I realized that the sound of my voice might break the spell, and I turned my head slowly from side to side as if it were in danger of falling off.
Outside, the wind was tearing at the vines that fringed the window as the wild rain came pelting down.
“The hue and cry was raised,” Father went on at last, and I stopped holding my breath.
“Telegraphs were sent to every postmaster in the realm. To whatever corner of England the orange stamps might make their way, they were to be placed at once under lock and key, and the Treasury notified, posthaste, of their whereabouts.
“Because larger shipments of the Penny Blacks had been sent to the cities, it was thought that they would most likely make their appearance in London or Manchester; perhaps Sheffield or Bristol. As it turned out, in fact, it was none of these.
“Tucked away in one of the farthest pockets of Cornwall is the village of St. Mary-in-the-Marsh. It is a place where nothing had ever happened, and nothing was ever expected to.
“The postmaster there was one Melville Brown, an elderly gentleman who was already some years past the usual retirement age, and was trying, with little luck, to put away a bit of his small salary to ‘tide him over to the churchyard,’ as he told anyone who would listen.
“As it happened—since St. Mary-in-the-Marsh was off the beaten track in more ways than one—Postmaster Brown did not receive the telegraphed directive from the Treasury, and so it was with complete surprise that, some days later, after he had unwrapped a small shipment of Penny Blacks and was counting them to see that the tally was correct, he found the missing stamps literally at his fingertips.
“Of course he spotted the orange stamps at once. Someone had made a dreadful mistake! There had not been, as there normally should have been, an official ‘Instructions to Postmasters’ pamphlet announcing a new color for the penny stamp. No, this was something of vast import, even though he could not say what it was.
“For a moment—but only a moment, mind you—he thought that this oddly colored sheet of stamps might be worth more than its face value. Less than half a year after their introduction, some people, most likely people up in London, he believed, who had nothing better to do with their time, had already begun collecting self-adhesive postage stamps, and putting them in little books. A stamp printed off-register or with inverted check numbers might even fetch a quid or two, and as for a whole sheet of them, why …
“But Melville Brown was one of those human beings who seem to be as scarce as archangels: He was an honest man. Accordingly, he at once sent off a telegraph to the Treasury, and within the hour a ministerial courier was dispatched from Paddington to retrieve the stamps and convey them back to London.
“The Government intended that the rogue sheet be destroyed at once, with all the official solemnity of a Pontifical Requiem Mass. Joshua Butters Bacon suggested rather that the stamps be placed in the printing house archive, or perhaps in the British Museum, where they could be studied by future generations.
“Queen Victoria, however, who was, as the Americans say, more than a bit of a pack rat, had her own ideas: She asked to be given a single stamp as a memento of the day she was spared an assassin’s bullet; the remainder were to be destroyed by the highest-ranking officer of the firm that had printed them.
“And who could deny the Queen? By now, with British troops about to invade Beirut, the Prime Minister, Viscount Melbourne (whose name had been once linked romantically with Her Majesty’s), had other things on his mind. And there the matter was allowed to rest.
“So it was that the world’s only sheet of orange penny stamps was burned in a cruet on the desk of the managing director of Perkins, Bacon and Petch. But before he lit the match, Joshua Butters Bacon had, with surgical precision, snipped off two specimens—this was some years before perforations were introduced, you see: the stamp marked ‘AA’ from one corner, for Queen Victoria and, in great secrecy, another marked ‘TL,’ from the opposite corner, for himself.
“These were the stamps which would one day be known to collectors as the Ulster Avengers, although for many years before they were given that name, their very existence was a state secret.
“Years later, when Bacon’s desk was moved after his death, an envelope which had somehow become lodged behind it fell to the floor. As you may have guessed, the sweeper who found it was Dr. Kissing’s grandfather, Ringer. With old Bacon dead, he thought, what harm could there be in his taking home as a plaything for his three-year-old grandson the single bright-orange postage stamp which lay nestled within it?”
I felt a flush rising to my cheek, and prayed desperately that Father was too distracted to notice. How, without making the situation even worse than it was, could I tell him that both of the Ulster Avengers, one marked “AA” and the other “TL,” were, at that very moment, stuffed carelessly into the bottom of my pocket?
seventeen
PART OF ME WAS POSITIVELY TWITCHING TO PULL out the blasted stamps and press them into his hand, but Inspector Hewitt had put me on my honor. I could not possibly put into Father’s hands anything which might have been stolen; anything which might further incriminate him.
Fortunately Father was oblivious. Even another sudden flash of lightning, followed by a sharp crack and a long roll of thunder, did not pull him back to the present.
“The Ulster Avenger marked TL, of course,” he went on, “became the cornerstone of Dr. Kissing’s collection. It was a well-known fact that only two such stamps were in existence. The other one—the specimen marked AA—having passed upon the death of Queen Victoria to her son, Edward the Seventh, and upon his death, to his son, George the Fifth, in whose collection it remained until recently—was stolen in broad daylight from a stamp exhibition. It has not been recovered.”
“Ha!” I thought. “What about the TL?” I said aloud.
“TL, as we have seen, was tucked safely away in the safe of the headmaster’s study at Greyminster. Dr. Kissing brought it out from time to time, ‘in part to gloat,’ he once told us, ‘and in part to remember my humble beginnings in case I should ever show signs of rising above myself.’
“The Ulster Avenger was seldom shown to others, though; perhaps only to a few of the most serious philatelists. It was said that the King himself had once offered to buy the stamp, an offer that was politely but firmly declined. When that failed, the King begged, through his private secretary, special permission to view ‘this marmalade phenomenon’ as he called it: a request which was speedily granted and which ended with a secret after-dark visit to Greyminster by his late Royal Highness. One wonders, of course, whether he brought AA with him so that the two great stamps might be once more, if only for a few hours, reunited. That, perhaps, will forever remain one of the great mysteries of philately.”
I touched my pocket lightly, and my fingertips tingled at the slight rustle of paper.
“Our old housemaster, Mr. Twining, clearly recalled the occasion, and remembered, most poignantly, how the lights in the headmaster’s study burned long into that winter night.
“Which brings me back, alas, to Horace Bonepenny.”
I could tell by the changed tone of his voice that Father had once more retreated into his personal past. A chill of excitement ran up my spine. I was about to get at the truth.
“Bony had, by this time, become more than an accomplished conjurer. He was now a forward, pushy young man with a brazen manner, who generally got his own way by the simple expedient of shoving harder than the other fellow.
“Besides the allowance he received from his father’s solicitors, he was earning a good bit extra by performing in and around Greyminster, first at children’s parties and then later, as his confidence grew, at smoking concerts and political dinners. By then he had taken on Bob Stanley as his sole confederate, and one heard tales of some of their more extravagant performances.
“But outside of the classroom I seldom saw him in those days. Having risen above the abilities of the Magic Circle, he dropped out of it, and wa
s heard to make disparaging remarks about those ‘amateur noodles’ who kept up their membership.
“With its dwindling attendance, Mr. Twining finally announced that he was giving up the halls of illusion, as he called the Magic Circle, to concentrate more fully upon the Stamp Society.
“I remember the night—it was in early autumn, the first meeting of the year—that Bony suddenly showed up, all teeth and laughter and false good-fellowship. I had not seen him since the end of the last term, and he now seemed to me somehow alien and too large for the room.
“ ‘Ah, Bonepenny,’ Mr. Twining said, ‘what an unexpected delight. What brings you back to these humble chambers?’
“ ‘My feet!’ Bony shouted, and most of us laughed.
“And then suddenly he dropped the pose. In an instant he was all schoolboy again, deferential and filled with humility.
“ ‘I say, sir,’ he said, ‘I’ve been thinking all during the hols about what a jolly treat it would be if you could persuade the Head to show us that freakish stamp of his.’
“Mr. Twining’s brow darkened. ‘That freakish stamp, as you put it, Bonepenny, is one of the crown jewels of British philately, and I should certainly never suggest that it be trotted out for viewing by such a saucy scallywag as yourself.’
“ ‘But, sir! Think of the future! When we lads are grown … have families of our own …’
“At that we grinned at one another and traced patterns in the carpet with our toes.
“ ‘It will be like that scene in Henry the Fifth, sir,’ Bony went on. ‘Those families back in England home abed will count themselves accursed they were not at Greyminster to have a squint at the great Ulster Avenger! Oh please, sir! Please!’
“ ‘I shall give you an alpha-plus for boldness, young Bonepenny, and a goose egg for your travesty of Shakespeare. Still …’
“We could see that Mr. Twining was softening. One corner of his mustache lifted ever so slightly.
“ ‘Oh please, sir,’ we all chimed in.
“ ‘Well …’ Mr. Twining said.
“And so it was arranged. Mr. Twining spoke to Dr. Kissing, and that worthy, flattered that his boys would take an interest in such an arcane object, readily assented. The viewing was set for the following Sunday evening after Chapel, and would be conducted in the headmaster’s private apartments. Invitation was by membership in the Stamp Society only, and Mrs. Kissing would cap the evening with cocoa and biscuits.
“The room was filled with smoke. Bob Stanley, who had come with Bony, was openly smoking a gasper and nobody seemed to mind. Although the sixth-form boys had privileges, this was the first time I had seen one of them light up in front of the Head. I was the last to arrive, and Mr. Twining had already filled the ashtray with the stubs of the Wills’s Gold Flake cigarettes which, outside of the classroom, he smoked incessantly.
“Dr. Kissing was, as are all of the truly great headmasters, no mean showman himself. He chatted away about this and that: the weather, the cricket scores, the Old Boys’ Fund, the shocking condition of the tiles on Anson House; keeping us in suspense, you know.
“Only when he had us all twitching like crickets did he say, ‘Dear me, I had quite forgotten—you’ve come to have a look at my famous snippet.’
“By now we were boiling over like a room full of teakettles. Dr. Kissing went to his wall safe and twirled his fingertips in an elaborate dance on the dial of the combination lock.
“With a couple of clicks the thing swung open. He reached in and brought out a cigarette tin—an ordinary Gold Flake cigarette tin! That fetched a bit of a laugh, I can tell you. I couldn’t help wondering if he’d had the cheek to pull out the same old container in front of the King.
“There was a bit of a hubbub, and then a hush fell over the room as he opened the lid. There inside, nestled on a bed of absorbent blotting paper, was a tiny envelope: too small, too insignificant, one would say, to hold a treasure of such great magnitude.
“With a flourish Dr. Kissing produced a pair of stamp tweezers from his waistcoat pocket and, removing the stamp as carefully as a sapper extracting a fuse from an unexploded bomb, laid it on the paper.
“We crowded round, pushing and shoving for a better view.
“ ‘Careful, boys,’ said Dr. Kissing. ‘Remember your manners; gentlemen always.’
“And there it was, that storied stamp, looking just as one always knew it would look, and yet so much more … so much more spellbinding. We could hardly believe we were in the same room as the Ulster Avenger.
“Bony was directly behind me, leaning over my shoulder. I could feel his hot breath on my cheek, and thought I caught a whiff of pork pie and claret. Had he been drinking? I wondered.
“And then something happened which I will not forget until my dying day—and perhaps not even then. Bony darted in, snatched up the stamp, and held it high in the air between his thumb and forefinger like a priest elevating the host.
“ ‘Watch this, sir!’ he shouted. ‘It’s a trick!’
“We were all of us too numb to move. Before anyone could bat an eye, Bony had pulled a wooden match from his pocket, flicked it alight with his thumbnail, and held it to the corner of the Ulster Avenger.
“The stamp began blackening, then curled; a little wave of flame passed across its surface, and a moment later, there was nothing left of it but a smudge of black ash in Bony’s palm. Bony lifted up his hands and in an awful voice, chanted:
‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
If the King can’t have you, the Devil must!’
“It was appalling. There was a shocked silence. Dr. Kissing stood there with his mouth open, and Mr. Twining, who had brought us there, looked as if he had been shot in the heart.
“ ‘It’s a trick, sir,’ Bony shouted, with that charnel-house grin of his. ‘Now help me get it back, all of you. If we all join hands and pray together—’
“He grabbed my hand with his right, and with his left, he seized Bob Stanley’s.
“ ‘Form a circle,’ he ordered. ‘Join hands and form a prayer circle!’
“ ‘Stop it!’ Dr. Kissing commanded. ‘Stop this insolence at once. Return the stamp to its box, Bonepenny.’
“ ‘But, sir,’ Bony said—and I swear I saw his teeth glint in the light of the flames from the fireplace—‘if we don’t pull together, the magic can’t work. That’s how magic is, you see.’
“ ‘Put … the … stamp … back … in … the … box,’ Dr. Kissing said, slowly and deliberately, his face like one of those ghastly things one finds in a trench after a battle.
“ ‘All right then, I’ll have to go it alone,’ Bony said. ‘But it’s only fair to warn you it’s much more difficult this way.’
“Never had I seen him so confident; never had I seen him so full of himself.
“He rolled up his sleeve and held those long white pointed fingers upright in the air as high as he could reach.
‘Come back, come back, O Orange Queen,
Come back and tell us where you’ve been!’
“At this, he snapped his fingers, and suddenly there was a stamp where no stamp had been a moment earlier. An orange stamp.
“Dr. Kissing’s grim face relaxed a little. He almost smiled. Mr. Twining’s fingers dug deeply into my shoulder blade, and I realized for the first time that he had been hanging on to me for dear life.
“Bony reeled the stamp in for a closer look until it was almost touching the tip of his nose. At the same time he whipped an indecently large magnifying glass from his hip pocket and examined the newly materialized stamp with pursed lips.
“Then suddenly his voice was the voice of Tchang Fu, the ancient Mandarin, and I swear that even though he wore no makeup, I could clearly see the yellow skin, the long fingernails, the red dragon kimono.
“ ‘Uh-oh! Honabuh ancestahs send long stamp!’ he said, holding it out to us for our inspection. It was an ordinary Internal Revenue issue from America: a common Civil War vintage stamp which most
of us had aplenty in our albums.
“He let it flutter to the floor, then gave a shrug and rolled his eyes heavenward.
‘Come back, come back, O Orange Queen—’
he began again, but Dr. Kissing had seized him by the shoulders and was shaking him like a tin of paint.
“ ‘The stamp,’ he demanded, holding out his hand. ‘At once.’
“Bony turned out his trouser pockets, one after another.
“ ‘I can’t seem to find it, sir,’ he said. ‘Something seems to have gone wrong.’
“He looked up each of his sleeves, ran a long finger round the inside of his collar, and a sudden transformation came over his face. In an instant he was a frightened schoolboy who looked as if he’d like nothing better than to make a bolt for it.
“ ‘It’s worked before, sir,’ he stammered. ‘Lots and lots of times.’
“His face was growing red, and I thought he was about to cry.
“ ‘Search him,’ Dr. Kissing snapped, and several of the boys, under the direction of Mr. Twining, took Bony into the lavatory where they turned him upside down and searched him from his red hair to his brown shoes.
“ ‘It’s as the boy says,’ Mr. Twining said when they returned at last. ‘The stamp seems to have vanished.’
“ ‘Vanished?’ Dr. Kissing said. ‘Vanished? How can the bloody thing have vanished? Are you quite sure?’
“ ‘Quite sure,’ Mr. Twining said.
“A search was made of the entire room: The carpet was lifted, tables were moved, ornaments turned upside down, but all to no avail. At last Dr. Kissing crossed the room to the corner where Bony was sitting with his head sunk deeply in his hands.
“ ‘Explain yourself, Bonepenny,’ he demanded.
“ ‘I—I can’t, sir. It must have burned up. It was supposed to be switched, you see, but I must have … I don’t … I can’t …’
“And he burst into tears.
“ ‘Go to bed, boy!’ Dr. Kissing shouted. ‘Leave this house and go to bed!’
“It was the first time any of us had ever heard him raise his voice above the level of pleasant conversation, and it shook us to the core.