CHAPTER XLVI

A TRIUMPH

The fumes of the punch had been dissipated, not only from the room of the Lamb and Flag, but also from the brain of the orchestra.

The bassoon’s scruples revived; he was still grateful for the punch, but resentful for the headache it had produced.

The several points brought out by the clarionet, that provoking advocate for Pasco, who asked awkward questions and propounded awkward suggestions, stood twinkling like sparks in tinder. The bassoon thought that punch, good thing though it might be, did but momentarily overflow, and did not drown, doubts. It darkened the burning questions, but did not quench them. The disappearance of Quarm was not satisfactorily explained. The coincidence of the voiding of the Cellars conveniently for the fire, was not explained. The contradiction between the statements made by the uncle and the niece was unsifted. The bassoon grunted in his bed a grunt of dissatisfaction with himself for having yielded his opinions, a grunt of resentment against Pasco for having obfuscated his clear judgment, a grunt of resolve never again to allow his opinions to give way before punch. Conscience, that capricious factor, which had pricked him in one direction last night, pricked him in another this morning.

The hautboy, also, was out of tune. On review of the events of the past night, he considered that the entry of Pasco was an unwarrantable intrusion. The rule was well known that during a practice of the orchestra no one should be admitted. Pepperill had entered uninvited, had forced himself into their society, and he must have done that for a purpose. For what purpose but to cajole, to hoodwink them?

In vain is the net spread in the sight of any bird. The hautboy was a very wideawake and watchful bird, and he saw the meshes clearly. In vain is the hook cast in clear water; and the medium was so transparent that the hautboy plainly saw the hook. He resolved to maintain an independent, observant attitude, to form his own opinion, not accept ready-made views served up to him with punch. When before had the churchwarden favoured the village orchestra with punch? Never’since Pasco had been churchwarden. Never when in a private capacity. Only when popular feeling became suspicious or hostile, did he show himself free-handed. His present liberality told against him.

The violoncello also entered into commune with himself. Was there any chance of another brew? Would another bowl of punch be produced to keep up the favourable opinion formed on the preceding evening, or would a mistrustful attitude act as a stimulant to excite greater liberality? One brew of punch was not much, it prepared the soil, a second would sow the seed, a third make it germinate, a fourth develop, and only a fifth fructify conviction in the integrity of the provider.

The words spoken by Pepperill relative to Kate had spread. The orchestra confided them to their spouses, and the wives whispered them to their intimates. There arose in Coombe-in-Teignhead two rival factions. One party contended that Pasco was guilty, the other argued that Kitty had fired the storehouse. The advantage of the latter view was that it explained what was otherwise inexplicable’the disappearance of Quarm. The story was worked into shape; it was elaborated in detail. Kitty, of a morose and vindictive nature, had been exasperated because her uncle had forbidden her engagement to the schoolmaster. Kitty had never been as other girls were. Her reserve was slyness, her bashfulness sulkiness. Her schoolfellows had disliked her. Their mothers shared the feelings of their daughters. As the proverb says, “Still waters run deep,” and of the stillness of Kitty there could be no question.

The dislike entertained of Kitty had been vague and unreasonable. Now a reason was supplied, and consistency given to what had been shapeless.

It was suspicious that Kitty had volunteered the statement relative to her being left in the linhay before she had been asked questions relative to her whereabouts. Why should she have blurted this out to Jan Pooke and Rose Ash, but for the purpose of throwing dust in their eyes?

Kitty had been unwarrantably forward in telling her tale, and the schoolmaster unwarrantably reticent relative to his experience. Why did the schoolmaster refuse to speak out what he had seen and heard at Coombe Cellars, on that eventful night. The reason was plain enough. He did not desire to compromise Kitty. But it was clear what had occurred. She had been sent back to the Cellars by her uncle, and there her malignant spirit had induced her, out of revenge, to set fire to her uncle’s stores. Her father had come on her red-handed, and had rebuked her sharply. That was what the schoolmaster had overheard. Then Quarm, finding it too late to undo the mischief done by his daughter, afraid to call in neighbours to his aid, lest Kitty should be compromised, had made his escape. There were a thousand other ways by which he might get away besides crossing the Teign. No one had thought of that. Every one had considered only whether he had crossed by ferry or by bridge. There were a score of lanes at the back of Coombe by which he might get away unperceived. All attention and investigation had been devoted to the water, and every other means of evasion left unconsidered.

Thus was the case worked out against Kitty. It assumed deeper colouring when it was remembered that she had allowed Roger Redmore to escape when entrusted with the charge of him by Jan Pooke, and Jan had said that as he left Roger he could not free himself, without Kate’s consent. It was noted, also, that she had, as her uncle had told, deliberately and of _malice prepense_, frustrated the efforts he made to catch the incendiary at Dart-meet.

She had, moreover, induced her father to give up his house to Jane Redmore. Birds of a feather flock together’and surely fireflies are actuated by mutual sympathy.

On the other hand, the party that held Pepperill to be guilty were not silent. Who was the gainer by the fire? Pasco, to the amount of twelve hundred pounds. Was it not certain that he had been greatly embarrassed for money? that a bill of his had just been dishonoured? Was it not just as probable that his story was false as that of Kate? Was it she who sent away Zerah across the water? Who persuaded Pasco to drive in the direction of Newton? Did not all his proceedings on that eventful evening show a deep-laid plan? And so on.

The pros and cons were thrashed and re-thrashed over the tavern table and the ale-mugs, and over the tea in private houses. Hardly any other topic occupied men’s minds and women’s mouths, till suddenly something happened which silenced everyone.

The insurance company had refused payment, and the solicitor of the company sent down an agent to Coombe that he might collect information which might justify them in their refusal. At once all became mum. No one knew anything, no one suspected anybody. Nothing had happened but what was natural and easily accounted for. This change was due to the fact that there is, and more than half a century ago there was, a strong _esprit de corps_ in a secluded village, that resented any intrusion of a stranger into its affairs. The rural mind is naturally suspicious, and naturally mistrusts anyone not intimately known, and regards any questions asked as something to be evaded, and on no account to be answered.

When, accordingly, the agent came among the Coombe-in-Teignheadites, and busied himself in cross-examining the people, they snapped their mouths as an oyster snaps before a lobster; or they may be likened to hedgehogs that rolled themselves up and presented nothing but prickles to the inquirer intruding in their midst. Never in his life had the man come among people like these; they neither saw with their eyes, nor heard with their ears, nor thought with what they called their brains.

Pasco took no measures to protect himself. He knew his fellow-villagers well enough to be sure that they would say nothing against him.

After a week spent in unprofitable investigation, the agent retired. At once the whole place woke up. Everyone uncoiled, every mouth opened, and every brain worked again. The rival factions recommenced their warfare, and the difference in opinion became poignant.

In due course the case of Pepperill against the insurance company came off, or rather, was announced to come off.

Pepperill was full of consequence.

He had felt acutely that suspicion hung about him like a cloud which he could not dissipate. Men who had hitherto courted his society now avoided him. The rector was especially cold in demeanour towards him. The orchestra remained divided in opinion, agreed only in desire for more punch. When, after church, he approached a group at the graveyard gate that was in eager conversation, his approach silenced the talkers and broke up the conclave. He was certain that he had been their topic. Hands that had formerly been extended to him now remained buried in trousers-pockets. Voices that had given him the good-day now withheld salutations. Customers were reluctant to deal with him. His appearance in the bar of the Lamb and Flag induced a hasty rise, a payment of shot, and a departure of all save sodden topers. By no other means were they to be retained save by the offer of drink at his expense. When he bragged, his boasts fell flat; when he joked, none laughed.

In ill-humour and uneasy, Pasco departed for Exeter. The case, however, never got into court. At the last moment the Company, convinced it had no grounds to go upon, agreed to pay.

This was a triumph for Pepperill. He deferred his return to Coombe for a week, that the news might be carried to everyone there, and have time to ripen in the somewhat sluggish brains of the natives, and produce the effect he anticipated.

The triumph of Pepperill was more than his own individual triumph. When the tidings had well soaked in, then Coombe awoke to the knowledge that the entire parish had achieved a victory, and that over an influential, moneyed, and powerful society. Whether Pepperill was guilty or not guilty was immaterial. The fact remained that a little parish like Coombe, by its representative, Pasco, its churchwarden, had stood up face to face with the capital of the county, represented by the insurance company, and that the latter had cringed and acknowledged defeat without daring to measure arms. That was something unheard of heretofore. If Coombe-in-Teignhead were not proud of its doughty champion, then it would cover itself with disgrace. The situation was discussed in the bar of the Lamb and Flag, and a self-constituted committee formed to celebrate this momentous achievement. The rector was to be solicited to have a special service, at which Puddicombe in F would be performed and a sermon preached. The rector had a service on Saints’ Day, attended only by a few old women. Who cared for the saints? But Pepperill’who had extorted one thousand two hundred pounds from the insurance company’that was the sort of man to honour, and the service in his honour would be attended by all Coombe. The bells should be rung. There had been a disturbance with the parson about the right to the belfry on the occasion of Puddicombe’s return. The parish must assert and maintain its right to ring the bells when it chose, and defy the rector if he objected.

As was feared, Mr. Fielding raised objections to both the thanksgiving service and to the peal of bells. Thereupon ensued another meeting in the bar.

Now Mr. Pooke, senior, came forward. He had been opposed to Mr. Pepperill; he had disapproved of his conduct. But when it came to a matter of ringing of bells, he felt that a principle was involved. If once the parishioners yielded that point, they might as well yield everything, and be priest-ridden. There were two church-wardens; Pasco Pepperill was one, Mr. Ash, the miller, was the other, having succeeded at Lady-Day to Whiteaway, the grocer. Let Mr. Ash insist on the bells being rung, and if the rector withheld the key, then let him authorise the blacksmith to break open the door. He, Yeoman Pooke, would back him up.

They could not force Mr. Fielding to preach a sermon, but that didn’t matter; they’d have music, and have it in the road, and escort Pasco Pepperill home to the strains of Puddicombe in F.

Carried by acclamation.