‘But the people at the inn appeared to be normal enough, did they?’
‘Oh, yes, but they must have known about the bones in the cellar and all the mumbo-jumbo concerning them, mustn’t they?’
‘I wonder why they gave you that particular room?’
‘To get me out of the way, I suppose.’
‘But that is the last thing it appears to have accomplished.’
‘I know, but I was warned to bar myself in. If I had, I wouldn’t have had a clue about the goings-on.’
‘Well, it is all extremely interesting and attractive. What happened when you left the inn?’
‘Nothing much. I thought I might take a look at the seven wells – they’re hillside springs, of course, and one of them is supposed to produce holy water.’
‘Oh, dear me! And this Green Man you mentioned persuaded you to drink from it, and after that you perceived that Talbot is indeed the hound for which he is named? Remarkable and fascinating.’ She fixed her witch-like eyes on Fenella’s and added: ‘Your village interests me strangely.’
‘Well, it interested me, but, all the same, I never want to go there again – and I didn’t drink the water.’
‘Tell me more about this Green Man. He does not seem to belong to the rest of the village ceremonies.’
‘Oh, he was quite different. Except for a rather pathetic dance carried out by some girls with ribboned garlands, he was the only authentic bit of folkery in the place, so far as I could make out.’
‘You say that, after a bit, in spite of the greenery and his black face, you recognised him. That means you had already met him somewhere.’
‘Well, yes, I had,’ said Fenella. ‘I’d met him on the previous evening. He followed me and warned me against roaming about in the neighbourhood of the Iron Age fort. I thought it was like his cheek, and I got rid of him as soon as I could.’
‘What manner of man was he then?’
‘Oh, just an ordinary kind. Rather impudent, I thought, and wanted to be very bossy and interfering. He said he’d been at the pub when I first went into the bar, but I didn’t notice him.’
‘Had he anything to say about himself?’
‘He said he was a semi-professional man, that’s all.’
‘How was he dressed that evening?’
‘Oh, a tweed jacket and a pullover and rather unpressed-looking trousers.’
‘Seven Wells? I seem to remember the name. Isn’t there a school near by?’ asked Dame Beatrice, after a pause.’
‘I suppose there’s a village school somewhere near the church, but I don’t remember seeing it. You mean Jack-in-the-Green might be a schoolmaster?’
‘I was not thinking of a village school. I have a feeling that the Worshipful Company of Shoemakers, or some such, founded a school in the neighbourhood of Seven Wells in about the year 1550 for the sons of poor men. If so, it will have become a public school by now and its scholars will be the sons of anything but poor men. I wonder whether our dear Hubert possesses a copy of the public schools’ Year Book? Let us cast the rest of these lendings into outer darkness and go downstairs and find out.’
Not surprisingly, since he had no children, Hubert could not produce the volume in question. While he was suggesting useless alternatives, Dame Beatrice scribbled in her pocket diary and showed the message to Miriam, who smiled and nodded agreement that she would be prepared to house another guest.
Douston was a comparatively small place, but it possessed a public library to which George was deputed to drive his employer fairly early on the following morning. In the reference department Dame Beatrice found what she wanted. She rang up the school near Seven Wells. It was called, as she had remembered, Saint Crispin’s, since its founders had been the Worshipful Company of Shoemakers. She obtained connection with the headmaster.
‘I don’t know whether you remember me,’ she said, ‘but four or five years ago I addressed the Headmasters’ Conference, and then you very kindly asked me to visit your school.’
‘Of course! Delighted to hear from you, Dame Beatrice. Is there anything I can do?’
‘Have you a Jack-in-the-Green on your staff? I seem to recollect holding a conversation with a very young man who told me that in his spare time he was researching into the folklore of the district.’
‘Oh, you mean Pardieu, I expect. Fellow who puts on the school plays and knows The Golden Bough by heart. Do you wish to speak to him?’
‘If you will be so good.’
A few minutes later, young Nicholas Pardieu, Fenella’s Green Man, had accepted the kind invitation of Mr and Miss Cromleigh to spend Saturday and Sunday at Douston, where Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley was anxious to canvass his views on the fertility rites implicit in the presentation of Easter eggs and chocolate Easter rabbits.
CHAPTER NINE
Unusual Honeymoon
‘Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine,
With Gellyflowres;
Bring Coronations, and Sops-in wine
Worn of Paramoures.’
Edmund Spenser – A Ditty
‘But this is incredible,’ said Fenella. ‘Not only that you should be that man I met and also that black-faced gipsy, but that you should know my great-aunt, I mean.’
‘Oh, but I don’t, really, not until now. She came to the school – once, and I spoke to her. My headmaster brought her to give a talk to the boys,’ said Jack-in-the-Green. ‘I was determined to find you, of course, but I never expected such luck as this. I don’t know how Dame Beatrice swung it, but I’ve been given leave of absence until Tuesday night. Look here, may I call you Fenella? And will you call me Nicholas – Nick, if you prefer it, although I think the other sounds better from an affianced wife to her prospective husband. More respectful, if you see what I mean.’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here to get married. I told you so, when you were all blacked
