The Tale of Holly How (25 page)

34

Celebrations

At the Woodcocks’ house the next morning, Dimity smiled across the breakfast table at her brother, who was in an extraordinarily good mood.

“I take it,” she said, picking up the coffee pot, “that you were able to close down the badger-baiting without any bloodshed.”

Miles shook his head. “Not a drop of blood, unless you count Butcher’s victims—a couple of dozen dead rats. Butcher,” he added, taking the cup his sister handed him, “is a dog.”

“A
mean
dog.” Elsa Grape came into the room with a plate of freshly fried bacon. “A monster. Rather kill a rat than eat. Kills cats, too.”

“I don’t want to hear about it, Elsa,” Dimity said with a shudder. “What about the badger, Miles? Is she safe?”

“Oh, she got away,” Miles said carelessly. “She and her cub. No idea what happened to her. Heelis told me an odd story about invading animals carrying her off, but I was too busy to notice.” He grinned. “I was frying a more important fish. We nabbed Jack Ogden, Dim.”

“For badger-baiting?” Dimity asked eagerly.

“Won’t do you any good to nab ’im for badger-baiting,” Elsa observed. “They always let him off. If you’ll forgive me sayin’ so, Captain,” she added in a dark tone, “nobody cares ’bout badger-baiting t’ way you do.”

The captain looked smug. “I don’t think Ogden will get off this time. The evidence we’ve collected—the clay pipe and those badger tongs—suggests that he was involved in Ben Hornby’s death. I’ll have to consult with the magistrate before a charge is preferred, although from the welt on the dead man’s back, it looks as if he was solidly whacked with those tongs. Of course, there’re no witnesses. The case is entirely circumstantial.” He frowned at Elsa. “Now, don’t go spreading this around the village.”

“Of course not, Cap’n Woodcock,” Elsa said, looking down her nose with an air of offended dignity. “What do you take me for, a gossip?” She flounced out of the room.

“I shouldn’t have said anything in her hearing,” Miles said. “She’ll never be able to keep it to herself.”

“I’ll speak to her,” Dimity assured him. She lifted her glass of orange juice. “Congratulations on a good night’s work, Miles. It sounds as if that man deserves to have some time behind bars.” She frowned. “But I should very much like to hear about the invasion that Mr. Heelis mentioned. I must say, it sounds rather curious.”

“Sounds rather fantastic to me,” her brother said. “Pass the marmalade, would you, Dim?”

The night before had not ended until several celebratory glasses of ale had been drunk, so Will Heelis had gone to bed once again at the Tower Bank Arms. The excitement of the badger-baiting and the arrest of Jack Ogden now past, he had slept soundly, awaking to the morning sunshine spilling through the window and across his coverlet in a blaze of July glory.

There was something else on his coverlet, though, besides a splash of sunshine. It was the small orange guinea pig he had found in the stable. When he reached his room the night before, Will had dropped the guinea pig into his empty chamber pot and put on the lid, but apparently the guinea pig had pushed the lid aside and climbed out.

“Good morning,” Will said, clasping his hands behind his head and staring at the creature. It looked somewhat better this morning, having washed and groomed itself, but there were still snarls and tangles in its fur. “You could do with a good combing.”

“I’m sure I could, sir,”
Tuppenny said humbly.
“You see, I have had a most amazing adventure. I joined a band of brothers—a badger and rats and stoats and weasels and rabbits—who marched all the way from Holly How to rescue a damsel—”

“Well, I could do with a comb myself,” Will said. “And a shave, and a cup of tea, and some bacon and eggs.” He threw back the covers, dislodging the creature, and got out of bed. “And then I suppose I had better take you up to Belle Green and see if you belong to Miss Potter.” He frowned. “Although how you and those other animals got to the stable behind the Sawrey Hotel is beyond me. It’s too bad you can’t talk, young fellow. I would dearly like to hear your story.”

“But I can talk!”
protested Tuppenny. “
The problem is you, sir! Won’t you at least try to—”

But Will was whistling cheerily as he went about his toilet, untroubled by Tuppenny’s indignant squeaks. Washed, shaved, and dressed, he popped the guinea pig into his pocket and went downstairs. There, he enjoyed a full breakfast, after which he put on his hat and strode up Market Street to Belle Green, where he knocked at the door and asked to see Miss Potter.

A few moments later, she joined him in the parlor, dressed for travel in her jacket and hat. “Good morning, Mr. Heelis,” she said, in some surprise. “You’re out and about early this morning. I’m glad you caught me—I was just on my way to Kendal to talk to the man who I hope will replace Mr. Biddle.”

“Miss Potter,” Will said, “I think I might have found something that belongs to you.” He reached into his coat pocket. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

With a puzzled look, she did as she was told. And then, the guinea pig squirming in her cupped palms, she opened her eyes wide with a little cry of pleasure.

“Tuppenny! Oh, Mr. Heelis, you’ve found him! Thank you, thank you!” She frowned down at the little creature. “Oh, you naughty guinea pig, just look at you! Your fur is full of burs and tangles. Where
have
you been? And what in the world have you been up to?”

“Oh, I’ve been ever so many places, Miss Potter!”
Tuppenny cried excitedly.
“And I’ve had ever so many exciting adventures! I joined a band of brothers who raided a stable and chased out all the men and rescued a damsel in distress and—”

“I’d like to know that too,” Will said thoughtfully. “I found him under the most unusual circumstances.” And he told her about the events of the evening before: the badger-baiting, the horde of wild animals invading the stable, and the arrest of Jack Ogden. “Once again, we are in your debt, I’m afraid,” he concluded wryly. “If you hadn’t found those badger tongs with Ogden’s tool mark on them, there might not have been enough evidence to identify the man.”

“There may not be enough evidence to convict him still,” Miss Potter said. “Unless an eyewitness is found, or he breaks down and tells what happened.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Do you think there’s any chance of that?”

“There might be,” Will said. “He’s in a bad corner.”

“But I’m even more curious about last night’s animal . . . invasion, I think you called it. Tuppenny was with them?”

“Of course I was with them!”
Tuppenny cried, jumping up and down in Miss Potter’s hands.
“It was just smashing, and all the animals were amazingly brave! They—”

“It was all very strange,” Will said. “Captain Woodcock, for instance, says he didn’t see a thing. But he was occupied with Ogden, and there was a great deal of confusion—people running about and shouting, all trying to get out of the stable. And it was rather dark, of course. It was only by chance that I happened to look down and see this little fellow.” He smiled. “Is he a model for the book you’re working on?”

“No,” Miss Potter said, looking flustered. “The book is about three naughty kittens who lose their clothes and cause their mother a great deal of grief.” She blushed and looked away. “It’s not exactly a sophisticated cast of characters, or a very complex plot. My books are for rather young children, you see. They prefer reading about little animals who get into mischief—nothing very thrilling, I’m afraid.”

“I’m quite sure the children would prefer,”
Tuppenny put in earnestly,
“to read about
me,
Miss Potter. Talk about thrills! You could tell them all about The Brockery, where the badger lives—really an amazing place, that goes on forever and ever underground. And the band of brothers, and rescuing a damsel in distress. It would make a ripping good story!”

“I know about your children’s books,” Will replied, wondering why she sounded so apologetic. Surely she realized how much her work was admired by others. “Some of my young cousins are great enthusiasts of yours—fans, as the Americans say,” he went on. “They would be terribly envious if they learnt that I had actually seen a few of your original drawings. Would you show them to me sometime?” When she hesitated, looking almost as if she thought he was making fun of her, he added, “As a reward for returning your guinea pig.”

“Of course.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes very bright. “I know that Tuppenny is just a guinea pig,” she said in a low voice, “but all my animals are very special to me. And I’m sure that Caroline will be very grateful that he is safe—she felt terrible about losing him. Thank you for finding and returning him, Mr. Heelis.” She dropped a kiss on the orange head.

“It’s cause for celebration, believe me.”

There was cause for celebration at The Brockery that morning, too. An extra leaf had been put into the dining table, two benches added, and additional plates and cups and knives and forks laid. As Badger looked down the table on both sides, he was gratified to see that several members of the rat patrol had stayed over, that there were now three hedgehogs rather than just one, and that two moles were seated on either side of Parsley, telling her all about the grand adventure of the previous night as they helped themselves to double portions of sausage.

But most gratifying of all, Bosworth could look down the crowded table and see that instead of there being only two badgers in The Brockery—himself and young Parsley—there were now
four
. For the night before, in that awful, wonderful, soul-stirring raid on the badger-pit in the stable behind the Sawrey Hotel, they had been able to rescue
both
kidnap victims—Primrose Badger and her girl cub, Hyacinth—who had been destined for an unspeakably cruel death.

But there was more.

When the band of exhausted animals had finally returned to The Brockery, Primrose and Parsley put little Hyacinth to bed with a spoonful of treacle and honey and a hot-water bottle for her feet. The others—a pair of foxes, the moles and rats, and a few stoats and weasels—opened a jug of elderflower wine and shared it amongst themselves, dropping wearily into chairs in front of the parlor fire under the benign gaze of Badger’s gilt-framed ancestors, whilst the firelight winked on polished brasses and the flames crackled and popped in a most satisfactory way.

As midnight came on, they relived once more the thrilling excitement of the Great Raid (as it was already called), telling one another how the constable’s shrill whistle had sounded like a bugle signaling their attack, and how they had charged down the hill and into the stable, disregarding all danger; and how splendidly and with what stunning courage they had fought; and how smartly they had snapped at the ankles of the frightened, fleeing men and the tails of cowardly dogs—yes! even the atrocious Butcher; and how adroitly they had opened the imprisoned rats’ cages and released them; and how forcefully they had flattened the fence around the badger-pit so that Primrose and her cub could go free.

They had just opened the second jug and were recalling the long march back to Holly How—the painful climb up the hill, the menacing shadows along Cuckoo Brow Wood, the bottomless chasm over which they had crossed on a shaky fallen tree, the raging floodwaters of the beck they had forded—when The Brockery’s front door bell gave three hollow clangs. Flotsam and Jetsam had already been sent to bed, so Bosworth, feeling peevish and out of sorts at being summoned from the congenial company at his fireside, put on his slippers, took a candle, and went to answer the bell.

He shot the bolt and opened the door a crack.
“It is rather late,”
he said crossly into the darkness,
“and it has been a very trying evening. I hope that whatever your business, it is important.”

“Oh, it is, sir!”
cried a young voice eagerly.
“It’s me, sir. Thorn, sir. I’m looking for my mother and my sister, Hyacinth. I believe they’re here. Let me in, sir, please!”

Bosworth opened the door and saw, to his great astonishment, a badger boy cub standing on his doorstep.

“Thorn?”
he cried, in quite a different voice.
“Why, you’ve been given up for lost, my boy! Come in, come in, oh, come in, do! Your mother will be so very delighted to see you.”

“Delighted” was hardly the word for it. There were cries of joy, and tears of relief, and little whimperings of happiness, and huggings and kissings and strokings, and all the other animals had looked on with astonishment, saying what a joyful reunion it was and how gratified they were to see the little family together again and what a satisfying conclusion it made to a most satisfactory evening.

All this was followed, of course, by the requisite explanations. Whilst a third jug of elderflower wine was opened for the grownups, young Thorn’s jacket and boots were removed and he was set to toast before the fire with a glass of warm milk and a dish of Parsley’s rice pudding spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg. Thus fortified, he told his tale.