Toad Triumphant
WILLIAM HORWOOD
Toad
Triumphant
Illustrated by Patrick Benson
THE TALES OF THE WILLOWS
By William Horwood
The Willows in Winter
Toad Triumphant
Duncton Wood
The Stonor Eagles
Callanish
Skallagrigg
Duncton Quest
Duncton Found
Duncton Tales
Duncton Rising Duncton Stone
The Wolves of Time I
Contents
Title Page
Also by William Horwood
. . .
I In Mr. Road's Garden
II Mole in the Doldrums
III A Last-Minute Delay
IV The Madame
V Summer Journey
VI Cupid's Arrow
VII At the Sign of the Hat and Boot
VIII In Pursuit of Love
IX The Lathbury Pike
X In Loco Parentis
XI Breach of Promise
XII Toad Triumphant
Copyright
· I ·
In Mr Toad’s Garden
It was a warm afternoon in early May and Toad lay propped up on the terrace overlooking his garden, gazing dreamily into the middle distance from the comfort of a wicker chaise longue. If he saw anything at all in this lazy mood it was the River, stately and magnificent, which formed the south-western boundary of his extensive estate.
Toad had been employed thus all day, doing what he liked best, which was basking in past glories, contemplating present delights, and planning future triumphs.
Having spent the morning dwelling on his glorious past (as he saw it), he had risen up for sufficient time to take lunch and enumerate his many present pleasures while he did so. Now, well fed and watered, and supine once more, he had arrived at that stage in the day’s work that required that he formulate plans for the coming months and years.
This was a moment Toad had been very much looking forward to, for he liked nothing better than thinking up schemes, preferably grand and clever ones that showed the world what a wonderful and extraordinary animal he was. He was by no means lacking in such ideas, and he was just getting into the swing of things with some preliminary thoughts of solo ascents of certain obscure Alpine peaks, when his peace was suddenly disturbed by the distant jangling of his front-door bell.
“I say,” he called to his butler; “be sure to remember that I am not at home to anyone for anything!”
Toad had no wish to rise again till it was time for tea and he hoped very much that his new butler, already well instructed in such matters, would send the unwelcome visitor packing. As his man set off purposefully towards the front door, Toad felt the warming sun upon his face and, putting the caller out of his mind, returned to the contemplation of the future.
He was not short of schemes to contemplate, though he had no intention whatsoever of putting any of these plans into effect immediately. For one thing he did not have the means just then, having spent a great deal of money in the past year and a half rebuilding Toad Hall, which had been ruined by fire two years previously.
Generous as Lloyd’s of London had been in its settlement of his insurance claims, for some reason it would not agree to provide Toad with funds to purchase all the medieval French tapestries, Mogul carpets, eighteenth-century English carved furniture and Wedgwood tea sets that a single gentleman such as he considered essential to the continuing comfort and entertainment of himself and his guests.
Not that Mr Toad was short of what people of less refinement than himself liked to call “a bob or two”. No, he still had wealth enough to live a life of idle luxury, and intended to continue to do so to the end of his days, right up to the very last second, when he hoped he might still have a glass of bubbling Moët & Chandon in his right hand and a good Havana in his left as he passed into happy oblivion. Live now and don’t pay later, that was Toad’s motto. Nevertheless, the destruction of Toad Hall and its re-creation on more modern lines had served to remind him that even his resources were limited, and it was as well that he had been insured, for which precaution he had his late father to thank and not himself.
But in all truth, even if unlimited means had been there to support Toad’s grandiose schemes and plans, the will and energy were not. He was not as young as he had been and was more cautious in taking risks with the outside world, which is to say the world beyond the River Bank.
Twice in recent times, once in consequence of unwittingly stealing a motor-car, and a second time as a result of an unfortunate accident in a flying machine that led to arraignments on dozens of charges, the most humiliating of which concerned a false allegation of dishonourable intentions regarding a chimney sweep’s wife, Mr Toad had found himself awaiting trial in the dour dungeons of the Town’s Castle.
If that was bad, the trials that followed, with their baffling procedures, mean—spirited cross-examinations, cold-hearted judges, and uncertain outcomes, were far worse, and Mr Toad wished never to suffer such trial and tribulation again. His generous and long-suffering friends, in particular the wise Badger, the practical Water Rat, and the inestimable Mole, had suggested that lest he forget — and they greatly feared that one day he might —it would be wise to have inscribed in stone the warning given to Toad by the High Judge at his last trial:
“Commit no more crimes, or all those sentences of execution eternal will be put back on the list from which they have not been fully expunged, and can never be, and we fear there will be no second chance.”
A master mason duly carved these words in stone not once but thrice, and the chastened Toad was persuaded to erect these panels at places about his home where he might daily see them, namely above his bed, above his front door, and opposite his chair in the dining room. All agreed that this was but a small price to pay for Toad’s continuing liberty.
After further thought the Badger had prudently seen to it that in addition to the three stone tablets, two large notices were painted, featuring the six key words of the High Judge’s warning in large, black, accusing letters:
“THERE WILL BE NO SECOND CHANCE!”
These had been placed facing inwards at the main entrance to Toad Hall and at the gate near the River, so that should he be tempted to lapse into his bad old ways and set off on some impetuous scheme he would see again the grim warning, and be persuaded to turn back onto the straight and narrow path once more.
These precautions had indeed made a deep impression on Toad, so much so that he was happy enough to formulate his plans through the course of that afternoon and then reject them one by one, for he had no desire to tumble into the dark void of criminality once more. Not that he was even then quite free from fear that the long arm of the law, and its unwelcome appendages the rough hands of the constabulary, might reach out and grasp him by the collar and drag him back into custody.
For which reason, when the jangling of the front-door bell suddenly ceased and he heard footsteps that were clearly not his butler’s echoing towards him through the halls and chambers of Toad Hall, Toad sat up in alarm and began to wonder as the footsteps grew nearer still whether he should set in motion one of his escape plans.
He stood up and cast an eye down the length of his garden to the boat-house. Only two people knew what lay therein — he and his butler, one of whose first services had been to help Toad install by dead of night his secret means of escape: a powerful motor-launch, which lay under tarpaulins in the deeper recesses of the boat-house, primed and ready, its existence disguised by a punt and two skiffs.
Toad had hoped he might never have to use the hidden launch, and somewhat surprisingly had felt no thrill at all when he had first seen it.
“I shall not touch this craft!” he had cried out to the baffled gentleman who had guided it down-river to Toad Hall, already much surprised that a most strict condition of the sale included nocturnal and silent delivery. He was the more surprised because such a launch as this, of high quality and great expense, was normally used by explorers to unknown and dangerous parts, such as the upper reaches of the Amazon, or the crocodile-infested swamps of New Guinea, rather than the quiet and placid middle reaches of the River.
“Machines,” continued his eccentric client, “are no more for me! They have caused me too much misery in the past, and my friends too much trouble. The day, or night, I have need to use this powerful craft as a means of escape is that last day I shall be here at the Hall, and happy.”
“You will not be taking it out for pleasure purposes then, sir? It is to stay under wraps, unused and unenjoyed?”
“Indeed,” declared Toad. “For many years, I hope. But, alas, lesser and ordinary people such as yourself, or my butler here, do not quite understand that great personages such as myself make many enemies and must be prepared for the worst. Unjust accusers may seek me out, my enemies may desire to return me to gaol and unfair trial, and if they do only then shall I leap into this launch and embark upon the life of a fluvial fugitive!”
Toad meant it, every word. His days of tangling with the law were over and he was reformed, the secret craft to be used only in the event of past chickens coming home to roost.
It was with these thoughts uppermost, and now poised for flight, that he heard the footsteps cease, watched as the door to the garden opened and was relieved to see not ten arresting officers, but his good friend the harmless Mole.
“Toad!” said the Mole, coming forward at once. “Your butler suggested that you might not be pleased to see me, but when I explained —”
Toad was very pleased to see him, very pleased indeed, not so much because of who he was, but because of who he was not.
“My dear chap!” cried Toad, hopping about from one foot to another with relief and mopping his brow “I am happy to see you, even though I am feeling frail and weak after a hard morning’s work and ought not to receive guests. But —”
“I have come to ask your advice, Toad.”
Toad ceased speaking, but did not immediately close his mouth, so startled was he by the Mole’s words.
“Your advice, Toad: I need it,” repeated the Mole persistently, thinking perhaps that his friend had suddenly been taken ill. Not only was his mouth agape, but his eyes had taken on a glazed and bulging look.
“Advice?” he gasped, trying to remember a single occasion when anyone had asked for his advice. For his money, yes. His time, that too. Various of his possessions, certainly. But his advice? Never.
It did not take Toad long to recover from the shock, however.
“My dear Mole,” he said robustly, “there are certainly many things I might advise you on, for you are but a modest fellow with a very limited experience of life who is no doubt uncertain of himself in many ways. Whereas I, Toad of Toad Hall, naturally have a very great deal of good advice which I am ready and willing to offer on most subjects.
“But before you inform me of the matter that concerns you, pray sit down. Make yourself comfortable while I lie down again, for my back aches a little and I must rest —”
“Shall I fetch tea for your guest and yourself, sir?” offered the butler, grasping the first opportunity he could to interrupt his master’s torrent of words.
“Tea? Of course, fetch tea,” said Toad cheerfully. “A capital idea, eh Mole? But let our tea be accompanied by something more fortifying, for Mr Mole looks as if he needs it. Champagne, I think.”
“No, really, Toad; not so early in the day!” said the Mole as the butler set off about his work.
“Nonsense, Mole, you need a little comfort in your life. My first piece of advice to you is to enjoy life more, and to move from those miserable quarters of yours at Mole End and —”
“But I like my home,” said the Mole quietly, looking uneasily about the many windows, doors, embayments and wings of Toad’s great place. “It takes little looking after and provides me with everything I need.”
“Each to his own, I suppose; but what other advice can I offer you?”
“Well, I — I was hoping — I was thinking that perhaps —” began the Mole, clearly very much concerned by something he found hard to address.
“You have had my advice on the matter of your general comfort,” interrupted Toad, not really wanting to listen at all and preferring the sound of his own voice to that of Mole’s; “now perhaps I may add to that with some advice concerning your friends.”
“My friends?” repeated the Mole, much surprised.
Such friends as he had — and he counted Toad among them — were very long established and he could not imagine how Toad might “add” anything to the subject. Yet the Mole knew Toad very well, very well indeed, and he had half expected some such interview as this, in which Toad would do most of the talking and he most of the listening. But then again, the Mole had nowhere else to turn for advice and counsel upon the particular matter that worried him, and perhaps if he sat patiently for long enough Toad would run out of steam.
For Mole was worried, very worried indeed. So much so that as Toad began to launch forth on the subject of friends the Mole felt the same inexplicable malaise that had afflicted him for some weeks past come over him again, and though the afternoon was the finest yet that year, and tea was on its way, and Toad for all his faults had welcomed him and was striving to make him feel comfortable and at ease — despite all that, the Mole felt tears well up; and not for the first time in the past few days.
“O dear! O dear!” he muttered to himself, rising up to advance past Toad to the edge of the terrace to view the estate, so that Toad could not see him make a fool of himself. “O my! O my!”
Oblivious as always, Toad carried on talking behind him, on and on, for which the Mole was grateful, for he felt his normal stability and calmness begin to return.
“Eh, Mole? And what do you say to that?” concluded Toad, thinking that the Mole had heard and understood every word.
The Mole dabbed at his eyes and sniffed a little to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, Toad, I was admiring the view and missed the last part of what you said.”
“I was saying, Mole, I was suggesting, in fact I was advising that you should widen your acquaintance beyond that very limited circle which I believe it presently comprises, namely Ratty, Badger and Otter.”
“There is also my Nephew,” said the Mole rather feebly, feeling that he was very lucky to have such good friends and kin as these, very lucky indeed, and he had no need of more: “They are really very good to me.”
“Good to you! Pooh! You are good to them! I have nothing against Ratty or Badger, of course I do not, and as for your Nephew I dare say he has been of some service to you —”
“And to you as well, Toad, I believe —” the Mole could not help adding, for he knew well that Nephew had been of great help to Toad in the rebuilding of the Hall, successfully representing him on delicate matters with such people as builders and architects where one or other of the parties affected had been upset and affronted; matters in which Toad was quite incapable of representing himself without compounding matters for the worse.
“Yes, your Nephew has certainly benefited from my tutelage, Mole, and I’m gratified that you mention it, for I may say that I am not so immodest as to do so myself. I believe, too, he has acted on my advice from time to time, which is no doubt why you have come here today to ask for my help and counsel?”
“Er, yes —” began the Mole, not quite happy to put such a construction on matters, but willing enough to concede the point if it meant he was offered the listening ear he so desperately needed.
“Well then,” said Toad at last, “and what is it that’s troubling you?”
“Well —” essayed the Mole, “there ha
s been something that has worried me lately, worried me very much, and I am most grateful that you are willing to listen to me, for it may really seem rather inconsequential to one such as yourself, but to me —”
It was unfortunate, most unfortunate in the event, that it was just at this moment, which it had taken the Mole so long to reach (for his planned interview with Toad had been many days in the making, and it had required a good deal of courage on his part to make the trek from Mole End to Toad Hall and ring the bell), that the butler returned with tea.
His arrival put a stop to further conversation, for there are few things in the world more certain to remind gentlefolk of the fact that if all is not well now it very soon will be, than the sight of a well-trained English butler emerging onto the sunny garden terrace of a gentleman’s residence, bearing a brass—handled tray bedecked with the many items that make for a successful open-air tea.
Such items, if properly prepared and portered, jingle and tinkle, twinkle and shine, as if to announce their approach, and all the cups and saucers, the silver spoons and the sugar bowl, the steaming hot water and the shining strainer, the teapot and the plate of delicate sandwiches — all seem to combine and say as one, “Let your worries cease for now; the world is aright again!” And in the welcome pouring of the tea and the delightful crunch of the cucumber and cress sandwiches, not to mention the promise of the coming cakes and the possible surprise of strawberries and cream to follow, all else is held at bay: the past is forgotten, the future does not exist, and all is peace.
Such was the effect of the arrival of tea upon Toad and Mole. Toad ceased his prattle while Mole put aside his still unspoken difficulties, and both tucked in.