The Willows in Winter (27 page)

“Forgot’ he whispered once again, and wept.

Yet Toad was not forgotten at all. His name, for those few days after
his capture and before other more salacious news displaced him from the scandal
sheets and daily papers, was on every lip and elicited much excitement. More
than that, so serious were the implications of his suspected crimes considered
to be, so profound the possible threat to society, so very grave the threat to
national security if such a trend continued, that questions were asked not only
in Parliament and Privy Council, but in the Mansion House and in the Royal
Courts of Justice too.

All of which meant that the matter of the
infamous Mr Toad attracted the attentions not just of the popular press, but
also of
The Times,
in which it was granted a single paragraph of type,
somewhere below the Agricultural News.

Now, it was many a year since a newspaper from
the Town had found its way anywhere near the inhabitants of bank and river,
meadows and
Wild
Wood. Indeed, the only newspaper most
had ever seen, and those were the rare and lucky ones who had at some time in
their lives won the confidence of the Badger sufficiently to catch a glimpse of
a copy he had framed on his wall, was that which carried the report of the Jubilee,
which was back in his great-grandfather’s time.

But somehow, some weeks after Toad’s
incarceration, a copy of
The Times,
or rather that fell paragraph of
print concerning Toad, found its way to the Badger, who, having read it,
summoned the Mole and the Rat forthwith.

“My friends,” he said gravely, “I have bad
news.”

“It
is
Toad,” said the Mole, spontaneous
tears coming to his eyes as he saw the Badger raise the newspaper up to read
aloud from it, ‘just as I said on the way here!”

He addressed this to the Water Rat, who sighed
and said, “I fear it must be,” and they both sat down disconsolately.

“It is indeed’ said the Badger, not quite sensitive
to his friends’ assumptions, and distress. “It certainly is.”

“Read it,” said the practical Rat.

“I was about to’ said the Badger. What he read
out was printed under the forbidding headline “TOAD ARRESTED” which was
followed by a second headline: “FULL CHARGES TO BE BROUGHT WHEN ALL HIS CRIMES
ARE KNOWN”.

The paragraph succinctly set out the long list of wretched crimes and
felonies which all the circumstantial evidence pointed to Toad having
committed, and said much else besides. It spoke of weddings ruined, of brides
distraught, of Lords and Bishops, and the police, and it exposed the attempted
abduction of an innocent wife, a crime of the lowest and most scurrilous kind.
It left no doubt that Toad was guilty, very guilty indeed, and the only
question remaining was how exemplary and how savage must his sentencing be.

“What does it mean?” asked the Mole, who did
not understand at all.

“It means that Toad’s got himself in a mess again,”
said the Rat reasonably. “But at least he’s not — he hasn’t passed away as we
feared, Mole.”

“It means that it is a mess Toad is unlikely to
get out of this time,” added the Badger.

“Is there nothing we can do?”

“Against such evidence, when Lords and Bishops
and police and wronged wives have been invoked?” said the Badger. “I doubt it
very much indeed. I suppose that a successful plea might perhaps mean that
rather than being quartered, he might be merely hanged.”

“O my!” said the Mole softly. “I feel quite
unwell.” They sat in silence, ruminating sombrely, for this was so far out of
their domain that they saw no way to help their errant friend.

“One thing’s rum about it all,” said the Rat
last. “In fact, I would call it peculiar.”

“What’s that?” said the Mole almost
indifferently, for what was the point of musing on it when nothing could be
done?

“There’s no mention of the flying machine, is
there? That’s right, isn’t it, Badger?”

Badger sat up, suddenly a little more alert.

“You
are
right,” he said, examining the
newspaper once more. “That is most observant of you and it is certainly, as you
put it, very rum indeed. I must think.”

The Badger began to think very hard and went
into so profound and impenetrable a silence that the Rat and the Mole eventually
left him to it, and set off towards Otter’s house.

It was the time of year when winter seemed
almost done, but spring had not yet quite shown its face. Snowdrops and the
catkins of alder are all very well, and certainly signal the stirring of
something or other, but what animals like the Rat and the Mole really want to
see and feel is bright warm sunshine on the budding branches, and what they
yearn to hear and smell is the rushing song of the smaller birds busy about
their broods, and the first balmy scents of the bluebells through the wood, and
the violet on the banks.

Then, too, both knew full well that winter was
quite capable of asserting itself again, and bringing upon them all its cold
and rain, winds and hail, as if to say, “I’m soon going for quite a time, but
this is just to remind you that one day I shall be back.”

“Ratty’ said the Mole, as they drew near the
Otter’s place, “do you think there’s any hope at all for Toad?
Or should we try now to forget him, remembering him sometimes only
in our wishes and prayers?”

Mole said this so gently, and in so caring a
way, that
it almost brought tears to the sturdy Water Rat’s
eyes. Yet, what hope could there be, given the mess Toad had got himself into?
Why, not even Badger —”I think,” said the Water Rat cautiously, “that if
there’s anyone hereabouts who could find a way out for Toad, however slim and
slight it might be, it would be Badger. I don’t know what he was thinking about
when we left him, but that he
was
thinking there can be no doubt. We
both know that when Badger thinks like that things tend to happen. So we’ll
just have to wait and hope. Now, let’s see if Otter can cheer us up with a warm
drink and better news than we’ve had so far today?

Badger certainly did think, hard and long,
barely moving from the chair that the Rat and the Mole had left him in till
nightfall, when he rose slowly and stiffly, stretched and, lighting a candle,
went into his study and sat down at his desk.

It was many years since he had been moved to
write a letter, and never before had he felt sufficiently moved by the
importance and injustice of a matter, that he must address his letter to that
most august and revered personage, The Editor of
The Times.

But so he did, marking the envelope clearly in
his bold hand: PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL, NOT FOR PUBLICATION.

Such was the result of his thoughts, and when morning came he summoned
to his presence the swiftest and fleetest of the stoats, and began to address
him thus:

“We have not always seen eye to eye, you and I.
Nor can I say that in the matter of the promised high tea in these modest rooms
of mine I have behaved with the speed I should have. That can be rectified, and
it will be. But there are some things harder to rectify, before which, when we
face them, we must all forget our differences and fight for the common good.”

“Yes?” said the stoat dubiously. “What
particular
thing have
you in mind?”

“A grave miscarriage of justice,” said the
Badger. “Now, listen to me. You will take this letter and, using all your
cunning and experience of the Wide World beyond the river, you will deliver it
as addressed.”

“What’s it all about?” asked the unwilling
stoat. “Ask not what it’s about, but who it’s about,” said the Badger. “It is
about Toad of Toad Hall.”

“Ah, yes — Toad,” said the stoat, not without a
certain respect and awe in his voice, which Badger did not miss, nor was
surprised by. Toad’s escapades held a sorry fascination for the stoats and
weasels, which one might expect, given their general low character and untrustworthy
nature. Like with like. But at a time like this, needs
must,
and the Badger needed stoats, and this one in particular.

“Will I, too, get an invitation to this tea
you’re having?” he asked.

The Badger smiled slightly and reached behind
him to his mantelpiece, from where he took down a stack of elaborately printed
cards on which in the most
scrolly
and embossed of
lettering shone and shimmered the word INVITATION.

“One of these shall be yours,” said the Badger,
“if you take this letter and deliver it as I ask.”

The stoat’s eyes glittered and glistened with
social greed and expectation.

“Personally inscribed by me with your own name,
added the Badger.

“And shall I be sitting on your right-hand
side?” asked the stoat in a soft insinuating voice.

Badger blinked at the boldness of it, bit back
the words he might normally have spoken, and said, with some effort, “You
shall!”

The stoat did no more than sigh and reach
forward to take the letter, before he turned and was off on his mission.

“I can do no more,” whispered the Badger to
himself
, shaking his head sadly, for he cherished little
hope that his words would hold much sway in the offices and corridors of the
most influential in the land. “We can only hope —Hope was very far from Toad’s
mind some days later when the heavy door of his cell was heaved open, and his
gaoler, along with three of his largest colleagues, strode in.

They chained and manacled their dangerous
charge once more, leaving him only sufficient movement to shamble and struggle
along the ancient passageways of his place of confinement, and then up its
endless stone steps and stairways, which he saw now were worn and slippery with
the downward passage of so many long-forgotten criminals.

“Not that way!” cried his pessimistic friend,
grasping Toad’s arm and directing him away from the especially grim and
oppressive corridor into which his laboured steps seemed automatically to have
led him. At its end was a set of bars beyond which was an archway leading out
into the open air, where, caught by the first sunlight Toad had seen since his
incarceration, was what was unmistakably a hangman’s noose, swaying invitingly
in the morning breeze.

Toad let out a gasp of dismay, but his gaoler
reassured him. “It’s all right, sir, you’re not on today’s list.”

“List?” faltered Toad.

“Of the finally and irrecoverably condemned.”

“Where am I being taken?” gasped Toad, sweat
breaking out on his brow.

“To your Preliminary and Final Hearing,” said
the gaoler, urging him on up a last few steps.

“Preliminary and Final!
Isn’t there a Court of Appeal?”
asked Toad.

“That’s been and gone in your case, sir. The
Court you’re going to is as
Final
as they come. So
final in fact that it’s almost pointless to go through its doors, but one never
knows, there might be an upset.”

“An upset!” cried Toad, desperately grasping at
straws. “There has been an upset before then?
When?”

“In 1376, sir, in the case of Saint
Simon the Innocent.

That was the last time,” said the gaoler dolefully.

Each dragging step that Toad now took rang out
about him like the tolling centuries and he dared not even raise his eyes when,
brought finally to an immense oak door, the gaoler knocked upon it.

There was a long wait, during which Toad could
hear his own heart beat, before a thin voice called out from within, “Bring in
the prisoner!”

The door opened and Toad was led forward into
an immense and echoing chamber, whose ancient arched windows rose before him
and sent down such shafts of light into the dusty interior that for a moment he
could see nothing more. But as his eyes adjusted to the light he saw that set
beneath the windows, lengthways, was a vast oaken council table, on whose far
side were ranged seven great high chairs, within whose imposing confines sat
seven imposing figures,
berobed
, bewigged, long of
face, cold of eye, aquiline of nostril, and judgemental of general disposition
and effect.