Brendon Chase

by B. B.

  ‘Indeed no, ma’am, I fear Her Ladyship is feeling the heat dreadfully.’

  By sheer British grit, however, shown, be it said, by children and adults alike, the party at last reached an open glade and the Whiting called a halt.

  ‘Ain’t it loverly though,’ said the nurse to the chauffeur.

  ‘It reminds me of a place I know in Burma,’ said Lady Bramshott in rather a faded voice to the vicar. ‘I never knew there was such a delightful spot so near to us.’

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s a favourite haunt of mine, Lady Bramshott, quite a favourite spot. Bless me!’ exclaimed the Whiting suddenly. ‘If that isn’t a comma over there, on that blackberry bush!’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Vicar?’

  But the Whiting had already unshipped his net and was off in pursuit, with a party of children rushing at his heels. Lady Bramshott sighed. ‘How the children love him,’ she said to Aunt Ellen. ‘Don’t you think it’s clever of him to find such a heavenly place for our picnic? It was quite worth that too, too tiring walk, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’m afraid your youngest must have found it very tiring,’ said Aunt Ellen, ‘the poor lamb has stung his legs dreadfully.’

  ‘Oh, Jeremy always cries,’ said Lady Bramshott – who was quite a good sort – ‘he’s really too small to bring out on a picnic but it will do him good. He’ll be all right when they start to play. The children are still a little shy. How pretty Angela looks, Mrs Bowers. How old do you say she is?’

  ‘Thirteen today. Yes, she’s a pretty child.’

  Angela at that moment was peering over the Whiting’s shoulder at some object he was disentangling from his net. ‘So fond of nature, don’t you know, she adores birds and things. That’s where the vicar is so good with children.’

  There were cries of ‘What is it?’, ‘Oh, let me look, please,’ and, ‘Comma, what a funny name. Why not call it a full stop!’

  ‘I hope the little ones won’t wander too far and get lost,’ said Aunt Ellen.

  ‘All my brats except the youngest can look after themselves,’ said Lady Bramshott. ‘My husband believes in them being self-reliant. A good thing, don’t you think?’

  ‘But surely, Lady Bramshott … if one of them did get lost, it would be a terrible experience for the poor lamb.’

  Lady Bramshott, who had by now recovered from the hot walk, began marshalling the children for a game of hide and seek. The unhappy Whiting – who would have far rather been allowed to go off after butterflies – was called upon to organize.

  Mrs Bowers directed that the picnic hamper should be carried into the shade. The time to eat had not yet arrived and the fish paste sandwiches might suffer.

  ‘Where would you like it, ma’am?’ asked the chauffeur, staggering under his weighty burden.

  ‘Oh, anywhere in the shade; under the bracken will do, Burton, but see Master Jeremy doesn’t find it.’

  Master Jeremy, Lady Bramshott’s youngest, was a fat and immensely greedy child, as greedy as a puppy. Mrs Bowers had not forgotten that on a former picnic in the Chase he had discovered where the basket lay and had helped himself, privily, whilst the other children and grown-ups had been otherwise engaged. And Jeremy had been rushed home, a dolorous journey, as he had been continually sick in the carriage all the way to Cherry Walden.

  The grown-ups, who had not yet been roped in to assist with the children, now spread themselves in the shade, where they talked scandal and appraised each other’s offspring.

  The chauffeur soon found a nursemaid to entertain, the Whiting disappeared into the forest with the children at his heels – he reminded Lady Bramshott, so she said, of the Pied Piper of Hamlyn – and everybody seemed happy and to be enjoying themselves, all save Aunt Ellen, who had already been bitten twice on the neck by a mosquito.

  Big John and Little John spent a lonely night in the tree. Without Bang and Robin for company they felt very depressed. They had caught no fish at the Blind Pool and the rain did not help matters. When, on the following morning, the skies were still overcast and the rain still fell in steady lines, they felt more depressed than ever. For the first time since they came to the forest they were bored and almost wished they could go back; even Banchester was better than mooning about doing nothing.

  ‘Why should Robin have all the fun?’ growled Big John, kicking the wood dust and staring out at the dripping trees. ‘He’s taken the rifle and if he doesn’t come back today we shall run short of food.’

  ‘I know. I vote we insist on keeping the rifle next time, if he wants to go off again by himself. Hullo! Big John, I believe it’s going to clear up!’

  It had stopped raining and very soon the sun gleamed forth and set the whole forest steaming.

  ‘Hurrah! Let’s go for a swim in the Blind Pool. Robin will just have to wait here until we come back!’

  It was amazing how the coming of the sun brightened their spirits.

  They reached the pool soon after midday. They stripped and had a delightful swim. Then they began to fish. Big John went up to the shallow end, where the stream trickled out of the pool, and the water daisy carpets grew. After the rain the perch were biting and he soon caught a dozen fine red-finned fish, the largest being well over a pound. It was great fun seeing the float move slowly away and down almost as soon as the worm sank to the bottom. A perch bite is decidedly bold and gladdens the heart of the patient angler. A large willow formed a comfortable seat for Big John and under it the water was some four feet deep. The glancing rays of sunlight revealed the bottom; he could see the dead leaves, and the rotten sticks embedded in them, he could watch his worms descending – even the perch were plainly visible as they moved out from under the willow roots to take his bait. Occasionally one dark thick-backed monster would glide up to the worm, examine it, and return to the shelter of the willow with injured dignity, as though to say, ‘What do you take me for!’ Sometimes as the worm touched bottom, Big John could see it wriggling to and fro like a little pink eel. And then a dark shadow eclipsed it and the float dived steadily.

  Though these fish were smaller than the handsome bronze tench, they tasted even sweeter and, moreover, they were not so bony. Next to a trout, the perch is the best eating of all the freshwater fish. Very soon Big John saw a disturbance in the water, far out in the pool. At first he thought it was the head of a water rat and he put his hand in his pocket for his catapult. Water rats made good moving targets. But very soon he saw it was caused by a large grass snake. The creature came gracefully along, its head held well clear of the surface of the water, waggling from side to side. It came right in under the willow and Big John saw the long sinuous body waving like a green whiplash behind it.

  The snake wriggled out of the water and began to glide away, with a faint rustle, through the fern. Big John, who wanted a snakeskin for a belt, dropped down upon it like a hawk and pinned it behind the head. The clammy green coils, with the black barred underbelly, writhed hideously round his hand in moving tight knots, but he held it firm.

  He liked grass snakes. They were harmless creatures and usually the outlaws let them alone, but this particular snake was such a magnificent specimen it would make a fine belt, or even a scabbard for his hunting knife.

  He was on the point of killing it when a thought occurred to him. Little John had never seen a grass snake at close quarters; he would keep it alive and show it to him. So he put it in his jacket pocket and a very unpleasant smell it made. Grass snakes when alarmed have this strange skunk-like power. But small boys are not so squeamish as grown-ups, so the snake went into his pocket as a matter of course. It writhed about a good deal and then lay still. It was dark in there and that quietened it.

  Big John wriggled back down the willow and dropped into the bracken. He threaded his perch on a withy and walked back along the bank to join his brother. He found the latter in the act of landing a large red-finned perch of quite a pound weight, but as he drew it kicking and splashing to the side, the fish gave another plunge an
d tangled the line round a lily root. Their combined efforts failed to free it and a moment later the line came slack. ‘Bother,’ exclaimed Little John, ‘it was a beauty too.’

  They ruefully surveyed the broken cast and swore it was the finest perch they had ever hooked in the Blind Pool.

  ‘Never mind,’ sighed Big John, ‘it was a beauty and no mistake, but I’ve got some good ones, enough for a fry. I’ve caught a snake too; I’ll show it you when we get back to camp.’

  They gathered up their rods and struck off through the fern in the direction of the oak tree. They had been walking for some time, Big John in the lead, when distant sounds brought them to an abrupt halt. Faint cries came on the air, children’s voices! Children’s voices in the Chase!

  Their first reaction was to dive into the thickets but after listening as intently as deer for some considerable time Big John motioned his brother outlaw to follow and very cautiously they began to make their way in the direction of the sounds. The afternoon was so still that it was some time before they seemed to be drawing any nearer to these disturbers of their domain. But at last the clamour became so loud that both outlaws took to their hands and knees and finally their stomachs and at last, when they reached the edge of a glade, an amazing and disturbing spectacle met their startled gaze. For there, grouped about under the oaks, were clusters of children, chattering and laughing, some playing leapfrog, others playing tig and the rest clustered round no other person but the Whiting, who was apparently explaining the complicated anatomy of a caterpillar.

  ‘Disgusting,’ whispered Big John when he had recovered from his horror and astonishment, ‘fancy coming into the Chase like this on a beastly picnic. Good gracious … there’s Aunt Ellen!’

  For a moment they gazed in awe at their unhappy aunt, it was so long since they had seen her. ‘She’s all dressed up like a dog’s dinner,’ whispered Little John, ‘and she’s got her Sunday hat on, the one with cherries in it.’

  ‘That’s because Lady Bramshott’s there,’ Big John whispered back, ‘and look – there’s that little hog Jeremy, wearing a ridiculous cap as big as a plate. Phew! What a crowd!’

  ‘Yes, and there’s Mrs Bowers and Angela,’ said Little John, who had just caught sight of the latter on the other side of the glade. ‘Let’s get back to camp before they see us.’

  But Big John’s face was undergoing a change. A red tide slowly flooded his cheeks, his ears turned shell pink, ears which had not been washed for weeks. Poor Big John – he was suffering all over again the pangs of calf love. Angela was his ideal of the perfect woman. Now he was suddenly homesick. He wanted dreadfully to join that noisy, happy party and, more than anything, to talk to Angela. How she would love their house in the forest! How she would love to see the bird’s nests and the butterflies! She was wearing a frilly white summer frock and a scarlet ribbon in her blue-black hair, and never, never, never had he seen her looking so adorable. But all this he had to bottle up and keep to himself. He would rather have died than betray these secret emotions. He must worship – alas! – from afar. Besides, what a sight he looked in his old rabbit skin kilt and his ragged clothes! His shoes, too, were wearing out, and the sole of one of them was tied to the uppers with thongs of pig’s hide. An absolute tramp, in fact.

  He was awakened, glassy-eyed, from his trance, by Little John’s elbow jabbing him rudely in the ribs. ‘Look, Big John, the picnic basket!’

  ‘Oh shut up!’ snapped Big John quite angrily. ‘What about it anyway?’

  ‘Why, can’t you see they’ve put it under the bracken, over there? How about sneaking it? I’ll bet it’s chock-a-block with good things.’

  Now it must be admitted that Big John was very hungry. Their breakfast had been meagre and they had just had a swim. In fact they were just about as hungry as growing boys can be who have had an enormous amount of exercise and have also been living rough.

  ‘There’ll be pies and cakes, sandwiches, and I don’t know what,’ said Little John. ‘I’m off.’

  ‘Here! Wait for me,’ hissed Big John, Angela’s charms quite forgotten for the moment.

  The picnic hamper, a vast bright reddy-brown wicker one, was reposing close to the high bracken. Its guardian, the chauffeur, was flirting with a nursemaid under an oak close by. Certainly it was an opportunity not to be missed. It was easy meat for them, even easier than the removal of Bunting’s trousers.

  There was nobody on their side of the clearing; the picnic party had obligingly arranged themselves under the trees opposite to their hiding place, some on rugs – Aunt Ellen was sitting on two rugs because she feared the damp – and all were engrossed in small talk. The bulk of the children had now gone off with the Whiting, though they were not far away, as was borne out by the piercing screams of laughter and excited shouts which, to Big John and Little John, seemed sacrilege in this quiet forest retreat which they had come to regard as their own.

  Had anyone been watching that happy picture, and especially the comfortable-looking picnic hamper, they would have seen a strange thing. The ferns moved ever so slightly close beside it and an extremely dirty claw appeared. Very gradually it felt towards the hamper, the fingers closed over the wickerwork and the hamper was mysteriously withdrawn an inch at a time, so slowly that the movement would have been scarcely discernible to the watcher.

  Though the chauffeur and the nursemaid were only ten feet away they never heard a sound.

  Big John gently pulled the wooden peg which held down the lid and, as gently, the lid was raised. There a wonderful sight met the gaze of those poor famished outlaws. A whole cold chicken! Blocks of sandwiches! Three large cakes, one iced with pink icing and in a box by itself; quite a dozen hard-boiled eggs! Ham! Honey! Pots of jam! And a hundred other mouth-tickling delights, including apples, oranges and chocolates!

  In a moment or two every eatable had been removed, together with two aluminium kettles. The cups and plates they did not bother about but the kettles would come in useful.

  ‘I don’t think we ought to pinch the kettles,’ hissed Big John under his breath, ‘I’ve half a mind to put them back. It’s too much like stealing.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool; remember Robin Hood. He robbed the rich to feed the poor, didn’t he? We’re outlaws, silly!’ So the kettles were removed.

  Then it seemed that Big John replaced something in the basket. Little John did not see what it was, he only caught a fleeting glimpse of some object being forced under the lid which was shut to quickly. Then the pin was replaced, the fern nodded once more and all was still!

  ‘Ah, Vicar, you must be worn out with all your hard work,’ crowed Mrs Bowers, when the Whiting appeared in a sea of hot red-faced children.

  ‘Ah well, a little perhaps, but we’ve had a wonderful game of hide and seek, haven’t we, children?’

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ they all chorused.

  ‘And you must be famished too, you poor things. We will have tea at once, don’t you think so, Lady Bramshott? It looks so cool!’

  ‘Tea! Tea!’ everyone shouted, dancing about. Some of the children turned somersaults with delight.

  ‘I think I have brought enough for us all,’ said Mrs Bowers, smiling at her guests. ‘Now, Angela darling, you must look after your little friends and help to pass round the cakes and things.’

  ‘Hooray!’ shouted the children. ‘Tea! Tea! Where’s the tea!’

  ‘Angela shall open the basket,’ said Mrs Bowers, bridling, ‘as it’s your birthday, dear,’ she added, ‘and you may help your little guests to anything they like!’

  ‘I feel Robin Hood and his merry men must be hiding somewhere in this forest,’ said Lady Bramshott closing her sunshade. ‘We must imagine we are in Sherwood preparing a hunting banquet. Come, children! Sit down anywhere!’

  The hamper was pulled to the middle of the shuffling circle and every eye was fixed greedily upon it.

  ‘This is a jolly picnic,’ said Aunt Ellen – she had quite forgotten her mosquito bites – ‘and how
kind of you, dear Mrs Bowers, to ask us all like this!’

  ‘The banquet is about to be spread,’ boomed the Whiting, undoing the top button of his waistcoat. Mrs Bowers leant across and whispered something in his ear. He nodded his head rapidly, ‘Certainly, certainly.’

  ‘One moment, Angela darling,’ said her mother, laying a restraining finger on Angela’s arm, ‘before we begin tea the vicar will say grace.’ The shuffling and excited whispers died to silence as the party composed itself reverently with closed eyes.

  ‘For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen,’ said everyone present – then – Angela lifted the lid!

  The scene which followed is beyond my powers of description. For as Angela opened the hamper there instantly appeared over the side the waving head of a snake, its thin black tongue quivering malevolently, like the feelers of some obscene insect. Dreadful screams rang through the forest. There followed a moment of frozen horror, then the children scattered like rabbits in every direction. Aunt Ellen exclaimed, ‘Oh! Oh! A serpent!’ and fell back in a swoon, disclosing an unseemly length of thick woollen stocking and flannel underwear. Nursemaids and mothers fled, babbling incoherently between the trees.

  Four figures remained. Angela, Lady Bramshott, the vicar and the chauffeur.

  ‘It’s only a harmless grass snake, I assure you,’ the vicar exclaimed. ‘There is no need for all this panic.’

  Lady Bramshott, though white of face, seemed now rather amused – but then she had been used to snakes in Burma. And Angela, poor Angela, sat back on her heels, her head hung so that the dark curls fell forward and masked her crimson face. Glittering drops fell, like pearls, upon her knees.

  ‘Fancy a snake in the picnic basket!’ exclaimed the Whiting. ‘I do declare it is a most strange occurrence! Come, children,’ he said, gazing about him, ‘come, everyone, it cannot harm you. It is no viper but a harmless grass snake!’