Midway between Hythe and Dymchurch the marsh road joins the seawall and then for three miles runs parallel but beneath it, thus sheltering the traveller from the full force of the sea breeze, for indeed in rough weather it was well night impossible for pedestrians to walk upright upon the footpath that ran along the top of this great stone and grassy bank, though on this autumn evening the weather was calm enough. Dust was falling and the postilions spurred hard to reach home before lantern light, so the smart little chaise sped along the dyke-bound road in fine style.
The comfort of the well-sprung vehicle and the absence of their illmannered companion put them in a merry mood, and Miss Gordon, her face no longer hidden by her muff, was able to join Doctor Syn in a hearty laugh when they discussed Captain Foulkes's misfortune.
'I vow I would not have cared a fig for his feelings had that roguish highwayman deprived him of his breeches too, for I have seldom met with such a boorish oaf,' she chuckled.
Which latter thought had already occurred to Doctor Syn with satisfaction, for he had other matters to see to before being able to give his undivided attention to the Captain. This notion, however, he did not convey to Miss Agatha Gordon.
The journey, though short, was also not without interruption, for at a lonely farm-house the postilions, having already apprised Miss Gordon of the fact, stopped to deliver a package that had come down with the mail. This being done, the old tenant came out to pay his respects to the Cobtree chaise, and was delighted to find that the Vicar of Dymchurch was in it. With much bobbings and pullings of forelock, he was presented to Miss Gordon as one of Sir Antony's worthy tenants. It was during the ensuing catechism put to him by the old lady that Doctor Syn, absent-mindedly, no doubt, fell to humming a gay little tune, which the old farmer, strangely enough, for he was rather deaf, seemed to have caught, for after is respectful leavetaking he went singing lustily through the farmyard, 'some talks of Hal-ex-ha-han-der, hof the British Gren-ha-ha-ha-dears.' Though he may have taken some liberties with the original text, he most certainly conveyed the meaning of the song itself, for the catchy tune was caught up by half a dozen labourers working round the farm, and even a fat milkmaid some three fields ahead of the chaise was singing it and marking time in rhythm as she pulled. Indeed, fast as the chaise sped on towards the village, the tune preceded it all the way, till Miss Gordon exclaimed, 'That teasing tune again. And this time the fault is yours, Doctor Syn, for being quit of the guard we had escaped it, till you started up the plaguey thing again.' To which Doctor Syn, pleading ignorance that he had hummed the tune, apologised profusely and offered to make amends with a little Handel on the harpsichord at the Cobtrees' next musical. But upon entering Dymchurch, he could not deny but that the village was ringing with it. Workers returning from the fields, dyke-cleaners swinging their trugs, the blacksmith at his forge, housewives closing shutters, fishermen mending their net and a host of small children running this way and that, all singing, whistling, moving to the self-same tune; while Mr. Mipps, the sexton, was executing on the churchyard wall as neat a hornpipe as Miss Gordon had ever seen in her native Highlands, and in a voice that seemed to have been tuned and broken at the capstan bar, sang loud enough to let the Frenchies know on t'other side of the Channel the full glories of the British Grenadiers.
At the corner of the churchyard wall upon which Mr. Mipps was thus disporting himself, the postilion, on Doctor Syn's request, pulled up, and the Sexton, recognising with obvious pleasure his beloved master, finished his dance with an intricate twiddle and with surprising agility leapt down to the road before Doctor Syn had stepped on to it. Shouldering the valise, he stood waiting while the Vicar was taking his leave. He hovered happily, his impertinent ferrety face wreathed in seraphic smiles, and his strained black hair, twisted and bound into a tarred queue, resembled a jigger-gaff, though at this moment it quivered with expectancy reminiscent of a pleased puppy about to wag its tail. His wiry little body suggested more the sailor than the Sexton, and his clothes certainly had something of a nautical air. The villagers regarded Mr. Mipps as a person of importance with whom one could not take a liberty, for it was rumoured that being press-ganged into the Navy he had been captured by the famous pirate Clegg and had had to serve him as ship's carpenter. Maybe there were some who had their own opinions on the subject, but they would not have dared to voice them, least of all to Mr. Mipps, who, as Parish Clerk, Sexton and Undertaker, was admired and respected. He was the Vicar's general factotum, though some had their suspicions regarding his other activities. In fact, many a Revenue man worsted by the Scarecrow and his gang was ready to swear that when Mr. Mipps wore that look of injured innocence he had in all probability been up to a bit of no good, and indeed knew more about this plaguey smuggling than he cared to admit. But they never seemed able to put their finger on it, and Mr. Mipps, conscious of his own importance, continued to bask in the reflected glory of his well-loved master.
Before taking farewell of Miss Gordon, Doctor Syn begged her to convey his felicitations to the Cobtrees and excusing himself for not accompanying her on the grounds of their family reunion, promised to visit them on the morrow. With a pat on Mister Pitt's head, and counselling Lisette not to lose sleep over the Scarecrow, he irrevocably won the old lady's heart by kissing her hand. Then with a bow he joined the waiting Mipps, and the chaise went on to the Court House.
Mr. Mipps, trotting to keep up with the Vicar's long, easy strides, became as voluble as he had previously been silent, and embarked upon a long series of questions, answers, happenings, and more questions till Doctor Syn advised him to postpone verbosity as they had the evening before them, adding with an enthusiasm that might have seemed strange to an outsider, that for his part his immediate ambitions centred around a long, strong drink.
'Well, we know where the best brandy is in Dymchurch, sir,' suggested Mr. Mipps, as they entered the Vicarage. Panelled in ivory white, the room was of exquisite proportions. Indeed it had been specially designed and personally supervised by Doctor Syn's friend, the great Robert Adam himself.
The fireplace had a dignified mantel with bookcases in pillared alcoves on either side. A log fire burned brightly in the hearth, and the Vicar warmed himself in front of it while Mipps got bottle and glasses. Doctor Syn was glad to be home. He loved his parish and he loved his house, and he stood, glass in hand, appreciating his own taste both for fine old brandy and good furnishings. He watched Mr. Mipps lighting the huge candelabras that stood on the refectory table, and as each candle came to life some aspect of the room pleased him more. The great staircase with its sweep of fluted banisters curving into the room. The deep bow windows with diamond panes, through which twinkled innumerable lights from fishing-boats already putting out to sea, while a great painted globe of the world stood, shining and inviting, in its brass stand as if enticing him to leave home waters and once again put out for distant seas.
For one exhilarating moment he allowed his mind to cover those vast oceans which he knew so well, smiling at some remembered escapade.
Strange that this Mipps, his close companion and lieutenant in those tempestuous days, should now be with him in this haven of rest, decorously lighting the candles. It was not often that he permitted himself the luxury of allowing his mind to cram on canvas and to carry him back to the enchantment of spiced islands in the tropic seas, or the heady dangers of blustering broadsides in some open fight.
But Doctor Syn was in a reflective mood—the outcome of his activities during the past week, with which he was fully satisfied. Yet when he pondered over the accomplishment of his latest enterprise he was fully aware that this had but started the overture to a new drama in his life. While his seafaring instinct had always told him, 'No petticoats aboard', yet, at this very moment, having stifled the sailor in him to become the parson once more, he realised upon looking round his pleasant home that it did, in very truth, lack that one thing. So it was with an almost imperceptible sigh that he dismissed the future with the past, and brought back his vagabond thoughts to the present.
'Well, Mipps, is all according to plan tonight?' 'Yessir,' replied the Sexton, blowing out the taper. 'Three cries of the curlew it is, and the 'British Grenadiers'. No, I'm not anticipatin' any trouble tonight—though since you've been away, sir, we've been sent a bran' new box of soldiers, as pretty a troop of Dragoons as you ever did see, and who do you think is in command?' 'I haven't the faintest idea, Mipps.'
'No, thought you wouldn't, sir, so I'll save time by telling you,' said Mipps. 'Major Faunce.' Doctor Syn received this intelligence with a raised eyebrow of surprise.
'Never the charming fellow who served with Colonel Troubridge here?' 'No, not the charming fellow who served with Colonel Troubridge here,' echoed Mipps. 'His younger brother, and as like him all them years ago as two peas in a pod.' 'Well, well, that's very interesting,' nodded the Vicar. 'We must endeavour to entertain Major Secundus, as we did Major Primus.' 'No, no, sir,' protested Mipps. 'Faunce is the name, sir.' 'Yes, Mr. Mipps, I stand corrected,' smiled the Vicar. 'My mind seems to be playing truant tonight and at that moment I was back in the Lower Third at Canterbury School.'
To which Mipps, slightly mystified, replied, 'Oh well, of course if you're going back to your second childhood, p'raps you'd like me to fetch you a nice hot glass of milk before tellin' you the rest of the news!' 'Well then,' continued Mipps, 'item number two. There's a new Revenue Officer come to Sandgate, and he's been nosin' round here too, though I ain't expectin' much trouble from him neither, for all they say he's smart as paint. We'll soon blister it, eh, Captain?' 'Mr. Mipps'—warned the Vicar.
'Oh, sorry, sir. Quite forgot—eh, Vicar. Wants to see you alone. I don't do. Leastways I didn't, so he said. Still, he'll soon know who does and who doesn't round 'ere. But knock me up solid, I'd forgotten all about that there Kitty-run-the-street.'
1 'I beg your pardon, Mr. Mipps. And what might that mean?' 'Well, sir,' explained the Sexton, 'someone else come nosin' round 'ere today and wants to see you most particular. I shushed him off but back he come. Wouldn't go away. Said he'd wait. Sat there. Missus 'Oneyballs had to dust round him. Ever such a ernful 2 young gentleman he was. Look like WillJill to me.' 'Mr. Mipps, would you do me the favour of speaking in plain English?'
1 Marsh term for the common heartsease or pansy.
'Sorry, sir. Forgot I was talking to the Lower Third. Well, since you're so judgmatical, 1 'alf past two, it was, to be exact. As fine a young dandy as ever you did see comes prancin' up the path. I 'appen to be puttin' a nice bit of manure into the rose-beds at the time, and not wantin' to be disturbed, I nips into the tool'ouse, and lets Missus 'Oneyballs deal with 'im, but, blow me down, if she don't come and find me. I give her a talkin' to, but she says I'd better come and keep a weather eye on him, 'cos she wasn't goin' to be left alone with him, not with 'Oneyballs workin' two miles away. So in I goes, and there he be. And that's what I told you, see?'
'Yes, Mr. Mipps,' nodded the Vicar, 'you have done full justice to your powers of observation. I gather from your graphic tale that someone has been here who wished to see me.' 'Right, sir. You've got it, sir. First shot, sir.' Mr. Mipps was delighted as he added, 'And what a one you was for layin' a gun, sir.' 'Mr. Mipps,' warned the Vicar again, then asked: 'And what did you do with the young dandy?' 'Do with him? Nothin' I could do with him till he get so 'ungry that he stopped titherin'
1 about and went back to the 'Ship' to get somethin' to take the sad look off his face. Leastways I 'opes it do, if he's goin' to come 'ere again, which he said he would, first thing tomorrow mornin'. Oh, blow me 1 Tither about, to waste time, to dawdle.
down, give me his card he did. Now where did I put it? Oh yes—'ere.' And out of the depths of his capacious pocket he produced an assortment of queer objects. Spigots for barrels, bits of tarred string, measurements for coffins, a twist of tobacco, and amongst all these slightly bedaubed with fish manure, was a card that he triumphantly handed to Doctor Syn. Which said gentleman was not at all surprised when holding the delicate piece of paste-board that had lost its elegance since morning, to find that the name engraved on it was Clarence, Viscount Cullingford.
'Clarence,' snorted Mr. Mipps as the Vicar read the name aloud. 'Silly sort o' name for a silly sort o'—' Mr. Mipps did not finish the sentence, but added, 'Don't bother your 'ead about who he is or what he wants. I'll flip round to the 'Ship' and soon get charted up on him.' But he took care not to mention that he had already slipped there and gained several drinks from the gentleman in question.
'You need not trouble, Mr. Mipps. I have him spotted. Well, what else? Nothing to report from the Court House?' 'Coo—I should say there be and well you knows it. The 'ullabelaybaloo started as soon as you'd gone. I 'ave 'ad Sir Antony round 'ere every day with his face as long as a yardarm askin' for you. Got tired o' sayin' you'd gone preachin' in London. He finally writes a note which he says I'm to give you the first minute you gets back.' 'Well, I've been here more than a minute, Mr. Mipps.' 'That's right. So you 'as and 'ere it is.' And from the desk, Mipps handed Doctor Syn a letter which read as follows:
Nov. 12th, 1794 The Court House, Dymchurch-under-the-Wall, Kent.
My Dear Christopher, Not knowing your whereabouts in London I have been pestering the good Mipps for knowledge of your return. Will you send word of your arrival, for I find myself in need of your counsel. In fact, my dear Christopher, I am confoundedly worried, the reason being that Cicely, ever wayward, has vanished into thin air. She rode off saying that she had a mind to visit the Pemburys at Lympne, but we now find that she never went there, and not a sign have we had from the naughty miss since. Caroline is in a pretty pet as her Aunt Agatha is due here for a visit, and she wanted our girl to make a good impression. I know you cannot fully appreciate the trials and tribulations of a family man, nor understand my mortification when Caroline looks at me as though it were my fault. So do be a good fellow and come and help me out.
Which appeal from an obviously harassed paterfamilias caused the Vicar no astonishment. He almost appeared to have been expecting it. Nor did he show the least surprise on hearing outside the window footsteps crunching the shingle and someone whistling quietly the opening bars of 'The British Grenadiers'.
