The Willows and Beyond (13 page)

“And
Master Toad,” cried Nephew, in astonishment. “Toad, it’s only
us!”
yelled the Rat when he realized their mistake.

For a moment Toad paused as they retreated towards the Mole’s house before his counter—attack, and suddenly he recognized his attackers.

“Toad, we’re sorry — we thought you were the Beast!” cried Mole.

For Toad, still reeling from the humiliation and outrage of their assault a moment before, and the pain of their blows upon his legs, this was the final straw.

“What impudence!” exploded Toad. “How could you possibly mistake the great and handsome Toad of Toad Hall for the hideous Beast of the Iron Bridge?! Why, I’ve never heard such cheek!

“Khaki-coloured armour, eh?” he yelled, shoving the contrite Mole back through his own front door.

“A beast with four legs, am I?” he roared, setting about Grandson with a will.

“Invited for tea, are we?” he screeched, raising his alpenstock once more.

“You most certainly are,” said Nephew calmly and soothingly, staying Toad’s hand, “and I am sure we have some delectable fruit cake which Ratty made only yesterday evening.”

“Hmm. Fruit cake, you say?” said Toad faintly, before turning to Master Toad and asking, “Shall we destroy them all and raze Mole End to the ground, young Master Toad … or join them for tea?”

“I do hope you’ll decide upon the latter course,” called out Ratty from behind the Mole’s dresser, to where he had felt it wisest to retreat in a quite uncharacteristic display of cowardice, but then he had never confronted an enemy quite so — so absolute — as Toad that day, “for that champagne you so kindly offered to bring will be most welcome.”

“And we can find you a Havana cigar as well,” offered the Mole, emerging from behind the kitchen door, where he had felt it best to take refuge.

“Hmmm!” grunted Toad, sitting down and accepting the cake that Nephew offered him.

“Well!” he growled a little later, sipping the champagne now opened and poured.

“Mmmm!” he muttered, as he contemplated the Havana and put it down ready for use.

No, it had not been Toad’s day — till now. For he never was an animal to hold grudges, and was always willing to laugh at himself and see to it that others around him were happy and well set, once he had had a little of his own way.

“Well, and what do you think, Master Toad,” said he finally, with a twinkle in his eye, “that a toad should do when after such a hard day’s work as we have had he is beaten and insulted by his hosts?”

The company fell silent, waiting upon Master Toad’s response.

“Well, Pater —“ he began, but then he paused, for he thought that perhaps this was the final test of one who has been tried all day in the disciplines of educational exercise, and that much might depend upon the nature and quality of his reply.

“I think, possibly,” he continued, raising his glass, “that it would be a very good idea if we wished Mole a very happy birthday, and
you
made a speech!”

If there was a moment when Master Toad was finally accepted into River Bank society absolutely and without question, a moment that suggested that he had those same inestimable qualities that Toad had in such abundance, and which allowed others to forgive so very much, that was it.

“A speech?” said Toad, rising like a fish to bait.

“At once, Toad,” said the Rat.

“Upon the subject of Mole’s birthday, and why we are assembled here today to celebrate it?”

“Yes please, Mr Toad,” said Nephew.

“Master Toad, hand me my haversack!”

“It just happens,” said the incorrigible Toad, fumbling from one pocket of the haversack to another before he found what he wanted, “that I have a speech prepared on that very subject!”

Very much later, when all the drink was nearly drunk, and all the food nearly eaten, and night had come, the Mole asked Toad and Master Toad what they had been doing all day, “if it is not presumptuous to ask?”

“Doing?” cried the irrepressible Toad with spirit. “Why we were partaking of the very latest, and the very best, form of exercise.”

“Labouring with heavy loads?” said the perplexed Mole, eyeing the enormous haversacks.

“We were hiking,” said Toad, “and don’t worry about the size of that haversack, Mole old chap. You’ll work up to it in time? Eh, Master Toad?”

“‘E will, I expect,” came the reply.

“But do you enjoy it?”

“Wonderful!” said Toad, taking up some fruit cake. “Eh, Master Toad?”

Had those others present known something of the history of the day they might have noticed a momentary pause before Toad’s ward replied, during which a silent struggle took place between that youth’s natural desire to say how truly awful hiking was and his toadish inclination to impress all with his strengths and abilities, and modishness.

“Nothing better than ‘iking!” he declared at last, scoffing a last crumb of cake and basking in the admiration of his peers.

VI

A Touch of Araby

November came, and with it a sudden and unseasonable sweep of blizzard snow from the north, which blanked out the River Bank, and draped the trees of the Wild Wood with hoarfrost, heralding a hard and bitter winter.

It was a time to stay indoors and enjoy the comforts of home, be they food, friendship or fond memory. Or, if an animal
must
go out, a time to wrap up well and finish daytime chores before the freezing shadows of the night return, unless it be to visit friends and there find comfort by the fireside, and companionable conversations about times gone by, and thoughts and hopes of spring.

The Mole’s growing concern about the Rat’s wellbeing seemed to find confirmation when, a week after the snow had thawed and the last pockets of ice were melting, he and Nephew, who had taken advantage of the brief spell of milder weather to go out for a brisk walk, came home to find a most alarming note pinned to their door at Mole End in an unfamiliar hand.

The Mole glanced quickly at the signature and ascertained it was from Young Rat, but its untidy scrawl seemed so out of character that the Mole guessed it had been written in some haste.

“Dear Mr Mole! It’s the Cap’n, sit;”
he read, realizing it was Ratty who was referred to,
“he’s gone poorly and you had better come as soon as you can.”

“What ever can this mean, Nephew,” said the Mole with a worried frown.

Nephew looked at the note and said, “I expect Ratty has simply caught a cold or something, and that what is needed is one of your herbal remedies.”

But no sooner had they begun to delve into Mole’s cupboards for those healing balms and cures he took such pride in, than Young Rat himself appeared from the direction of the River.

“Mr Badger sent me to see if you were back,” he cried. “Mr Ratty’s failing fast!”

“O my!” cried the Mole wildly “O
my!
Whatever’s wrong with him?”

“The doctor says he may not last the night,” said Young Rat, hopping about from one foot to the other, and clearly quite as flummoxed as the Mole, “so hurry and come quick!”

Nephew bundled his uncle back into coat and boots and thrust into a bag some remedies and healing balms. Then they all set off on the path down towards the River and the Rat’s House, but in such haste and dismay that they forgot even to close the door of Mole End behind them, which was left open to the winter wind.

On the way Nephew managed to elicit from Young Rat an account of what had happened. It seemed that last night he and the Rat had spent a quiet and pleasant evening together and gone early to their beds soon after dinner, the night being cold. Early the next morning, the Otter and Portly had called on them, but Ratty had declined to join them on their outing, the recent wintry weather having brought on one or two aches and pains. Apart from those, however, Ratty had been well when Young Rat had left that morning.

Nevertheless, Young Rat had not felt quite happy after he had left his friend and mentor alone, and somehow there was something in the River’s flow, in the swirling of its dark pools, in the shadows of its further banks, that made him ask the Otter if he could hurry home.

“What is it that worries you?” the Otter had said.

“Not sure, don’t know, the River. Shouldn’t be here — it’s Cap’n Ratty, I think he’s in trouble.”

Otter needed no second telling, for he had learnt in the months past that Young Rat’s communion with the River was every bit as acute and reliable as Ratty’s own. In any case, the River
had
seemed strange that day and more so as the morning advanced.

So the Otter and Portly had accompanied Young Rat back home at once, and there were met by a sight far more alarming than their worst forebodings. Poor Ratty lay groaning upon the floor, fragments of coal about him, evidence that he had been in the act of refuelling the fire when he was stricken down. Now the fire had gone out, the room grown cold, and Ratty was half incoherent with pains about his chest and arms.

The Otter had taken charge at once — sending Young Rat to fetch Mole, for in such cases his services were invaluable, and sending Portly to fetch the Badger, and at the same time send for a doctor. These errands done, and the Mole being absent from Mole End, the others had stayed by the Rat and helped him as they might.

“After the doctor came Badger told me to hurry back to Mole End, sir,” concluded Young Rat, before expertly berthing the boat at the Rat’s landing stage and helping the Mole and Nephew disembark. “He said you know Ratty better than any doctor and might help find out what ails him.”

The scene that met their gaze when they entered the Rat’s parlour confirmed their worst fears. The room had the pungent odour of acerbic ointments and medicine. Otter was there leaning against the mantelpiece, shaking his head; Portly as well, but sitting slumped by the fireside in which the few flames of a paltry fire guttered and struggled for life.

The Badger loomed at the Rat’s bedroom door. With an instruction to Nephew to tend to the fire, the Mole peered past the Badger towards the Rat’s bed, where he espied a gentleman in a dark suit, with a doctor’s valise open at his feet as he sat at the Rat’s side, holding his wrist and studying his pocket watch with a worried frown.