The Tale of Hawthorn House (14 page)

When Parsley (The Brockery cook) had served up the sausages and potato pancakes, with mushrooms and mashed parsnips and slices of hearty brown bread and butter, everyone fell to the food with such good appetite that conversation lagged. But with second helpings and glasses of elderflower lemonade, the conversation became animated, and all were eager to trade stories of the day’s experiences.

Thorn, a handsome young badger whom Bosworth hoped might grow up and take his place someday, said that he had come across a large wasp nest in a hollow tree beside the brook in Penny Wood and reported its location so that the other badgers, who are exceedingly fond of wasp grubs, could go and have a picnic.

The hedgehog brothers hesitantly (hedgehogs are shy and want prompting) told of having been at the village fête on Saturday. They reported that the sudden afternoon rain scattered the fête-goers and muddied Post Office Meadow so beautifully that a great many earthworms actually swam to the surface to keep from being drowned. After the dancing was over and everyone had gone home, the brothers had had a jolly good feast. They recommended the Post Office Meadow earthworms highly, in case others found themselves in the neighborhood on a damp night.

Primrose said that she and Hyacinth had been in the Tidmarsh Manor garden and had seen young Caroline Longford out for a walk with her governess and Caroline’s guinea pigs, Tuppenny and Thruppenny. Hearing this, Bosworth brightened, for little Tuppenny had played a brave role in the Great Raid, and it was good to have word of him. (If you haven’t read about the animals’ rescue of Primrose and Hyacinth from the badger-baiting, known thereafter as the Great Raid, you’ll find the story in
The Tale of Holly How.
) Primrose noted that it was especially good to know that little Tuppenny had a friend, and would no longer have to go on adventures alone. A single guinea pig must, in her opinion, be a very lonely creature.

Bosworth, always eager for news of the district, turned to the fox.
“You said you’d been staying at Thorny Field, Fox. Are the gypsies still there?”

“They are,”
said the fox, buttering a slice of brown bread.
“As it happens, I was there this morning when Captain Woodcock stopped for a talk with Taiso Kudakov, the chief. Official business.”

“The captain is the Justice of the Peace,”
Bosworth explained to the table at large, in case any did not know. To the fox, he said,
“Official business, eh?”

Reynard nodded.
“There was some excitement in the village at the weekend, I understand.”
He eyed the near-empty platter in the middle of the table.
“My dear Parsley, your pancakes and sausages are first-rate. My compliments.”

Parsley colored prettily.
“Thank you, sir. Are we ready for rum cake, then? The sauce is keeping warm on the cooker. I’ll just pop out to the kitchen and get it.”

“Excitement?”
Thorn asked curiously.
“Besides the fête, d’ you mean, sir?”

“Had to do with a baby,”
said the fox.
“If nobody minds,”
he added apologetically, and helped himself to the last potato pancake.

“A baby?”
chorused Primrose and Hyacinth, in wide-eyed unison.

“An abandoned baby,”
said the fox, and took the last sausage as well.
“A human baby,”
he added, to clear up any confusion.
“A girl child, a fortnight old or so, I understand.”

“Oh, dear!”
chorused the hedgehogs. They themselves had been orphans from a young age, their mother having died under a wagon wheel on the Kendal Road in front of the Sawrey Hotel. They left flowers at the spot several times a year, which suggests that animals, like humans, do mourn their losses.

“And p’rhaps stolen, as well,”
the fox added.
“The child was left in a basket on the doorstep at Hill Top Farm on Saturday.”

“Left in a basket!”
Primrose cried. “
How can anyone
do
such
a thing?
” Primrose herself was a careful mother, always looking out for the health and well-being of Hyacinth and Thorn.

“Indeed,”
the fox said. He looked reprovingly down his long nose.
“But Miss Potter doesn’t fancy babies, it seems. She handed the infant off to Captain Woodcock’s sister.”

“Ahem,”
said the badger, feeling that Reynard was being unkind to Miss Potter, perhaps in retaliation for his treatment in her book.
“Well, in defense of Miss Potter, she has a farm to manage and elderly parents in London. I expect Miss Woodcock has more time to spare for babies.”

“
And I don’t see how Miss Potter could
not
like children,
” Thorn said, with a very grown-up air.
“She certainly understands what they want in the way of stories. That latest book was jolly good.”
He stopped, seeing the look on the fox’s face.
“Well, I thought so, anyway,”
he said, trying to cover his confusion.
“But then, I’m not a—”
He bit his lip, realizing that he was only getting in deeper.

The fox gave a nonchalant shrug.
“Be that as it may. In the event, Miss Woodcock is keeping the baby whilst the captain investigates the crime. Perhaps two crimes,”
he amended.
“Kidnapping and abandonment.”

“Kidnapping!”
squeaked one of the hedgehogs excitedly.

“Abandonment!”
shrilled the other, rising half out of his chair.

“ ’Twas gypsies done it,”
said old Templeton Toad, groping blindly for his lemonade. Primrose put the glass in his hand and he drank thirstily.
“Bad ’bout babes, them gypsies. As soon steal one as look at it. Why, when I was a lad, gypsies nabbed a babe right out of its pram in Kendal High Street whilst its mother was buying apples.”

“What happened?”
asked Hyacinth apprehensively.

He put down his glass and immediately knocked it over, requiring Primrose to dam the lemonade puddle with her napkin.

“D-d-d-disappeared!”
wailed the littlest mouse, who had lost her twin sisters to a cat when she was very young. She began to cry.
“How d-d-d-dreadful!”

“There, there, dear,”
Primrose said soothingly, applying her lemonade-damp napkin to the mouse’s eyes.
“I’m sure it was got back. Babies may be gone for a time, but they’re always got back in the end.”

“This ’un never ’twas,”
the old toad said stoutly.
“T’ Big Folk said that gypsies put it to work, ’long with t’ other babes they stole. Slav’ry, y’know. They pinch ponies, too.”

The mouse broke into fresh tears. The hedgehogs looked as if they would like to cry, as well, but the fox frowned sternly at them and they subsided into hiccups.

“The usual suspects, gypsies and foxes,”
the fox said darkly.
“Big Folk always have to have someone to blame when a criminal act occurs. In case you haven’t noticed,”
he added, with a significant look at the toad, who fell into a fit of coughing.

“What did the gypsies tell the captain about the baby?”
asked the badger. He had the uncomfortable feeling that the serious crimes they were discussing were not fit for younger animals’ ears.

“That they knew nothing about it,”
the fox replied.
“That’s what they told the captain to his face, and that’s what they said ’mongst themselves after he left, so I suppose we can take it as truth. For once, the gypsies didn’t do it. Nor foxes.”
He slanted another dark look at the hiccupping hedgehogs, who stuffed their napkins in their mouths and slipped down in their chairs so that only their little black eyes could be seen above the cloth.

Parsley appeared with the rum cake on a platter and a dish of sauce. Primrose, catching Bosworth’s meaningful glance, got up from the table.

“I think,”
she said in a motherly tone,
“that the youngsters will have their desserts in the kitchen. You, too, Mr. Toad. Your feet must be cold—you can put them up on the fender.”

“There’s tea in the kitchen, too,”
Parsley added helpfully.
“And everyone may have an extra spoonful of cream. Come along, now.”

Suddenly recovered from their grief by the anticipation of cream, the little animals trooped out, and the toad groped after them. The badger, the fox, and young Thorn were left with the rum cake, and elderflower wine succeeded the lemonade.

Badger, now very serious, said,
“But whose babe can this be, Fox? I’ve not heard of any born in the Land Between the Lakes in the past fortnight. I’m usually told, for the record.”
By the record, he meant the
History
, of course, which included births and deaths.

“Ah, whose? That’s the mystery, isn’t it?”
said the fox, leaning back in his chair.

“Might be an off-comer’s child,”
Thorn suggested.

“Next thing you know,”
the fox added bitterly,
“Captain Woodcock will come looking for me, wanting to know whether I did it.”

Badger chuckled.
“Oh, come, now, Fox. If it were a chicken or duck gone missing, they might think of you. But I don’t suppose anyone will imagine that a fox stole that baby and left it on Miss Potter’s doorstep.”

The fox laughed and changed the subject.
“With regard to ducks—you mentioned earlier that Jemima Puddle-duck is starting a new family. I understand from another source that she’s been confined to quarters—probably that collie is keeping her close. Any idea where she might be?”

The badger shifted uneasily. While in his view it was not a crime for a fox to eat a duck (such was, after all, the nature of foxes and ducks), he was not inclined to be an accessory before the fact. On the other hand, there was the Third Badger Rule of Thumb, generally thought of as the Aiding and Abetting Rule:
One must be helpful to one’s fellow creatures, large and small, for one never knows when one will require help oneself.
(We humans observe a similar maxim, although mostly in the breach. We call it the Golden Rule.)

And the badger did have some information, as it happened, for a pair of mice had recently dropped in for tea on their way to Tidmarsh Manor, where they had been invited to move in with friends. At the table, they mentioned that they had spent the previous night in the Hill Top barn, where a certain misguided duck had been sitting for weeks and weeks on a clutch of eggs that showed no signs of hatching.

But as Bosworth hesitated, trying to frame a diplomatic reply, Thorn took the matter into his own paws.
“You might have a look in the Hill Top barn,”
he suggested helpfully.

“The barn?”
the fox asked eagerly.
“
Where
in the barn, exactly?”

Bosworth cleared his throat.
“Could be anywhere,”
he replied.
“The mice who told us didn’t have any specific information.”
Under the table, he gave Thorn a warning kick in the shins.
“And if I were you, Fox, I’d keep a sharp eye out for that collie. Kep is said to be a first-rate watchdog. That old yellow dog still has some life in him, too.”

Thorn dropped his head quickly, coloring, and the badger knew that he understood. And later, when Reynard had gone and Bosworth had returned to the library to have a quiet smoke before bed, the young badger tapped on the door.

“I’m sorry, sir,”
Thorn said.
“I just didn’t think.”
He sighed.
“He’s such a pleasant fellow. I completely forgot that he’s a fox. He probably has designs on that duck.”

“I understand, young Thorn”
Bosworth said sympathetically.
“But there’s some truth in what he says about foxes and gypsies. When something happens, they’re always blamed first. I doubt Fox intends any harm. I shouldn’t worry about it, if I were you.”

Thorn bit his lip.
“But it was my fault. If anything happens to that duck, I shall be very sorry.”

“I understand your feelings, dear boy,”
Bosworth said.
“They testify to your honorable spirit. But you must remember the Eighteenth Badger Rule of Thumb:
If a fox (or any other predator) is intent on helping himself to a sitting duck (or any other prey), there’s nothing of consequence a badger can (or should) do about it.
”

“I suppose,”
Thorn said dubiously. He paused.
“Are the Rules of Thumb
always
right?”

Bosworth frowned, for he had never considered the question.
“Well, it
is
only a rule of thumb, I suppose—that is, a method derived from practice or experience, without any basis in scientific knowledge.”

“So it could be wrong?”
Thorn persisted.
“Not to be disrespectful, sir, but if you had obeyed this rule, you would never have organized the Great Raid, and my mother and sister would both be dead.”

Bosworth was a simple badger, and had no head for moral conundrums. In a soothing voice, he replied,
“That may be, my boy. That may very well be. But this is not something we’re going to solve tonight. So pull up a chair and I’ll read a chapter from the
History
while you roast a few chestnuts in the fire.”

And that’s what they did, Bosworth and Thorn together, in a cozy, companionable sort of way. But while they said nothing more about the fox or the duck, a cloud of gloom seemed to have settled over the both of them, and the joy had gone out of the evening.

Each of them felt that Jemima Puddle-duck’s death warrant had been signed and sealed at their dinner table that evening, and both of them felt very sorry.

11

Captain Woodcock Consults

The next day (that would be Tuesday) dawned clear and fair, with the promise of a bright summer morning and a fine afternoon. Miles Woodcock drove his Rolls-Royce along the narrow road to Hawkshead. It was a short trip and uneventful, except when he pulled his motor car onto the narrow verge to allow the horse-drawn brewery wagon from Ambleside to pass. His right front wheel struck a sharp rock and the air went out of his tyre. This dismaying event became even more dismaying when the captain opened the boot and discovered that he was not carrying a spare.