The Toll-Gate Read online

  Nothing happened. ‘Do I dismount, and open it for myself?’ enquired the Captain. ‘No, I’ll be damned if I do! Gate, I say! Gate! Turn out, there, and be quick about it!’

  The door in the centre of the gatehouse opened a little way, and a feeble glimmer of lantern light was cast across the road. ‘Well, come along!’ said the Captain impatiently. ‘Open up, man!’

  After a moment’s hesitation, this summons was obeyed. The gatekeeper came out into the road, and revealed himself, in the light of the lantern he carried, to be of diminutive stature. The Captain, looking down at him in some surprise, as he stood fumbling with the gate-tickets, discovered him to be a skinny urchin, certainly not more than thirteen years old, and probably less. The lantern’s glow revealed a scared young face, freckled, and slightly tear-stained. He said: ‘Hallo, what’s this? Are you the gatekeeper?’

  ‘N-no, sir. Me dad is,’ responded the youth, with a gulp.

  ‘Well, where is your dad?’

  Another gulp. ‘I dunno.’ A ticket was held up. ‘Frippence, please, your honour, an’ it opens the next two gates.’

  But the Captain’s besetting sin, a strong predilection for exploring the unusual, had taken possession of him. He disregarded the ticket, and said: ‘Did your dad leave you to mind the gate for him?’

  ‘Yessir,’ acknowledged the youth, with a somewhat watery sniff. ‘Please, sir, it’s frippence, and –’

  ‘Opens the next two gates,’ supplied the Captain. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Ben,’ replied the youth.

  ‘Where does this road lead to? Sheffield?’

  After consideration, Ben said that it did.

  ‘How far?’ asked the Captain.

  ‘I dunno. Ten miles, I dessay. Please, sir –’

  ‘As much as that! The devil!’

  ‘It might be twelve, p’raps. I dunno. But the ticket’s frippence, please, sir.’

  The Captain looked down into the not very prepossessing countenance raised anxiously to his. The boy looked frightened and overwatched. He said: ‘When did your dad go off?’ He waited, and added, after a moment: ‘Don’t be afraid! I shan’t hurt you. Have you been minding the gate for long?’

  ‘Yes – no! Dad went off yesterday. He said he’d be back, but he ain’t, and please, sir, don’t go telling no one, else Dad’ll give me a proper melting!’ begged the youth, on a note of urgent entreaty.

  The Captain’s curiosity was now thoroughly roused. Gatekeepers might have their faults, but they did not commonly leave their posts unattended except by small boys for twenty-four hours at a stretch. Moreover, Ben was badly scared; and to judge by the furtive glances he cast round he was scared by something besides the darkness and his loneliness.

  The Captain swung himself to the ground, and pulled the bridle over Beau’s head. ‘Seems to me I’d better stay and keep you company for the night,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Now, where am I going to stable my horse?’

  Ben was so much astonished that he could only stand staring up at the Captain with his mouth open and his eyes popping. The Captain knew that the generality of country gatehouses had small gardens attached to them with, often enough, rough sheds erected for the storage of hoes, swap-hooks, and wood. ‘Have you got a shed?’ he demanded.

  ‘Ay,’ uttered Ben, still gazing, fascinated, at this enormous and fantastic traveller.

  ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘Cackling-cheats.’

  The Captain recognized the language. His troop had contained several of the rogues of whom his Grace of Wellington, in querulous humour, had more than once asserted that his gallant army was for the most part composed. ‘Hens?’ he said. ‘Oh, well, no matter! Take me to it! Is it big enough for my horse?’

  ‘Ay,’ said Ben doubtfully.

  ‘Lead the way, then!’

  Apparently Ben felt that it would be unwise to demur, which he seemed much inclined to do, for after giving another gulp he picked up his lantern, and guided the Captain to a wicket-gate behind the toll-house.

  The shed proved to be surprisingly large; and when the lantern was hung up on a protruding nail its light revealed not only a collection of fowls, perched on a roost, but also some straw, and a truss of hay in one corner. There were unmistakable signs that Beau was not the first horse to be stabled there, a circumstance which John found interesting, but which he thought it wisest not to comment upon. Ben was regarding him with a mixture of awe and suspicion, so he smiled down at the boy, and said: ‘You needn’t be afraid: I shan’t hurt you. Now, my cloak’s too wet to put over Beau here: have you got a blanket to spare?’

  ‘Ay. But if Mr Chirk was to come – But I dessay he won’t!’ said Ben. ‘Coo, he is a big prancer!’

  He then took the saddlebag which John had unstrapped, and went off with it. When he returned it was with a pail of water, and a horse blanket. He found that the Captain, having shed his coat, was rubbing Beau down, and he at once collected a wisp of straw, and set to work on the big horse’s legs. He seemed to have decided that his uninvited guest, though alarmingly large, really did mean him no harm, for he looked much more cheerful, and volunteered the information that he had set the kettle on to boil. ‘There’s some rum left,’ he said.

  ‘There won’t be presently,’ replied John, watching the boy’s fearless handling of his horse. The mild jest was well-received, a friendly grin being cast up at him. He said casually: ‘Do you work in a stable?’

  ‘Some days I does. Others it’s all sorts,’ replied Ben. ‘Mr Sopworthy hires me mostly.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Buffer, at Crowford. Blue Boar,’ said Ben, beginning to wipe the stirrups with a piece of sacking.

  ‘Innkeeper?’ hazarded John.

  ‘Ay.’

  ‘Does your dad keep a horse?’

  The wary look came back into Ben’s face. ‘No.’ He eyed John sideways. ‘That horse-cloth ain’t me dad’s. It – it belongs to a friend. He comes here sometimes. Maybe he wouldn’t like you using of it, so – so you don’t want to go saying anything about it, please, sir! Nor about him, acos – acos he don’t like meeting no strangers!’

  ‘Shy, is he? I won’t say anything,’ promised John, wondering if this were perhaps the man of whom Ben was afraid. He was by this time convinced that some mystery hung about the toll-house, with which, no doubt, the disappearance of its custodian was connected; but he was wise enough to keep this reflection to himself, since it was plain that Ben, in the manner of a colt, was uncertain of him, ready to shy off in a panic.

  When Beau had been covered with the blanket, and left to lip over an armful of hay, Ben led the Captain up the garden to the back of the toll-house, where a central door opened into a small kitchen. The house, as John quickly saw, was of the usual pattern. It consisted of two tolerable rooms with another between them, which had been divided into two by a wooden partition. The rear half was the kitchen, and the front the toll-office. The kitchen was small, over-warm, and extremely untidy. Since it was lit by a couple of dip-candles in tin holders, an unpleasant aroma of hot tallow hung about it. But the Captain knew from past experiences in the more primitive parts of Portugal that the human nose could rapidly accustom itself to even worse smells, and he entered the room without misgiving. Ben shut and bolted the door, set down the lantern, and produced from the cupboard a black bottle, and a thick tumbler. ‘I’ll mix you a bumper,’ he offered.

  The Captain, who had seated himself in the Windsor chair by the fire, grinned, but said: ‘Much obliged to you, but I think I’ll mix it myself. If you want to make yourself useful, see if you can pull off these boots of mine!’ This operation, which took time, and all Ben’s strength, did much to break the ice. It seemed to Ben exquisitely humorous that he should tumble nearly heels over head, clasping a muddied top-boot to his chest. He began to giggle, forgetting his awe, and looked all at once much