Chapter Text
“‘Ere we are!” Ex-Corporal “Copper” Colson rose as the train slowed to a halt and prepared to open the door into the cold, late afternoon air. Snow was drifting gently to the ground as he let down the window and put his head out. “There’s the Skipper, waiting for us. Blimey, he doesn’t ‘alf look rough, though. I ‘ope there’s nothing the matter.”
His companions in the carriage, “Trapper” Troublay and Nigel “Cub” Peters, paused to look out as they readied their luggage.
“Something the matter with Gimlet?” said Trapper disbelievingly. “I think not, surely?”
“He’d have told us not to come if that was the case,” argued Cub.
There was no more time to discuss the matter, however, as the train had stopped, and their old commanding officer, Captain Lorrington “Gimlet” King, D.S.O., M.C, was waving as they stepped down from their carriage. He had obviously been waiting on the platform for some time, for his coat and hat had collected a considerable layer of snow of their own; but he approached them quite normally as the train pulled out behind them.
“I’m glad you could all make it,” he said, looking round at the assembled party. “I happened to be out visiting some of my tenants, so I thought I might as well meet you myself. The car’s outside; I hadn’t bargained on this weather, though.”
They all looked up at the sky; the snow certainly seemed to be getting heavier.
“It was good of you to invite us,” replied Cub. “It looks as if we’re going to have a white Christmas, at any rate! But how are you, sir?” He gave Gimlet a curious glance; certainly, Copper’s description of him seemed to be near the mark. Gimlet was looking decidedly green; and while outwardly there was nothing unusual about his manner, he seemed to be concentrating unnaturally hard on keeping it that way.
“I’m fine,” he answered shortly, in a tone which might have convinced anyone other than the three members of his old troop. “Come on; let’s get going, before this snow gets any worse. It’s confoundedly chilly, standing here.”
Cub, Copper and Trapper glanced at one another; but they followed Gimlet to the car. His walk seemed a little more uneven than usual, and he got into the car very carefully, rather as if he was trying to avoid aggravating a pain of some sort; but he said nothing about it, so the ‘Kittens’ said nothing either. If something was bothering their old C.O., no doubt he would tell them what it was once they were safely out of the snow. It was now falling at a rate which promised to make the roads treacherous in short order, and none of them were inclined to stay out in it for longer than necessary.
Even with Gimlet at the wheel, the car seemed to be struggling as the snow grew worse; although Cub, glancing sideways from the passenger seat, thought that Gimlet himself looked as if he were finding the journey a trial. He was grimly focused on the way ahead, not speaking; something, thought Cub, was not right. Still, he decided not to ask; Gimlet clearly needed all his concentration to stay on the road.
It was with an undisguised air of relief that they reached the Hall, and the door was opened to admit them. Gimlet’s butler, however, was not quite able to hide his discomfiture at their arrival.
“I’m afraid dinner will be a little late, sir,” he announced apologetically. “There was… ahem… a slight incident in the kitchen earlier.”
“I’m sure we don’t mind waiting,” said Gimlet. Cub glanced curiously at him again; he had spoken unconcernedly enough, but there had been an odd note of strain there. “This incident’s nothing I need to be aware of, I take it?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking, sir, no, but…”
“It’ll keep, then. I suppose drinks aren’t off the cards? My guests would probably like something, after their journey; and I suggest we go and thaw out by the fire. It’s rather cold out there.”
“Cold, ‘e says,” muttered Copper, shaking his head as the remaining snow dripped off Gimlet’s clothes. “Like a blimmin’ snowman, ‘e is, and all he says is it’s cold.” He followed the others to the library, however, looking about him curiously as he went. A fire had already been laid in the room, and was blazing away merrily, the flickering light illuminating a handsomely decorated Christmas tree. The warmth seemed to revive Gimlet a little, for he turned to them apologetically.
“I’m sorry; I had intended everything to be ready when you got here. I don’t know what disaster’s occurred downstairs, but I’m not sure I feel like investigating quite yet.” He frowned at the tree, and then tracked a wire to a socket in the wall. “What’s happened? It should be all lit up.” He bent to plug something in; the tree burst into light. “There. It’s Christmas Eve; there’s no point having the thing strung about with fairy lamps if they’re not all lit up.” He surveyed his handiwork for a moment, before crossing back to the fire and seating himself remarkably gingerly on the fender. “Sit down,” he invited. They all sat. There was an awkward silence for a few moments; none of them were entirely certain how they should respond, until he added, “You don’t mind the wait? I can ask if there’s anything that’s… not burned to a crisp, or whatever it is.”
“We’re all right, I think,” answered Cub. “We brought food for the journey; none of us are likely to starve.”
“I tell yer what,” said Copper cheerfully, “If there’s drinks goin’, then my Ma sent us all some of ‘er finest mince pies…” He stopped, frowning, as Gimlet visibly flinched. “Oh. Are they not the right sort of thing for this sort of company, then? This ain’t my usual sort of joint, but…”
His obvious discomfiture seemed to bring Gimlet back to himself once again.“Nothing of the sort,” he broke in sharply. “Don’t be so ridiculous.” He sighed, seeing that Copper still looked wary. “I suppose I’d better explain. I spent this morning taking Christmas boxes around my tenants - it’s the first time I’ve been able to, since the war - and I thought I ought to go myself. It’s quite a big thing for a lot of them. I couldn’t let them down, but I’m afraid they were a bit more hospitable than I expected. They were practically falling over themselves to offer me tea and mince pies, at the very least. I could hardly offend any of them by refusing - even when they were using their best pre-war mincemeat.” He shuddered slightly at the recollection. “As to what was in the ginger wine afterwards… perhaps it’s just as well I’d had more than enough to soak it up. I’m not exactly drunk, but I think I probably ought to be.”
Copper blinked; then he grinned. “How many tenants ‘ave you got, then?” he asked.
“Too many,” answered Gimlet sadly. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“Do you mean to say…” began Cub, as he realised why his old C.O. had seemed strangely out of sorts.
“I feel quite revoltingly ill,” admitted Gimlet, “but I was rather hoping nobody would notice. Sorry. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I invited you here.”
“Not to worry,” said Copper easily. “You’ll be right as rain after a good night’s rest.”
Gimlet grimaced, unconvinced.
“It doesn’t feel that way at the minute.” He looked as if he was about to add to this; but at that moment the telephone began to ring in the hall. “Whoever that is can go to blazes!”
The library door opened.
“General Sir Saxon Craig is on the telephone for you, sir,” announced the butler solemnly.
Gimlet groaned. For a moment, Cub wondered if he might actually tell the General to go away; but he dragged himself away from the fire, and went to take the call.
“Well, this is a rum ‘un, and no mistake,” opined Copper. “Fancy Gimlet ill like that. And I don’t suppose the General’s ringing ‘im up to wish ‘im a Happy Christmas.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Trapper, lighting a cigarette.
“No doubt he’ll tell us, when he comes back,” Cub suggested. “After all, the last time the General asked for Gimlet, he asked for us as well.”
They did not have long to wait to find out. Gimlet came back in shortly afterwards, wearing a grim expression which sat strangely at odds with his unusual pallor.
“It seems I’m to be on my guard for an extra visitor,” he said wearily. “A young lad by the name of Braun, whose favourite uncle had the dubious distinction of being involved with the Werewolves. Obviously, since we closed down their operation, his uncle is no longer with us; and apparently this boy’s somehow discovered that I was largely responsible for this. He managed to get himself to England by claiming that he was an orphan, with his only living relative having last been heard of here. By the time the authorities realised this wasn’t in fact the case, he’d given them the slip; but when he was last sighted it appears he may have been headed in this direction. The General didn’t seem to think he was merely intending to pay a social call.”
“A boy, you say?” Cub had been listening intently to the story, but now he took the opportunity to speak.
“He’ll be about sixteen now, apparently.”
“A kid like that isn’t goin’ to do much damage,” said Copper dismissively.
Trapper frowned. “I would not be so sure,” he said slowly. “Remember Cub, with the Grey Fleas!”
“We did plenty of damage,” confirmed Cub. “But there was a group of us; this boy’s on his own, in a country he hardly knows.”
“He’s got this far without help,” pointed out Gimlet. “And it seems he was well thought of in that line - he’d spent some time at an elite military school before everything was thrown up in the air. He may even have been on the front line at some point, for all we know. We shouldn’t underestimate him on that account. I don’t suppose the General would have phoned me up quite so urgently if it were merely a case of an angry schoolboy turning up on the doorstep with a peashooter.”
“What are we going to do, then?”
“Do? I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go and lie down for a while.”
“What!” Cub exclaimed. The others, too, blinked in surprise. It was not the answer they had been expecting.
“I don’t see what there is for us, practically, to do, at this moment,” said Gimlet calmly. “Besides which, I shall have to show my face at Midnight Mass in the village in a few hours, and I’d rather not still be feeling like this by that time. I should hate to make a fool of myself.” He stepped to one side as the butler entered once more, bearing a drinks tray.
“I took the liberty of bringing up some sandwiches, sir, as I wasn’t sure how long it would take for things to be put back to rights in the kitchen,” he announced. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“I’m sure my friends will appreciate them,” said Gimlet, repressing any sign that he had caught the scent of piccalilli with iron self-control. “If there’s anything else you want,” he went on, addressing the others, “Trubshaw here will see to it.” He left the room hurriedly. Trubshaw, if he was taken aback by his employer’s abrupt departure, did not show it.
“Captain King thought you might prefer beer, sir?” he suggested to Copper enquiringly. Copper nodded approvingly; Trapper and Cub waited only long enough for their own drinks before Cub queried,
“What exactly has happened downstairs? Is there anything we can help with?”
“I’m afraid there was a delivery error, sir. It caused something of a commotion. Captain King had ordered a very fine goose for tomorrow’s dinner. It was to be delivered this morning, in order that it was as fresh as possible.”
“And didn’t it turn up?”
“Oh, no, sir, that wasn’t the trouble. It turned up all right.” For a moment Trubshaw lost his butler’s demeanour. “It turned up as fresh as you like. So fresh it smashed half the crockery, chased the cook ‘til she was in tears, and then made a break for it out the back door.”
“You mean,” said Cub dazedly, “it was delivered live?”
“Indeed, sir. And now we’ve lost it.”
Copper whistled. “First time me dinner’s done a runner from the cook,” he observed. “Mebbe we can get it back, though. What do you say?” He looked at Trapper.
“In this snow? It will be difficult to track, I think. But perhaps… if Gimlet has put in a lot of effort, he would be pleased not to have it wasted. We could try.” Trapper looked thoughtful. “It is a pity I didn’t bring my bow.”
“You’re going to go after a goose, in this?” Cub looked unconvinced. “I don’t suppose it’s got any better since we came in.”
“We can always look out for any other visitors at the same time,” pointed out Trapper meaningfully.
“There is that,” allowed Cub. “But if we miss him…”
“You stay ‘ere, keep an eye on Gimlet,” put in Copper. “We won’t be long. How hard can it be? It’s only a bird.”