Half an hour later Dr. Syn stepped out into his garden and surveyed with every mark of pleasure the bright spring morning. Not a sign of his night's exertions could be traced as he briskly walked amongst the flowers, picking the best blooms for a birthday bouquet. When he had collected one of quite vast proportions, he approached the kitchen casement and called his housekeeper.
“Mrs. Fowey, I think you ordered me some wig ribbon. Would you give me some for this?”
“And is that for your dear god-daughter's birthday? Oh, moi dear Vicar, it will never do to toi it with black. An ill omen, moi dear.”
“Nonsense. The black indicates the old parson, and the flowers Miss Charlotte,” laughed Syn.
“But oi can do better, moi dear,” went on the housekeeper. “Oi have some whoite here in the drawer. Oi bought it for moi girl, but she wants pink. Let us toi it with whoite. Weddings are more in Miss Charlotte's loin than funerals oi'm thinkin'.”
So she tied the bouquet with white ribbon, and Dr. Syn, with Captain Ransom's log-book in his side pocket and the scarlet velvet sachet of pearls in his breast, walked gaily through the back way to the squire's.
This led him past the stables, where to his secret amusement he saw all the Court House grooms busy rubbing down the squire's horses.
The grooms looked sheepishly at the doctor as he watched them.
“It seems by their coats that the squire's cattle have been worked hard,” he remarked.
The nearest ostler shook his head. “It's amazin', sir, how some horses will sleep dirty. Now I take my oath that we ain't had most of these animals out since yesterday morning and then we rubbed 'em clean. But to look at 'em you'd think they'd been careerin' the Marsh in last night's storm.”
“You would indeed,” replied Syn seriously, though he chuckled to think that in some respects the Romney Marsh smugglers were not so ill organised. It was obvious that the squire's grooms were keeping their mouths shut.
“Are all horses as dirty then in their stables? I would never have credited such a thing,” said Syn.
“No, sir, they ain't,” replied the ostler. “But we seems fair cursed with 'em here. There's only one in these stables what is clean in the stall and that be Miss Charlotte's hunter. As silky a coat as when I locks the stables last night.”
“Splendid,” thought Syn. “He even pretends that he locked the stables. I see that I shall not have to teach these fellows the virtue of secrecy.”
With a pleasant nod he passed on into the squire's garden, and stepping to the open french window greeted the family at breakfast.
“My dear Charlotte, I have picked a few flowers from my garden,” he said, “with an old man's blessing on this important birthday.”
“Oh I am entirely spoilt,” laughed Charlotte, who ran round the table, took the flowers, pressed them to her face and curtseyed. “I accept the lovely gift, but not the description you give with it. An old man's blessing. Why, my dear godfather, I never saw anyone look more sprightly. No, don't go hunching your shoulder up and trying to look old.”
“But I want to look old in order to claim an old man's privilege, my dear,” he said smiling. “I should like to be the first outside the family to salute you, and also I claim the privilege of a godfather to give you a gift that will be more to your liking than a few Marsh flowers.”
“Nothing could be more to my liking, believe me, and please let me kiss you for them,” she answered.
So, much to the amusement of her sisters and mother, Charlotte kissed Dr. Syn and then asked him to kiss her.
“Well, here is the gift,” he said, laughing, and handed her the red sachet.
“Oh and my initials on it,” cried Charlotte. “Oh, Doctor, did you work this? No. It is too neat for a man's sewing.”
“Bless you, I'm an old traveller. I had to learn to sew after a fashion. But open it, please.” Dr. Syn watched her face as she bent down towards the sachet.
The beauty and obvious value of the pearls set everyone gasping, including the delighted Charlotte.
Cicely chuckled. “You are not going to tell us that you value the Marsh flowers as much now, I hope.”
“Flowers and jewels are both beautiful,” answered Charlotte, “and I value them both for themselves and for the kind heart that gives them.”
When Dr. Syn had confided the history of the pearls and had hung them round Charlotte's neck with his blessing, he handed the log-book to the squire.
“Well, there's no doubt,” exclaimed Sir Antony, “that Charlotte lives up to your dead captain's hopes. Let us quote what he says: 'Perhaps in years to come, these stones will once more adorn the neck of a beautiful woman. I pray God that her mind be beautiful too.' Well, I think we agree that, despite her looks, Charlotte's mind is at least beautiful, and that because she has been well brought up.” His eyes twinkled. He winked at Dr. Syn who added:
“And standing there I think we can claim perfect beauty of face and figure. Look at her holding those poor but fortunate flowers. Tony, you are a lucky fellow to be the father of such a perfect picture.”
“Oh, pooh,” laughed the squire. “Flowers and jewels and a pretty frock work wonders in a girl. Besides, her mother is beautiful, and with a beautiful mother and a handsome father, what can you expect? Praise her parents, not her.”
“Well, well, we will not quarrel,” chuckled Dr. Syn. “Her mind is at least her own, and that, as you say, is beautiful. We will give her the credit for that.”
“Her mind can be dashed obstinate at times,” added the squire. “But since you are her advocate, we'll allow then that she deserves the pearls. Secondly, there is no doubt that you, Doctor, by virtue of being the sole survivor of the captain's brig, become his lawful heir. Therefore, since this book comes under my jurisdiction and as magistrate I am responsible for returning it to Lloyd's shipping house, I decide on cutting out this last page, which we will keep. It gives you right of ownership and therefore every right to give them to Charlotte if you so wish. Besides, the absence of the page will insure that we are not drawn into legal dispute. Lloyd's ask for the log-book. Well, we send it to them.”
“So,” thought Dr. Syn, “my worthy Tony is a cautious magistrate where his own people's interests are concerned. He would rather keep things to himself than run the risk of losing. He is as close as his own grooms appear to be under similar circumstances. All of which bodes well for the scheme I have to direct. He might even be induced to come in with us.” Dr. Syn looked at the squire and wondered. He watched him fingering the pearls that hung round Charlotte's neck and patting her lovingly on the cheek. And it was then that Dr. Syn ruled out the notion of implicating the squire. “He is her father and Charlotte must be kept out of anything like that.”
All that day the village seethed with excitement over Grinsley's death. Perhaps it was natural that the news was received and handed on amidst lively discussions that had in them no trace of sorrow. Indeed, there was no attempt made to disguise the utter relief which the murderer's death caused. So obvious was the general feeling of jubilation that Mipps, who was working with Merry in the church, thought fit to give his views on the subject to Dr. Syn and the squire as they passed by him arm-in-arm.
“Good news, gentlemen, that this rascal is dead, eh?” he remarked.
“Faith, the village seems all agog as though it were on holiday,” answered the squire. “They seem mightily glad that the hangman has missed his commission.”
“Now that, I dare swear, sir, ain't entered none of their heads,” returned Mipps in defence of the villagers, for he felt that their attitude night reasonably be received with suspicion. “Now, my opinion of their opinion's this—I don't think it's so much glorying over Grinsley's death as being joyful that the Sandgate riding-officer is avenged. He was very beloved that there officer was, as they says in the Psalms.”
“I never knew a riding-officer beloved yet,” was the squire's sharp comment.
“You shouldn't judge Customs people, sir, by our Preventive man,” said Mipps reprovingly. “Gloomy, he's called, gloomy he is, and suspicious of innocent men. But that Sandgate late lamented was a pleasant man, fond of his wife and children and very regular attending church. No wonder everyone bears a grudge against Grinsley for giving him that broadside.”
“It ain't that at all,” growled Merry, “touching his cap to the gentlemen in a grudging manner. “The villagers are glad Grinsley's dead because he's dead without coming to trial. If he'd got in the dock he'd have informed against 'em, and well they know it. But there's only one man besides me as would own it, and that's the Preventive Officer, and you can ask him if you doubt me, 'cos here he comes.”
Preceded by the beadle ringing his bell, and followed by a crowd of gaping school children, the Preventive Officer, carrying a very soiled parchment, proceeded to the foot of the gallows tree, which was fortunately barren of fruit, and signing to the beadle to cease ringing his brass bell, himself began intoning and crying “Oyez” in a lugubrious voice.
“Whereas it is a common practice in Romney Marsh to cause wool to be transported to France in exchange for contraband of rum, sundry spirits and silks, for the future be it enacted that all persons so concerned may be held in close custody at His Majesty's pleasure to be tried on a capital charge. God save the King.”
To avoid the clanging of the bell and the indignity of being stared at by the school children, the squire had led Dr. Syn through the little iron gate in the wall that shuts off the Court House shrubbery from the main road.
Such other adults who happened to be lounging or passing by the immediate vicinity, for other reasons best known to their own consciences also made themselves scarce, so that the reading of His Majesty's Proclamation was given for the benefit of Mipps, Merry and the children.
The Preventive Officer ignored everyone but Mipps, and while pronouncing blessing upon King George the Third, he looked from his parchment straight at the sexton in a somewhat sinister fashion.
Mipps, however, was not at all perturbed at this, but appeared very interested. He strolled across to the officer and thrust his long nose into the parchment which he read through as though to make sure that the officer had not left anything out or made any mistake.
“Yes. That's what it says, sure enough,” he nodded.
“Aye,” replied the officer, and under cover of the noise of the bell, which the beadle had once more set ringing, he added: “You've heard and read. Well, my advice to you is to profit by it, or you may find you're measuring yourself for a coffin.”
“Don't know no one as could do it better,” replied the sexton, “but what exactly might you be drivin' at?”
“A friendly warnin'. You've seen this parchment. Don't it convey something to you?”
“Oh, yes,” nodded Mipps with great conviction.
“It means something to you, eh?”
“Certainly it do,” replied Mipps with another serious nod.
“What?” barked out the officer, above the clanging of the bell.
“That it's got very dirty. Now, own up. It is dirty, ain't it? They tells me bread crumbs is a very good thing, and also wash your hands now and again.”
Mr. Mipps then turned on the beadle. “Here. Enough of that noise. Come and have a drink at the 'Old Ship', but don't go waking up old man Waggetts with that bit of brass, or he'll start telling us how when he was a boy there used to be smugglers in Dymchurch. I'm tired of tales of smugglers, straight, I am. Coming, Gloomy? No? Oh, well, then I'll drink with the beadle.”
And while Mipps led the beadle, nothing loath, towards the back door of the “Old Ship Inn,' the Preventive Officer and Merry put their heads together and talked in whispers.
As for the school children, they followed the man with the brass bell, especially as he was talking and walking with their hero, Mr. Mipps.
All through the day little knots of villagers met here and there, in inn parlours, at street corners or leaning upon the sea-wall, and when they spoke of what might have been, had Grinsley been taken alive, many a face looked troubled. And the mysterious appearance of the second scarecrow was openly discussed. Who could it have been? To most of these inquiries came the answer so subtly suggested by Mipps. For who could ride so fearlessly as Jimmie Bone, the highwayman? Certainly, no one on the Romney Marsh, where he was so often in hiding.
Despite Charlotte's important birthday, which was naturally a great event in the Cobtree household, the squire was also troubled. He knew well enough that his stables had been used the night before, and the knowledge irritated him, especially as he was quite certain that he would hold his tongue and appear to his grooms as an easily-deceived owner, for when Dr. Pepper came bursting in with the news that his horse had been requisitioned the night before on illegal business, the squire retorted: “Of course they take your horse, because you won't leave 'em alone. Now, I say there is no smuggling going on. Well, I've never seen a sign of it, and therefore, you see, my horses are no more used than Dr. Syn's pony.”
“Well, he's a gull and no mistake, with all respects,” remarked a young ostler to the squire's head coachman.
“Maybe he's not so blind as you think, youngster,” reproved the coachman. “He's a wise man is the squire, and a wise man don't go stirring up for trouble as that Dr. Pepper does.”
