“listen carefully,” lady molly instructed the vicar, as night fell on “the meadows”.
“i am listening, “ the vicar assured her.
“your first task will be to steal the thug from major marston’s lawn.”
the vicar was shocked. “but the major loves that thug! it has been in his family, and on his lawn, for generations.”
“do you want your two thousand pounds, or do you not?” lady molly demanded.
“please go on,” the vicar replied hastily.
“steal the thug from the lawn, and bring it to me. i do not expect you will meet any difficulties, for the major, as you know, has fallen into the most desperate poverty, like so many in these troubled times. he stays in his room reading regimental histories, and has no household staff to speak of.”
the vicar nodded. “and the second task?”
“perform this one first.”
the vicar resignedly made his way to “the croppers”, the sadly neglected marston home.
there was no sign of life, except for a lone light in an upper story, no doubt the major, as lady molly had indicated, poring over a regimental history, or a novel by surtees or whyte-melville.
the vicar found the thug on the lawn where it had always been.
though he had passed it by thousands of times, he had never really looked at it before.
what a nasty little thing! it was an effigy, about a foot tall and crudely carved in wood, of an evilly-grinning turbaned and knife-brandishing “thug” - i e, a member of the murderous secret society which had disturbed the peace of the raj in the long ago days of britain’s glory.
with a shudder the vicar plucked the little thing easily enough from the lawn - which he could not help noticing was running to seed - placed it in a sack he had brought for the purpose, and hastily returned to lady molly’s.
lady molly was waiting for him. she took a quick look in the sack, and murmured a not very convincing “well done”.
“and my second task?” the vicar asked , hoping it would prove no more difficult than the first.
“you are to steal mrs meadows’s black cat.”
“steal mrs meadows’s cat! but - mrs meadows does not leave the cat on the lawn at night! it is old, like herself, and hardly leaves the house. why, it may be dead for all we know.”
“rest assured that the cat is alive. mrs meadows herself is barely alive, and sleeps twenty hours a day. she, too, has been affected by the difficult times, and has one old servant who is almost as comatose as she is. you should have no problems.”
“but - but - how am i to gain entry to the house?” the vicar protested.
“do what you have to do, as they say in the american films,” lady molly replied evenly.
“but - does the cat have to be - does have to be - “
“does it have to be alive, is that what you are trying to say? yes, i would prefer that it be alive.”
the vicar sighed. “then i may as well be going, and getting on with it.”
“you may finish your cup of tea, if you like. would you like another biscuit?”
“no, thank you.”
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