The news did spread fast, and before the girls had reached the Tilney gate, there were heads thrust out of every door and lattice window with wonder and joy written on every good face, and questions filled the air at such a rate that they could only be answered by their own echo through the narrow alleys.
Sir Frederick had not sailed but stopped the preparations and hurried home. It was not until they had eaten and bathed their tired bodies that the girls could bring themselves to a full account of their adventures. Sir Frederick and Lady Mathilda were so rejoiced at their safety and so appalled at the danger they had been through, that they could only understand the whole story after several retellings.
“And thou dost truly mean that thou didst find the keys at the foot of St. Botolph’s steeple?”
“Ay, truly, Father,” answered Johanna. “I was creeping close to the stonework, and I did stumble on them just a few moments before we were set upon by the Easterlings.”
“Thou wast a brave child, but foolhardy, Johanna. Thou must never take such chances again,” and Sir Frederick’s tone was severe. “But now thou hast left the keys again in the shepherd’s hut, and the hut—”
“Is high on the hillside above the Lindis, and such a beautiful place, Father.”
“Poor child,” moaned Lady Mathilda, “and thou didst walk all that way.”
“Nay, Mother, thou must remember we were taken quite a distance in the boat by the Easterlings.”
“However, it was a long rough way, and I hope thou wilt suffer no ill effects from it.”
“Do not worry, Mother,” Johanna answered. “As thou knowest, I am very strong, and after I have had a long sleep I shall be as fresh as ever I am. But, Father, dost thou not think it strange that Angus should have seemed to know that I belonged to thee and that thou wast his friend?”
“There are sheep dogs that are as keen as, if not keener than, human beings, and I knew him to be a rare one with his strong, straight limbs, his well-formed head, and intelligent eyes. I remember him well. I do not know that I have ever seen a more strikingly fine sheep dog.”
“And I have not told thee of the bone he did bring me, when we sent him back thinking that he would perhaps find the keys I had left, and bring them. It seems more than a bone indeed,” and Johanna found the bone and handed it to her father.
Sir Frederick examined it for a long space. Then he said, “I am glad thou didst have the wit to bring it with thee. There is no doubt there has been work put into this and it certainly resembles a key. I think it will be well if we speak to no one of the other keys until we have them safe in our hands. Then will be time enough to tell how we came by them.”
“And Redfern, Father, what dost thou think he is?”
“I think he and his dog are a great help to the smugglers, but I am greatly indebted to them. As father of Johanna Tilney, I would befriend them, but as Mayor of the Staple, it would be my duty to bring them to justice.”
“Then I am glad they did not come into the town with us,” said Johanna, “for I do not wish harm to come to them.”
“Art thou going to send to the hut for the keys?” asked Lady Mathilda.
“Ay,” answered Sir Frederick, “but Redfern and Angus will be far away from these parts, if I am not greatly mistaken.”
CHAPTER XVI
Tod of the Fens Steps In
Fortune was indeed favoring Skilton, for Redfern, upon leaving Johanna, remembered his appointment with Skilton. He returned to the hut on the hillside, and finding the bunch of keys, he took them with him, and went on toward Kirkstead.
“Skilton can return them to Sir Frederick Tilney and it will be the quickest way to get them to him,” thought Redfern, “and as for Angus and me we have done with this part of the world and will get clear of it today.”
When Redfern handed the keys to Skilton with the instructions to see that they got to Sir Frederick as soon as possible, Skilton had all he could do to conceal his surprise and delight, for he at once guessed his good fortune. He knew that he must show no interest, so he even went so far as to say that he did not wish Sir Frederick to know that he had anything to do with Redfern and his wool stealing.
“However, it may serve to get me into Sir Frederick’s favor, so I will take the keys. But how hast thou come by them?” he asked curiously.
Redfern was not in a communicative mood. “Never mind that,” he replied gruffly, “but do thou take them to him.”
Skilton had left his hides at Kirkstead and taken on several bags of grain, and other bags which had been filled with wool by Redfern. With Angus growling at his heels, he settled up with Redfern, and then climbing hurriedly on to his horse’s back, started off on his return journey. A short distance down the road he drew up, and looking in either direction to make sure that there was no one to spy upon him, he quickly slipped off the horse. Uncovering the coffer, he hastily fitted a key to the first lock. It was a harder task than he had anticipated to find the right key for the right lock, but after a few attempts the first one turned. Pausing again to look around him, he worked over the second. At last he had turned them all. The lid scraped on its hinges, and he had lifted it enough to look inside. There were money bags, and as he poked one after another of them, there was the sound of coin within.
His time was short, for he knew that even then Marflete was not far away, coming to meet him and help him burst open the coffer. Hastily lifting out the bags, he jumped to the ground, and picked up some heavy stones. These he put into the coffer, and closing the lid, set about locking it with feverish haste. Then with the money and his spade, he hurried off into the bushes through a rough bit of woodland that separated the highway from the river.
On the river, Gilbert and Stephen were still working at the oars. Stephen rested a moment and looked around him.
“Thou wilt think I am a noddy!” he broke out gloomily. “I have missed the place. We are now quite a way above it, and only a short distance around this bend is Kirkstead itself. Marry—”
“Hist!” cautioned Gilbert, pointing to the left bank. There back in the bushes they could see a man. He was bending over his task, and was working fast. It seemed as if he were trying to push a boulder back into place with desperate hurry.
Dipping the oar into the water quietly, Stephen brought the boat in to the bank, and the boys crouched low. Shortly afterward they heard the rattle of a cart on the highroad.
“That was Skilton,” whispered Stephen. “He has outdone Marflete.”
Quickly the boys made the boat fast and scrambled up through the scrubby undergrowth. They found the place without any difficulty, and putting their shoulders to the rock, they rolled it away. Earth was only thinly spread over the bags, and they pulled them out.
“It is the town money!” gasped Stephen and Gilbert in almost the same breath.
“What we must do now,” said Gilbert, “is to get the bags to the boat, but first we must cover this spot, so that Skilton will not see that it has been touched, should he return soon.”
The boys worked excitedly. They covered in the ground and moved the stone back into place. Then they turned to the money bags, whereupon they jumped with fright, for there, standing over them, as if he had risen out of them like the evil spirit of the base metal itself was a large figure in a tawny-colored jerkin and long leather leggings. He shook a great mop of hair from before his eyes, and looked first at the boys and then at the bags at his feet.
“What are ye about?” he asked gruffly.
Gilbert was the first to find his voice. “Do thou not dare to touch those bags!” he commanded. “There be two of us, and together we are a match for thee!”
The man laughed loudly. “I could pick both of ye up in one hand, as easily as I would two fledglings, but tell me what ye would do, and mayhap I will help and not hinder ye!”
As he spoke, he stooped down and opened one of the bags. Putting his hand in, he drew forth the bunch of five keys and a few silver pieces. “By all the saints of the
Holy Church!” he gasped, “the money and the keys!”
As there seemed to be nothing else to do, the boys told of how they had followed Skilton and Marflete and overheard their plot to carry something out of the town.
“We never dreamed that it would be the town money!” explained Gilbert, “for that was supposed to have been taken long ago.”
“But the keys?” questioned the stranger, “where did they come from?”
The boys shook their heads, for there was much in the whole adventure that mystified them.
“What do ye intend to do now?”
“Take the money back to Boston and tell Sir Frederick Tilney of how we came by it.”
“A wise plan, but before ye finish, ye may be glad that I shall be on hand to help ye!”
“And who art thou?” asked Gilbert.
“Tod of the Fens and a friend of Sir Frederick Tilney.”
“I have heard of thee often,” said Stephen, “and I wonder now that I did not know thee, for thou art just as thou art said to be: to wit, bluff and brawny with a laugh that can be heard as far as the curlew’s whistle and a shock of hair that blows freely in the wind.”
“Come then,” said Tod, “since ye know me so well, let us take to the river with our prize.” Tod took the money bags in his skiff, and pushed off, the boys following closely in their boat.
Tod rowed for a short distance in silence. Then he rested on his oars and waited for the boys to come alongside. “It will not do for us to appear with these money bags and be met by the excited townspeople. There has been something astir in the town, for I remember to have heard St. Botolph’s bell pealing in an unusual way early this morning, and without doubt the townspeople are out like bees swarming.”
“What can be causing the commotion?” asked Gilbert.
“Perhaps they have missed the coffer,” suggested Stephen.
“I think ye must return and leave me to manage the money bags,” announced Tod.
Gilbert and Stephen looked at each other doubtfully.
“Sir Frederick must know of this before the rest of the town, and then he will tell us how to manage it all.”
“And what will Sir Frederick do?”
“That ye must find out.”
“And what story shall we tell when they do ask us where we have been?” asked Gilbert.
“Say ye have been adventuring in the fens. There be many a Boston lad that does that!”
Stephen nodded.
“Go straight to Sir Frederick and tell him your story. Then bring me word here,” and Tod brought his boat into a small inlet, which was close to a large oak tree. “Ye can remember this place without trouble, can ye not?”
The boys looked around to take note of the spot, and then nodded.
“Pull briskly on your oars and make haste.” With some misgivings which a parting look at Tod’s honest, merry face seemed to dispel, the boys rowed fast, and soon beached their boat, and entered the town by Wormgate.
Meanwhile Skilton had covered the straight stretch of highway at a sharp pace, his mind in a turmoil as to how he would be able to deceive Marflete. The keys he had put into one of the bags, so he did not have those to conceal from him. He had carefully removed all traces of fresh dirt from his spade and rehearsed to himself the ejaculations of surprise and disappointment with which he would meet the sight of the rocks within the coffer.
At the appointed place Marflete was awaiting him impatiently. He was nervous and excited, and his temper, at no time even, was on a great strain.
“What has taken thee such a long time?” he demanded as Skilton drew up. “I have been wondering why thou couldst not have left the coffer here on thy way, and I could have spent this time forcing it open. Thou wouldst not trust me, eh?”
“Thou knowest why,” answered Skilton. “It takes two of us to lift it out of the cart.”
“Well, maybe so,” Marflete admitted sullenly, “but let us be about it. I have tethered my horse well out of sight and have chosen the best place to do our work.”
“Forsooth, it is heavy,” groaned Marflete when the coffer struck against his shins as he walked awkwardly over the uneven ground. “Here, let it down here!”
With a sharp implement which Marflete produced, he worked at the hinges and soon pried them loose. Then gripping the edge of the lid, they both strained at it so that it yielded several inches.
Marflete eagerly peered in and groped around inside with one hand. He swore under his breath. “Naught but rocks!” he growled.
With a curse and a kick he rolled the coffer off from him. Then he turned upon Skilton. His anger was up and all reason had left him. Skilton’s well rehearsed speeches had no place, for out went Marflete’s arm, and he struck Skilton a great blow across the face which sent him staggering.
“Curses upon thee!” roared Marflete. “Take that for thy ill luck and mine and that! Thou dull wit,” and with a deft kick, he sent Skilton off after the coffer rolling away in the bushes. Then he strode off to where his horse was standing, and mounting, betook himself and his anger back over the road to Boston.
Skilton sat up in the bushes and rubbed his head. “A dull wit be I!” he muttered. “Not so dull but that I can get the best of thee!” and his battered face beamed with satisfaction. He picked himself up and stood for a second over the chest. “A dull wit be I!” he muttered again, and throwing out the stones, he swung the chest up on his shoulder, and crept down to the river.
Sir Frederick, now that Johanna was safe, left the house to go to the warehouses. All along the way he was stopped and questioned by the townsfolk. He learned of Gilbert’s and Stephen’s return, and when he reached the quay, there were Gilbert and Stephen themselves, the center of a group of apprentice lads who were telling them of the kidnapping and asking them to account for their own absence.
“May we have a word with thee, Sir Frederick?” asked Gilbert as calmly as he could, withdrawing Stephen and himself from the others. “We have a message for thee from Tod of the Fens,” he whispered. “And wilt thou tell me of Johanna?”
The apprentice boys fell away before Sir Frederick’s presence, and Gilbert and Stephen walked on with him to a quiet place inside the warehouse.
“Tod is too late with his message, if it has aught to do with smuggling,” Sir Frederick said as they went. “As thou seest, the Easterlings have sailed. As for Johanna, she is safe, Heaven be praised!”
“Tod’s message has naught to do with smuggling,” Stephen put in, and then between them the boys poured into Sir Frederick’s startled ears their whole adventure, closing with the words, “and now Tod is awaiting instructions from thee as to what he shall do with the town money.”
“And the money had not been stolen!” gasped Sir Frederick at loss to comprehend. “At least until Marflete and Skilton did attempt it. How stupid we councilmen will appear! Marflete and Skilton must be watched, and the money returned. The secret must be kept by Tod of the Fens and us, but how to get the money into the coffer?” Sir Frederick mused out loud.
Finally it was decided that Stephen should go to make his peace with his master, and Gilbert should return with the message to Tod. The message was that Tod should bring in the bags at nightfall, and Stephen with his barrow would come down for a load of hemp. Concealed under the hemp, the bags could be taken into the town again. So far the plan went, and further steps would have to be worked out later.
“Ha! Ha!” laughed Tod to himself, and then out loud he laughed. He was thinking as he lay under the great oak tree on the bank of the Lindis, awaiting the boys’ return, by what a strange turn of Fate’s wheel he had happened upon the boys when he, at Sir Frederick’s instigation, had been out to catch Ranolf or the Easterlings at their smuggling.
“Dismas must hear of this,” Tod mused. “They say that he is to be present at the great fair. Would that he could be at hand when the money is found again. How it would please him!” This set Tod to thinking harder.
When Gilbert returned,
he did not find Tod where he expected. For a second he thought he had mistaken the place, but there could be no mistake. There was the big oak tree, and there in the soft mud of the bank were the unmistakable marks of the skiff, but there was no Tod.
Back to Boston went the crestfallen Gilbert, and at the news he brought, Sir Frederick burst out wrathfully, “He is a rogue and a thief, and to think that we trusted him! There is no doubt that he has made away with the money, for, of course, nothing could have been easier. Now he will not dare to show his face hereabouts again, and we indeed are no worse off than we have thought ourselves to have been this long time. Only we three are the wiser! But I am the worse off, for I have lost the master of my ship and her crew.”
CHAPTER XVII
Tod in Disrepute
It was plain to Sir Frederick how Skilton had come by the keys, for, learning from Johanna that Redfern knew that they were in the hut, he was sure that Redfern had returned for them and passed them on to Skilton. “I have felt Skilton did not come by his wool honestly,” thought Sir Frederick, “and this is clear proof that he has had dealings with Redfern. My hands are tied for the present, for I cannot prove it on him without disclosing this mystery of the town coffer; and can I say to Marflete and Skilton, ‘Ye are guilty of thieving the town coffer,’ when a coffer I cannot prove is not the town coffer stands empty in the Guild Hall, as the townspeople believe their coffer to be, and the money has been taken from Skilton, the thief, by another thief, and—” But here Sir Frederick surprised himself, for suddenly the humor of the affair broke over him, and he laughed out loud as he walked along. “Well! Well! Here am I laughing at a serious business, but I do seem to see that rogue, Tod of the Fens, with his ruddy face brimming over with laughter at the trick he has played, and there is something about him and his open countenance that I do seem to trust in spite of everything against it.”
“Sir Frederick! Sir Frederick!” It was Dame Pinchbeck who called him as he passed her door. “Step in a moment, I beg thee. I would tell thee how thankful I am for Johanna’s safe return, and it warms my heart to see thee with a smile upon thy face.”
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