The Toll-Gate Read online

  Joseph unhitched the cob’s bridle from the gatepost, but said: ‘Is that where he is? I thought he was off to Tideswell to fetch the constable!’

  ‘Not he!’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t do him no good if he did go there,’ observed Joseph. ‘He says he was set on last night by a pair o’ foot-pads. I never heard the like, not on this road, but he swears his watch was snatched from him, and as for Gunn, which Coate says fought off these foot-pads, lord! he looks like a strained hair in a can! I don’t know whether it was foot-pads which gave it to him, but he’s had a proper melting, that’s sure! One of his knees is swole up like a bolster, and he can’t hardly walk on it, and he’s took a crack on the noddle that’s made him as dizzy as a goose. Mr Henry’s man was told off to drive him to Sheffield this morning, so that’s a good riddance. I’d as lief it had been Coate – though there’s small choice in rotten apples!’

  He then led the cob round the toll-house to the gate into the garden, and the Captain was left to read his letter. It was not long, and it gave him the impression that it had been written in a brave attempt to convince him that nothing had happened at Kellands to cause him to feel uneasiness. Nell was anxious, she assured him, only about her grandfather. Something which Henry had said to him had affected him profoundly; Winkfield had found him striving to heave himself to his feet; he had collapsed; and the doctor, summoned instantly, said that he had suffered a second stroke, not as severe as the first, but from which it was doubtful that he would recover. He was confined now to his bed, but he seemed to be unable to rest. Nell’s dear John would understand that she must not go out of reach: no one could tell when she might be summoned to her grandfather’s room for the last time.

  Thrusting the single sheet of paper into the pocket of his leathers, John strode through the toll-house to the garden, where he found Ben being given a lesson in horse-manage. He dismissed him curtly, telling him to go back to the gate. Ben, who thought that he had been on duty for long enough, cast him a darkling look, and went off with a lagging step, and an audible sniff.

  ‘He’ll make a likely lad in the stables,’ remarked Joseph. ‘Given he gets the chance, that is. I’ve told Brean so afore now.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps. Joseph, what is happening up at the Manor? Never mind what your mistress told you to say to me! I want the truth!’

  ‘Squire’s mortal bad,’ Joseph replied. ‘What’s more, he ain’t dying easy. He’s worriting and worriting, and whether it’s on account of Mr Henry, or something as he’s expecting his lawyer to send him from London, Mr Winkfield don’t know. Maybe it’s his Will. He would have me ride to Sheffield to meet the mail yesterday afternoon, though me and Mr Winkfield knew there wouldn’t be nothing on it, ’cos there wasn’t time enough, seeing when it was I carried his letter to the mail. He don’t seem to be able to reckon the days no more, though he ain’t dicked in the nob – far from it! I’m to go again this afternoon, and I hopes to God there’ll be an express packet for him!’

  ‘Miss Nell has told me that the Squire is dying. What she has not told me is what those two hell-born rogues are doing!’

  ‘Now, there’s no call for you to fly into your high ropes, guv’nor! Barring Mr Henry’s took to his bed, as blue as megrim, they ain’t doing nothing. Nor they won’t, not while Squire’s above ground, and all of us still at the Manor. It’s when Squire’s dead and buried that the mischief will begin, by what Mr Huby managed to hear Coate saying to Mr Henry last night. He’s a cunning old Trojan, Mr Huby is! He saw Coate go up to Mr Henry’s room, and he hopped up after him, as spry as a two-year-old, and slipped into the room alongside Mr Henry’s. There’s a powder-closet between the two of ’em, and into it he creeps, all amongst Mr Henry’s fine coats, which is hung up in it, and sets his ear to the door into Mr Henry’s room.’

  ‘What did he contrive to hear?’ John asked quickly.

  ‘Why, he says as Coate was in a rare tweak with Mr Henry, calling him a paperskulled gabster, and cursing him something wicked for having gone next or nigh Squire. “Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t have no trouble made, you mouth?” he says. Then Mr Henry says something as Mr Huby couldn’t hear, and Coate says, “Wait till he’s snuffed it, and the game’s our own!” he says. “You’ll send these damned servants packing, the whole curst set of insolent dotards!” – meaning Mr Huby, and Mr Winkfield, and me. “You won’t have no trouble over that,” he says, “for they wouldn’t work for you, Henry, not if you was to offer ’em a fortune for to do it!” Which is true as death,’ said Joseph meditatively. ‘Myself, I’d as soon drive a hack – or worse!’

  ‘Yes, and then?’

  ‘Well, then Mr Huby heard Mr Henry say, screeching like he was in a fury, yet scared too, “And what about my cousin?” Coate, he cursed him some more for not keeping his voice down, and he says, “I’ll have to marry the girl, and, damme,” he says, “I’ve a mind to, for I’ll swear she’s a piece as is worth taming!” Which fairly made Mr Huby’s blood boil, but there was worse to come. Ay! For Mr Henry says as Miss Nell wouldn’t have Coate, and Coate, he laughs, and says, “Trust me, she’ll be glad to have me! And once I’ve got her to wife,” he says, “there ain’t nothing to be afraid of, ’cos I’ll school her to keep her chaffer close, don’t doubt me! And once you’re master here,” he says, “me and she will stay long of you, and no one won’t think it queer; and when they’ve called the hounds off, there’s a fortune waiting for us!” Then Mr Huby heard a board creak, like Coate had got up out of his chair so he crept away, soft-like. And pitiful it was to see him, when he told Mr Winkfield and me what had passed! Fair napping his bib, he was, to think his strength was gone from him, and he couldn’t give Coate a leveller, let alone choke the puff out of him, which he was wishful to do!’

  ‘Let him not weep for that!’ said Captain Staple, through his even, white teeth. ‘I will settle all scores with this villain, and in full!’

  ‘Well, sir,’ said Joseph, with a deprecatory cough, ‘seeing as Mr Huby was in such a taking, Mr Winkfield took the liberty of telling him so. Which heartened him up wonderful – if I may say so!’

  ‘Did you tell me you must go to Sheffield today?’ John asked abruptly. ‘When will you be here again?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be back by six o’clock at latest, sir! The London mail’s due at four. It might be a minute or two late, but not above a quarter of an hour, at this season! What was you wanting me to do?’

  ‘Come and take my place here after dark! I must see Miss Nell!’

  Joseph nodded. ‘I’ll come if I can, guv’nor,’ he promised. ‘But I better be off now – if that Coate has passed the gate!’

  He had not, but in a few minutes he came into sight, trotting briskly down the road. John sent Ben out to open the gate; and, after a discreet pause, Joseph mounted the cob, and rode off in his wake.

  The Captain then took pity on Ben, and released him from his duties, merely recommending him to eat his dinner before sallying forth to join certain of his cronies on an afternoon of high adventure. Since Mrs Skeffling had left a stew redolent of onions simmering on the hob, Ben thought well of following this advice. He tried to engage the Captain in conversation, but found him to be in an abstracted mood. As his parent, by the simple expedient of clouting him heavily, had trained him not to obtrude his chatter upon unwilling ears, he immediately stopped talking, consumed with startling rapidity an enormous plateful of steak, and slid from the toll-house before his protector could (in the manner of adult persons) change his mind, and set him to perform some wearisome task.

  The Captain finished his own meal in a more leisurely style, and, still deeply considering the problem which lay before him, washed up the crockery. He was wiping his hands on a towel when an imperative voice intruded upon his consciousness.

  ‘Gate! Gate, there!’ it called.

  The Captain turned his head quickly. The call was repeated, in exasperated accents. The