But the Madame was sufficiently aware of her maternal shortcomings to appreciate how helpful it might be to have at her side a male companion to take from her the responsibilities of entertaining a growing lad, one who through the recent peripatetic years of travel in the cause of Art had become wilful, spoilt, over-indulged and generally troublesome, as youths very often do, rich or poor.
In addition to this practical aspect, Toad’s selfless actions on behalf of her son had touched something deep within her heart. Here, it seemed, was a gentleman who did not regard her son as an obstacle to be overcome and pushed to one side on the way to the fulfilment of his passion for herself, here was a swain who might have escaped to safety if he had wished, but who instead risked his life and liberty for the one upon whom she doted more than any other.
Here was one worthy of such love as she had to give, and now suddenly found she wished to give. Here, in short, was one whom Madame now wished impulsively and passionately to make her own, and intended to make her own, and certainly would make her own. Someone whose physical form she might also, while she was at it, turn into the greatest sculpture expressive of imperial triumph she had ever made. Thus, all unwittingly Toad’s impulsive action at His Lordship’s House had done more than a thousand declarations of love might do, and ten thousand stolen bouquets.
Had Toad known this, and even half suspected the energy and resolute determination that the Madame put into any projects she took under her wing, including love, he might very well have started having nightmares featuring predatory female spiders in webs, or Amazons battling for their puny mates, or even dragonesses luring kindly gentleman-dragons into escape-proof lairs, which might have made unpleasant dreams of incarceration in the Castle dungeon seem positively benign. But Toad did not yet know of the change in her heart, and for the time being at least could continue to sleep relatively easily at night.
Meanwhile, unable to devote herself directly to the fugitive Mr Toad of Toad Hall, the Madame was putting all her impressive energy into negotiating a lifting of all charges against him and her son. She had taken very ill, very ill indeed, the appalling assault by various constables, clerks and clerics upon her little boy and the moment Toad had escaped with him, she had protested loud and long to the High Judge, the Commissioner of Police and the Senior Bishop over the matter, and even more concerning the subsequent hue and cry which had turned into a manhunt complete with a pack of vicious hounds and rough brutish men with shotguns normally used for shooting plump pheasants and despatching foxes.
At first things had not gone well, and she found herself ignored. Even the threat, which she had regarded as ultimate, that if they did not call off their hunt for Mr Toad and the Count forthwith she would never in any circumstances complete the statue the three had commissioned from her, fell on deaf ears, though the gentlemen did express some disappointment and asked her to reconsider.
“Madame,” the High Judge had said chillingly “I shall regret it if you do not proceed with the work, but we cannot very well set ourselves up as the models, the literal models, for Justice, Law and the Established Church and at the same time allow such a pair of criminals as this Mr Toad of Toad Hall and your delinquent son to roam free of retribution and terrorize the land!”
“But he is only a boy and he is my son,” wept the Madame, feeling that a show of tears might help.
“He is a juvenile criminal and you should be at least reassured to know our criminal code is gentler than your own country’s for one such as him. There I believe he would be confirmed in solitary confinement upon Devil’s Island for a minimum of sixty years, while here we are more relaxed and I estimate that he will get no more than thirty years or so in Dartmoor Prison for the crimes he has committed, with maternal visits allowed once every two years.”
“But, monsieur,” she continued, trying a different tack, “these crimes as you describe them were committed only in the course of a passionate moment made wild by the extreme emotions my cousin feels for me. Does not a crime passionnel have a special place in your law? Mr Toad and my son, they did it for love! Is that mot mitigating?”
“Love mitigating?” responded the High Judge with a bleak laugh. “Why in our courts the plea of love mitigating and extenuating is very rarely to be recommended, as it is generally taken as a sign of the feeble mind so characteristic of the more violent criminal classes, so I strongly advise you not to use it for the defence. Mere mention of that passion you call love as having been involved will at least double the length of these criminals’ sentences and in the case of capital punishment (which I must warm you is a very likely sentence in the case of the infamous Mr Toad) it will be taken as evidence sufficient to speed up to a matter of a few hours the execution once such sentence is passed.”
“Monsieur!” said the Madame, now distressed and outraged. “Is there nothing I can do?”
“Appeal to your nation for help, to your Government, to your country’s President himself and perhaps, madame, if he comes cap in hand to our monarch then sentences might be reduced by a month or two and your visiting rights improved to as much as once a year.”
The High Judge, like so many such eminent personages of the male gender who are of advanced years, was a poor judge of female passions, and a worse politician. The Madame was so incensed by what she heard that she straightway went to the Town and called upon the French Ambassador, waking him from his slumbers with her tale of national insult and aggression against the French nation in the form of one of its most ancient families, namely the d’Albert-Chapelles, and the person of one of that family’s most sweet and innocent members.
Here was a clear case of the Anglo-Saxon hordes crossing the Channel once more and inflicting cruel and grievous harm upon the women and children of Gaul. The Madame spoke most eloquently for even as the initial search for Toad and his accomplice upon his escape was adjourned, the diplomatic wheels of state were set in motion, and by dawn a telegraphic message lay upon the bureau of an official, a very senior official of the Elysée Palace, the residence of the President of France and all its colonies.
Such matters generally take two or three years to set in motion, but so serious was this one taken to be that within a matter of weeks, which is to say about the time that Toad had reached the Hat and Boot Tavern and had begun his absurd wagers concerning the Mole and the Rat’s return, the President of France had taken action and instructed a personal emissary to call officially upon the Court of St James and let his feelings be unequivocally known.
Within hours of that Court’s haughty response, which foolishly made mention of Agincourt and Waterloo, and the unimpressive performance of the Gauls against the Romans, French warships were afloat in the Channel, and soon after that the guns of various frigates and destroyers were trained upon those symbols of national pride, the white cliffs of Dover and its Castle.
Over the exchanges that then ensued between ambassadors, generals, synods, national newspapers, hastily convened war cabinets and finally and most decisively between the Monarch and the President themselves (just then about to meet mid—Channel to put their respective seals upon an agreement concerning mutual economic and cultural endeavour, a proceeding now seriously jeopardized) a veil of secrecy must be cast for one hundred and fifty years, as is the custom in matters such as this.
But a solution was found, an accommodation made, a compromise agreed, so that Mr Toad of Toad Hall and his accomplice were exonerated, and an exchange of medals between the Royal Society and the Légion d’Honneur to a variety of judges, commissioners of police and bishops made.
In brief, the unfortunate incident regarding Mr Toad, and the insult to France in the person of the Comte d’Albert-Chapelle and the Dowager Countess, the Madame, was hushed up in the interests of everybody and every state concerned.
Thus it was that at the very moment that Mr Toad stood up in that infamous Tavern near Lathbury to make his final wager, he and his assistant were being pronounced innocent and cleared of all charge
s that arose from the incident at His Lordship’s House and, with the final proviso that Madame now agreed to proceed with that work of art she had begun that was to represent and laud the power of the Law, the majesty of Justice and the uplifting spirit of the Established Church, the matter was satisfactorily settled all round.
Not, of course, that Toad could be immediately informed since no one knew where he was, but the constabulary were already on the alert for him and, when he was finally tracked down he could be told the good news and permitted to return home in safety, and as something of a hero.
It was Prendergast who first heard the news that all charges against Toad were to be dropped, and he hurried over to the Badger’s house to share it.
“As a matter of fact, sir, the news is both good and bad, if I may so put it. I received a telegraphic message this morning from Madame d’Albert-Chapelle the gist of which is that Mr Toad has indeed been exonerated at the highest’ levels and no charges are to be placed against him.”
“That’s a relief,” declared the Otter.
“He’ll be more conceited than ever after this,” growled the Badger. “And the bad news?”
“I think that the Madame’s message, with which I fear she had no help in its drafting from a fluent English speaker, makes things all too plain, sir,” said Prendergast, handing the message to the Badger.
He read it in silence first, his frown deepening as he did so, and then he read it aloud in its entirety.
“My cousin the eroic Monsieur Toad is chased no more and free. The governments of la France and Grande Bretagne have declared him liberated of crimes against His High Lordship.
“I, Madame d’Albert-Chapelle, have accepted his proposition of marriage. I arrive today to make arrangements for our grand wedding for 30 septembre. Be ready and be happy for your master and your new mistress.”
The expression on Prendergast’s face betrayed nothing of the gloom he must have felt.
“Naturally sir, I cannot act in any matter except at my master’s direct instructions, but since the good lady has been a guest before I can hardly refuse her visit now. Naturally too, if it is indeed so that she and Mr Toad are officially affianced then — well — arrangements for nuptials can be addended to the plans for the Grand Opening at the end of the month with no real difficulty.”
“Is there nothing we can do?” said the Otter. “If only Ratty and Mole were here they could help us knock some sense into Toad’s silly head when he returns.”
The Badger sighed and then managed a smile.
“I dare venture that if the Madame is determined for these nuptials to take place then there is little we can do but put a brave face on it and attend the wedding and be as happy as we can for our friend. It is Prendergast here who has his work cut out. I cannot think he relishes the Madame as, as she puts it, his future mistress.”
Prendergast rose up and made for the door.
“It really is no trouble, sir, to help one such as Mr Toad for whom I have a high regard.”
“You have, haven’t you, Prendergast?”
The butler allowed himself a brief smile, just as the Badger had.
“I think I betray no confidence, sir, nor cross any boundaries of propriety when I say that in all my long years of service in many great houses I have never found a post as demanding, as challenging, and as satisfactory in every regard, as that I now enjoy with Mr Toad. He does me great honour employing me, sir; I should lay down my life for him were it necessary.”
The Badger and the Otter were both much impressed by this speech, but the Otter could not help adding, “I would be careful about talking about laying down your life, Prendergast, for Toad is capable of almost anything and might drive you to it yet.”
“Well, sir, the butler’s code is very clear on that particular point for its fifth Article makes so bold as to suggest that, ‘if the Master’s life is threatened it shall be the duty of a professional butler to offer his life first, which, if accepted, shall be repaid with an honorarium of one week’s holiday prior to said life’s cessation, if that is practical, but if not a pension of ten pounds a year for life for a named surviving relative or, failing that, a capital sum of one hundred pounds to be donated to the Retired Butlers Benevolent Fund’.”
“Most generous,” said the Otter with some irony.
“I am pleased you think so, sir,” said Prendergast with some satisfaction, “since I drafted that particular Article in the Code myself.”
The Madame appeared that same day and, as the Badger predicted, very rapidly arranged matters much as she wished. She and Prendergast maintained a working relationship at least — she effusive with her thanks and ruthless in her purpose of seeing the marriage arrangements made, he economical and noncommittal in his transactions with her, and keeping his master’s options as open as he could.
It did not help that Toad had put his proposal of marriage in writing, for there is something incontrovertible about the written word, especially when it reads, “Sweet Coz, marry me how when and where you like, for I love you till the end of the earth and the moon and —”
Prendergast did not need to read the rest: the terms of his master’s proposal were self-evident, and there was precious little that he could do about it, even had he wished to.
But then, perhaps he did not, for the sincerity of the Madame’s affection seemed apparent, and so bountiful were her energies that once arrangements had been made she diverted herself by commencing work upon the statue of her lord and master to be, executing it in the privacy of a spare morning room in the north wing of the Hall.
“And what are these marriage arrangements exactly?” asked the Otter on one of his evening sojourns in the butler’s pantry.
“It would seem, sir, that the Madame has friends in high places. The Senior Bishop himself is to conduct the ceremony as part of the proceedings of the Grand Opening; indeed, they are its highlight. The Bishop has granted a special licence, and a dispensation too, so that the ceremony can take place upon the Hall’s terrace, which shall for the occasion be deemed to be hallowed ground. The High Judge shall give the Madame away and the Commissioner of Police is to be chief usher.”
“Are you sure that Toad, even if he comes back in time, will be pleased with such arrangements?”
“I hazard that my master will regard them with considerable amusement and enter into the spirit of things.”
“Humph!” said the Otter. “Things will never be the same if this goes ahead. What about your own position once the Madame is installed at the Hall?”
“Well, sir,” said Prendergast equably “I think perhaps you are not aware that I took my position here for only six months, which period ends on the last day of October, by when Mr Toad and his spouse will be back from their honeymoon. I shall then depart to an honourable retirement in Australia where I have it in mind to start a small enterprise.”
“You are a remarkable man, Prendergast,” said the Otter with admiration. “What enterprise had you in mind?”
“Exports and imports, sir,” said Prendergast cryptically. “Then all we can do is to sit and wait, and hope that Toad hears that he is no longer wanted by the law and returns home in time for his own wedding.”
“Indeed, sir.”
All of these events, for good and ill, were naturally quite unknown to the Rat as he proceeded on his journey home with Mr Brock, having left the Mole by Pike Lake in the care of Grandson.
A week or so after leaving, and having recovered the small boat from its hiding place, the Rat and Brock finally came within sight of the Hat and Boot Tavern at Lathbury. Their journey had been slow, and not entirely comfortable, for Brock was a good deal bigger than the Mole, and made an ungainly passenger.
“What we need is a bigger boat,” the Rat had said more than once with considerable feeling, “and in Lathbury we shall endeavour to find one.”
Their surprise can therefore be well imagined when, arriving at the jetty by the Tavern where they intended to moo
r their battered craft, they found its entire length, and all its mooring points, taken up by a craft many times the size of theirs, and a good deal more ostentatious and imposing.
While through the open door and windows of the Tavern came the sound of raucous inebriated merriment, which resolved itself into cheers, and laughter, and finally a loud rendition of “For he’s a jolly good fellow!”
“Obviously we have arrived on a festival day of some kind,” said the Rat, “and perhaps one of the participants is having a birthday and has bought a round of drinks. Let us go and see.”
As they approached the Tavern, they saw that a large group of weasels and stoats, all with brimming tankards in their hands, were clustered at the door and windows, for the place was obviously too full to accommodate them.
They therefore could not immediately see for whom the song was being sung. Only as the last motes died away did the Rat hear a braying laugh, which had a very familiar ring to it, and the cry, in a voice even more familiar, “More! Drinks for everybody are on me!”
“But it cannot be!” exclaimed the Rat, eyeing that flamboyant motor-launch.
“What cannot be?” asked Brock.
“That triumphant laugh! That spoilt and conceited voice! If I am not much mistaken that is Toad of Toad Hall himself. And, if I am not still more mistaken he is up to a prank or trick of some kind which will reflect ill upon any who identify themselves as coming from the River Bank. Therefore —”
The Water Rat and Brock slid anonymously inside the Tavern and kept in the shadows to see if he was right.
There was Toad standing upon a wooden table, tankard in one hand and a cigar in the other, leading the rabble in their fun and games. As the Rat arrived unseen Toad held up a hand to silence them, and all was still.