Reluctantly the housekeeper withdrew, leaving, however, the door communicating with the kitchen open in case she could hear any further conversation connected with the jewels. But Dr. Syn had taken the precaution of closing his study door behind the visitor.
“And what have you got in the chest, my god Mipps, that you hug it so tightly. The gold bar?”
Mipps shook his head. “No, Captain.”
“Don't call me 'captain'—'vicar',” said Dr. Syn sharply.
“Yes, Vicar. No, Vicar,” replied Mipps, putting the chest down on to the floor. “The gold bar got turned into guineas, and the guineas got turned into different things what disappeared, such as drink, food and lodging. Then there come a sort of longing to be quit of travel, and I thought of home. I had no money for a passage, and merchantmen only employed men they knew, owing to fear of pirates, so I shanghaied a ship's carpenter in the Royal Navy and applied for his post for the voyage home. Had to get home, you see, Vicar, just as they had to have a carpenter. And what's more, Vicar, they got a better man than the one I detained, as the captain told me so.”
“And how did you enjoy your time with the Royal Navy?” asked the doctor.
“A well-run ship it was, Vicar, and the discipline good. Put me in mind of your old Imogene. So long as everything was just so and spitted and polished, all was happy. I only had one unpleasantness the whole voyage, and that come of contradicting the captain before his lieutenant. They was arguing about Clegg, you see, and the captain said he'd seen him. Had him pointed out to him in a tavern in San Juan, and then, if you please, he starts describing him as tall, thin, handsome and elegant, till I come all over in a cold sweat and said: 'Well, that weren't Clegg, sir,' I says, 'and your informant didn't know what he was talking about.' Then I told 'ow I'd been captured by this Clegg, and got treated quite well till I was put ashore. I described him as a great barrel of a man, thick-set, rough and ready, with great brass rings in his ears, arms and chest covered with obscene tattooin's, and a vocabulary unbeaten even in the British Navy. A real savage, I made him out, but on the whole a jolly savage. In plain words, sir, I described your enemy.”
Dr. Syn nodded. “That was good. That was clever. You were always the man for me, and I believe still will be if you care to play a very different game.”
“I'm game for anything, Cap—Vicar,” replied Mipps.
“Aye, but you may be game for too much,” warned the doctor. “In other words, you may be too game to settle down.”
“But it's just what I want,” replied Mipps. “I never relished dying violent like most of 'em. A quiet settle down and a good long solitary chuckle about old days. That's me.”
“Suppose then that I give you a snug berth here as parish sexton, can you keep your mouth shut? Can you forget that we two went adventuring together? Can you forget that you ever saluted me as your captain on the poop deck of the Imogene? Can you forget that I was anything other than Parson Syn, Doctor of Divinity by degree of Oxford University? Can you, above all, forget to talk about that great barrel of a man, thick-set, rough and ready, with brass rings and tattooings, eh?”
Mipps closed his eyes tight, and holding up his right hand, responded: “All them things I solemnly forgets.”
Dr. Syn once more picked up his recovered copy of Virgil and began to turn the pages lovingly.
“Digging graves, now,” he said casually, “I suppose you can manage that?”
“I've had to dig one or two in my time, sir, and quickly. Don't you remember that time when you and me—?”
Dr. Syn slammed the volume like the crack of a pistol. “No, Mr. Mipps, I do not remember,” he said sharply. “I only remember to forget.”
Mipps reproved himself by hitting his thigh with his clenched fist, and biting his lip.
Dr. Syn opened the volume once more and continued in a casual voice. “You can pull the bell for service?”
“Ain't I handled ropes and rung watches all my life?”
“In the Royal Navy, sir,” added Mipps with a wink.
“And since our village carpenter, dear old Josiah Wraight, has more than he can do as foreman to the Lords of the Level, he has lately refused to make coffins, a work he has never stomached, as he says, and our dead have to be accommodated by an undertaker from New Romney, which is not right, since I take it that Dymchurch is the centre of the Marsh.”
“And should have its own undertaker most certainly,” nodded Mipps. “And in mentioning me with such a job, I think you show great wisdom. No one couldn't knock up a coffin quicker, solider nor more reliable. A ship's carpenter of the Royal Navy is, I 'ope, qualified to measure up any corpse at the double as they say. I'll make inquiries this very day from the local doctor as to the names and addresses of his most likely patients, and when he thinks he'll finish 'em off. I could make tactful suggestions to the poor sufferers and find out in the course of conversation whether they can run to oak, and if they has any fancies as regards handles.”
“You will not be jocular on such a subject,” reproved the vicar.
“Not when addressing my ruler to the corpse, sir. Oh, no. Solemn as an owl.”
“And understand that in my parochial factotum there must be no strong language, and not much strong liquor. I shall expect you to set an example to the parish.”
“And I'll set it,” said Mipps, with assurance. “You'll hear mothers telling their babies to do as Mr. Mipps does, and be good children.”
“And remember—we have not been colleagues in America.”
“No, sir. But we'd better stick to that yarn of the Seaman's Bethel what I spun for the old girl.”
“Very well,” allowed Dr. Syn. “We'll let that stand. But you must refrain from 'old girling' Mrs. Fowey. She is a good soul, an excellent cook, and if not popular with the village she is at least respected.”
“Leave her to me, Vicar. I'll butter her up.”
“Yes, but don't overdo it. You have an infernal habit of exaggeration. Your clothes, for instance. They will never do. There is something comic about them.”
“Comic? My clothes?” Mr. Mipps was very surprised.
“Certainly. I must get Mrs. Fowey to alter an old coat of mine. Black.”
“A bit gloomy, ain't it, Vicar?”
“Sextons and undertakers generally are, and one must conform to type. Do you suppose it didn't hurt my vanity to cut off my hair? And you must discard that eye-shade. It is merely an affectation on your part.”
“Not wear my blog, sir?” Mipps was amazed.
“Certainly. It makes you look too like a damned little pirate.”
“Instead of a 'oly little sexton, eh? Any more discardations, sir?”
“Yes. If you want to talk about the sea, you will confine your reminiscences, true or otherwise, to adventures in the Navy.”
“In plain words, not too much jaw about the Jolly Roger, eh?”
“Certainly, sir. Unless to drink damnation to it. Though, come to think of it, I've got one of the old flags in my sea-chest wrapped around your old harpoon head. Now, surely, Vicar, it's right and proper to run it up on top of the shed wherever I make my coffins. Skull and crossbones. Most appropriate. And where do I knock up my coffins and sling my hammock?”
“I'll bespeak a cottage for you. There's one available called 'Old Tree' at the other end of the village, and next door there is a small barn that will do for your workshop. The ground will want clearing. It has been used for a dump.”
“Dead cats and kettles? I knows. I'll soon clear it ship-shape.”
“Your position as sexton and verger will entitle you to sit at the lowest desk of the pulpit, and since you can both read and write, you can not only lead the Responses and Amens during service, but will earn a little more helping me to keep the parochial books and registers.”
“That makes me sexton, undertaker, verger, bell-pull and clerk.”
“A great responsibility, Mr. Mipps. You see then that your conduct must be exemplary.”
“The blessed Archbishop himself won't look no 'olier than me, I gives you my word, sir. I'll be sober, diligent and take a pride in my work, whether it be births, marriages or deaths.”
“And one thing more,” said Dr. Syn, “and perhaps the most important.”
“Something else for me to do?”
“No. Something else you must never do. Wait here a minute and I'll tell you.”
Dr. Syn went into the hall and once more opened the livery cupboard in the far corner. He returned with two glasses and a bottle.
“French brandy, Mr. Mipps. I drink to our better acquaintance and to our settling down.”
“And I drinks my respecks, sir.”
“Thank you. And talking of French brandy, Mr. Sexton—I hope you find it to your taste?”
“Very nice and mellow, thankee, sir,” said Mipps, passing his glass for more.
“The Frenchmen are up to other tricks than fighting,” went on Dr. Syn, “and I warn you, Mr. Sexton, not to traffic in any way with their brandy-runners, for that smuggling goes on, I have no doubt. This part of the country being independent and lying so handy to the French coast, there is a good deal of illegal money to be made with comparative safety. But it will not be so for long. Romney Marsh holds its independence only on its good behaviour. She is pledged against smuggling. She has promised and vowed to maintain the excise laws of England, and periodically suspicious Government officers show themselves inquisitive. That is the danger always. That is why I am ever exhorting my flock, for whom I feel responsible, not to traffic in any way with those devils across the water.”
“But surely, Vicar, no Frenchman dares to venture over the Channel these days?”
“I have every reason to believe that they do occasionally,” replied Dr. Syn. “Though most of the venturing is done from this side to theirs. I think also our fishing boats do not meet their French rivals in mid-Channel with the antagonism that one looks for in patriots.”
“Well, what I says it, 'maintain the laws and the discipline,” said Mipps stoutly. “For even though the Government makes you curse, there's always the King, God bless him.”
“Yes, there is always the King, as you say,” agreed the vicar.
“Though, come to think of it,” went on Mipps, “I don't see no harm in robbin' the French of good brandy when you can.”
“No, no. That won't do, Mr. Sexton. It is a dangerous sentiment, and one that I will not tolerate. There must be no such talk, if you please, and no dealings with the brandy-runners, and you will kindly oblige me by drinking to the sentiment.”
Dr. Syn passed Mipps the bottle. Mipps stroked it lovingly.
“Then I take it that this 'ere bottle's ship-shape? We can stomach this, I hope, with a good conscience?”
“A present from the squire,” replied the vicar reassuringly.
“And I hope he knows where it come from,” said Mipps piously. “Never do for the magistrate himself to go trafficking. And talking of the liquor trade, is it true that Mrs. Waggetts still runs the 'Ship Inn'? And does old man Waggetts live?”
“He is sinking rapidly,” explained the vicar.
“Funny if he was to be the first I knock up solid. I'd better measure him up, eh?”
“That would frighten the poor fellow to death and leave Mrs. Waggetts a widow,” replied the vicar. “She was an old sweetheart of yours, I think you told me once?”
“I give her up to Waggetts after we left school here. She was such a fat girl that I was cautious. I warned Waggetts that she'd get fatter and fatter, but he had no imagination, poor fellow. Good thing I didn't marry her. I'd have to go round now and tell her all about that Spanish woman what took such a fancy to me.”
“As it is, she'll no doubt make a rare fuss of you,” said the vicar. “But my advice is to keep free of the women, Mr. Mipps. Women get men talking, you know. You remember how Delilah cut Samson's hair?”
“I'd like to see any woman cut mine,” cried Mipps indignantly.
“Be careful then,” cautioned the vicar. “And now I'll look out an old suit of mine, which I'll get Mrs. Fowey to alter. It will want a good deal of cutting down.”
“I'll cut it down and alter it myself,” said Mipps. “I've a handy huswife in my chest here, and I'll take your advice about steering clear of the women, 'specially that housekeeper of yours.”
“Very well then. Open the chest. I'd like to have that harpoon head you spoke about. But first of all, just for the sake of old times, which we'll remember to forget, we'll finish the bottle, eh, old friend?”
And had Mrs. Fowey seen them thus cronying over the bottle of brandy, she would certainly have wondered what strange link it was that bound these two men so different in look, character and station, so extremely ill-assorted, thus fast together.
“To our settling down, Vicar,” toasted Mipps.
