THE ARSENICATORS
A TALE OF CRIME
It was Mrs. Beale who put it into our heads that Miss Sandal lived plainbecause she was poor. We knew she thought high, because that is what youjolly well have to do if you are a vegetationist and an all-wooler, andthose sort of things.
And we tried to get money for her, like we had once tried to do forourselves. And we succeeded by means that have been told alone inanother place in getting two golden pounds.
Then, of course, we began to wonder what we had better do with the twopounds now we had got them.
'Put them in the savings-bank,' Dora said.
Alice said:
'Why, when we could have them to look at?'
Noel thought we ought to buy her something beautiful to adorn MissSandal's bare dwelling.
H. O. thought we might spend it on nice tinned and potted things fromthe stores, to make the plain living and high thinking go down better.
But Oswald knew that, however nice the presents are that other peoplebuy for you, it is really more satisfying to have the chink to spendexactly as you like.
Then Dicky said:
'I don't believe in letting money lie idle. Father always says it's badbusiness.'
'They give interest at the bank, don't they?' Dora said.
'Yes; tuppence a year, or some rot like that! We ought to go into tradewith it, and try to make more of it. That's what we ought to do.'
'If it's Miss Sandal's money, do you think we ought to do anything withit without asking her?'
'It isn't hers till she's got it, and it is hers because it's not oursto spend. I think we're--what is it?--_in loco parentis_ to that twoquid, because anyone can see poor Miss Sandal doesn't know how to manageher money. And it will be much better if we give her ten pounds thanjust two.'
This is how Dicky argued.
We were sitting on the sands when this council took place, and Alicesaid, 'Suppose we bought a shrimping-net, and sold shrimps from ourwindow in red handkerchiefs and white French caps.' But we asked her howshe would like going into the sea nearly up to her neck in all weathers,and she had to own she had not thought of that. Besides, shrimps are sobeastly cheap--more than you can eat for twopence.
The conversation was not interesting to anyone but Dicky, because we didnot then believe we could do it, though later we thought differently.But I dare say we should have gone on with it just out of politeness tohim, only at this moment we saw a coastguard, who is a great friend ofours, waving to us from the sea-wall. So we went up. And he said:
'You take my tip and cut along home. There's something come for you.'
'Perhaps it's heaps of things, like I said, to eat with the plainliving,' said H. O.
And bright visions of hampers full of the most superior tuck winged ouryoung legs as we cut along home.
It was not, however, a hamper that we found awaiting us. It was a largebox. And besides that there were two cases addressed to Dicky and me,and through the gaps in the boards we could see twisted straw, and ourhearts leapt high in our breasts, because we knew that they were bikes.
And such, indeed, they proved to be--free-wheels of the most unspottedcharacter, the noble gift of our Indian uncle, ever amiable, generous,and esteemed.
While we were getting the glorious bikes from their prison bars, theothers were undoing the box which had their names on it.
It contained cakes and sweets, a work-basket for Dora, lined with redsatin, and dressed up with silver thimbles, and all sorts of bodkins andscissors, and knives with silver handles. There was a lovely box ofpaints for Alice.
Noel had a paint-box too, and H. O. had a very good Aunt Sally. Andthere were lots of books--not the sawdusty, dry kind that Miss Sandalhad in her house, but jolly good books, the kind you can't put down tillyou've finished. But just now we hardly looked at them. For who with aspark of manly spirit would think twice about a book with a newfree-wheel champing the oil like a charger in a ballad?
Dicky and I had a three-mile spin before dinner, and only fell off fivetimes between us. Three spills were Dicky's, one was Oswald's, and onewas when we ran into each other. The bikes were totally uninjured.
As time ran its appointed course we got a bit used to the bikes, and,finding that you cannot ride all day and all night, we began to look atthe books. Only one of them comes into this story. It was called 'TheYouth's Manual of Scientific and Mechanical Recreation,' and, of course,we none of us read it till we'd read everything else, and then we foundit wasn't half bad. It taught you how to make all sorts ofthings--galvanic batteries, and kites, and mouse-traps, and how toelectroplate things, and how to do wood-carving and leather-work. Wetried as many of the things as we had money for, and some of themsucceeded. Then we made a fire-balloon.
It took a long time to make, and then it caught fire and blazed awaybefore we could get it launched.
So we made another, and Noel dropped it near the water-butt, where therewas a puddle, and, being tissue-paper, it was unable to stand thestrain.
So we made another. But the paste was bad, and it did not stick.
So we made another.
Then, at last, when all was ready, Oswald climbed on to the pigsty atMrs. Beales', and held the balloon very steady while Dicky lighted thecotton-wool, soaked in spirits of wine, which hangs from the end (wherecars are in larger sizes), and causes it to be called a fire-balloon. Ataper is burned inside the balloon, and then, according to the book, 'itreadily ascends, and is carried away by the wind, sometimes to aconsiderable distance.'
Well, this time everything happened just as the book said, which is notalways the case.
It was a clear, dark night, bright stars only. And, to our relief andagreeable surprise, our balloon rose up and sailed away, dragging itslighted tail like a home-made comet.
It sailed away over the marshes, getting smaller and smaller, and atlast it was, though lost to sight, to memory dear. Some of us thought itwasn't worth doing, but Oswald was glad he had persevered. He does hateto be beaten. However, we none of us cared to make another, so we wentto bed.
Dicky always goes to sleep directly on these occasions, but Oswald, morethoughtful for his years, sometimes reviews the events of the day. Hemust have been nearly asleep, because he was just reviewing an elephantthat flew with a lamp inside, so that it looked like a fire-balloon,when Alice suddenly came and woke him up completely.
'Beware!' she said in tones of awe.
And he said, but not crossly:
'Well, what on earth's up now?'
'The fire-balloon!' replied Alice.
'What about it?' he rejoined, still calm and kind, though roused fromhis reviews.
'Why, it came to me all in a minute! Oh, Oswald--when it comesdown--there are lots of farms in the march. Suppose it comes down andsets light to something! It's a crime--arsenic or something--and you canbe hanged for it!'
'Don't be an idiot!' said Oswald kindly. 'The book wouldn't have toldyouths how to make them if they were crimes. Go back to bed, forgoodness' sake!'
'I wish we hadn't--oh, I do!' said Alice.
But she did as she was told. Oswald has taught her this.
Next day her fears had stopped, like silent watches in the night, andwe began to make a trap for badgers--in case we ever found one.
But Dicky went to the top of the mill with some field-glasses he hadborrowed from Mr. Carrington to look at distant ships with, and he burstinto the busy circle of badger-trap makers, and said:
'I say, come and look! There's a fire in the marsh!'
'There!' said Alice, dropping the wire pliers on her good elderbrother's foot. 'What did I tell you?'
We all tore to the top of the mill, and sure enough, far across thesunny green marshes rose a little cloud of smoke, and blue and yellowflames leaped out every now and then. We all took turns to look throughthe glasses.
Then Oswald said:
'This is no time for looking through field-glasses with your mouthsopen. We must go and help. We might fetch
the fire-engines or something.The bikes, Dicky!'
Almost instantly we were in the saddle and tearing along the level marshtowards the direction of the fire. At first we got down at everycrossroad and used the field-glasses to see which way to go; but as wegot nearer, or the fire got bigger, or perhaps both, we could see itquite plainly with the naked eye. It was much further off than we hadthought, but we rode on undaunted, regardless of fatigue and ofdinner-time, being now long gone by.
We got to the fire at last. It was at Crown Ovender Farm, and we had tolift the bikes over fences and wheel them over ploughed fields to getthere, because we did not know the right way by road.
Crown Ovender is a little farmhouse, and a barn opposite, and a greatrick-yard, and two of the ricks were alight. They smoked horribly, andthe wind blew the hot smoke into your eyes, and every now and then yousaw great flames--yards long they seemed--leap out as if they werecrying to get to the house.
We had put our bikes in a ditch a field away, and now we went all roundabout to ask if we could help; but there wasn't a soul to be seen.
We did not know what to do. Even Oswald--always full of resource--almostscratched his head, which seems to help some people to think, though Idon't think it ever would me, besides not looking nice.
'I wish we'd told them in the village,' said Dicky.
We had not done this, and the reason, the author is ashamed to say, wasbecause we wanted to get there before anyone else. This was veryselfish, and the author has often regretted it.
The flames were growing larger and fiercer, and the tar on the side ofthe barn next the rick-yard was melting and running down like treacle.
'There's a well!' said Dicky suddenly. 'It isn't a deep well, and thereare two buckets.'
Oswald understood. He drew up the water, and Dicky took the buckets asthey came up full and dripping and dashed the water on to the tarry faceof the barn. It hissed and steamed. We think it did some good. We tookit in turns to turn the well-wheel. It was hard work, and it wasfrightfully hot. Then suddenly we heard a horrid sound, a sort ofout-of-breath scream, and there was a woman, very red in the face andperspiring, climbing over the fence.
'Hallo!' said Oswald.
'Oh!' the woman said, panting, 'it's not the house, then? Thank them asbe it's not the house! Oh, my heart alive, I thought it was the house!'
'It isn't the house,' said Oswald; 'but it jolly soon will be!'
'Oh, my pore Lily!' said the woman. 'With this 'ere wind the house 'llbe alight in a minute. And her a-bed in there! Where's Honeysett?'
'There's no one here but us. The house is locked up,' we said.
'Yes, I know, 'cause of tramps. Honeysett's got the key. I comes in assoon as I've cleared dinner away. She's ill a-bed, sleeping like a lamb,I'll be bound, all unknowing of her burning end.'
'We _must_ get her out,' said Oswald.
But the woman didn't seem to know what to do. She kept on saying,'Where's Honeysett? Oh, drat him! where's that Honeysett?'
So then Oswald felt it was the time to be a general, like he alwaysmeant to if he got the chance. He said, 'Come on!' and he took a stoneand broke the kitchen window, and put his hand through the jagged holeand unfastened the catch, and climbed in. The back-door was locked andthe key gone, but the front-door was only bolted inside. But it stuckvery tight, from having been painted and shut before the paint was dry,and never opened again.
Oswald couldn't open it. He ran back to the kitchen window and shoutedto the others.
'Go round to the other door and shove for all you're worth!' he cried inthe manly tones that all must obey.
So they went; but Dicky told me afterwards that the woman didn't shovefor anything like all she was worth. In fact, she wouldn't shove at all,till he had to make a sort of battering-ram of her, and then she seemedto awake from a dream, and they got the door open.
We followed the woman up the stairs and into a bedroom, and there wasanother woman sitting up in bed trembling, and her mouth opening andshutting.
'Oh, it's you, Eliza,' she said, falling back against the pillows. 'Ithought it were tramps.'
Eliza did not break things to the sufferer gently, like we should havedone, however hurried.
'Mercy you aren't burnt alive in your bed, Lily!' she merely remarked.'The place is all ablaze!'
Then she rolled her sick sufferer in a blanket and took hold of hershoulders, and told us to take her feet.
But Oswald was too calm to do this suddenly. He said:
'Where are you going to put her?'
'Anywheres!' said Eliza wildly--'anywheres is better than this here.'
'There's plenty of time,' said Oswald; and he and Dicky rushed intoanother room, and got a feather-bed and bedclothes, and hunched themdown the stairs, and dragged them half a field away, and made a bed in anice dry ditch. And then we consented to carry the unfortunate bed-womanto it.
The house was full of smoke by this time, though it hadn't yet caughtfire; and I tell you we felt just like heroic firemen as we stumbleddown the crookety narrow stairs, back first, bearing the feet of thesick woman. Oswald did so wish he had had a fireman's helmet to put on!
When we got the fading Lily to her dry ditch, she clutched Oswald's armand whispered:
'Save the sticks!'
'What sticks?' asked Oswald, who thought it was the ragings of delirium.
'She means the furniture,' said Eliza; 'but I'm afraid its doom iswritten on high.'
'We consented to carry the unfortunate bed-woman toit.'--Page 76]
'Rubbish!' said Oswald kindly; and we flew back, us boys dragging Elizawith us.
There didn't seem to be much furniture in the house, but when we beganto move it, it at once seemed to multiply itself with the rapidity ofcompound interest. We got all the clothes out first, in drawers andclothes-baskets, and tied up in sheets. Eliza wasn't much use. The onlything she could do was to look for a bed-key to unscrew the ironbedsteads; but Oswald and Dicky toiled on. They carried out chairs andtables and hearthrugs. As Oswald was staggering on under a Windsorarmchair, with a tea-tray and an ironing-board under his arms, he raninto a man.
'What's up?' said he.
'Fire!' said Oswald.
'I seed that,' said the man.
Oswald shoved the chair and other things on to the man.
'Then lend a hand to get the things away,' he said.
And more and more people came, and all worked hard; but Oswald and Dickydid most. Eliza never even found that bed-key, because when she sawpeople beginning to come thicker and thicker across the fields, likeants hurrying home, she went out and told everyone over and over againthat Honeysett had got the key.
Then a woman came along, and Eliza got her into a corner by the stairsand jawed. I heard part of the jaw.
'An' pore Mrs. Simpkins, her man he's gone to Ashford Market with hisbeasts and the three other men, and me and my man said we'd have Liz upat my place, her being my sister, so as Honeysett could go off to Romneyabout the sheep. But she wouldn't come, not though we brought the lightcart over for her. So we thought it best Honeysett stayed about hiswork, and go for the sheep to-morrow.'
'Then the house would ha' been all empty but for her not being wishfulto go along of you?' Oswald heard the other say.
'Yes,' said Eliza; 'an' so you see----'
'You keep your mouth shut,' the other woman fiercely said; 'you'reLily's sister, but Tom, he's my brother. If you don't shut your sillymouth you'll be getting of them into trouble. It's insured, ain't it?'
'I don't see,' said Eliza.
'You don't never see nothing,' said the other. 'You just don't say aword 'less you're arst, and then only as you come to look after her andfound the fire a-raging something crool.'
'But why----'
The other woman clawed hold of her and dragged her away, whisperingsecretly.
All this time the fire was raging, but there were lots of men now towork the well and the buckets, and the house and the barn had notcaught.
Wh
en we had got out all the furniture, some of the men set to work onthe barn, and, of course, Oswald and Dicky, though weary, were in thisalso. They helped to get out all the wool--bundles and bundles andbundles of it; but when it came to sacks of turnip seed and things, theythought they had had enough, and they went to where the things were thathad come out of the larder, and they got a jug of milk and some breadand cheese, and took it to the woman who was lying in the dry ditch onthe nice bed they had so kindly made for her. She drank some milk, andasked them to have some, and they did, with bread and cheese (Dutch),and jolly glad they were of it.
Just as we had finished we heard a shout, and there was the fire-enginecoming across the field.
I do like fire-engines. They are so smart and fierce, and look likedragons ready to fight the devouring element.
It was no use, however, in spite of the beautiful costumes of thefiremen, because there was no water, except in the well, and not muchleft of that.
The man named Honeysett had ridden off on an old boneshaker of his tofetch the engines. He had left the key in the place where it was alwayskept, only Eliza had not had the sense to look for it. He had left aletter for her, too, written in red pencil on the back of a bill for amowing-machine. It said: 'Rix on fir'; going to git fir'-injins.'
Oswald treasures this letter still as a memento of happier days.
When Honeysett saw the line of men handing up buckets to throw on thetarry wall, he said:
'That ain't no manner of use. Wind's changed a hour agone.'
And so it had. The flames were now reaching out the other way, and twomore ricks were on fire. But the tarry walls were quite cool, and verywet, and the men who were throwing the water were very surprised tofind that they were standing in a great puddle.
And now, when everything in the house and the barn was safe, Oswald hadtime to draw his breath and think, and to remember with despair exactlywho it was that had launched a devastating fire-balloon over thepeaceful marsh.
It was getting dusk by this time; but even the splendour of all thoseburning ricks against the darkening sky was merely wormwood and gall toOswald's upright heart, and he jolly soon saw that it was the same toDicky's.
'I feel pretty sick,' he said. 'Let's go home.'
'They say the whole eleven ricks are bound to go,' said Dicky, 'with thewind the way it is.'
'_We're_ bound to go,' said Oswald.
'Where?' inquired the less thoughtful Dicky.
'To prison,' said his far-seeing brother, turning away and beginning towalk towards the bicycles.
'We can't be sure it was our balloon,' said Dicky, following.
'Pretty average,' said Oswald bitterly.
'But no one would know it was us if we held our tongues.'
'We can't hold our tongues,' Oswald said; 'if we do someone else will beblamed, as sure as fate. You didn't hear what that woman said aboutinsurance money.'
'We might wait and see if anyone _does_ get into trouble, and _then_come forward,' said Dicky.
And Oswald owned they might do that, but his heart was full of despairand remorse.
Just as they got to their bikes a man met them.
'All lost, I suppose?' he said, jerking his thumb at the blazingfarmyard.
'Not all,' said Dicky; 'we saved the furniture and the wool andthings----'
The man looked at us, and said heavily:
'Very kind of you, but it was all insured.'
'Look here,' said Oswald earnestly, 'don't you say that to anyone else.'
'Eh?' said the man.
'If you do, they're safe to think you set fire to it yourself!'
He stared, then he frowned, then he laughed, and said something aboutold heads on young shoulders, and went on.
We went on, too, in interior gloom, that only grew gloomier as we gotnearer and nearer home.
We held a council that night after the little ones had gone to bed. Doraand Alice seemed to have been crying most of the day. They felt a littlebetter when they heard that no one had been burned to death. Alice toldme she had been thinking all day of large families burned to littlecinders. But about telling of the fire-balloon we could not agree.
Alice and Oswald thought we ought. But Dicky said 'Wait,' and Dora said'Write to father about it.'
Alice said:
'No; it doesn't make any difference about our not being sure whether ourballoon _was_ the cause of destruction. I _expect_ it was, and, anyway,we ought to own up.'
'I feel so too,' said Oswald; 'but I do wish I knew how long in prisonyou got for it.'
We went to bed without deciding anything.
And very early in the morning Oswald woke, and he got up and looked outof the window, and there was a great cloud of smoke still going up fromthe doomed rickyard. So then he went and woke Alice, and said:
'Suppose the police have got that poor farmer locked up in a noisomecell, and all the time it's _us_.'
'That's just what _I_ feel,' said Alice.
Then Oswald said, 'Get dressed.'
And when she had, she came out into the road, where Oswald, pale butresolute, was already pacing with firm steps. And he said:
'Look here, let's go and tell. Let's say you and I made the balloon. Theothers can stop out of it if they like.'
'They won't if it's really prison,' said Alice. 'But it would be nobleof us to try it on. Let's----'
But we found we didn't know who to tell.
'It seems so fatal to tell the police,' said Alice; 'there's no gettingout of it afterwards. Besides, he's only Jameson, and he's very stupid.'
The author assures you you do not know what it is like to have a crimelike arsenic on your conscience, and to have gone to the trouble andexpense of making up your mind to confess it, and then not to know whoto.
We passed a wretched day. And all the time the ricks were blazing. Allthe people in the village went over with carts and bikes to see thefire--like going to a fair or a show. In other circumstances we shouldhave done the same, but now we had no heart for it.
In the evening Oswald went for a walk by himself, and he found hisfootsteps turning towards the humble dwelling of the Ancient Mariner whohad helped us in a smuggling adventure once.
The author wishes to speak the truth, so he owns that perhaps Oswald hadsome idea that the Ancient Mariner, who knew so much about smugglers andhighwaymen, might be able to think of some way for us to save ourselvesfrom prison without getting an innocent person put into it. Oswald foundthe mariner smoking a black pipe by his cottage door. He winked atOswald as usual. Then Oswald said:
'I want to ask your advice; but it's a secret. I know you can keepsecrets.'
When the aged one had agreed to this, Oswald told him all. It was agreat relief.
The mariner listened with deep attention, and when Oswald had quitedone, he said:
'It ain't the stone jug this time mate. That there balloon of yours, Isee it go up--fine and purty 'twas, too.'
'We all saw it go _up_,' said Oswald in despairing accents. 'Thequestion is, where did it come down?'
'At Burmarsh, sonny,' was the unexpected and unspeakably relievingreply. 'My sister's husband's niece--it come down and lodged in theirpear-tree--showed it me this morning, with the red ink on it whatspelled your names out.'
Oswald, only pausing to wring the hand of his preserver, tore home onthe wings of the wind to tell the others.
I don't think we were ever so glad of anything in our lives. It is afrightfully blighting thing when you believe yourself to be anArsenicator (or whatever it is) of the deepest dye.
As soon as we could think of anything but our own cleanness from guilt,we began to fear the worst of Tom Simkins, the farmer at Crown Ovenden.But _he_ came out of it, like us, without a stain on his fair name,because he and his sister and his man Honeysett all swore that he hadgiven a tramp leave to sleep up against the beanstack the night beforethe fire, and the tramp's pipe and matches were found there. So he gothis insurance money; but the tramp escaped.
 
; But when we told father all about it, he said he wished he had been adirector of that fire insurance company.
We never made another fire-balloon. Though it was not us that time, itmight have been. And we know now but too well the anxieties of a life ofcrime.