The Toll-Gate Read online

  ‘I am afraid I am quite corkbrained,’ said John meekly. ‘What must I do instead?’

  She glanced at the list again, and then up at him. ‘I think I had best procure these things for you,’ she suggested. ‘That, you see, will occasion no surprise, for I very often go shopping in Tideswell.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, smiling. ‘But I must buy some shirts, and some shoes and stockings, and you can hardly do that for me, ma’am!’

  ‘No,’ she agreed. She considered him anew, and added candidly: ‘And it will be wonderful if you can find any to fit you!’

  ‘Oh, I don’t despair of that! There are bound to be plenty of big fellows in the district, and somebody must make clothes for ’em!’ said the Captain cheerfully. ‘As a matter of fact, I saw a fine, lusty specimen not an hour ago. Cowman, I think. If I’d thought of it, I’d have asked him the name of his tailor.’

  She gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Oh, if you can be content with a flannel shirt – or, perhaps, a smock – !’

  He grinned at her. ‘Why not? Did you take me for a Bond Street beau? No, no! I was never one of your high sticklers!’

  ‘I take you for a madman,’ she said severely.

  ‘Well, they used to call me Crazy Jack in Spain,’ he admitted. ‘But I’m not dangerous, you know – not a bit!’

  ‘Very well, then, I will take my courage in my hands, and drive you to Tideswell tomorrow, in the gig – that is, if you can leave the gate in Ben’s charge!’

  ‘The devil’s in it that I can’t,’ he said ruefully. ‘The wretched boy has informed me that he must muck out Mr Sopworthy’s hen-houses tomorrow!’

  ‘Oh!’ She frowned over this for a moment, and then said: ‘It doesn’t signify: Joseph – that’s my groom! – shall keep the gate while you are away. The only thing is –’ She paused, fidgeting with her riding whip, the crease reappearing between her brows. Her frank gaze lifted again to his face. ‘The thing is that it is sometimes difficult for me – now – to escape an escort I don’t need, and am not at all accustomed to! But I fancy – I am not perfectly sure – that my cousin and Mr Coate have formed the intention of driving to Sheffield tomorrow. You will understand, if I should not come, that I could not!’ He nodded, and she held out her hand. ‘Goodbye! I will ride to Mrs Skeffling’s cottage now. Oh! Must I pay toll? I have come out without my purse!’

  He took her hand, and held it for an instant. ‘On no account!’

  She blushed, but said in a rallying tone: ‘Well for you it is not thought worth while to post informers on this road!’

  She picked up her skirts, and went out into the road. Captain Staple, following her, unhitched her horse from the gatepost, and led him up to her. She took the bridle, placed her foot in his cupped hands, and was tossed up into the saddle. As the hack sidled, she bent to arrange the folds of her skirt, saying: ‘I mean to visit one of my grandfather’s tenants, so don’t look for me again today! My way will take me over the hill.’

  A nod, and a smile, and she was trotting off down the road, leaving John to look after her until the bend hid her from his sight.

  She was not his only visitor that day. Shortly before eight o’clock, the wicket-gate clashed, and a heavy knock fell on the toll-house door. Ben, who was engaged in whittling a piece of wood into the semblance of a quadruped, in which only its creator could trace the faintest resemblance to the Captain’s Beau, jumped, but showed no sign of the terror which had possessed him during the previous evening. Either he did not connect his father’s mysterious visitor with an open approach to the office door, or he placed complete reliance on Captain Staple’s ability to protect him.

  John went into the office. He had left the lantern on the table, and by its light he was able to recognize the man who stood in the open doorway. He said: ‘Hallo! What can I do for you?’

  ‘Jest thought I’d drop in, and blow a cloud with you,’ responded Miss Stornaway’s groom. ‘Stretching me legs, like. The name’s Lydd – Joe Lydd.’

  ‘Come in!’ invited John. ‘You’re very welcome!’

  ‘Thank ’ee, sir!’

  ‘The name,’ said John, pushing wide the door into the kitchen, ‘is Jack.’

  Mr Lydd, who was both short and spare, looked up at him under his grizzled brows. ‘Is it, though? Jest as you please, Jack – no offence being meant!’

  ‘Or taken!’ John said promptly. ‘Sit down! Saw you this morning, didn’t I?’

  ‘Now, fancy you remembering that!’ marvelled Mr Lydd. ‘Because I didn’t think you noticed me, not partic’lar.’

  John had gone to the cupboard, but he turned at this, and stared across the kitchen at his guest. Mr Lydd met this somewhat grim look with the utmost blandness for a moment or two, and then transferred his attention to Ben. ‘Well, me lad, so your dad’s hopped the wag, has he? What sort of a fetch is he up to? Gone on the spree, I dessay?’

  ‘Gone up to Lunnon, to see me brother,’ said Ben glibly. ‘’Cos he heard as Simmy ain’t in the Navy no more.’

  ‘Fancy that, now!’ said Mr Lydd admiringly. ‘Made his fortune at sea, I wouldn’t wonder, and sent for his dad to come and share it with him. There’s nothing like pitching it rum, Ben!’

  John, who was drawing two tankards of beer at the barrel beside the cupboard, spoke over his shoulder, dismissing his imaginative protégé to bed. Ben showed some slight signs of recalcitrance, but, upon encountering a decidedly stern look, sniffed, and went with lagging step towards the door.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mr Lydd encouragingly. ‘You don’t want to take no risks, not with your guv’nor looking like bull-beef. I wouldn’t!’

  John grinned, and handed him one of the tankards. ‘Is that what I look like? Here’s a heavy wet for you! Did you come to discover where Brean is? I can’t tell you.’

  Mr Lydd, carefully laying down the clay pipe he had been filling, took the tankard, blew off the froth, and ceremoniously pledged his host. After a long draught, he sighed, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and picked up his pipe again. Not until this had been lit, with a screw of paper kindled at one of the smouldering logs, did he answer John’s question. While he alternately drew at the pipe, and pressed down the tobacco with the ball of his thumb, his eyes remained unwaveringly fixed on John’s face, in a meditative and curiously shrewd scrutiny. By the time his pipe was drawing satisfactorily, he had apparently reached certain conclusions, for he withdrew his stare, and said in a conversational tone: ‘Properly speaking, Ned Brean’s whereabouts don’t interest me. If you like to set it about he’s gone off to visit young Simmy, it’s all one to me.’

  ‘I don’t,’ John interrupted.

  ‘Well, it ain’t any of my business, but what I say is, if you’re going to tell a bouncer let it be a good ’un! However, I didn’t come here to talk about Ned Brean.’

  ‘What did you come to talk about?’ asked John amiably.

  ‘I don’t know as how I came to talk about anything in partic’lar. Jest dropped in, neighbourly. It’s quiet up at the Manor, these days. Very different from what it used to be when I was a lad. That was afore Sir Peter ran aground, as you may say. A very well-breeched swell he was, flashing the dibs all over. Ah, and prime cattle we had in the stables then! Slap up to the echo, Squire was, and the finest, lightest hands – ! Mr Frank was the same, and Master Jermyn after him – regular top-sawyers! Dead now, o’ course. There’s only Miss Nell left.’ He paused, and took a pull at his beer, watching John over the top of the tankard. John met his look, the hint of a smile in his eyes, but he said nothing. Mr Lydd transferred his gaze to the fire. ‘It’s not so far off forty years since I went to Kellands,’ he said reminiscently. ‘Went as stable-boy, I did, and rose to be head-groom, with four under me, not counting the boys. Taught Master Jermyn to ride, and Miss Nell too. Neck-or-nothing, that was Master Jermyn, and prime ’uns Squire used to buy for him! He wou