A TRIUMPH
The fumes of the punch had been dissipated, not only from the room of
the Lamb and Flag, but also from the brain of the orchestra.
The bassoon’s scruples revived; he was still grateful for the punch, but
resentful for the headache it had produced.
The several points brought out by the clarionet, that provoking advocate
for Pasco, who asked awkward questions and propounded awkward
suggestions, stood twinkling like sparks in tinder. The bassoon thought
that punch, good thing though it might be, did but momentarily overflow,
and did not drown, doubts. It darkened the burning questions, but did
not quench them. The disappearance of Quarm was not satisfactorily
explained. The coincidence of the voiding of the Cellars conveniently
for the fire, was not explained. The contradiction between the
statements made by the uncle and the niece was unsifted. The bassoon
grunted in his bed a grunt of dissatisfaction with himself for having
yielded his opinions, a grunt of resentment against Pasco for having
obfuscated his clear judgment, a grunt of resolve never again to allow
his opinions to give way before punch. Conscience, that capricious
factor, which had pricked him in one direction last night, pricked him
in another this morning.
The hautboy, also, was out of tune. On review of the events of the past
night, he considered that the entry of Pasco was an unwarrantable
intrusion. The rule was well known that during a practice of the
orchestra no one should be admitted. Pepperill had entered uninvited,
had forced himself into their society, and he must have done that for a
purpose. For what purpose but to cajole, to hoodwink them?
In vain is the net spread in the sight of any bird. The hautboy was a
very wideawake and watchful bird, and he saw the meshes clearly. In vain
is the hook cast in clear water; and the medium was so transparent that
the hautboy plainly saw the hook. He resolved to maintain an
independent, observant attitude, to form his own opinion, not accept
ready-made views served up to him with punch. When before had the
churchwarden favoured the village orchestra with punch? Never’since
Pasco had been churchwarden. Never when in a private capacity. Only when
popular feeling became suspicious or hostile, did he show himself
free-handed. His present liberality told against him.
The violoncello also entered into commune with himself. Was there any
chance of another brew? Would another bowl of punch be produced to keep
up the favourable opinion formed on the preceding evening, or would a
mistrustful attitude act as a stimulant to excite greater liberality?
One brew of punch was not much, it prepared the soil, a second would sow
the seed, a third make it germinate, a fourth develop, and only a fifth
fructify conviction in the integrity of the provider.
The words spoken by Pepperill relative to Kate had spread. The orchestra
confided them to their spouses, and the wives whispered them to their
intimates. There arose in Coombe-in-Teignhead two rival factions. One
party contended that Pasco was guilty, the other argued that Kitty had
fired the storehouse. The advantage of the latter view was that it
explained what was otherwise inexplicable’the disappearance of Quarm.
The story was worked into shape; it was elaborated in detail. Kitty, of
a morose and vindictive nature, had been exasperated because her uncle
had forbidden her engagement to the schoolmaster. Kitty had never been
as other girls were. Her reserve was slyness, her bashfulness sulkiness.
Her schoolfellows had disliked her. Their mothers shared the feelings of
their daughters. As the proverb says, “Still waters run deep,” and of
the stillness of Kitty there could be no question.
The dislike entertained of Kitty had been vague and unreasonable. Now a
reason was supplied, and consistency given to what had been shapeless.
It was suspicious that Kitty had volunteered the statement relative to
her being left in the linhay before she had been asked questions
relative to her whereabouts. Why should she have blurted this out to Jan
Pooke and Rose Ash, but for the purpose of throwing dust in their eyes?
Kitty had been unwarrantably forward in telling her tale, and the
schoolmaster unwarrantably reticent relative to his experience. Why did
the schoolmaster refuse to speak out what he had seen and heard at
Coombe Cellars, on that eventful night. The reason was plain enough. He
did not desire to compromise Kitty. But it was clear what had occurred.
She had been sent back to the Cellars by her uncle, and there her
malignant spirit had induced her, out of revenge, to set fire to her
uncle’s stores. Her father had come on her red-handed, and had rebuked
her sharply. That was what the schoolmaster had overheard. Then Quarm,
finding it too late to undo the mischief done by his daughter, afraid to
call in neighbours to his aid, lest Kitty should be compromised, had
made his escape. There were a thousand other ways by which he might get
away besides crossing the Teign. No one had thought of that. Every one
had considered only whether he had crossed by ferry or by bridge. There
were a score of lanes at the back of Coombe by which he might get away
unperceived. All attention and investigation had been devoted to the
water, and every other means of evasion left unconsidered.
Thus was the case worked out against Kitty. It assumed deeper colouring
when it was remembered that she had allowed Roger Redmore to escape when
entrusted with the charge of him by Jan Pooke, and Jan had said that as
he left Roger he could not free himself, without Kate’s consent. It was
noted, also, that she had, as her uncle had told, deliberately and of
_malice prepense_, frustrated the efforts he made to catch the
incendiary at Dart-meet.
She had, moreover, induced her father to give up his house to Jane
Redmore. Birds of a feather flock together’and surely fireflies are
actuated by mutual sympathy.
On the other hand, the party that held Pepperill to be guilty were not
silent. Who was the gainer by the fire? Pasco, to the amount of twelve
hundred pounds. Was it not certain that he had been greatly embarrassed
for money? that a bill of his had just been dishonoured? Was it not just
as probable that his story was false as that of Kate? Was it she who
sent away Zerah across the water? Who persuaded Pasco to drive in the
direction of Newton? Did not all his proceedings on that eventful
evening show a deep-laid plan? And so on.
The pros and cons were thrashed and re-thrashed over the tavern table
and the ale-mugs, and over the tea in private houses. Hardly any other
topic occupied men’s minds and women’s mouths, till suddenly something
happened which silenced everyone.
The insurance company had refused payment, and the solicitor of the
company sent down an agent to Coombe that he might collect information
which might justify them in their refusal. At once all became mum. No
one knew anything, no one suspected anybody. Nothing had happened but
what was natural and easily accounted for. This change was due to the
fact that there is, and more than half a century ago there was, a strong
_esprit de corps_ in a secluded village, that resented any intrusion of
a stranger into its affairs. The rural mind is naturally suspicious, and
naturally mistrusts anyone not intimately known, and regards any
questions asked as something to be evaded, and on no account to be
answered.
When, accordingly, the agent came among the Coombe-in-Teignheadites, and
busied himself in cross-examining the people, they snapped their mouths
as an oyster snaps before a lobster; or they may be likened to hedgehogs
that rolled themselves up and presented nothing but prickles to the
inquirer intruding in their midst. Never in his life had the man come
among people like these; they neither saw with their eyes, nor heard
with their ears, nor thought with what they called their brains.
Pasco took no measures to protect himself. He knew his fellow-villagers
well enough to be sure that they would say nothing against him.
After a week spent in unprofitable investigation, the agent retired. At
once the whole place woke up. Everyone uncoiled, every mouth opened, and
every brain worked again. The rival factions recommenced their warfare,
and the difference in opinion became poignant.
In due course the case of Pepperill against the insurance company came
off, or rather, was announced to come off.
Pepperill was full of consequence.
He had felt acutely that suspicion hung about him like a cloud which he
could not dissipate. Men who had hitherto courted his society now
avoided him. The rector was especially cold in demeanour towards him.
The orchestra remained divided in opinion, agreed only in desire for
more punch. When, after church, he approached a group at the graveyard
gate that was in eager conversation, his approach silenced the talkers
and broke up the conclave. He was certain that he had been their topic.
Hands that had formerly been extended to him now remained buried in
trousers-pockets. Voices that had given him the good-day now withheld
salutations. Customers were reluctant to deal with him. His appearance
in the bar of the Lamb and Flag induced a hasty rise, a payment of shot,
and a departure of all save sodden topers. By no other means were they
to be retained save by the offer of drink at his expense. When he
bragged, his boasts fell flat; when he joked, none laughed.
In ill-humour and uneasy, Pasco departed for Exeter. The case, however,
never got into court. At the last moment the Company, convinced it had
no grounds to go upon, agreed to pay.
This was a triumph for Pepperill. He deferred his return to Coombe for a
week, that the news might be carried to everyone there, and have time to
ripen in the somewhat sluggish brains of the natives, and produce the
effect he anticipated.
The triumph of Pepperill was more than his own individual triumph. When
the tidings had well soaked in, then Coombe awoke to the knowledge that
the entire parish had achieved a victory, and that over an influential,
moneyed, and powerful society. Whether Pepperill was guilty or not
guilty was immaterial. The fact remained that a little parish like
Coombe, by its representative, Pasco, its churchwarden, had stood up
face to face with the capital of the county, represented by the
insurance company, and that the latter had cringed and acknowledged
defeat without daring to measure arms. That was something unheard of
heretofore. If Coombe-in-Teignhead were not proud of its doughty
champion, then it would cover itself with disgrace. The situation was
discussed in the bar of the Lamb and Flag, and a self-constituted
committee formed to celebrate this momentous achievement. The rector was
to be solicited to have a special service, at which Puddicombe in F
would be performed and a sermon preached. The rector had a service on
Saints’ Day, attended only by a few old women. Who cared for the saints?
But Pepperill’who had extorted one thousand two hundred pounds from the
insurance company’that was the sort of man to honour, and the service in
his honour would be attended by all Coombe. The bells should be rung.
There had been a disturbance with the parson about the right to the
belfry on the occasion of Puddicombe’s return. The parish must assert
and maintain its right to ring the bells when it chose, and defy the
rector if he objected.
As was feared, Mr. Fielding raised objections to both the thanksgiving
service and to the peal of bells. Thereupon ensued another meeting in
the bar.
Now Mr. Pooke, senior, came forward. He had been opposed to Mr.
Pepperill; he had disapproved of his conduct. But when it came to a
matter of ringing of bells, he felt that a principle was involved. If
once the parishioners yielded that point, they might as well yield
everything, and be priest-ridden. There were two church-wardens; Pasco
Pepperill was one, Mr. Ash, the miller, was the other, having succeeded
at Lady-Day to Whiteaway, the grocer. Let Mr. Ash insist on the bells
being rung, and if the rector withheld the key, then let him authorise
the blacksmith to break open the door. He, Yeoman Pooke, would back him
up.
They could not force Mr. Fielding to preach a sermon, but that didn’t
matter; they’d have music, and have it in the road, and escort Pasco
Pepperill home to the strains of Puddicombe in F.
Carried by acclamation.