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Uncle Tom’s MissioN
The Dowager Countess of Scilly always came to Penzance early in November. She left
London for Cornwall in October and, with Hortensia, her bejeweled pug, went
first to Uncle Thomas, who lived alone quietly at the great family house by the
sea, to celebrate his birthday. Then, at the beginning of the next month, they
came down to Penzance to the whole family and snuggled down while shopping was
done and the pugs groomed and the Dowager made much ado about everybody and
everything. Before Christmas, the entire family trooped back the few miles to
the old pile and celebrated the Yule surrounded by ancestral portraits, old
retainers and the odd ghost.
But this year was different. Having sent
very little notice, she whirled into her home in Chapel Street in the last week
of October with Hortensia sitting comfortably on Uncle Thomas’s lap in a
handsome carriage. Had Joe the seagull not had news from a nosey cousin who was
always flying hither and yon and told Mac, the great one-eyed pug of Mousehole,
who was out smuggling Yuletide rum with his owner, Michael, who almost dropped
his cache of illegal spirits in his haste to get the news to the family, there
would have been no time to prepare a birthday feast. As it was, Cousin Mattie
had been breathless for days—and she so efficient—and Bessie, the daughter of
the family, was alternately smiling and drooping.
From the time they arrived, Auntie
Dowager, as the family cheerfully called her, had done all the explaining while
Uncle Thomas sat quietly holding an old wooden casket on his lap, which he
finally released into Bessie’s capable hands with a whisper in her willing ear.
The Dowager announced that she had
collected Uncle Thomas and come early because Hortensia had her young son,
little Walter, with her and it was fitting that he spend as much puppy time as
possible being groomed by his uncles, Ignatius Oliver and Mac. Besides, she
added, when everyone continued to look flabbergasted at her haste, Little
Walter needed the fresh air of Penzance—ignoring the fact that Uncle Thomas’s
house was on a cliff and boasted enough fresh air to supply the world. And
everybody could see that Walter was a strapping pug, well mannered and
promising, if a little shy. So it wasn’t little Walter, whose large eyes
wandered from the Dowager to his mother with some puzzlement, and Hortensia
nuzzled him and whispered something and he dropped his gaze, looking more than
ever like his uncle, Ignatius Oliver. And there were no worries on the score of
the Dowager, who appeared to be blooming despite the rain and the damp. Still,
it was a matter for a little curiosity and some concern, and Ignatius Oliver,
head of the pug clan and champion of the Proud Pugs of Penzance, was trying to
sort it out.
His present difficulty lay in not being a
wet blanket at the banquet, as it was Uncle Thomas’s birthday dinner and every
pug and human under or at the table wished him well—very well, in fact.
Ignatius looked toward Mac, his most trusty brother, but Mac had done superbly
by himself at dinner and his one eye was a bit glassy with the effects of
several drops of the recently smuggled rum slipped to him by his lord, Michael
of Mousehole. After all, it was Mac who had gotten the message from Joe and he
took a certain pride in the fact that he had been the proximate cause of all
the hubbub.
Ignatius propped his chin on his paws and
looked round at the faces of his clan drowsing under the table. Hortensia’s
eyes met his. She had the good sense not to drop her gaze, but she wore the
puzzled, dreamy look that she adopted when she was being just a tad deceitful.
She glanced affectionately at Little Walter and cuddled him. Even in the soft
glow under the table, her earrings flashed and her onyx collar glimmered
against her black coat. Ignatius sighed and smiled at them both. He found
Little Walter irresistible and looked forward to guiding him.
Hortensia’s gaze traveled to their sister,
Louisa, nestled snugly against her partner, the be-monocled Count of Wuf. They
were expecting their first litter and Wuffie was so overcome by pride and
admiration that he was virtually comatose and the gentle trumpeting of his
snores made Louisa giggle. Ignatius was considering giving it up for the night
when he felt a gentle nudge. Andrew, his lord, was giving the signal for a
toast.
With a low bark to warn the others,
Ignatius got to his feet. He had to prod Mac in the ribs, but eventually
everyone clambered out snuffling and wheezing their congratulations. Ignatius
let Mac go first lest he drop off before the praise was put to bed. Uncle
Thomas, who spoke pug, listened with complete concentration. Mac was apt to wax
lyrical after rum, and he gleefully told the family that Tom’s military
exploits made him another Hector and his kindly wisdom another Solomon. Uncle
Thomas’s gaze never faltered and Mac, who dearly loved the old boy, did himself
proud. Hortensia flashed her jewelry and kissed Tom after a speech in which she
commended the abashed Little Walter to his good will.
When she had made her bow, Ignatius rose
to speak but, amazing to tell, Uncle Thomas ignored him, lifted the puppy and
gazed seriously at him. Little Walter returned his look comfortably and waited.
Beside Ignatius, Mac stiffened slightly. It was unprecedented for Uncle Thomas
to interrupt family proceedings and unheard of for him not to give any pug—let
alone Ignatius—a hearing. In the pause as he sat down to wait, Ignatius had his
inspiration. Auntie Dowager had come in all this haste for Uncle Thomas! For
some reason, he had chosen to leave a warm fireside and risk his health in
slushy weather, going miles to sit with a family who would have come at his
call in the foulest of storms. Ignatius looked very hard at his old friend and
wondered why he hadn’t noticed before. Uncle Thomas looked very tired indeed.
With a bow to the Dowager, his niece,
Bessie, and Cousin Mattie, Uncle Thomas made it plain that he wanted a word
with the gentlemen. Bessie got up and lifted Louisa, crooning to her. Hortensia
began to whine and the Dowager told her softly not to be a silly; so, Hortensia
got huffily to her feet and strolled over to her pup.
‘No, dear,’ said Uncle Thomas breaking
into Ignatius’s thoughts and speaking with more vigour than Ignatius had heard
so far, ‘let the lad stay with the gentlemen.’
Hortensia looked at him as if she couldn’t
believe her ears and Little Walter gazed at him as if he couldn’t believe his
luck. Finally Hortensia went when the Dowager gave her a prod with the toe of a
ruinously expensive shoe.
When the soft swishing that accompanied
the departure of the ladies had died away, the gentlemen and pugs looked at
each other and then at their uncle, who clearly had a speech of is own in mind.
Andrew, Ignatius’s owner, was next in rank
to Uncle Thomas and the old man turned to him, and then to his brother,
Michael.
Next to Ignatius, Wuffie cleared his
throat and said softly, ‘Is the old boy well, Iggy?’ And to himself, ‘Louisa
will be most unhappy if he’s poorly.’
Iggy nudged Wuffie to quiet him and Mac
snorted. Uncle Thomas looked at the pugs and paused when his gaze rested on
Walter.
‘Little pug,’ he asked quietly, ‘are you
ready to do me a service?’
Little Walter began to speak, paused,
tried again and stopped.
Beside him, Mac whispered, ‘Go on, lad. Do
us proud.’
‘I want you to go with your pug uncles and
my human nephews to my dear old home and prepare it for Christmas.’
Little Walter took this request in with
the expression common to puppies who are much more accustomed to making chores
for others than doing any themselves. Then he bowed his head in agreement.
‘Whatever I can do.’
Suddenly Mac stood up, lost his footing and
sat down abruptly. The rum was working. Iggy was about to prop him up when Mac
whispered for all the room to hear, ‘It’s the ghost! She’s back! And I’ll wager
she’s wailing!’
Uncle Thomas sighed, ‘Mac, you have an
uncanny way of presenting the truth.’ He paused so that everyone could take it
in.
The pugs settled themselves to hear him
and Andrew and Michael sat to attention. They were mature men in their own
right, but their uncle was much loved; and an unhappy family ghost is no mean
thing. Ignatius stole a look at Little Walter and the puppy moved over to be
near him.
‘Are you frightened, little one?’ he
whispered.
Little Walter considered, ‘No, Uncle,’ he
said cautiously. Then added, ‘No, I’m quite sure I’m not. At least, not yet.’
‘Have you seen a ghost, Little Walter?’
Uncle Thomas asked seriously.
‘Yes, sir, yes I have. At least, Mother
says I did.’
‘Did she say who it was?’
‘She said it was old Uncle Toby who died a
long time ago.’
‘Oh, we’ve seen him too,’ said Mac
pluckily. Iggy nudged him. Mac had slept under the covers in Michael’s bed for
a week after Uncle Toby had gone stumbling and rattling down the hall.
‘Tell us what happened,’ said Uncle Thomas
gently.
Little Walter looked at Iggy, ‘Should I
stand up, Uncle?’
‘By all means,’ Iggy murmured, ‘stand
tall.’
The little one’s attempt would have make
Hortensia proud. He placed his little round body squarely over his chubby
little paws and began his tale.
‘It was late one night at your great
house. I heard a terrible rattle in the hallway and jumped down from Auntie
Dowager’s bed.’ He paused and turned to Ignatius, ‘Do you know that Mother
makes me sleep on a silken pillow that Auntie Dowager had made specially for
me.’
Ignatius tried very hard not to smile.
‘Never mind,’ he said firmly.
Little Walter sighed and continued; ‘I
squeezed through the door and went out into the long corridor. At first I
couldn’t see anything for the darkness.
Then I saw this misty, green light in the distance.’
‘Why does Uncle Toby favour green?’ Mac
whispered, ‘It’s a horrible colour.’
Little Walter turned to his uncle, ‘’Tis,
indeed, Uncle Mac,’ he said mildly, ‘but I didn’t feel I could presume to tell
him.’
Despite himself, Mac chuckled, ‘Quite
right too.’ When the puppy continued to pause, Mac rolled onto the floor in a
more comfortable position and nodded for him to continue.
‘The noise seemed to be coming from the
green light and there was some muttering too; so, I went down the hall—it was
very cold and I wanted to be back in bed—but when I saw there was a man inside
the light, I asked if I could help him.’
‘Why?’ Uncle Thomas asked suddenly, ‘Why
did you ask?’
‘Well, sir, he seemed a little sad and so
confused. And when I spoke to him, he cheered up right away. He said he was
lost and could I help him find his bedroom. We had to go right back down the
hall where he had come from.’
‘Did you find the room?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. We seemed to find it almost at once.’
‘What did it look like?’
At this question, Mac and Iggy leaned forward.
But Little Walter continued, oblivious to their interest.
‘It seemed just an ordinary old room with
a huge bed. I thought perhaps he might be a little frightened in such a great
old bed, so I offered to stay with him until he slept.’
‘And did you?’ asked Mac, awed in spite of
himself.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Little Walter, ‘he really
was very lonely and he seemed to enjoy a good cuddle.’
‘You cuddled Uncle Toby?’ sighed Mac
putting a paw over his eye.
Little Walter regarded him curiously;
‘Mother did the same thing, Uncle Mac, when I told her in the morning.’ Then he
rushed on as though he had something to confess, ‘I did listen for him on other
nights, but he didn’t come.’ And then reflectively, ‘Mother and Auntie Dowager
are very kind, but I don’t think Uncle Toby had any interest in silk.’
And for the first time Uncle Thomas
smiled, ‘No, Little Walter, by all accounts he didn’t. Tell us one more thing, did you see the room
in the day?’
‘Yes,’ said the puppy excited by the
memory, ‘and it was the oddest thing. Mother insisted that I show her and when
we went in it was completely bare.’
‘And what did you make of that?’ asked
Mac, his one eye shining with excitement.
‘I don’t know, Uncle Mac, do you?’
‘I expect,’ said Mac, shuddering a little
at his own memory, ‘that you saw him in his own time. Hence, the fact that the
room was furnished.’
‘Yes,’ said Little Walter after a pause,
‘I think I understand.’ He looked around courteously but no one spoke. ‘Well,’
he said softly, ‘that’s the end.’
‘Sit down, lad’, Mac whispered, ‘well
told.’
With a sigh of relief, Little Walter
plopped down onto the floor.
Michael looked down at Mac remembering
that week under the covers, ‘And did you and Ignatius see him in his own time
too?’ he asked with a grin.
‘Heaven knows,’ said Mac honestly. ‘I got
him to the door of his room and I scampered.’
Everyone stared at the carpet and smiled.
Ignatius added, ‘Yes, you just don’t
remember, his room was all warm and cozy. I remarked on it the next day.’
Then Michael turned to Uncle Thomas and
asked seriously, ‘What’s been happening, sir?’
Uncle Thomas sighed a small sigh. ‘Mac is
quite right. If it were only dear old Uncle Toby, I wouldn’t be in a rush, but
it’s our young cousin from the age of Elizabeth.’
Mac nodded sagely and Ignatius felt a
surge of excitement. In their time, only Uncle Thomas had seen this ghost and
she was a precious piece of family history. If Uncle Thomas wanted their help,
there was a chance of meeting her and, perhaps, helping the poor maid.
And—glorious to think it—solving the riddle of her betrayal.
Ignatius cleared his throat and everyone
looked at him. Now, he was speaking as head of the pug clan.
Very gently he said, ‘Tell us, please,
Uncle Thomas, what the trouble is; and, if the Proud Pugs of Penzance can right
the wrong, it will be an excellent thing for us.’
Uncle Thomas bowed then spoke gravely. ‘A
great sorrow has come upon me recently. For years, as you know, I’ve seen the
lass. She doesn’t come often, but, when she does, it’s usually because I’m at
the pianoforte and playing some tune that seems to comfort her.’ He smiled a
little, ‘Of course, it has to be a melancholy song. But, of late, I can hear
her weeping—in the day as well.’
‘Oh, lord,’ said Mac, who was not
unsympathetic but liked things tidy, ‘in the daytime too?’
‘I’m afraid so, Mac,’ said Uncle Thomas.
‘Mind you, I have played all her old favourites and she does try to smile a
little. But a great grief weighs her down and I cannot lift it. She seems to be
pacing through all the old rooms and I hear furniture creaking, so I expect
she’s looking for her treasure.’
Then he looked at Little Walter, ‘Dear
Hortensia told me about her son’s meeting with Uncle Toby and I have come to
ask the pugs try to appease her before the peace of Christmas is shattered by
her grief.’
‘Uncle,’ said Ignatius, ‘was it in
November that her tragedy came upon her?’
‘Yes, said Uncle Thomas, ‘and I’ve brought
the box containing her letters for Bess and Mattie to read.’ He paused then said
dryly, ‘Dear Dowager tried to read them, but all she said was that the girl had
no spine. I don’t believe that to be the case.’
‘Nor do I,’ Ignatius heard himself say
firmly. ‘Nor do I.’
‘And that,’ said Mac with satisfaction,
‘explains the casket he didn’t want to part with.’
Andrew spoke into the silence, ‘Well,
Uncle Thomas, if you want Michael and me to go with the pugs, it won’t take us
long to prepare.’ He looked at his brother and said meaningfully, ‘unless, of
course, you and Mac plan to go sailing again.’
Michael shifted under his brother’s gaze.
Andrew worried about the smuggling but he never really complained.
‘No,’ said Michael with a wink at Mac,
‘we’ve done our Christmas shopping. We only need to say goodbye.’
Mac wheezed his assent, for he would
follow Michael anywhere—and had—but the family always came first. Besides the
run had been more exciting than Andrew knew—though he had told dear Ignatius,
who, once he had met the smugglers and their companions—particularly the great
bulldog, Shadow—had accepted the smuggling.
‘We’re ready,’ said Mac bravely. ‘It’s
time for the spirit.’
‘Then I think,’ said Uncle Thomas quietly,
‘it’s time to tell dear Hortensia.’
But before they had done, Ignatius turned
to the Count of Wuf, ‘Dear boy,’ he said, ‘would you be content to stay here
with Louisa until the puppies are born?’
‘I would not wish to let the family down,’
said Wuffie, torn between adventure and domestic bliss.
‘Nonsense,’ said Mac, ‘she needs your
presence. And,’ he added for good measure, ‘it won’t be long then you all can
come.’
‘It’s a good idea, Count,’ said Andrew.
‘Our celebrations will only be complete when your new family is with us.’
Wuffie bowed,
knowing that Louisa would be very much relieved. Part of him was still hoping
to be in on some of the action. His monocle flashed in the firelight and his
expression was that of a pug who, having eaten his cake, can smell the aroma of
another one baking.
When they had bowed Uncle Thomas off to
bed, Mac and Ignatius sat by the dwindling fire and conferred.
‘I reckon it would be best to do it right
away,’ said Mac unhappily. He loved Hortensia, but she had a sharp tongue and
he didn’t relish the interview. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said with a slight gulp.
‘No, brother,’ Iggy said with a nudge, ‘we’ll
speak to her together. Little Walter is her only puglet and we must observe the
most gentle form.’
‘Gentle! For Tensie! Ignatius Oliver,’
said Mac, ‘if our sister had been a queen who received such news, what would
you give for the chances of the messenger who told her she would be separated
from Little Walter?’
‘Very, very little,’ Iggy admitted. ‘But,’
he added, ‘this is family business of great importance and Hortensia knows that
our watchword is fidelity.’
Mac shook himself and rose. ‘Let’s just hope
she remembers it,’ he sighed. They approached the Dowager’s room quite certain
of their welcome.
The Dowager Countess of Scilly had been
married too young to a much older man of real wealth. Taking Hortensia with her
into a union she had not wanted and a social prominence she had, at first,
disliked, she had leaned on her beloved pug until both had learned to accept
the situation and, eventually, to treasure the old boy. When he died, his last
words, ‘Cherish her, dear one, for me,’ had been whispered into Hortensia’s
velvet ear as she lay with her majestic head on his pillow. Tensie had not
taken the words lightly and was virtually never separated from her friend.
Consequently, she knew the drawings rooms of London and moved in the best human
and pug society. But she had never forgotten her family and knew the value of
her Cornish roots. Little Walter had been the first creature she had loved more
than the Dowager, and, though she knew that Ignatius would have to school him
in the ways of the Proud Pugs, she told herself that that day would be far off.
And when Ignatius and Mac entered the Dowager’s boudoir, she was still
deceiving herself.
‘Evening, Tensie,’ said Mac, who had
become painfully sober.
‘Brothers,’ she answered with a superb nod
of the head.
‘Tensie,’ said Mac with ghastly joviality,
‘Uncle Thomas wants us to start tomorrow for the old place. Just the men, mind
you, and Little Walter is to come with us.’
Ignatius shut his
eyes and waited for the storm. Hortensia stood speechless looking at them both.
From the bed, Little Walter, chin on silken pillow, watched her. Slowly,
Hortensia moved toward the fire. When she was near enough for the flames to
reflect the misery in her sad eyes, she collapsed. The Dowager rushed with a
screech toward her darling. Little Walter jumped from the bed and scurried to
his mother to kiss her.
‘Oh, Lord,’ whispered Mac, ‘this is going
to be horrific.’
‘Not too bad,’ said Ignatius placidly.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Mac. ‘I tell her
the boy’s going with us and she crumples.’
‘Yes,’ said Iggy calmly, ‘but she made
sure to hit the cushion when she fell.’
Mac, who hadn’t noticed, stared at him.
‘Come, brother,’ said Iggy trotting toward
his supine sister, ‘let’s be kind.’
He pushed past the Dowager and Little
Walter with great politeness and, bending over, whispered into Hortensia’s ear
for a long time. Then he gave her a kiss. Tensie sat up and looked at him.
‘You promise?’
‘Sister, I do.’
‘Very well,’ choked Tensie, ‘he may go.’
She looked at Little Walter who was quivering with anxiety and delight. ‘Mind
your uncles, dear,’ was all that she said. Then she lay down by the fire and
cuddled Little Walter as Mac and Ignatius stole softly from the room.
CHAPTER 2 THE FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH A SPIRIT
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