The Tilling Smugglers by Hugh Ashton

Author:Hugh Ashton [Ashton, Hugh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-912605-79-8
Publisher: j-views Publishing

Nineteen

The next day saw Major Mapp-Flint in the centre of Tilling. Elizabeth had told him that she was not “up to” the business of marketing that morning, and had given him a list of items without which, she gave the impression, the Mapp-Flint household would collapse in a state of total disorder and chaos.

To the Major’s feeble protestations that surely Withers could be trusted with the marketing, she had answered simply that Withers was needed at Grebe to perform household tasks that could not be deferred any longer.

“Unless, of course,” she had said, “you would prefer to clean the windows and scrub the bathroom floor, and send Withers into town to do the marketing.”

Neither of these occupations was to his taste, and neither was doing the daily marketing, but marketing was preferable to the others, if only because it provided a chance of conversation.

After a brief and confusing conversation with Twistevant regarding the relative merits of various kinds of potato, whereby he was given to understand that ‘new potatoes’ did not refer to their never having been previously owned, and an embarrassing mishap with a mackerel at Hopkins’ shop, he was happy to meet Georgie Pillson, who was seemingly on his own errands.

After the usual civilities had been exchanged, it became clear to the Major that the other wished to say something to him.

“Can we talk?” Georgie asked him.

The Major was under the impression that this was exactly what they had been doing, but he nodded.

“I have a sort of proposition that I would like to put to you,” Georgie told him. However, it seemed that however much he desired to present the Major with this proposition, it was not going to be instantly forthcoming, as Georgie clearly found it difficult to express himself.

“Spit it out, old man,” the Major offered encouragingly.

“Well, the thing is,” Georgie said, a little less diffidently than before, “how would you like to be a smuggler?”

It was impossible for Benjy to hide his surprise, and it was only a matter of sheer chance that five pounds of new potatoes and a pair of mackerel did not end up on the pavement.

“Me… A smuggler?” he exclaimed at last.

“Yes. You know the sort of thing, barrels of brandy, and casks of tobacco and bales of silk.”

If Benjy had been surprised before, it was nothing to the horror that washed over him now. Was he to be exposed to all as one who failed to pay the duty on these goods? Was he to be known ever after as Mapp-Flint the Smuggler? His best defence was attack, he decided.

“What on earth do you mean by that?” he asked, assuming a menacing air. “By Gad, sir, if I was not a peaceable man, I would call you out for that. Inviting a man to break the law in such a way. Positively insulting and preposterous!”

To his credit, Georgie, although he flinched under the onslaught of the Major’s words, did not back down.

“Let me explain, Major,” he said. “There will be a pageant performed here in Tilling later this year, on the theme of smugglers.

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