Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII.
THE EGGS AND EXOTICS.
During the whole of that day no work was done in the village. The tradesmen then did not mind losing a day, for the times were not hard. The prosperous never complain of the times: nor did they. As their wants were small, a large supply was not needed, and as they then possessed all they immediately required, they met at the Crumpet and Crown with the view of discussing the varied ramifications of the mystery.
But Jones was the great card in requisition. They wanted Jones. But as Jones was a steady man, who very seldom came to the Crumpet and Crown, they didn't know how to get him.
At length, however, Obadiah Drant—who possessed far more impudence than any of his friends—offered to bet half a gallon of beer that Jones would be there in a quarter of an hour. The bet was taken, and Obadiah—seeing an old rotten sugar-loaf turnip in the road—went out, picked it up, walked with it to Jones, and offered to bet half a gallon of beer that that turnip was superior to any one of his production. Jones laughed at this of course; and when the bet had been made, be produced a turnip somewhere about seven times the size. But Obadiah Drant would not admit that he had lost—he declared that he would never give in until Legge had decided the point; and thus Jones—who well knew that he had won——was seduced to the Crumpet and Crown.
Being there, he of course was considered a fixture. Pokey—who was artful in his way—hailed him as the first horticulturist in the county, and as the majority freely subscribed to this opinion, Jones was on very good terms with himself.
They then cautiously alluded to the philosophy of spectres, and when Click, with all the energy at his command, declared his conviction that spirits never appeared upon earth, Jones looked at him with an expression of pity, and then walked out of his silent shell.
"What!" he exclaimed, "do you mean to mean that spirits never comes upon this blessed earth."
"Brayvo!" cried Obadiah Drant.
"Why, I see one last night!" resumed Jones.
"And so did I," said Obadiah.
"But not the one as I seed," said Jones.
"Mine was a tall'un," returned Obadiah; "a white'un! a white'un on horseback."
"That a'n't the one then as I seed. I seed one—a white'un and a tall'un—"
"Where?" demanded Click.
"Where! Why at the cottage!"
"Were you at the cottage then last night?" said Legge.
"In course we was there! me and master?"
"Indeed! I was not aware of that. But tell us what occurred, I am anxious to hear."
"Well," said Jones, "but mind, it musn't go further."
"Of course not, of course not. No, no, no—no!" they exclaimed, simultaneously, "certainly not."
"Well, then—a little after three o'clock this blessed morning, when master and me was consulting about rakes, horticulture, and religion, we heerd a scraping on the path that leads from the gate to the front door. Very well, says I, this'll do nicely: we'll wait till you tries to get in, my carrots. But before we'd time to turn ourselves round, in walks a spirit! Very well, thinks I; it's all very good, you know, as far as it goes, but what do you mean to be after? Well! the spirit takes not the leasest notice of me, but up he goes to the sideboard, and looks, and presently he shakes his head awful, and turns and then stalks out of the parlour. 'I say,' says I, 'what do you think of that?' says I to master. 'Rum, very rum,' says he, 'uncommon rum.' 'Well,' says I, 'the breezes is blowing very cold,' says I, 'let's shet the door'—and I went to shet it, and send I may live! if the front door wasn't as wide open as ever it could stick! Well! this did queer us rayther more than a little, but we shet the front door, and then blow me, if we didn't see the self-same spirit a going up stairs, as slow and deliberate as if he belonged to the house, and paid all the rates and taxes. 'Well,' says I, 'nothing like imperance. Let's go and see what he's up to,' says I. 'Not a bit of it,' says master. 'Let's have a little brandy'—"
"Teddy Rouse all over!" exclaimed Obadiah. "Brandy's the fructifying spirit of the cloth."
"What do you mean?" said Jones, indignantly. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that Teddy Rouse———"
"Why do you call him Teddy Rouse? My master's name is the Reverend Mr. Rouse."
"But his christian name is Teddy!"
"Not a bit of it! Them as calls him Teddy is ignoramuses."
"Do you mean to say that I'm an ignoramus?"
"You're worser!—or you'd never have brought that there turnip to me, and have said that I couldn't produce nothing like it. He as calls my master Teddy is an ignoramus! I don't care who he is! I'll tell him to his face he's an ignoramus. My master's name is the Reverend Mr. Rouse, and I don't care who knows it."
"Brayvo!" cried the company. "Brayvo, Jones!"
"Talk of Teddy," continued Jones, "as if he were your equal. I'll back my master—the Reverend Mr. Rouse—to look a ghost in the face against any man in England. Teddy, indeed! When he gave you the last order for a hundred of bricks, you didn't call him Teddy then, did you?"
"But Teddy," said Obadiah, "is the short for Edward. I meant no offence."
"Call me Teddy, Jack, Jem, or any thing you like, but I'll fight till I drop before he shall be called Teddy."
'"Well, then, let it be the Reverend Mr. Rouse; I don't care, that's the man I meant after all."
"I know it's the man you meant," returned Jones, who was still very indignant, "but if any man—I don't care who he is—calls him Teddy, I won't have it! I know what master is, and I know what he isn't: there ain't a man in life as knows him better than me, and am I to hear him—hear a gentleman, and what's more, a clergyman—called Teddy?"
'Don't mind him," whispered Legge; "you know what a tattling fellow he is. You should take no notice of anything he says."
"Well," said Obadiah, "and what did the Reverend Mr. Rouse do when he had swallowed the brandy?"
"Go and inquire!" returned Jones, fiercely. "You'll not get another blessed word out of me!"
"Well, but don't go yet!" they exclaimed, as he rose—"oh, stop and have a pipe with us—don't go yet!"
Jones, however, could not be prevailed upon to stay: he left at once, and the company, of whom the majority were at first very indignant with Obadiah, began to discuss, with characteristic ingenuity and eloquence, the various bearings of the scene which Jones had thus briefly described. This discussion—interspersed as it was with an infinite variety of anecdotes—lasted the whole of the day, and when at night they departed from the Crumpet and Crown their imaginations still teemed with ghosts.
Aunt Eleanor had ordered a fire in her chamber, and, as her resolution to sit up remained unshaken, she, at the usual hour, retired with her bible and prayer-book, and composed herself in a chair for the night.
Before, however, Judkins retired, he conceived an idea. It struck him just after he had eaten his supper. He imagined that if he, by means of a string, were to establish a direct communication between himself and the stable-door, he should, in the event of any one attempting to take Snorter out of the stable again, know it.
Acting at once upon this admirable conception, he got a ball of whipcord, and, having secured one end to the handle of the door, drew it carefully and tightly towards the window of his room, when, mounting a ladder, he put as much as he thought would be required through a hole, and on going to bed tied the end thus inserted to one of his toes, and went to sleep, in the full conviction that if a discovery were to be made, he should make it.
But neither he nor Aunt Eleanor were disturbed. She sat reading and praying throughout the night, but no spirit appeared. This had the direct effect of subduing her apprehensions. She had prayed in the full assurance that if the spirit which her reverend friend had seen were the spirit of her brother, it would appear before her then, and hence, as it did not appear, she not only felt sure that it was not her brother's spirit, but cherished again the sweet belief that his spirit was then in heaven.
When Judkins awoke in the morning, and took the whipcord off his toe, he was not exactly pleased with the fact of his not having been disturbed.
"Still," said he, "at all events nothing's been wrong. This is a capital go, this is. I'll try this here dodge every night. Safe to catch 'em by this here means: wonder I never thought on't before. Howsever," he added, "everything's right this morning—that's a blessing anyhow."
And he really did believe then that everything was right, and with this belief strongly impressed upon his mind, he left the room; but the moment he entered the garden he found that all was not right, for he perceived, at a glance, that about fifty exotics had been maliciously taken from the conservatory, and more than half buried in one of the onion beds.
"Why, blarm their bodies!" he exclaimed, as he tightly clenched his fists, and looked at the plants with great severity. "Couldn't they let even them alone? It's no use," he added, thrusting his hands into his pockets, "it ain't a mite o' use doing nothing. A man may work, and tile, and slave, and sweat, till there's nothing left on him. These here warment spiles all he does, and sets him to do it all over again. It ain't a bit o' good: I see that clear. I say, cook," he cried, "cook."
"Well, what do you want now?" demanded cook, who very seldom spoke sweetly.
"Look here. On'y, just come and look. Here you are! Here's a go! Here's the warment," he added, "been at it again."
"Serve you right," said cook; "I'm glad of it."
"Serve me right—what do you mean?"
"I'm very much obliged to Mr. Judkins," returned cook, ironically; "very much obliged to you for lighting my fire."
"What do you mean? Don't bother me about your fire: I never lit your blessed fire."
"In course not," said cook, with a bitter sneer; "in course, Mister Judkins, you didn't light the blessed fire; nor did you, Mister Judkins, bile all the blessed eggs. I wish the last had stuck in your throat, that I do."
"You're a lunatic, woman," said Judkins, severely; "go and get a straight-jacket, you want one particular."
"Do you mean then to have then the unheard-of imperance to tell me to my very face that you didn't light the fire, and didn't bile every individual egg we had in the house?"
"I tell you, you're a lunatic. Don't bother me."
"Oh, it's all mighty well, Mister Judkins, but Missis shall know of it. I won't conceal it. I've kept a good many things from her, but this she shall know. A great, greedy gormandising glutton. I wouldn't have such a creature about the premises."
"I know you'll get into the asylum," said Judkins; "I know you will."
"The asylum," retorted cook, sneeringly. "It would be a great blessing to society if you were in the asylum. One was not enough for Mister Judkins—two was not enough for Mister Judkins, nor three, nor four. Oh, dear, no! Mister Judkins must swallow the whole."
"I can't talk to maniacs. Don't talk to me. I know you're not right in your head; so go away, and don't bother."
"Oh, you sha'n't get off quite so easy as you think for. Don't believe it. The very moment missis comes down stairs, I'll tell her all about it. I won't favour you a mite."
"No, I know you won't. But go away—do you hear? I've something else to think about; go away, go away, go away with you."
"In course, Mr. Judkins," said cook, tossing her head with accomplished mock-affectation. "Certainly, Mr. Judkins. I'll go, Mister Judkins. Mister Judkins, in course, is a very great man. Oh, a very great man is Mister Judkins; a mighty great man. But I'll cook the goose of Mister Judkins."
"I wish, with all my soul, you'd cook yourself," observed Judkins, who, as she retreated muttering all sorts of menaces, turned to contemplate his exotics again.
"This is a blessing as far as it goes," said he; "if it isn't, send I may live." But no sooner had he given expression to this remarkable sentiment, than a man led his mistress's pony and gig up to the gate and rang the bell.
"Very good!" thought Judkins, as he went to the gate. "This here's the seed of something."
"Is this here pony yourn?" enquired the man.
"Rayther," returned Judkins. "It is ourn rayther;" and seizing the man by the collar, instantly added, "So, we've cotched you at last, have we? Very good; now, my little swell, con-sider yourself booked. You're my prisoner."
"What for?" cried the man, who had been absolutely taken by surprise.
"Never mind what for," replied Judkins. "Don't be at all particular in your enquiries. I'm not. You'll only just walk quietly this here way, and then possibly, perhaps, the question may be by-and-by answered. Well, I shouldn't have thought it on you," he added, as he dragged the man, who felt quite confused, into the stable; "send I may live, I shouldn't ha' thought that you'd had the stuff in you to do it."
"To do what?" demanded the man.
"Never mind," replied Judkins. "You're a beauty to look at; des say you're a beauty—no doubt. You and me shall be better acquainted, it strikes me."
"What do you mean?" cried the man.
"Don't disturb yourself, my friend. It's very clear you won't disturb me no more."
"I found the pony"—
"Don't trouble your intellects now at all about it. You'll have work enough for them to do, when you're afore the jury. Now then," he added, as with a halter he securely tied the man's hands behind him, "if you'd like to lie down for an hour, you can. You know this horse, don't you? I wonder he doesn't snap your precious little head off."
"What do you mean?" cried the man. "I'll make you pay for this."
"Very good!" replied Judkins. 'That's nothing but nateral. But let's have a look at you—Well," he added, having surveyed him, "you're a good sort, des say—of the sort. Very good. You're a very clever sort too, no doubt. But couldn't you leave my plants alone? Tcha! that was cowardly. Well, I hope you'll have all the luck I wish you, and that ain't much; but I'll leave you to your private reflections."
"But won't you hear me?"
"Not a bit of it! What's the good? but I'll see you again, by-and-by. If you'd been a man of six foot and a half, and very stout in proportion, I shouldn't ha' minded, but you, you little muck!—however, good bye; God bless you; take care of yourself, but if you don't, I'll take care of you, so you're quite safe. You little warment," he added, closing the door, and when he had most securely locked it, he returned to the cottage.
"Missis wants to speak to you," said Mary, as he entered.
"Very good, Polly, I wants to speak to her. So that meets the views of both parties consarned."
"Well, I must say you're imperant, Judkins," said Mary. " But missis is in the breakfast-room."
"Very good," returned Judkins. "Then into the breakfast-room I goes."
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Restoration of the Pony.
"Judkins," said his mistress, when he had been desired to enter, "I am sorry to hear so bad an account of your conduct."
"I know what you mean, ma'am. It's cook. Don't mind what she says, she's a lunatic, ma'am. She says I eat the eggs,-I never eat the eggs. She says I lit her fire,—I never lit her fire. But I've done something else, ma'am: I've got in my stable the very man which has been, ma'am, annoying us so long."
"Is it possible? Have you really? Is he now in the stable?"
"Secure, ma'am. I've roped him regular. He can't get away."
"Have you locked the door?"
"Fast, ma'am. Here's the key. He didn't want Snorter last night. No, he only just wanted the pony and gig."
"Well, run to Mr. Rouse with my compliments. Tell him what has happened, and beg of him to come as soon as possible."
Judkins started off at full speed, and in less than five minutes, the reverend gentleman was there.
"My dear sir," said Aunt Eleanor as he entered, "I have the happiness to inform you, that we have at length discovered—"
"I know, my dear madam—I know all about it," said the reverend gentleman, "Judkins, bring him in."
Judkins disappeared on the instant, and soon re-appeared with his prisoner.
"Now, sir, what's your name?" enquired the reverend gentleman.
"John Todd," replied the man.
"John Todd! John Todd! Well, sir, what have you to say to this?"
"All I have to say is, that master found the pony in one of his meadows, and hearing that it belonged to this lady, he told me to take it home."
"Your master, sir!—who is your master?"
"Squire Lane, your reverence."
"Oh! Squire Lane. John Todd! John Todd! Don't you occupy the cottage on the left of his gate, John Todd?"
"Yes, your reverence."
"There has been some mistake here, my dear madam," said the reverend gentleman, aside. "John Todd," he added, turning again to the man, "you are a very honest person, John Todd. I recollect you. Give my compliments to your master, and tell him that I will do myself the pleasure of calling upon him in the course of the morning. There has been some mistake, but never mind what has passed. I here present you with half-a-crown for your trouble."
John did not much like the rough treatment he had received, but as the half-crown healed every wound that had been inflicted, he respectfully bowed, and in silence withdrew.
"I know John Todd," observed the reverend gentleman; "he's a very honest man. I have known him for years, and I am perfectly sure that he is not at all involved in this mystery."
"I hope, sir," said Judkins, "that I hav'n't in your opinion exceeded my duty."
"You acted very correctly, Judkins, very correctly," replied the reverend gentleman. "Had I been in your position, I should doubtless have acted in precisely the same manner."
"You see," pursued Judkins, "things happened so rum. One morning one thing, another morning another—as true as I'm alive, sir, if you'll believe me, I sometimes don't even so much as know what's what.—Now, look here, ma'am," he added, turning to his mistress; "I beg pardon, ma'am, for being so bold, ma'am, but jist look here. Here was this blessed morning as ever was, ma'am, 'when I came down stairs and went into the garden, what should I see but my best plants walked from the hot-house and sunk into one of the onion beds."
"What, this morning!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor.
"This blessed morning, ma'am—there they was."
"How very extraordinary," said his mistress.
"Amazing," exclaimed the reverend gentleman. "Were they injured at all?"
"Not the leasest," replied Judkins; "least ways they haven't taken much harm, except, p'r'aps, they've caught a little cold."
"But they were placed in the bed carefully?"
"Very. There wasn't a branch broke. That's the thing as gets over me so much! They seems not to want to hurt nothing: that don't seem to be their object, and as that ain't their object, what their object is, I can't guess. Sure-ly they might leave the plants alone; they can't have offended 'em in any individual way, no how. But that ain't all, ma'am. When I was a meditating over them serious, cook comes to me, and says, 'You've lit my fire, and gormandised every blessed egg."
"And you mean to say that you did not light the fire?" enquired his mistress, seriously.
"Never, ma'am. Upon my word and honour, ma'am. I wish I may never rear nothing, if I ever touched the fire. And, as to the eggs, ma'am, why, it stands to reason that I wouldn't think of touching 'em: I ain't eat a single egg this six months! I don't care a bit about 'em; and if I did, it ain't so likely that I'd go and do such a thing as that. Not a bit of it, ma'am, if you'll believe me. No: it's them fellows—whoever they are—and I on'y jist wish I could catch 'em. However they do it, wholly gets over me. F' instance, how did they get the pony and gig out? How could they get 'em out? Why, ma'am, I not only locked the stable door, and hung the key on the hook in the kitchen, but I had a piece of string that reached from that very door to my bedroom, and I slept with the other end round my toe, ma'am, all night: so, how they got in, I can't tell. It seems to me to be witchcraft, and nothing but."
Aunt Eleanor now very clearly perceived that these tricks were too paltry to be for one moment ascribed to the spirit of her brother; and having made up her mind to leave the village for a time, she at once resolved on spending a few weeks in London.