The Willows at Christmas (18 page)

“It’s nothing, Toad, please keep calm,” said the Mole in a mollifying way “Now; we had better —”

“And
that?”

Toad clutched his arm again and it was all Mole could do to keep him still and low.

“Really, Toad, it is nothing but your imagination. Now follow me and we’ll be at the bridge in no time. Our pursuers have probably long since given up the chase.”

Mole’s voice slowed, for this time it was he who thought he had heard something, and seen something as well. It was a low whistle he heard, and sudden lights he saw; red lights, but strangely fierce, as of some ferocious night creature on the far bank.

“Come on, Toad, there’s nothing there,” said Mole bravely.

O, but there was. All about them in the dark they heard sinister sliding and slurrying, strange warning grunts and half-screams, malicious clicks and knocks, and caught brief glimpses of livid eyes, and shining teeth and weapons catching the dim night light.

“O, Mole,” said Toad in a terrified voice, “they’re after us! Better to be caught at once than have to bear this ghastly suspense.”

“Pull yourself together,” said the Mole firmly, though he greatly regretted he had not thought to bring along a few lumps of coal to serve as weapons. “We’ll soon be at the bridge.”

He was right. Its arch loomed in the darkness ahead of them and seemed quite deserted.

“Listen, Toad,” said the Mole. “Please try to stop your teeth chattering and your knees knocking, and keep your eyes cast down, for I can see their whites quite clearly in the dark.”

“O Moly,” moaned Toad, “we are done for. They will stalk us through the night and roast us alive on their spits for their Christmas feast.”

“When I say ‘go!’, we shall go,” said Mole. “Keep in the shadow of the bridge wall and do not make a sound.
Do you understand?”

“Don’t you think we should just give ourselves up?” said Toad in a thin, quavering voice. “Then perhaps they will show mercy and put us to death at once —O! O! O!”

These exclamations of alarm followed the sudden drumming of feet beneath the bridge, and then a high, cackling laugh.

“We can see you, Toad, we can see you!”

“O Mole,” said Toad, “I can’t bear it!”

With that, Toad broke free of Mole and the shadows in which they hid, and ran out on to the road, his hands raised in the air. “I am here! Torment me no more! Take me!” It did occur to Mole that this offered himself the perfect opportunity of escape, but he could not bring himself to do it. He ran after Toad, caught up with him, and stood protectively at his side as from the shadows of the ditches on either side of the bridge stoats and weasels emerged, grinning, cackling and whetting their weapons for what seemed likely to be the kill. But as Toad fainted clean away, and Mole stood firm to fight what he felt sure was his last fight, some larger figures loomed out of the night — lords and ladies, and several constables, and in no time at all the two fugitives were put in handcuffs.

They were led back to Toad Hall, on whose steps Mrs Ffleshe waited with a rolling pin.

“That’s him,” she cried, pointing at Toad, “and that’s the villainous Mr Mole of Mole End.”

The game was up, it seemed. The only comfort that the Mole found in this situation was that in the chaos and gloom he noticed the Otter making his escape in one direction while Miss Bugle went off in another. Where they went to the Mole did not see, but he hoped they might perhaps make a rendezvous with the Badger and the Rat at some later time.

In this the Mole judged his friends well, for those two sterling animals had done their best to halt the advance of Mrs Ffleshe’s allies, and confuse the chase. Now they appeared to protest Toad and Mole’s innocence, but were warned that they might be arrested for obstructing the police. They were escorted to the boundary of Toad’s estate and told to go peaceably home. They did not, however. Instead, they watched from beyond the line of weasels and stoats who stood as gloating guards at the gates, and from this frustrating situation witnessed the final humiliation of Toad and Mole.

For Lord Malice appeared on the steps of the Hall next to Mrs Ffleshe, and by candlelight he read out three token charges against the manacled Toad: for treason, for murderous assault and for failing to declare himself a criminal. While against the handcuffed Mole was laid the charge of resisting arrest.

He then gave orders for the criminals to be conveyed post-haste to the Village Gaol, there to await the pleasure of the Lord of the Manor, or his representative.

Toad and Mole were roughly taken to Lord Malice’s carriage and handcuffed to its rear like common criminals on the way to the gallows. In vain did Toad protest. It mattered not that he was master of the Hall and they his guests, and the weasels and stoats all trespassers.

With the crack of a whip the carriage set off and Toad’s cries and shouts were drowned out by the sonorous noise of the carriage wheels as they turned across his cobbles.

“An ‘appy exmas, Mr Toad!” mocked the weasels.

“And a hespecially Merry Christmas to you, sir, Mr Mole!” laughed the stoats, who were only too happy to gain their revenge upon an animal who had fought and beaten them on that historic occasion a year or two before when they had been ousted after their illegal takeover of Toad Hall.

“Fiends,” growled the Badger as his two friends were dragged by, forced to run to keep up with the carriage and prevent themselves falling on their faces in the mud and dirt.

“We’ll think of something, Mole!” called out the Rat.

“Toad, keep your spirits up, we’ll get justice for you!”

IX

Under Lock and Key

By the time they reached the Village the two accused were exhausted from the struggle of keeping up with the coach to which they had been so cruelly tied. They were so enfeebled that neither was capable of offering any resistance at their moment of final confinement.

The Parish Clerk, having been forewarned by a horseback rider that criminals had been arrested in the Parish and were being sent to him “at the behest of the
de facto
representative of the Lord of Session and of the Manor”, did not hesitate to do his duty and abandon his Christmas fireside. Indeed, he was delighted to do so, for the case sounded like a capital one and would mean he could end his days as Parish Clerk on a high note.

For this reason the fact that it was Mr Toad of Toad Hall who was the main accused, and Mr Mole of Mole End who was his accomplice, and that he had a high regard for both, mattered not to the Parish Clerk. In any case the cast-iron wheels of justice had begun to turn, and it was his ancient duty and bounden task to oil them, and see they continued to turn as smoothly as they might.

He was therefore ready and waiting on the bridge when they arrived, a great ring of keys in his hand, the padlocks of the Gaol already undone and its door invitingly left open at the bottom of the steps which the Mole had descended with such curiosity only two days before.

Now, with the roar of the river in their ears, and the clanking of their handcuffs, they were led down the steps and into the gloom of the Gaol by the Clerk, who carried a storm lantern to light the way.

“You will find every comfort within,” said he in a friendly way, “as is prescribed by ancient statute. There is a stone slab for your bed, which will accommodate you both, a bucket for water from the culvert, and your food will be passed through this flap in the door once a day In addition, there is a window to give you light, and a grille in the door which will do likewise. A candle has been lit to give you even more light and warmth. Guard it well, for it is the only one you will have this week.”

“Is there no food?” cried Toad pitiably.

“You have missed your meal today, gentlemen, but fear not, a dry crust of bread will be served in the morning.” Toad groaned, while the Mole attempted a feeble protest till the Clerk interrupted him.

“Be of good cheer, for you are fortunate indeed to have been arraigned in the festive season, when I am glad to say that the rules permit your gaoler (which is to say myself) a degree of latitude!”

A look of hope came to Toad’s eye, and visions of good food of the kind so essential for his daily comfort.

“Now, I would normally be permitted in these circumstance to allow you a roast goose or two, cranberry and apple sauces, and plenty of choice roasted vegetables, but…”

“But what?” cried Toad.

“But since you have a previous conviction, Mr Toad, and the current charges are so very serious, my generosity must be statutorily restrained to the provision of a mite of beef dripping each.”

“A mite?” said Toad. “How much is that?”

“Two mites make a snip, which is less than a peck but rather more than a pinch!”

With this the two felons were thrust into the Gaol and the door locked for the night.

Mole, having already examined the Gaol from the outside, had very little doubt that getting out again was not going to be easy Nevertheless, he set about examining the place to see what possible avenues of escape it offered. He also thought that it would be prudent if he and Toad were to empty their pockets to see what articles they had that might help them either escape or be more comfortable.

Toad proved less resourceful. The moment the door slammed shut upon them, he slumped down on the slab and put his head in his hands.

“We are done for, Mole, if they leave us here overnight. Look! It is so cold that the water in this bucket has frozen!”

He suddenly rose up in a panic and, grasping the bars of the door, cried, “Help! Help! A gold guinea to anyone who helps us escape!”

The Parish Clerk peered in. “This is my first and final warning, Mr Toad. Any further attempts to bribe the gaoler will result in your trial by ordeal taking place sooner and not later, as decreed by Act of Parliament.”

“What trial by ordeal?” stammered Toad.

“Which is to say whose trial or what ordeal?” asked the Clerk.

“Well, both I suppose.” said Toad.

“Your trial, sir, and Mr Mole’s. As for the ordeals, their nature, number and order will be read out to you prior to their execution by the Clerk to the Parish, which is myself but you will find comfort in the fact that following the Act of Repeal of 1244 there are only twelve trials, beginning with the rack and ending, as is customary in most counties in the civilised world, with the fiery stake.