A MESSAGE COMES TO HAZEL AND THE
FIRST SWALLOW TO DAME MARIGOLD
The information given by Luke Hempen had enabled the authorities in Lud
finally to put a stop to the import of fairy fruit. As we have seen,
the Dapple had been dragged near its source, and wicker frails had been
brought up, so cunningly weighted that they could float beneath the
surface of the water, and closely packed with what was unmistakably
fairy fruit. After that no further cases of fruit-eating came to
Mumchance's notice. But, for all that, his anxieties were by no means
at an end, for the execution of Endymion Leer came near to causing a
popular rising. An angry mob, armed with cudgels and led by Bawdy Bess,
stormed the court of the Guildhall, cut down the body--which had been
left hanging on the gibbet as an example to evildoers--and bore it off
in triumph; and the longest funeral procession that had been seen for
years was shortly following it to the Fields of Grammary.
The cautious Mumchance considered it would be imprudent to interfere
with the obsequies.
"After all, your Worship," he said to Master Polydore, "the Law has
had his blood, and if it will mean a little peace and quiet she can do
without his corpse."
The next day many of the 'prentices and artizans went on strike, and
several captains of merchant vessels reported that their crews showed
signs of getting out of hand.
Master Polydore was terrified out of his wits, and Mumchance was
inclined to take a very gloomy view of the situation: "If the town
chooses to rise the Yeomanry can do nothing against them," he said
dejectedly. "We ain't organized (if your Worship will pardon the
expression) for trouble--no, we ain't."
Then, as if by a miracle, everything quieted down. The strikers,
as meek as lambs, returned to their work, the sailors ceased to be
turbulent, and Mumchance declared that it was years since the Yeomanry
had had so little to do.
"There's nothing like taking strong measures at once," Master Polydore
remarked complacently to Master Ambrose (whom he had taken as his
mentor in the place of Endymion Leer). "Once let them feel that there
is a strong man at the helm, and you can do anything with them. And, of
course, they never felt that with poor old Nat."
Master Ambrose's only answer was a grunt--and a rather sardonic smile.
For Master Ambrose happened to be one of the few people who knew what
had really happened.
The sudden calm was due neither to a miracle, nor to the strong
hand of Master Polydore. It had been brought about by two humble
agents--Mistress Ivy Peppercorn and Hazel Gibberty.
One evening they had been sitting in the little parlour behind the
grocer's shop over the first fire of the season.
As plaintiff and principal witness in the unpopular trial, their
situation was not without danger. In fact, Mumchance had advised them
to move into Lud till the storm had blown over. But, to Hazel, Lud was
the place where the widow was buried, and, full as she was of western
superstitions, she felt that she could not bear to sleep enclosed by
the same town walls as the angry corpse. Nor would she return to the
farm. Her aunt had told her of Master Nathaniel's half-joking plan to
communicate with her, and Hazel insisted that even though he had gone
behind the Debatable Hills it was their clear duty to remain within
reach of a message.
That evening Mistress Ivy was waxing a little plaintive over her
obstinacy. "I sometimes think, Hazel, your wits have been turned,
living so long with that bad bold woman ... and I don't wonder, I'm
sure, poor child; and if my poor Peppercorn hadn't come along, I don't
know what would have happened to me. But there's no sense, I tell you,
in waiting on here--with the hams and bacon at home not cured yet, nor
the fish salted for winter, nor your fruit pickled or preserved. You're
a farmer on your own now, and you shouldn't forget it. And I wish to
goodness you'd get all that silly nonsense out of your head. A message
from the Mayor, indeed! Though I can't get over its being him that came
to see me, and me never knowing, but giving him sauce, as if he'd been
nothing but a shipmate of my poor Peppercorn's! No, no, poor gentleman,
we'll never hear from him! Leastways, not this side of the Debatable
Hills."
Hazel said nothing. But her obstinate little chin looked even more
obstinate than usual.
Then suddenly she looked up with startled eyes.
"Hark, auntie!" she cried. "Didn't you hear someone knocking?"
"What a girl you are for fancying things! It's only the wind," said
Mistress Ivy querulously.
"Why, auntie, there it is again! No, no, I'm sure it's someone
knocking. I'll just go and see," and she took a candle from the table;
but her hand was trembling.
The knocking was audible now to Mistress Ivy as well.
"You just stay where you are, my girl!" she cried shrilly. "It'll be
one of these rough chaps from the town, and I won't have you opening
the door--no, I won't."
But Hazel paid no attention, and, though her face was white and her
eyes very scared, she marched boldly into the shop and called, "Who's
there?" through the door.
"By the Sun, Moon and Stars and the Golden Apples of the West!" came
the answer.
"Auntie! Auntie!" she cried shrilly, "it's from the Mayor. He has sent
a messenger, and you must come."
This brought Mistress Ivy hurrying to her side. Though she was not of
an heroic character, she came of good sturdy stock, and she was not
going to leave her dead brother's child to face the dangers of the
unseen alone, but her teeth were chattering with terror. Evidently the
messenger was growing impatient, for he began beating a tattoo on the
door and singing in a shrill sweet voice:
"Maids in your smocks
Look well to your locks
And beware of the fox
When the bellman knocks."
Hazel (not without some fumbling, for her hands were still trembling)
drew the bolts, lifted the latch, and flung the door wide open. A
sudden gust of wind extinguished her candle, so they could not see the
face of the messenger.
He began speaking in a shrill, expressionless voice, like that of a
child repeating a lesson: "I have given the pass-word, so you know from
whom I come. I am to bid you go at once to Lud-in-the-Mist, and find
a sailor, by name Sebastian Thug--he will probably be drinking at the
tavern of the Unicorn--also a deaf-mute, commonly known as Bawdy Bess,
whom you will probably find in the same place. You will have need of
no other introduction than the words, By the Sun, Moon and Stars and
the Golden Apples of the West. You are to tell them that there is to
be no more rioting, and that they are to keep the people quiet, for
the Duke will send his deputy. And next you will go to Master Ambrose
Honeysuckle and bid him remember the oath which he and Master Nathaniel
pledged each other over wild-thyme gin, swearing to ride the wind
with a loose rein, and to be hospitable to visions. And tell him that
Lud-in-the-Mist must throw wide its gates to receive its destiny. Can
you remember this?"
"Yes," said Hazel in a low puzzled voice.
"And now just a trifle to the messenger for his pains!" and his voice
became gay and challenging. "I am an orchard thief and the citizen of
a green world. Buss me, green maid!" and before Hazel had time to
protest he gave her a smacking kiss on the lips and then plunged into
the night, leaving the echoes of his "Ho, ho, hoh!" like a silvery
trail in his wake.
"Well, I never did!" exclaimed Mistress Ivy in amazement, adding with a
fat chuckle, "It would seem that it isn't only this side of the hills
that saucy young fellows are to be found. But I don't quite know what
to make of it, my girl. How are we to know he really comes from the
Mayor?"
"Well, auntie, we can't know, of course, for certain--though, for my
part, I don't think he was a Dorimarite. But he gave the pass-word, so
I think we must deliver the messages--there's nothing in them, after
all, that could do any harm."
"That's true," said Mistress Ivy. "Though I'm sure I don't want to go
trudging into Lud at this time of night on a fool's errand. But, after
all, a promise is a promise--and doubly so when it's been given to
somebody as good as dead."
So they put on their pattens and cloaks, lighted a lanthorn, and
started off to walk into Lud, as briskly as Mistress Ivy's age and
weight would allow, so as to get there before the gates were shut.
Master Ambrose, as a Senator, would give them a pass to let them
through on the way back.
The Unicorn was a low little tavern down by the wharf, of a not very
savoury reputation. And as they peeped in at the foul noisy little den,
Hazel had considerable difficulty in persuading Mistress Ivy to enter.
"And to think of the words we have to use too!" the poor woman
whispered disconsolately; "they're not at the best of times the sort of
words I like to hear on a woman's lips, but in a place like this you
can't be too careful of your speech ... it's never safe to swear at
folks in liquor."
But the effect produced by the words was the exact opposite of what
she had feared. On first crossing the threshold they had been greeted
by hostile glances and coarse jests, which, on one of the revellers
recognizing them as two of the protagonists in the trial, threatened to
turn into something more serious. Whereupon, to the terror of Mistress
Ivy, Hazel had made a trumpet of her hands and shouted with all the
force of her strong young lungs, "Sebastian Thug and Mistress Bess! By
the Sun, Moon and Stars and the Golden Apples of the West!"
The words must indeed have contained a charm, for they instantly
calmed the angry company. A tall young sailor, with very light eyes
and a very sunburned face, sprang to his feet, and so did a bold-eyed,
painted woman, and they hurried to Hazel's side. The young man said in
a respectful voice, "You must excuse our rough and ready ways when we
first saw you, missie; we didn't know you were one of us." And then
he grinned, showing some very white teeth, and said, "You see, pretty
fresh things don't often come our way, and sea-dogs are like other
dogs and bark at what they're not used to."
Bawdy Bess's eyes had been fixed on his lips, and his last words caused
her to scowl and toss her head; but from Hazel they brought forth a
little, not unfriendly, smile. Evidently, like her aunt, she was not
averse to seafaring men. And, after all, sailors are apt to have a
charm of their own. When on dry land, like ghosts when they walk, there
is a tang about them of an alien element. And Sebastian Thug was a
thorough sailor.
Then in a low voice Hazel gave the message, which Thug repeated on his
fingers for the benefit of Bawdy Bess. He insisted on conducting them
to Master Ambrose's, and said he would wait outside for them and see
them home.
Master Ambrose made them repeat the words several times, and questioned
them closely about the messenger.
Then he took two or three paces up and down the room, muttering to
himself, "Delusion! Delusion!"
Then he turned suddenly to Hazel and said sharply, "What reason have
you to believe, young woman, that this fellow really came from Master
Nathaniel?"
"None, sir," answered Hazel. "But there was nothing for us to do but to
act as if he did."
"I see, I see. You, too, ride the wind--that's the expression, isn't
it? Well, well, we are living in strange times."
And then he sank into a brown study, evidently forgetful of their
presence; so they thought it best quietly to steal away.
From that evening the rabble of Lud-in-the-Mist ceased to give any
trouble.
When the Yeomen stationed on the border were recalled to Lud and spread
the news that they had seen Master Nathaniel riding alone towards the
Elfin Marches, Dame Marigold was condoled with as a widow, and went
into complete retirement, refusing even to see her oldest friends,
although they had all come to regret their unjust suspicions of Master
Nathaniel, and were, in consequence, filled with contrition, and eager
to prove it in services to his wife.
Occasionally she made an exception for Master Ambrose; but her real
support and stay was old Hempie. Nothing could shake the woman's
conviction that all was well with the Chanticleers. And the real anchor
is not hope but faith--even if it be only somebody else's faith. So the
gay snug little room at the top of the house, where Master Nathaniel
had played when he was a little boy, became Dame Marigold's only haven,
and there she would spend the most of her day.
Though Hempie never forgot that she was only a Vigil, nevertheless,
in her own way, she was growing fond of her. Indeed, she had
almost forgiven her for having spilled her cup of chocolate over
her sheets, when, after her betrothal, she had come on a visit to
Master Nathaniel's parents--almost, but not quite, for to Hempie the
Chanticleers' linen was sacrosanct.
One night, at the beginning of December, when the first snow was lying
on the ground, Dame Marigold, who had almost lost the power of sleep,
was tossing wakefully in her bed. Her bedroom ran the whole length of
the house, so one of its windows looked out on the lane, and suddenly
she heard what sounded like low knocking on the front door. She sat up
and listened--there it was again. Yes, someone was knocking at the door.
She sprang from bed, flung on a cloak and hurried downstairs, her heart
beating violently.
With trembling fingers she drew the bolts and flung wide the door. A
small, slight figure was cowering outside.
"Prunella!" she gasped. And with a sort of sob Prunella flung herself
into her mother's arms.
For some minutes they stood crying and hugging each other, too
profoundly moved for questions or explanations.
But they were roused by a scolding voice from the stairs: "Dame
Marigold, I'm ashamed of you, that I am, not having more sense at your
age than to keep her standing there when she must be half frozen,
poor child! Come up to your room this minute, Miss Prunella, and no
nonsense! I'll have your fire lighted and a warming-pan put in your
bed."
It was Hempie, candle in hand, frowning severely from under the frills
of an enormous nightcap. Prunella rushed at her, half laughing, half
crying, and flung her arms round her neck.
For a few seconds Hempie allowed herself to be hugged, and then,
scolding hard all the time, she chivvied her up to her room. And,
when Prunella was finally settled in her warm bed, with an inexorable
expression she strode in carrying a cup of some steaming infusion.
It was black currant tea, for the brewing of which Hempie was famous.
And it had always been one of her grievances against Dame Marigold and
Prunella that they detested the stuff, and refused to drink it, even
when they had a bad cold. For it had always been loved by all true
Chanticleers, from old Master Josiah downwards.
"Now, miss, you just drink that down, every drop of it," she said
severely.
Prunella was too exhausted that night to tell them her adventures. But
the next morning she gave a confused account of wanderings at the
bottom of the sea, and how they had lost their way in a terrible marine
jungle, out of which they had been guided by Master Nathaniel. It was
evident that she had no very clear recollection of what had happened to
her since her flight from Lud; or, rather, since "Professor Wisp" had
given his first dancing lesson.
The other Crabapple Blossoms returned to their respective homes the
same night as Prunella; and each gave a different account of their
adventures. Moonlove Honeysuckle said they had danced wildly down the
waste places of the sky, and then had been imprisoned in a castle in
the moon; Viola Vigil said they had been chased by angry trees into
the Dapple, where they had got entangled in the weeds, and could not
extricate themselves--and so on. But on one point all the accounts
agreed, namely, that it had been Master Nathaniel Chanticleer who had
delivered them.