Chapter VIII Robin Hood’s Lair
Contrary to Mr. Field’s expectations, this was not by any means Ben’s last visit to him. Sometimes he would be absent from the village for a week at a time, but on his return no long period would elapse before he presented himself again at Farncourt, and to the surprise of the household, never failed to gain admittance to their master’s presence.
“Oh, I knew him in past days,” was Ben’s reply in answer to the many questions which were addressed to him. “Why shouldn’t a fellow sometimes go up to have a chat with an old friend?”
“It’s plain enough those conversations don’t agree with him then,” was the universal opinion. “He’s getting so jumpy and nervous, not half the man he was a little while ago.”
There was certainly something wrong with the Silver King. His double chin was fast disappearing, and his waistcoat hung in loose folds, instead of presenting the smooth expanse which had formerly been the wearer’s pride. His temper also did not improve as time went on, but became shorter and shorter, until at last even his own son grew afraid of him, and gave him as little of his company as was possible.
“If only I had a better clue I’d drive the nail in harder,” said Ben to himself after one of his periodical absences, “as it is, however, I’m apparently on the right tack, and if only I can get him to commit himself a little further by letting out something more definite when he’s speaking to me, I may be able to bring him altogether to his knees. I could of course make more public enquiries, but unfortunately I’ve not got quite a clean sheet myself, and I might perhaps find that I’d made it hot for Number One as well as for Mr. Thomas Algernon Field. Besides, I shall probably squeeze a good deal more out of him by working this little affair on my own hook than by letting someone else poach on my preserves. Whatever it is that he’s done, he’s in a blue funk over it, and would give anything to hush the matter up. I must just go cautiously to work, and in the meanwhile it’s extremely convenient to have such a handy bank to draw on whenever I choose.”
Ben jingled some money between his fingers as he spoke, with evident satisfaction, and puffed complacently at his cigar.
“I wonder why he was in such a hurry to get me to sign the document that night,” he mused. “If I hadn’t been half-seas over I’d have looked at it closer, but as it is I haven’t a notion what it was about, though I remember well the colour of the paper, and the burnt penholder. He hints darkly that I have let myself in for something that I’d be sorry for once I was found out, but I can’t help thinking that in that case he would be in a worse position than me. Anyhow, if we’re both in the same boat it won’t be to my advantage if I sink the craft by peaching to the world. I’d better go on as I’m doing for the present and reap the harvest I’m enjoying in consequence of his fears. I think I’ll walk up to Farncourt now, and give another twist to the screw. My last week in town was a roaring one, and the sovereigns flew. It’s fine fun to live like a millionaire every now and then.
“There’s one other thing I can’t understand,” he added, as he wended his way to the house of his victim. “Why did he look so pleased that same night when he found the letter in old Wattie’s coat as it was hanging on the wall? He didn’t know I was peeping at him when he took it out and slipped it into his own pocket. I know it was only a few lines the boss had written to his daughter, for he’d read it over to me that very afternoon, and I was to post it when I went off next day. It surely couldn’t have had anything to do with the paper I signed? I wish I had asked about it at the time.”
As he passed the lodge gates he met Julius hastening to the village.
The voice of conscience, awakened in the boy’s heart by the terrors of the hours of darkness and the loneliness, had been stilled and silenced when the morning light arose, and having once overstepped the bounds of truth and obedience, it was easy to continue along the path of wrong.
Two months had passed since that Sunday’s talk. The new tutor from Oxford had come and gone, peremptorily ordered out of the house by Mr. Field, who could not brook the superior intellect and independent manner of the young graduate. Thus the lad was left once more to his own devices, and few were the days when he found it impossible to arrange a meeting with his friend at Sea View Cottage. He had almost ceased to look upon his disobedience as a sin, his only fear being that his father would find him out at last.
This morning he found Robin in a great state of excitement, brimful of new ideas and plans. To the unimaginative Julius these continual surprises were an unmixed delight. He never knew what new rôle he would be expected to take up as he joined his comrade in his play. Sometimes it was a knight in armour, going to rescue a captive princess, represented perhaps by old Mother Sheppard or Mrs. Power. These, being supposed to be under the spell of a magician, were naturally unwilling to accompany their youthful deliverers to the shore. Sometimes he had to represent a character in a favourite tale, but more often it was Robin’s history lesson which afforded the framework for some entrancing game.
“I’m so glad you’ve come, Julius,” was the welcoming cry now as he appeared at the door, “but what a pity your coat is grey. It’s fortunate my old jersey is green, for if I pull it down as low as I can, it almost covers my knickers, and no one would naturally look at them first.”
“Why shouldn’t my coat be grey?” questioned Julius. “It’s a very good colour.”
“Because it should be green—Lincoln green,” exclaimed Robin. “They all had it. It was their sort of badge.”
“What badge?” asked Julius, altogether puzzled by the reply.
“Oh, I forgot you hadn’t heard,” was Robin’s rejoinder. “I’ve been reading to-day in my history-book about Robin Hood. He was an outlaw—a splendid one—who lived in the woods, and he and his followers were always dressed in green, and had bows and arrows and hunted the king’s deer. I’ll be Robin Hood, because of course it’s my name, and will you be one of my merry men, Julius?”
“I don’t think an outlaw is a nice kind of man,” was the reply. “They were generally hanged, weren’t they?”
“Robin Hood was a good outlaw,” responded Robin earnestly. “He used to do all sorts of kind things to the poor, and they loved him and would never tell where he was hid.”
“My coat has a greenish lining,” remarked Julius. “Do you think if I turned it inside out that it would do?”
“Perhaps it would,” answered Robin doubtfully. “I’ll ask mother to lend you her green scarf to tie round your waist, and we’ll pretend it’s all that colour.”
This weighty matter arranged, the two boys sallied forth to the little wood which lay at the back of the cottage.
“The first thing to do is to find a cave, or some place to sleep in,” was the leader’s order, “and then we’ll have a look at the king’s deer.”
“I’m sure there aren’t any deer here,” remarked Julius, “and if there were, we’d get into a jolly row if we killed them.”
“There are lots of rabbits, and they’ll do just as well,” replied Robin cheerfully. “Of course we won’t kill them really, we’ll only make-believe they are dead.”
It was not long before an ideal site was found for the hiding-place of the merry men.
A high bank had been dug into long ago to obtain gravel, leaving a hollow of about six feet square. Young saplings and briars had sprung up all around making an arch of green above the level floor. Robin gave a shout of triumph when he discovered the spot.
“If we can drag some branches here to make a roof, it will be just like a real house,” he said. “We might make a wall in front with these stones which are lying about, and only leave one little hole for the door, so that it will be nice and warm inside, and nobody will be able to see us, even if they pass quite near.”
It took longer than he had calculated to carry out the grand idea—indeed for a whole week the king’s deer were permitted to go unmolested, Robin Hood and his follower being too busily engaged in building operations to turn their thoughts to the chase.
It was a proud day when Mrs. Power was invited to inspect the result of the boys’ labours. True, the wall was of such an unstable nature that their guest had to be well warned not to lean even her hand against it, in case it should fall. What did it matter that the stone part of it only attained to about the height of Robin’s elbow? The rest of it was satisfactorily completed by a dilapidated wooden gate perched on the top, and interwoven with fern and twigs, so as to form an impenetrable screen from the outer world. An old rug had been suspended by its corners across the top of the pit, making a grand roof when supplemented by branches laid in thick layers above. Moss had been laboriously collected from all parts of the wood wherewith to cover the floor, and ferns were ingeniously planted in crannies in the sandy walls to make it look more natural, Julius said.
It was a glorious moment when the kettle at length boiled upon the camp-fire kindled at the entrance, and still more delightful when Mrs. Power and the two boys all squeezed inside the hut to enjoy smoked tea in enamelled mugs, and regale themselves with ginger biscuits and toffee.
“You told us to get what we liked with the sixpence, mother,” explained Robin, “so Julius chose the toffee, and I took the biscuits.”
“It is hardly what I should have selected myself,” answered Mrs. Power, “but if it’s what you like, I’m more than satisfied.”
“What do you think we ought to call the house?” asked Julius. “Robin says ‘The Outlaw’s Castle’ would be a good name, but I think it’s a very silly one, as we’ve no battlements or dungeons, not even a drawbridge.”
“Julius wanted to call it ‘Farncourt Arbour,’” said Robin contemptuously, “which would be simply awful.”
“What do you say to ‘Robin Hood’s Lair’?” suggested Mrs. Power. “I believe that was really the name of one of his retreats.”
“It’s better than ‘Farncourt Arbour,’” responded Robin. “Let us call it that.”
“I wish we had a cupboard for the mugs and the kettle,” remarked Julius, “but perhaps the tramps might find them and take them away. It does seem a pity we can’t sleep here, for I’m sure not a drop of rain would come through the roof.”
“There is just one thing I shall bring to leave here always,” said Robin, “and that’s the text I painted the first Sunday Julius was with us. If you will lend me two of your long hat-pins, mother, I shall stick it up on that smooth piece of the wall, so that if anyone did happen to come in he would see it at once. It will make the inside of the house quite bright and cheerful and much more home-like. And you know, mother,” he added shyly, “the words might do a poor tramp good.”