The Willows at Christmas (26 page)

“My Lords,” said Toad, “may I just say that the Iron Maiden, though it is not quite flattering to my figure and looks a trifle over-large, does offer prongs that overlap and so it might work, though I couldn’t be sure till we try it.”

“Wrong ordination,” said the Parish Clerk.

“I’ll waive my right to object,” said Toad, “for I am getting hungry and am looking forward to my luncheon, not having eaten very much else but dry crusts of late.”

The Judges gave their approval.

Unresisting, and with a last wave to his now admiring audience, Toad was placed inside the Iron Maiden and to cries of “Good Luck!” the spike-filled door was shut upon him.

Terrible cries issued forth, and muffled shouts, and then grim silence.

“‘E’s done for this time, but ‘e put up a good show,” said one of the Villagers.

“It cannot be,” wept one of the fainting ladies, “he was so brave and did not look like a criminal at all.”

“Open up and see what is left inside,” said Purposeful. Deathwatch and Beadle did so and to everybody’s astonishment, and to Lord Mallice’s evident discomfiture, Toad stepped out breathing heavily and took a bow.

“Tight, but not tight enough,” said Toad with great aplomb once he had got his breath back. “You tore my suit, I’m afraid, and broke a button, which is why I cried out, and after that I had to hold my breath and keep my tummy in.

“Now don’t be downhearted, Mr Deathwatch and Brother Beadle, for this is no ordinary, run-of-the-mill criminal you are dealing with. This is innocence personified. You see before you one who has escaped from tighter spots than this. My name is Toad, Toad of Toad Hall, and I defy your instruments to cause me discomfort, but I will sue you personally if they cause further damage to my apparel!”

This speech, Toad’s first real one, drew applause from the crowd, some of it rapturous, and it was all too plain that the Judges would have to take things in hand if the trial were not to swing in Toad’s favour.

The Judge Pitiless stood up and said, “Leave this to me.” Then to Deathwatch and Beadle he said, “Put him in that iron cage and swing him over the brazier.”

“Braising is not till after strining’ warned the Parish Clerk.

“The prisoner has waived his rights in perpetuity,” said Pitiless. “Do it.”

It would have been better if Toad had protested, as he had every right to do. But he was enjoying himself now and, convinced of his own invincibility, he offered no resistance. He climbed into the cage of his own free will, closed the door behind him and even helped to hold the padlock as the masked duo fastened it.

They attached a rope that was already threaded through a pulley in the beams above and hoisted Toad aloft, from where he began to declaim his own brilliance and excellence, and explained that as a Toad he was not made as others were, so none should attempt any of his feats in the privacy of their own homes where help might not be at hand.

“In fact, ladies and gentlemen, in fact
—
But now, as he was swung over the brazier and lowered through its rising smoke towards its bright and ready flames, his voice faltered and he observed, “Hang on, this is hot, and getting hotter. In fact, it is really very hot —rather
too
hot in my opinion, and my shoes
—
why my shoes are beginning to burn! I say you chaps, could you perhaps
—
please could you — I mean
— help!”

Up till this moment in the proceedings, by virtue of his silence and stillness, and because his box remained in shadow, His Royal Highness the Prince had said nothing. Now, however, he intervened, though few saw him do so. He signalled to one of the court officials and passed a note from the box which he indicated should be taken up to a certain gentleman on the upper row.

The gentleman he pointed at was Mole.

Even as Toad’s cries became more outraged and, it must be said, more desperate, and the rich odours of burning leather and singeing Harris tweed began to fill the Court Room, Mole received the note, read it, looked up in amazement and not a little glee and indicated to the Rat and the Otter where the note had come from.

Then the Mole leapt to his feet and cried, “On behalf of the accused, I demand compurgation and the wager of law!”

Once before the Judges had appeared surprised; this time they were utterly dumbfounded.

“Compurgation?” spluttered Purposeful. “Wager of law?” gasped Pitiless. “It does seem so, I fear,” concluded the Judge Perspicacious. “Bring him down!”

Deathwatch and Beadle duly swung the perspiring Toad away from the brazier and back down to ground level.

“Mr Toad,” said Purposeful, “kindly stop smouldering and return to the dock.”

Toad did so.

“There has been a plea on your behalf for compurgation, which is to say
—
”

“Which is to say,” said the Parish Clerk, “that if twelve good men and true herein testify by shouting ‘Aye’ to your character then you will be let off scot-free and the chief witness tried in your place.”

“But
—
but —!” expostulated Mrs Ffleshe in horror. “My dearest,” said Lord Malice with cunning mien, “be of good cheer, for if twelve good men and true do
not
testify and only eleven or ten or nine come forward then Mr Toad shall be instantly tined, and those oathtakers likewise, is that not so, Parish Clerk?”

“It is,” said the Parish Clerk, turning up ancient statute to confirm the point.

“So,” said the Judge Pitiless, “let those who would testify to the condemned’s character raise their right hand and call out ‘Aye’.”

Six hands went up immediately, comprising the entire Action Committee from the Village, and the gentleman who had called Toad a cad and bounder but had come to admire him. Each in turn cried “Aye!”

“Six thus far,” said Pitiless. “Six more are needed.” Two more hands went up; two more “Ayes” were heard. “Four short,” said Pitiless.

A grim silence fell upon the crowd.

After a further pause Lord Malice, looking smug, said, “My Lords, it is perfectly obvious —”

“Aye!” called a voice from the crowd.

It was the Otter.

And then “Aye!” and “Aye!”

It was Ratty and Mole.

“One more is needed,” said the Parish Clerk, “which is to say fewer than two but more than none.”

Even his normally calm voice showed excitement, and the crowd looked about to see if there were any takers.

“My Lords,” said Lord Mallice once again, “it seems that
—”

“Aye!”

It was the twelfth and last, and it brought a gasp from the crowd that mixed relief and disappointment in equal measure. And then astonishment.

For that last “Aye!” came from the Prince Himself who now rose up so that his face could finally be seen.

It was no prince that they saw.

It was Mr Badger of the Wild Wood, he who had told the Mole what to do in Toad’s moment of mortal danger.

“Aye!” growled the Badger once again, staring his challenge at Lord Malice.

“O My Lord,” cried Mrs Ffleshe, “it seems that I am undone and shall be twined or twanged or whatever it is.”

“Not so, dearest madam,” said Lord Mallice, “for I shall lodge an appeal which cannot be denied and it will not be heard for an eternity. Put your trust in me and I shall be your Lord.”

Mrs Ffleshe sighed and murmured, almost gently, that she had done so in spirit long since.

“But in any case, My Lords,” continued the ever resourceful Mallice, “I greatly fear that one of these twelve compurgators is ineligible and so the quorum is not met!”

A gasp, and the crowd followed the direction of his pointing finger and seeing through his poor disguise now recognised Mr Mole of Mole End.

“That gentleman is Mr Mole and he is a fugitive from justice and can hardly testify to his co-defendant’s character. Mr Toad has had his chance and only eleven good men and true have come forward
—
and in fact that number may be reduced to ten for Mr Badger may well be arraigned for impersonating His Royal Highness the
—”

“Enough! I have heard enough!”

This was a new voice, and it came not from the Bench, nor from the crowd. Not from the witnesses for the prosecution, nor from Toad.

Rather, it came from that gentleman whom all had assumed to be the servant of the one they had believed to be the Prince. It came from the small gentleman who sat next to Badger in the Royal Box.

“It is enough, I say!”

“And who, sir, are you to so interrupt the Court’s proceedings?” cried all three Judges, accompanied by Lord Malice.

“I might ask the same of
you,
sir, but I will not!” said the stranger with some asperity, rising with difficulty and leaning on Badger’s arm as he came into the light. “Instead, I’ll answer your question with as much politeness as is left in me after being forced to witness such a travesty of justice against Mr Toad of Toad Hall!”

His stature, though small, held great authority; his voice, though quiet, carried great force.

“Groat’s my name,” said he, “and wasting time and words is not my game. Call me Lord of this Manor if you will or if you won’t, it don’t make any difference, for that’s what I am whether you like it or not. Now, if I am not very much mistaken
—
and I am
not —
it is I who have jurisdiction over this Court and not you, My Lords. I therefore find the defendant not guilty and pronounce that he is free to leave this Court forthwith!”

All the ladies in the crowd, including even Mrs Ffleshe, fainted there and then.

Only one gentleman fainted, and that was Toad. He looked right, he looked left, he looked skyward and he looked down, and then with nowhere else to look and stuck for any word to say he swooned into the trusty arms of Deathwatch and his colleague, Beadle.

XII

Twelfth Night

The moment Groat made his astonishing appearance and brought the trial of Toad to a summary end, the crowd erupted in a frenzy of clapping and cheering.

In no time at all the heroes of the hour (which is to say Toad, Mole, Badger, Ratty and Otter, and, most reluctant of all, Uncle Groat) were hoisted on the shoulders of the Village menfolk and transported outside on to the bridge, to a rapturous reception and a good many speeches.