It need hardly be said that when her first joy over the recovery of the
children was over, Lady Eleanor's instant thought was for the strange
woman and her idiot son, who had befriended them and saved them for
her. She longed to thank and to reward them, but she could not think
how to find them; and moreover it was plain that, for some reason which
she could not divine, the woman wished to keep out of her way. It was
difficult for her to believe that there could be any harm in the woman,
after the care that she had taken of the children; but on the other
hand there was Tommy Fry, still speechless. She was thankful when
Colonel George came over next day, that she might discuss matters with
him.
But he was as much at a loss as she was. He had examined all the
people who had gone out to search for the children, but not one of them
had seen a sign of any dwelling where the strange woman could live. He
was, however, struck by Dick's account of the little coat that he had
worn; for it seemed, he said, to be a drummer's coat, and he could not
imagine how such people should possess such a garment. As he spoke,
the bullfinch broke into the first bars of "The British Grenadiers;"
and then the same thought occurred to Colonel George as had seized upon
the minds of the villagers--Was it possible that the idiot was a
deserter, or that he and his mother were harbouring a deserter? But he
kept his thoughts to himself, for he knew the terrible punishment to
which a deserter would be liable, and did not wish Lady Eleanor to
think of such a thing.
But however the gentry might doubt at the Hall, the folks in the
village found no difficulty in accounting for everything. It was the
witch who had enticed the children on to the moor and made them lose
themselves; and, though she had sent them back safe and sound, it was
impossible to say what trouble she might have in store for them. One
soft-hearted woman did indeed suggest that no witch could have power to
hurt such dear innocent angels; but Mrs. Fry promptly rose up in arms
against her, for was not her Tommy also a dear innocent angel, though
to be sure he was but a poor boy, whereas her Ladyship's children were
rich? Then Mrs. Mugford came forward with her explanation, which was,
that the Corporal, as had already been suspected, was undoubtedly in
league with the witch, and had led the children into her clutches. It
might be that the witch could not hurt them; but certain it was that,
when all the country was out searching for them, she had led them
straight back to the Corporal. As to the Corporal being thrown from
his horse, Mrs. Mugford had heard such stories before; and it was
strange that he had found his way home safe enough though he had left
the children to be eaten alive, for aught he knew. It was strange,
too, that he was waiting in the right place for the children next day
when the witch brought them down, and that the witch had vanished, as
Mrs. Mugford averred, in a cloud of brimstone smoke.
So the feeling against the Corporal in the village increased, and not
the less because he looked ill for some days after the children's
adventure, owing partly to the shaking which he had received in his
fall, and partly to the miserable hours of anxiety and watching that
had succeeded to it. The villagers of course attributed his appearance
to the torment of a guilty conscience, and no one was more careful to
dwell on this explanation than Mrs. Mugford, with a vehemence which
surprised even Mrs. Fry, who knew the sharpness of her tongue better
than her neighbours.
The Corporal took no more heed of the villagers' coldness than before;
for a new matter had come forward to occupy his thoughts. While he was
walking one day with the children through the wood above the village,
Dick suddenly stopped and said that he had certainly seen a man
slinking off the path into the covert; and the Corporal at once hurried
to the spot in the hope that it might be the idiot. Making his way
through the thicket he presently came upon a man lying down in some
bracken and evidently anxious to conceal himself. The fellow was
ragged, unkempt and bearded, but he was not the idiot, and he seemed
terrified at being discovered, stammering out something about meaning
no harm, and begging to be allowed to go. The Corporal sent the
children a little apart, felt the man's pockets to be sure that he was
not a poacher, and bade him begone and think himself lucky to escape so
easily.
"I've seen you before," he said, looking hard at him, "and I shall know
you again. You know you have no business here, and if I catch you
again, it will be the worse for you." But though he let the man go, he
puzzled himself all day to think where he had seen him before.
And now the annual fair at Kingstoke, the little town that lay nearest
to Ashacombe, was at hand, and all kinds of strange people were to be
seen on the road. There were hawkers and cheapjacks with persuasive
tongues, which the villagers found difficult to resist; swarthy gipsies
with gaudy red and yellow handkerchiefs, whom they kept at a safe
distance; and great lumbering vans containing fat ladies, and learned
pigs and two-headed calves, which roused their curiosity greatly.
Finally one day a loud noise of drumming brought Dick and Elsie flying
down the road, and there was a recruiting serjeant as large as life,
with red coat, white trousers and plumed shako hung with ribbons, and
with him a drummer and a fifer. The two last had stopped playing by
the time that the children reached them, and were apparently not best
pleased, for Mrs. Mugford had flown out at them directly they appeared
with, "No, no. 'Tis no use for the like of you to come here. We won't
have naught to do with the like of you, taking our boys away to be
treated no better than dogs." And all the other women had shaken their
heads knowingly and looked askance at the red coats; so that, as all
the men were out at work and as there seemed to be little chance of
obtaining refreshment, the serjeant simply scowled and moved on. He
and his companions looked dusty and thirsty, for the day was hot, and
the drummer and fifer, who were both very young, looked tired and
hungry as well. In fact they had only played in the hope of being
offered a drink, which hope Mrs. Mugford's tongue had effectually
extinguished for them.
So on they went along the road, followed by Dick and Elsie, who were
deeply disappointed; but close by the lodge the children saw the
Corporal, and running forward to him prayed him to ask the serjeant to
give them a tune. The serjeant evidently recognised the Corporal as an
old soldier, for he wished him good-day; and the Corporal then asked
him if he would play something for little master and mistress.
"Will little master give us something to wet our whistle with?" asked
the serjeant. "We have had a longish march to-day, eight miles already
and six more to go, and there's little to be got on the road. It's a
wild country hereabout."
At a word from the Corporal Dick flew up to the house with Elsie at his
heels, to ask his mother's leave, and meanwhile the serjeant asked the
Corporal if he knew anything of the deserter from the Marines whose
description was on all the churchdoors, as he was said to be somewhere
in those parts. Presently Dick returned breathless with a message to
the recruiting party to come up to the Hall, where the fife and drum
struck up, and Lady Eleanor came out to say that soldiers were always
welcome, and this with a gracious condescension which in itself was
nearly as good as a glass of beer to a thirsty man. Then the serjeant
followed the Corporal towards the back door; and the drummer, who was a
good-natured lad, seeing how Dick stared at his drum, took it off, and
shortening the slings put them over his head. Lady Eleanor at once
called to Dick that he was keeping the drummer from his dinner; but the
drummer replied that he was sure little master would take care of the
drum and that he was very welcome; and Dick begged so hard to be
allowed to keep it for a little while that Lady Eleanor after some
hesitation gave in, only bidding Dick not to make too much noise close
to the house.
So off Dick strutted, followed by Elsie, tapping from time to time,
till on reaching a quiet place under the trees in the park, he was very
glad to take the drum off and turn it round very carefully, looking at
the Royal Arms and the names of battles that were painted round them.
Then he began tapping again, when all of a sudden there was a rustle
behind them, and there stood the familiar figure of the idiot Jan, with
his face grinning wider than usual. The children were startled and
were on the point of running to the house, but he held up his finger as
usual and beckoned to Dick to go on beating; though after hearing a tap
or two he shook his head and, taking up the drum, let out the slings
and put them over his own head. Then he squared his shoulders and
threw out his chest, and bringing up his elbows in a line with his chin
he beat two taps loudly with each stick, slowly at first and gradually
faster and faster till the taps blended together in a long, loud roll.
Then he stopped and grinned at the children, who were staring with
amazement and delight; and then beating two short rolls he began to
march up and down whistling the tune "Lillibulero," which the bullfinch
piped, and beating in perfect time with all his might.
So intent was he on his music that neither he nor the children noticed
the serjeant, who with halberd in hand came walking up with the drummer
and fifer close behind him.
"What have we here?" said the serjeant, eyeing the strange figure
before him. "Where did you learn to beat like that, my man?" he went
on, laying a heavy hand on the idiot's shoulder. The idiot glanced
round with a start, and uttering a whine of terror slipped away from
the serjeant's hand, swung the drum on to his back, and made off as
fast as his legs would carry him.
"What's the meaning of this?" said the serjeant staring for a moment.
"The deserter for a guinea! After him boys, quick! There's a reward
out for him." And away went the drummer and fifer in pursuit, while
the serjeant followed as fast as he could; and the children, after
gazing for a time in bewildered alarm, ran back to the house. The
idiot ran like the wind, but in his first terror he had taken the wrong
direction and was flying down towards the village. Reaching the drive
before his pursuers he gained on them somewhat, but he fumbled at the
gate by the lodge and let them get close to him. He broke away,
however, and was running gallantly through the village with the lads
hard after him, when down the road came the ample figure of Mrs.
Mugford, who put down the pitcher that she was carrying and stood right
in his way with her arms spread out wide. She did not dare actually to
stop him, but she so confused him that in another few yards the drummer
and fifer had caught him each by an arm. The idiot cowered abject and
trembling between them, and the three stood panting and breathless,
while Mrs. Mugford exhorted at the top of her voice,
"Hold mun fast, brave lads!" she cried, in a very different tone from
that which she had lately used to the soldiers. "Hold mun fast!
That's the man you was a looking vor. Hold mun fast! Ah, you roog; so
we've a got 'ee at last, and now 'twill be the jail and the gallows for
'ee sure enough. Ah! you may whine and guggle, but you won't get away,
not this time." Her cries brought every woman in the village to the
spot, and solemn were the shakings of heads, and loud the recalling of
prophecies that vengeance would soon overtake the wicked. Then the
serjeant came elbowing his way through the crowd, and was hailed
instantly, like the drummer and fifer, by Mrs. Mugford. "That's the
man you'm a looking for, maister; and a bad one he is. Hold mun fast,
maister; and don't let mun go, whatever."
"Ah! you know him, do you?" said the serjeant. "Well, you can trust
him to me. Take the drum off his back, my lads, and bring him along."
But the idiot seemed hardly able to move; and they had not taken him
far, with the women and children still crowding round them, when they
were stopped by his mother, who came hastening up the road and planted
herself full in the way.
"Now, then," she said sharply, "what be doing to that boy? Let mun go.
He's a done no harm to you, I reckon. Let mun go, I tell 'ee. Where
be taking mun?"
"Come, mistress, no hard words," answered the serjeant. "I don't know
who you are; but this young man's my prisoner, and to Kingstoke he must
go tonight, and before the nearest justice to-morrow for a deserter."
"Ay, and for a witch too and you with mun," yelled Mrs. Fry; and she
and the women with her raised a howl that was not pleasant to hear.
"She's awitched my boy," screamed Mrs. Fry high above the rest. "She's
a witch and she ought to be drownded in the river."
The serjeant looked puzzled, and was relieved to see the Corporal come
limping up the road; but Mrs. Mugford no sooner saw him than she
screamed at the top of her voice, "Ah, don't 'ee listen to he, maister.
'Twas he that let mun go weeks agone, and there's been nothing but bad
work for us all since then. He's so bad as any o' mun; 'twas he that
let mun take her Ladyship's childer; and we'm not going to be plagued
with witches no more. Lave the witches to us. We knows what to do
with mun."
"What have you got against the man?" asked the Corporal of the serjeant.
"He's a deserter," said the serjeant shortly, "and it seems that these
women know him well enough, if you don't."
"He ain't no deserter," said the idiot's mother savagely, "he wasn't
never 'listed."
"Then how comes he to drum as he did?" retorted the serjeant. "Our own
drummers couldn't beat better."
The woman clenched her fists in despair, and the Corporal looked very
grave; but he no sooner tried to speak to the serjeant than the women
again raised a yell that he was not to be trusted, and renewed their
cry that they would be troubled with witches no longer, but would drown
them in the river and have done with them. At last they worked
themselves up into such a state of fury that the Corporal saw that they
meant mischief, and said sharply to the serjeant that if he didn't look
out they would take his prisoner from him. Even while he spoke they
made a rush, but the serjeant had his wits about him and brought down
his halberd to the charge, just in time to stop them.
"Now, enough of this," he said sternly. "I know nothing about your
witches and nonsense, but this young man's my prisoner, and if you
don't leave him to me it will be the worse for you. Take him along,
lads."
So the drummer and fifer led the idiot down the road, while the
serjeant, with his halberd still at the charge, kept the women at bay;
and thus slowly they passed clear of the village while the women and
children, after following for a time with yells and execrations, at
last dropped behind.
"Now, mistress," said the serjeant to the idiot's mother, "you'd best
look out for yourself, I expect, and go away."
The woman turned upon him with a scornful laugh. "Do you suppose I be
afraid of they?" she said. "Not I; and if 'ee think that I'm a going
to leave my boy--here, let mun go," she said resolutely, shoving away
the drummer's arm--"you've naught against mun. I tell 'ee he wasn't
never 'listed."
The serjeant removed her hand instantly. "None of that," he said.
"You can come along with him as far as you will, but the justice will
see to the rest to-morrow morning."
The woman glanced at the Corporal in despair, but the Corporal could
only shake his head. "Best go quietly along with him, mistress," he
said; "I'll go to her Ladyship and do what I can." Then he turned to
the serjeant and said: "I believe you've got hold of the wrong man; for
this is only a poor half-witted lad, not the man that you want. Don't
be hard on him."
"Not I, if he gives no trouble," said the serjeant. So he went on with
his charge along the road to Kingstoke, the idiot staggering along on
his mother's arm between the fifer and the drummer, and he himself
walking behind. And the Corporal limped up over the park as quickly as
he could to the Hall.