“A mite?” said Toad. “How much is that?”
“Two mites make a snip, which is less than a peck but rather more than a pinch!”
With this the two felons were thrust into the Gaol and the door locked for the night.
Mole, having already examined the Gaol from the outside, had very little doubt that getting out again was not going to be easy Nevertheless, he set about examining the place to see what possible avenues of escape it offered. He also thought that it would be prudent if he and Toad were to empty their pockets to see what articles they had that might help them either escape or be more comfortable.
Toad proved less resourceful. The moment the door slammed shut upon them, he slumped down on the slab and put his head in his hands.
“We are done for, Mole, if they leave us here overnight. Look! It is so cold that the water in this bucket has frozen!”
He suddenly rose up in a panic and, grasping the bars of the door, cried, “Help! Help! A gold guinea to anyone who helps us escape!”
The Parish Clerk peered in. “This is my first and final warning, Mr Toad. Any further attempts to bribe the gaoler will result in your trial by ordeal taking place sooner and not later, as decreed by Act of Parliament.”
“What trial by ordeal?” stammered Toad.
“Which is to say whose trial or what ordeal?” asked the Clerk.
“Well, both I suppose.” said Toad.
“Your trial, sir, and Mr Mole’s. As for the ordeals, their nature, number and order will be read out to you prior to their execution by the Clerk to the Parish, which is myself but you will find comfort in the fact that following the Act of Repeal of 1244 there are only twelve trials, beginning with the rack and ending, as is customary in most counties in the civilised world, with the fiery stake.
“Now, if you will forgive me, I must retire and make ready the instruments and utensils we shall be needing, for some of them are a little blunt and rusty, and I believe that we may have difficulty with the ratchet on the rack as my stores are quite out of pig’s blubber. As for the wheel of fortune I fear that it turns rather too clumsily (which is to say that even in the hands of an expert, which I am not, it is wont to tear its victims apart rather than simply stretch them) and I really must try to see to it, if I have time. So I bid you good night, sirs, with compliments of the season.”
“Tear us apart? Fiery stake? The rack? O Mole, this will be the end of me! Save me, Moly, and Toad Hall will be yours! I would rather live in your humble abode for the rest of my life than be put to these torments!”
“My humble abode is very comfortable, thank you very much, Toad,” said the Mole a little tartly “So now let us examine our situation more calmly, starting with these items here.”
Between them they had some lucifers, a red spotted handkerchief, a cigar, and a form (Toad’s), and a fruit knife, safety pin, white handkerchief, paper and pencil (Mole’s).
“Now listen, Toad, I think we should ask ourselves what Ratty would do with these objects if he were a prisoner in our stead, for he is a master of making-do.”
No sound came from Toad but the chattering of teeth, though whether from the freezing cold or abject fear the Mole was in no mood to enquire.
“Well then,” said he as cheerfully as he could and realising he must take charge once more, “I think Ratty would advise us to sit upon our handkerchiefs to keep ourselves as warm as possible. Then he would tell us to blow out this candle and conserve it. It will be a source of heat and warmth later tonight, and perhaps, if occasion arises, we can use it as a signal to our rescuers.
“As you wish,” said Toad apathetically.
“But before I blow it out, let us see if there is any possible escape.” continued the Mole.
The candle allowed him to examine their cell a little more, showing that the only places of egress apart from the heavily padlocked door were the barred window and the culvert in one corner, which evidently went down into the river below, and now roared and gurgled in a threatening way.
“With the help of the bucket and rope,” said the Mole, “this offers us a source of water, but I very much doubt that it would be a safe way to escape. However, Ratty is the most practical animal alive and I am sure he will find a way to get us out of here, or help us escape when we are conveyed to the Court House. And you may be sure that Badger and Otter will help as well.”
Toad remained silent for a long time, till at last he said rather miserably, “And Miss Bugle, I’m sure she will help if Mrs Ffleshe allows it, for she has always helped get me out of scrapes before. Don’t you think?”
“I do, old fellow,” said the Mole comfortingly “Now, since it is Christmas night why don’t we cheer ourselves up a little by remembering better and happier nights than this one?”
“You begin, Mole, for I don’t think I have the strength to talk.”
“Well then,” said the Mole, blowing out the candle and taking up his place beside Toad, “did I ever tell you about — about — I —”
For a moment their plight, his tiredness, and disappointment that the day had gone so terribly wrong, got the better of the Mole. His voice trembled and he was close to tears.
Then he felt Toad’s arms about his shoulders, and heard Toad say “Mole, old chap, we’re in a sorry mess, but I’ve faced worse, and will face worse still in the future. Meanwhile, there’s no animal I’d rather be locked up with than yourself, for you never fail to cheer me up and you only rarely admonish me. Now, what were you going to tell me?”
The Mole was greatly touched by Toad’s unexpected words and he reflected that, exasperating though he could sometimes be, when all was said and done, his heart was in the right place.
“Ah yes, Toad. I was going to tell you about a Christmas night that happened long before I left my home and came to Mole End. It concerns how I was rescued from a most dangerous situation by my sister, whom I don’t believe…”
“No, you’ve not mentioned any sister that I recall.”
“My, but it was a bitter night — a good deal colder than this one! — and the river we lived by was certainly in much worse condition than the one that races by these walls at this very moment. Foolishly, and against all advice, I had set forth into the night to take a relative some mince pies, when…”
The faith that Toad and Mole put in their friends was well placed, and already amply justified.
Some time after they had been dragged through the gates of Toad Hall behind the carriage of Lord Malice and off towards the Village, the Otter appeared at Badger and Ratty’s side, breathless and muddy He had made good his escape through the gardens of Toad Hall, and decided it would be more prudent to lie low till the coast was clear.
“But what of Miss Bugle?” asked the Badger, very much concerned for Toad’s loyal housekeeper whom neither he nor the Rat had seen since the fracas.
“She is down by the boathouse recovering from her ordeal, but quite determined never to go back to Toad Hall till Mrs Ffleshe departs the place for ever. She is anxious to see you, Badger, for she has information which may be pertinent to Toad’s situation.”
The animals laid low a little longer, for there were patrols of weasels and stoats about, but finally, as night deepened and the temperature dropped towards freezing, their taste for patrolling rapidly waned. One by one, group by group, they deserted their posts and sneaked back to Toad Hall and the comfort of kitchen warmth and sustenance, from where their ribald, triumphant laughter issued forth.
Badger and the others made haste to the boathouse and there found the inestimable Miss Bugle awaiting them. That retiring middle-aged spinster whom the Mole had got to know so well over the last few days was now utterly transformed.
By the light of the candles that she had somehow contrived to bring with her — as well as sufficient sustenance for each of them and a parcel of clothes for Toad — they saw that there was new colour in her cheeks and vivacity in her eyes, and it was clear that the day’s extraordinary events had affected her deeply.
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“Not only must we do something, gentlemen,” said she, “but we shall do something!”
Badger nodded approvingly and observed, “It would help us greatly if you could give us any intelligence you may have regarding the intentions of the tyrants now in residence in the Hall.”
“That I can, sir,” she said. “When I realised the direction in which their luncheon conversation was going I broke a rule of a lifetime and took the liberty of listening to all I could from behind the door. Their intentions are far more dastardly than I would ever have suspected possible.”
Quickly she told them of Lord Mallice’s advice that medieval laws should be invoked to punish Toad, and now presumably the Mole as well; and of much else besides.
“I believe there is only one sure way of getting Toad released before the worst rigours of brutal medieval law are applied to him,” said the Badger, “and that is to prevail upon his Uncle Groat, who is the true Lord of the Manor, to come to his aid.”
“But he lives in a northern county,” said the Rat, “which is surely too far away for us to get word to him quickly, even if he were willing to be persuaded by a mere letter or telegraph.”
“That is all true,” said the Badger, “but we should remember the words Mole admonished us with but two evenings ago — where there’s a will there’s a way Let us prove him right. The only way of getting Groat to act and save his nephew is to see him personally Nothing is so persuasive. Now, the only two people here who have met him, and know his history intimately as well as the full story of Mrs Ffleshe’s coming to the Hall and its consequences, are myself and you, Miss Bugle.
“I will not prevaricate, madam. I believe it is essential that we set forth immediately to that northern county where Groat now lives and beard the lion in his den.”
“Sir” cried Miss Bugle passionately “if you had not suggested it I would have done so myself! Nothing will stop me from going to see him now to prevent what seems otherwise certain to be a grave miscarriage of justice against my master. But my passage north, be it by night and day and through the blizzard snows of winter, will no doubt be safer and more swift if I journey under your protection!”
“The swiftest way north is by the Lathbury Road,” said the Rat, “and if I am not mistaken Mole told us that Mr Baltry the poulterer had reason to dislike Mrs Ffleshe. Perhaps with the help of his conveyance he can transport Badger and Miss Bugle to a railway station.”
These plans were soon agreed, and it remained only for the Rat and the Otter to undertake to journey at once to the Village, and see what help they might be able to offer Toad and Mole.
“It will be better if we take my boat and go by way of the canal, and that tributary that will take us covertly to the Village. If only we can get them out of gaol and evade further capture till Badger and Miss Bugle return with a pardon we may have a chance of saving our friends. If that venture fails then we may at least have time to gain some local support for Toad and perhaps bring about his escape by force. The weasels and stoats are poor fighters when it comes to it!”
“So be it,” said the Badger, rising and blowing out the candles. “We shall not make the mistake of going back to our homes for provisions, for the weasels and stoats may be lying in wait for us — always assuming they have the stomach for such action on so cold a night, which I very much doubt. If you are willing, Miss Bugle, we shall begin our long journey right away.”
“I am!” said that brave lady.
Out into the cold night air they went, making their way first to the Iron Bridge where one lone guard remained. The Otter quickly overcame him and tied him up, then Badger and Miss Bugle, with a brief word of farewell to the others, crossed over the raging River and turned north for Lathbury.
When their friends were safely out of sight, the Rat and the Otter untied the hapless guard, so that he wouldn’t freeze solid in the night, and sent him packing to the Wild Wood with dire warnings of what they would do to him if they met him again this side of Twelfth Night.
Then they made their way to the Rat’s boat, which was moored nearby in the safer waters of the canal, and began their surreptitious journey towards the Village.
“Toad?” whispered the Mole some time in the night.
But Toad was asleep and happily oblivious of their situation. He had pulled his dressing gown about him, and now leaned against the wall, breathing restlessly.
They had spoken of many things, but most of all of Christmas past, of Toad Senior, his generosity and his passing this very night so many years before; and of the Mole’s sister, and her expertise at making homes and their occupants feel well blessed, and how sad it was that time and distance had lost her.
He rose stiffly and climbing up on to the slab reached up to the window above. Holding on to its bars, he could just glimpse the night sky, and the shift of cloud made lurid by a moon that had begun to rise.
“My goodness!” he exclaimed with pleasure. For as his eyes adjusted to the night outside he saw that it had begun to snow, and heavily.
He climbed down from their stony bed and felt his way to the door. Through the bars, in the light of the moon, he could see the snow beginning to settle on the steps outside.
The church clock chimed — one, two, three, four.
“Four o’clock.” whispered the Mole.
He felt cold through and through, and yet not so in his heart and spirit. Why, there had been much in his conversation with Toad that had inspired and cheered him, and Toad as well he fancied. Indeed, he could not remember so enjoyable a Christmas night conversation as this for very many years! In fact, not since that night when his sister had —”I am being foolish,” the Mole told himself, “and perhaps light-headed, for our position is truly a parlous one, and yet — and yet — did my sister not always say that a fall of snow before the dawn of Boxing Day was a mark of good fortune, for it counted as a white Christmas? I believe she did! No wonder I feel so sure we shall be rescued!”
The snow swirled in the moonlight, thickened, parted, turned and raced.
“O, it will be a merry Christmas,” the Mole told himself, ‘lust as it once used to be. I’m sure of it!”
X
Rescue
Toad and Mole’s hopes for an early release from their cruel confinement were dashed on Boxing Day, when nobody visited them at all. Then, when nobody came on the day following, and again on the day following that, even the optimistic Mole began to feel low.
Their cell was bitterly cold, and though the water in the culvert had not frozen, any they left in the bottom of their bucket froze solid in minutes. To add to their distress, the raging roar of the river seemed to be growing ever louder and more rapacious, and its thundering wearied them.
Their only comfort was the crust of bread and beef dripping that the Parish Clerk pushed through the flap in their door each morning and then, on the third morning, a blanket each, together with the parcel containing Toad’s clothes, sent by Miss Bugle and delivered to the Parish Clerk by Mr Baltry.
Yet, despite these difficulties, the prisoners were astonished to find that with each day that passed their ability to endure the cold and discomforts of their cell increased, as did their pleasure in what little food they had.
This owed much to the resourceful Mole, who had the very good idea of throwing a few crumbs of their bread into the bottom of the culvert to attract any small fry that might live there. Having earlier submerged the bucket in the water it needed only a deft flick of his wrist at Mole’s command for Toad to haul aloft a bucketful of stickleback and one or two crayfish.
Mole thought that by combining this small catch with a few dried leaves of wild mint that had made its home that summer on the windowsill above their heads, along with the beef dripping, he might make something palatable. He heated it all up in the bottom of the metal bucket by means of the candle, and after some experimentation created a dish to rival his well-known Stickleback Pie.
“It’s certainly original,” said Mole, licking
his lips.
“Original, Moly? It’s a work of brilliance that would grace the table of my club in Town!” said Toad, glad that something was finally going their way. “The addition of the crayfish juice just as you serve it is a stroke of genius. If we put it in little jars and gave it a name such as ‘Prisoner’s Relish’ I believe we could sell it throughout the Empire for at least a penny three farthings a time.
“Of course, the fact that I am so well known and admired is not something we should forget. If we were to add an image of my head on the label (for which I would charge you only a nominal fee) and declared that it was manufactured in the ‘Famous Kitchens of Toad Hall’ and had been eaten by the monarchs of Europe, I believe you would very soon be somewhat better off, whilst I would become very wealthy indeed!”
But such interludes could not hide the fact that both animals were beginning to weaken under the stress of their situation, which was not helped by not knowing when their trial would be held. So it was with great relief that their cell door was opened on the morning of New Year’s Eve and the Parish Clerk entered in.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “I am very glad you are still alive for I thought you might have suffered from the cold (which is to say become frozen, solid). I imagine you wish to know when you are to be tried and executed? That information I cannot impart.”
He talked at length in this ambiguous manner and eventually the two animals became too hungry and cold to understand all that he said. However, he did let slip the information that the main cause of the delay was that “the bad weather has made it difficult for the specialist craftsmen who are needed to prepare the Court for the trial (by which I mean your ordeal) to travel to the Village and ply their skills.”
Toad did not like the sound of “specialist craftsmen” and asked for clarification on the matter.
“There has been a good deal of interest in your case amongst the legal profession and gentlemen of the press, who together have suggested that it is essential that matters are seen to be conducted fairly, according to the proper rules and regulations that govern trials by ordeal.
The Willows at Christmas Page 12