The Willows in Winter (17 page)

“My Lord —” the other began.

“‘My Lord’!” repeated Toad to himself
desperately
This
was not good, not good at all. He
quieted himself and listened to what else they said.

“My Lord Bishop,” the speaker continued.

Toad relaxed somewhat, for a Bishop, whatever
the colour of his cloth, might be expected to be charitable in a case like his.
This was most promising, and Toad was almost inclined to call out right away
and reveal himself, for a Bishop would take care of him. But some instinct kept
him silent.

“My Lord Bishop, this particular species is the
only one of its kind in all of
England
, and we guard it carefully, as the
Commissioner here knows.”

“That’s right’ said a cruel, harsh voice.

“‘Commissioner’!” muttered Toad. “That sounds
to me ominously like an elevated police officer down below, a Commissioner of
Police no less. From such a one I can expect no justice, no quarter.”

But then Toad heard something else, something
worse,
something
dreadful.

For the Police Commissioner continued, with a
joviality that almost froze Toad’s heart, “Well, all I can say is that if so
splendid a specimen as this tree were stolen, or vandalised in any way, then I
would not give the perpetrator a dog’s chance in
your
High Court, Judge!”

“‘Judge’?!” gasped Toad, his legs beginning to
feel itchy again.
“And ‘High Court’!
That is more than
an ordinary Judge — that is a Very Honourable and Senior Judge. That might
almost be the Lord Chancellor himself!”

The three below showed no signs of moving, but
talked on in an amiable way till Toad, peering down to see what he could, saw
one of them peering up, and then stepping forward and to one side to get a
better view.

“My Lord!” the inquisitive and unpleasant Judge
called out — for the other two seemed about to move on. “Tell me, do you keep
tropical beasts in here as well, perhaps for purposes of fertilizing the
blooms, or the natural elimination of pests?”

“You mean tropical insects, spiders, that sort
of thing?”

Insects! Spiders!

How dreadful
were the
creepings
and the
crawlings
and
the
itchings
about Toad’s
lower half now. How
near he was to crying out for mercy A life sentence in that drear dungeon from
which he had escaped so long before — and so cleverly — seemed a holiday
compared to the sufferings he was now being forced to endure.

“I was thinking of something rather larger, as
a matter of fact.”

“You mean fruit-eating bats, or the larger sort
of snake or Bats! Snakes!

“No
no
, something
larger like, well, I am not quite sure — like
that!
”

It was no
good,
Toad
could endure it no more. They had seen him, and if they had not then how long
might he be left here after they had gone, to be frozen above, while below,
something worse: basted by the humid heat, and then nibbled, and eaten and
stung by spiders and insects, horrible snakes and fruit bats!

“Help!” cried Toad. “I am stuck! Free
me
and I shall go quietly!”

“Goodness me!” exclaimed My Lord Bishop.

“A thief!” cried the Commissioner of Police.

“We had best not judge till we have heard all
the evidence’ said His Honour, Justice of the High Court.

“Help!” cried Toad. “I am an unfortunate
aviator, who has fallen on hard times!”

As his muffled cries came down to them, others
came running and there was great consternation down below though Toad was too
terrified, too panicked, too eager to escape the purgatory of his position to
listen to what was said. If only his top half might be comforted by hot water
bottles, and his lower half packed with ice so that his body might recover
something of its equilibrium, then he might be able to think clearly once more,
and plan his escape.

But as they came to his help he did at least
hear the declarations below that a flying machine had been seen to go over,
that an aviator had plunged to the ground and that this poor fellow stuck above
might be he. For the moment — and for Toad’s continuing liberty this was the
most important thing — for the moment, at least, none guessed that Toad was
Toad.

In one respect, at least, Toad’s presence of
mind did not desert him. He guessed that once his flying gear was removed the
game might be up. So when the glasshouse men ascended their ladders, and
carefully came to free him, he said in a pathetic voice, “Do not take off my
jacket or headgear, please do not, for I am nearly perishing with cold!”

Then, remembering something about the perils of
deep-sea diving, he added knowledgeably, “It has to do with oxygen in the
blood, you know Remove my headgear and I die!”

This appeal was heard and obeyed, and Toad at
last felt himself being lowered onto the hothouse floor, there to be ministered
to by the many people now milling about, as his mind swam away into fevered and
humid unconsciousness.

VIII

Back from Beyond

When Toad drifted back to consciousness he felt his eyelids gently
touched by a subdued light, and he seemed to be wallowing in a caressing
atmosphere filled with the healing scents of lavender and rosemary.

He slowly opened his eyes to find his head
supported by the softest of down pillows, encased in the finest of  linen
pillowcases, and his hands resting upon the crispest and whitest of turned-down
sheets, beyond which, ruffled only by his now blissfully cool legs and feet,
was a quilted eiderdown overlaid with a silken bedspread.

He was gratified to find himself still attired
just as he had been, complete with goggles, his identity as aviator thus far
seemingly intact.

He peered about suspiciously before taking the
goggles off so that he might take a better look at where he was, and found
himself in a large and spacious bedchamber, about as large as the refectory in
Toad Hall itself.

He
lay
, like a
well—framed picture, in the largest, highest and grandest of mahogany
four-poster beds. Toad sighed with contentment and lazily examined his
surroundings from his supine position. Across the room, though not quite
opposite his bed, was a splendid coal fire, its flames warm and merry. Off to
his left was an exterior wall, with two tall windows, reaching nearly as high
as the lofty ceiling, and nearly as low as the floor, and curtained with the
folds and drapes and hangings of the softest, palest of pale pink and mauve
materials.

The curtains were not fully drawn, and from
what he .could see the windows offered a view of the very extensive grounds
above which he had flown, and down onto which fate had decreed he fall.
Shifting his gaze further about the room, Toad saw with pleasure that, as if to
match the room’s general magnificence, its wardrobes were of the finest and
shiniest, and its dressing table of the most elegant, and there, on its fluted
washstand, a Worcester bowl awaited his leisured use, and within it, steaming
amiably, a huge jug containing hot rose-scented water.

Toad sighed once more and wiggled his feet,
easing himself first to one side and then the other to feel how extensive and
lasting his wounds and injuries might be. Certainly he ached, though not as
much as he might have done, yet sufficiently to moan and groan a little to
himself.

“Nothing broken,” he whispered feebly, “I
think.” Then, raising first one arm and then the other, he pulled the sheets
down a little for a moment, and added, “And no sign of blood or mortal wound. I
shall survive! I shall live!”

He swallowed, and then felt his forehead, to
test perhaps the advance of the pneumonia he had earlier feared would take hold
of him.

“I have fought it off! I am still strong! I
have been to the extremes of endurance without too much harm!”

Thus reassured, he glanced towards the windows
once again and, wishing to see something of the world beyond, he leapt nimbly
out of bed, went to the door to see that no person was outside it, turned the
key in its lock and strode over to the nearest window.

It was now nearly evening, though not yet dark
enough outside to prevent him seeing that the view did not so much take in all
the grounds, but rather offered him what was surely the most elegant part, the
most striking turn and vista of lawn, of balustrade, of choice rose-beds and
most ancient and established of trees.

“Splendid,” he said, “and just what I would
expect of a House honoured by a visiting aviator such as myself. However, we
must be careful: this place appears riddled with Judges, Commissioners of
Police and malevolent Lords, and as I saw on my descent, the Castle with its
dungeon is not far off. Therefore, I must escape as soon as —But he was
interrupted in his thoughts by a discreet turning of the door handle, and then
an even more discreet knock, followed by the concerned voice of an elderly male
saying, “Sir! Are you quite all right?”

Toad hastily closed the curtains, leapt back
into bed with alacrity and in a tremulous voice called back, “I am ill, gravely
ill I think. I should not have got up.

“The door is locked, sir; I cannot come in to
give you the food and drink which His Lordship has sent up. Shall I leave it
outside, perhaps?”

All this was spoken in an agreeably servile way
by one whose only task in life, as it seemed to Toad, was to serve Toad, and it
seemed a pity not to oblige him. The more so if food and drink was at hand, the
mention of
which caused Toad to feel immediately hungry and
thirsty.

“Wait, while I struggle to the door,” called
out Toad pathetically, which he did, very quickly.

He opened it a mite and peering out saw a
butler standing there, tray in hand.

“I am not well at all, and the light disturbs
my eyes,” whispered Toad. “I pray you let me get back into bed before you come
in, and do not bring light into the room when you do — or, if you must, for
though I can drink little and eat less it would be a shame not to at least try,
place the light far from my bed.”

This was a pretty speech, but one which Toad
sensed might appear a little too robust, so he sighed and moaned and groaned a
little more, provoking the kindly butler to make soft sounds of concern.