shyped, at that. Any’ow, as I’ve said, ’e excused ’imself and went into the w.c. And I ’opes and prys I never ’ave another surprise like ’e gyve me when ’e cyme back! ”
“Surprise? What kind of a surprise, Queenie?”
“The booger was almost starko!”
“Starko?”
“Nyked.”
“He was naked?” bellowed Muffin. “Completely naked?”
“Not completely, ’oney lamb. ’E ’ad something that looked like a byeby’s diaper on . . . crimson velvet, it looked like.”
“Well, that’s at least something,” breathed Muffin in comparative relief.
“From the wyste down ’e ’ad ’air on ’im like a bleedin’ hanimal,” said Queenie.
“Hair on him? . . . Hair on him?” almost screamed Muffin. “Well, I shouldn’t ’ave said ’air, exactly, I guess. Fur would be more like it, I should sye.”
“Great Sacred Saints, woman, what are you saying?” demanded Muffin who was breathing in short, painful gasps.
“I’m sying the simple truth . . . no more, no less, ’Umphrey.”
“Heaven help us,” prayed Muffin. He seemed to be strangling. “Go on, Queenie, go on,” he implored.
“It gyve me a bit of a turn when I first noticed ’is ’oofs.”
“Hoofs!” roared Muffin, “Did you say hoofs?”
“Yes, TJmphrey, ’oofs. Sort of took my breath awye. But then, I tykes things as they come you know, and I didn’t mind. ’E really ’ad a strong appeal this wye. ’Alf like an ’andsome man and ’alf like a lovely fawn in your parks.”
Sir Humphrey was rendered speechless. Wildly incredulous, he sat and stared at Queenie, his eyes bulging.
“ ’E’d rolled up ’is clothes in a bundle and ’e put them on top of the bar and ’ad another stryght gin. Then ’e took an odd-shyped thing out of the bundle and started to plye music on it. It looked like different-sized wooden whistles stuck together.” She paused and glanced at Muffin who seemed on the verge of a stroke.
“Wait a minute, Queenie, in Heaven’s name,” he cried, and rushed to the bar.
“Whatever can the matter be?” cried Queenie.
But he was back in a moment with a carafe of brandy which he immediately put to his mouth. He gasped as the fiery spirits coursed into him, then sank back on the sofa with the carafe beside him.
“ ’Ere, ’ere, selfish! ” cried Queenie. She took up the carafe and had a generous drink herself. “I ’ates to see a lad drink alone,” said she. She wiped at her luscious red mouth with the back of a hand and then continued.
“That music ’e plyed was real strynge. Gyve me the goose pimples and shivers, ’Umphrey. But I liked it and it myde me seem to like ’im agyne. It ’ad a very strynge effect on me . . . myde me think improper things, ’Umphrey. I was sore tempted to forget myself.” Muffin managed to get the brandy to his mouth again. “Go on, Queenie, go on,” he gasped.
“Narko stopped plying, which was ’is first mistyke,” said she. “If ’e’d kept on I might ’ave fallen into a swound. ’Is second mystyke was to start talking. ’E said ’e wouldn’t ’arm me and that everything was up to me, but I ought to appreciyte ’im and stop mooning over a silly old ’alf-grown walrus like you!”
“Curse that dirty monster,” cried Muffin.
“Mind your tongue, ducky!” said Queenie.
Muffin put the carafe to his mouth again and Queenie followed suit.
“I ’opes you stye sober long enough to ’ear me out,” she complained. “There’s quite a bit more.” She placed the carafe between them, nevertheless.
“Did he harm you, darling?” implored Muffin. “What HAPPENED?”
“Try not to be so impytient, ’oney, please. I realized pretty soon that ’is ideas were about the syme as that gentleman’s I ’ad to ’ustle out of ’ere tonight so I got around be’ind the bar and ’e didn’t like that at all. ’Is last mistyke was reaching over the bar and touching me—improper! I won’t ’ave that, you know.” She silenced Muffin’s spluttering protests by clapping a large, capable hand over his mouth.
“Be still, TJmphrey. I ’andled ’im, all right. I let ’im ’ave the contents of the slop bucket right over ’is ruddy ’ead.”
“Lord love you,” roared Muffin in delight. “What happened then?”
“ ’E stood there spluttering and wiping off ’is ’ead and ’is fur. Then ’is eyes started to blyze and he ’opped right up on top of the bar,
quick as a cat, and made a grab for me ’air. I let ’im ’ave one across the shin with the bung starter—just as ’ard as I could—and you’d ’ave thought all ’ell ’ad broken loose!”
“Maybe it had!” said Muffin. He reached for the brandy again.
“ ’E grabbed ’old of that shin in one ’and and ’is bundle in the other and ’opped squealing out of ’ere like a rabbit with a stoat after ’im. I ran after ’im with the bung starter but I could no more catch ’im than a grey’ound.”
“Where did he go?” queried the stupefied Muffin.
“That’s ’ard to sye,” laughed Queenie. ” ’E was bounding up and down the road and over fences and along walls and, so ’elp me, over roofs—and into the fields and back agyne. And all the time ’ollering and squealing in that funny ’igh voice of ’is. Rysing the Merry Ned, ’e were! ”
“Great Scott!” gasped Muffin. “What then?”
“It were a caution, all right. Finally I just ’ad to stop to rest. I was leaning agynst a tree near Squire ’Awkin’s ’ouse and that big dog of ’is was barking to ryse the dead but nobody seemed to ’ear ’im. Drinking agyne, I guess they were . . .”
“But what happened, Queenie, what happened?”
“This is really ’ard to believe, ’Umphrey, ducks. Down out of the sky over ’is pasture comes a great round thing as big as an ’ouse. It looked like a great silver skillet—with the cover on and without an ’andle. And it never touched the ground, so ’elp me! It stayed two or three feet up and little blue lights were flickering all around it.”
“Great Scott!” gasped Muffin again.
“It’s true, lambie, so ’elp me . . . but it do myke you think, don’t it?”
To this Lord Humphrey Muffin had no immediate reply. “Next thing you know, a little door pops open and five or six more of them devils ’op out squealing and screetching to one another and tyke off after Narko, ’oo’s just bounded up the road and into the field.”
Muffin grabbed hold of the brandy carafe and applied himself fervently. “I pray for my sanity,” he breathed.
Queenie continued. “They started screaming at Narko and ’im at them and off ’e goes agyne, toward the coast with them ’ot-foot arfter ’im. My ’eart was pounding so ’ard I thought I might be tyking a spell, ’Umphrey lamb.”
Muffin put the carafe back to his mouth and drew down a great draught. His eyes watered and he struggled for breath. But he moved closer to Queenie and took her hand.
“Pretty soon, back they cyme, ’opping along in that strynge wye of theirs—but fast as whippets. They seemed to ’ave gyned on Narko ’oo must ’ave been running out of breath by this time. One of them ’ad Narko’s bundle which ’e must ’ave dropped and he popped it into the machine, quick as a flash, then took out arfter Narko and the others agyne, ’oo were still jabbering and screeching at one another.
Muffin’s eyes were closed and his hands were clenching and unclenching spasmodically.
“As heaven is my judge, this cannot be,” he muttered.
Queenie, intent on her story, paid him no attention.
“Narko was going around in circles now and the other devils spread out and forced ’im into the middle of the field. Then they closed in on ’im with a rush. ’E put up an ’ell of a battle for a while but ’e must ’ave been pretty tuckered out, poor darling!”
“Poor what?” roared Muffin, bouncing to his feet in another rage.
“Oh ’ush, ’Umphrey,” sighed Queenie. “I didn’t mean nothing. Just a manner of speaking is all.”
She pulled the scowling Muffin down beside her and brushed her lips over the top of his bald head.
“Our first kiss!” Muffin cried with delight.
“ ’Ush and be’ive yourself and myebe there’ll be more.”
He took her hand again, his heart pounding. The moment of decision was near.
“They spraddled ’im out by ’is arms and legs and carted ’im to the machine that wye . . . and I could see in the moonlight that ’e ’ad a lump on ’is shin as big as a cricket ball. It must ’ave ’urt like blyzes and I don’t blyme ’im for ’opping around, poor devil!”
She moved closer to Muffin, smiling down at him.
“You see what ’appens to gents ’oo don’t be’ive themselves, ’Umphrey? Let that be a lesson to you!”
Muffin had the grace to blush. Queenie continued.
“Narko was bigger and nimbler than those other rascals so I guess it was on account of ’is gyme leg they caught ’im—
that and all the gin ’e’d ’ad. Any’ow, they dragged ’im into the machine, still fighting and squealing.” She paused for a short pull at the brandy carafe.
“This will tyke your breath awye, ’Umphrey. No sooner ’ad that little door closed than the whole ruddy contraption disappeared up into the sky . . . as farst as the shyke of a lamb’s tyle. So ’elp me!”
“But Queenie, lamb, this is fantastic! I suppose the tracks in the snow might be explained in some such way, but really . . .”
“ ’Umphrey Muffin, are you incinerating that I’d myke this all up out of me ’ead? . . . that I’d tell a lie?”
“Certainly not, pusscat,” said Muffin. “But it’s just so incredible!” He paused and reflected. “Women sometimes get strange notions when they’ve been ill or upset, you know . . . and you must confess you haven’t seemed yourself of late.”
“ ’Oo wouldn’t seem upset arfter what I’ve been through lytely?” protested Queenie, tears welling in her lustrous and incredibly blue eyes. “It’s all true, I swear it, TJmphrey. And I don’t know what I’d ’ave done if I didn’t ’ave you to lean on . . . and confide in.” She was silent.
Muffin fidgeted awkwardly. “You can always depend on me, Queenie.”
Queenie smiled, her great eyes still luminous with tears.
“Oh, TJmphrey,” she sighed, resting her gloriously beautiful head softly on his shoulder. “I’ve feared lytely that I might be going insyne.”
“Nonsense,” said Muffin. “I believe you completely. Some people can’t believe even the simplest things until they’re hit over the head with them.” Queenie nestled closer to him.
“Take that silly beggar Narko, for example. You had to almost break his ruddy leg before he could realize what a fine, virtuous woman you are . . . You know, I wish you’d clouted him on the back of his silly neck instead!”
Queenie put the brandy on the floor. “Now, ’Umphrey, don’t talk narsty. I don’t like you when you’re ’ot-’eaded.”
Muffin sniffed. “Hot head or cold, I don’t like the swine. Are you sure you’ve never seen him again?”
“Neither ’ide nor ’air,” she said, with unintended accuracy. “I did ’ave the queerest dream, ’owever, just larst night. Gyve me a turn, it did.”
“Tell me about it,” he said suspiciously.
“It was most strynge,” said Queenie. “Very. I knew I was asleep because I woke up right arfterward. But it seemed like ’e’d been standing right by the bed.”
“Hellfire and damnation!” roared Muffin.
“ ’E really wasn’t, ’oney pie. It just seemed real. ’E looked sad and ’e apologized for causing me trouble.”
“Decent of the lardhead,” sneered Muffin.
“ ’E told me a fine, decent woman like me deserved a lot better nor a dissipated and tired old pig . . . Oh, my goodness!”
“Satan roast him,” howled Muffin, “the miserable, jealous goat . . . I’ll slit his lying throat. . . . I’ll hang him by his devil’s hocks. So help me, I’ll carve that monster yet!”
Lord Muffin was stamping up and down the room in a noble frenzy. His ensuing imprecations bore evidence of the stamp of a classical education. Lord Muffin, in his senior year, had been sent down from Cambridge. But Queenie was less impressed by his astonishingly articulate fulminations than by her sense of responsibility toward her, presumably, sleeping guests.
“You’re getting all upset over nothing,” said she in
ingenuous innocence. “I just wanted to tell you what ’e ’ad to sye . . . or seemed to sye. Any’ow, ’e said ’e ’ad a new berth. ’E’s got a job working in the mines on another planet which ’e said we’d somedye discover and call Pluto. ’E didn’t seem too ’appy about it. Said ’e wished ’e ’adn’t bothered me.”
Muffin smiled thinly. “Pluto, eh? An apt enough name. I hope he fries there. Mines, you say? The deeper he has to dig the better I’ll like it.”
“ ’Umphrey! don’t be crool. It might interest you to know ’e said I was wysting my time ’anging around ’ere as there were ’undreds of men in London ’ood give their right arms to ’ave me.”
Lord Muffin was feeling his brandy and took this rather calmly. “This genius seems to be particularly well informed,” he offered blandly.
“Well . . .’e also said a lot of narsty things about England. Said we’d go from bad to worse—what with block’eads in the government!”
“Gad!” cried Muffin.
“ ’E also said it was strynge that an imbecile like you managed to tyke ’is prediction about Lord Palmerston seriously . . .”
“The hell he did. Was that all ’e, I mean he, had to say?”
Queenie smiled demurely and turned her face from him.
“The rest was of a personal nyture,” she said primly.
Muffin exploded. “Personal nature?” he stormed. “What do you mean? Since when does a woman conceal such things from her husband?”
“ ’Usband? Why, Umphrey darling, whatever can you mean?” Her bosom rose and fell, marvelously.
After some sixty years of carefree living, Lord Humphrey Muffin had finally stuck his head in the noose. The awesome die had been cast and a curious sense of excitement rose within him. Men of his stripe did not renege in such matters. . . . But it surprised him that he didn’t even wish to do so.
