Mark Dunn - Under the Harrow

Having newly secured the restraints to that whimpering innocent, and having taken as much delight as he was able to take from such a proceeding in a public place, Pupker drew breath to address me with a self-satisfied look: “Sheriff Boldwig has neglected to give the second obvious charge that now arises to put you even deeper into the Dinglian gaol, Mr. Trimmers: We have evidence that you assisted Miss Wolf and Sir Dabber and his son in their ill-fated escape. This constitutes a criminal act, sir.”

“Indeed, it does not!” I protested.

“As of yesterday morning it is most assuredly become one,” responded Dr. Fibbetson. “For the Petit-Parliament met and voted it into the Book of Criminal Statutes. From that point forward, Trimmers, anyone who attempts to leave this valley or assists in the escape of another will be charged with a felony.”

“Upon what grounds?” Mrs. Lumbey demanded to know, her wonted dander finally taking voice.

Pupker laughed. “There is no requirement that the Petit-Parliament must give grounds for any law it passes, my dear woman. Though if grounds you must have, let me say that we no longer wish to bring disease into the valley through those who escape and then do us the injurious disservice of returning.” Here Mr. Pupker looked hard at my brother, who should be diseased to such an extent that he would be put into summary confinement, but was, instead, most casually and negligently handled by Boldwig and one of his deputies, such as to give a ready lie to all that had just been said.

After Gus was put into Bedlam, and Mrs. Lumbey and Amy Casby and my sister-in-law Charlotte and I were placed into cells within the Dinglian Gaol (the cruelty of this most recent sundering of Gus and Charlotte making the scene one that would be most wrenchingly difficult to describe), the extended roundup of co-conspirators and suspected accomplices continued in earnest. Muntle was found at the Fagin jewellry shop. Because my friend regarded the capture (in addition to his other objections in concert with my own) as representative of a vanquished opportunity to finally see his brother George after a twenty-five year separation, he did not go easily. Muntle resisted every moment of the apprehension and did so with such energy and industry as to draw a sympathetic and combative Herbert Fagin into the cause, his obstructive enlistment resulting in his arrestment as well, much to the horror of his onlooking wife and daughter.

Antonia Bocker was taken without struggle from her stationer’s shop and it was all that she could do to secure continued liberty for her clerk Miss Abbey Hexam, for the hastily-drawn warrant named this young woman as well for having committed no greater crime then being in close proximity to Antonia by reason of her daily employment in the fine and everyday stationery line. Equally troubling was the arrestment of Dr. Timberry’s parents for protesting the seizure of their son, who was visiting his mother and father at the time. There succeeded quite a row when Charles Timberry began to take swings at Sheriff Billy with a cricket bat in the manner of his anarchic Punch puppet, and Mrs. Julia Timberry, in a futile attempt to aid and abet her handcuffed son, began to scream at the top of her lungs in the most animated fashion of a battered Judy puppet.

Only two men from our motley bunch of renegades escaped capture: Messrs. Upwitch and Graham, for neither man would open the door to the All Souls Church under a declaration of “right of asylum” no matter how hard the freckled fist of the law beat upon it. Each man knew that the attempted arrests were politically-motivated, that the Tiadaghton Project represented dictatorial despotism at its most extreme, and that each member of the small confederation of those who opposed the Project (that fraternity including Messrs. Upwitch and Graham amongst its core membership) were eligible for religious sanctuary under longstanding common law. (They knew, as well, that each of the doors to the All Souls Church in the Dell were made of solid lignum vitae, the hardest wood in the world, and that any attempt to batter them down was doomed to failure.)

This sudden thwarting turn placed the young sheriff and his deputies in an awkward spot. Lord Mayor Feenix was called in to help facilitate the irksome removal.

“Vicar Upwitch, it is the Lord Mayor of Milltown rapping now. Please open the door and admit me so that we may speak.”

Came a sonorous pastoral voice from behind the door (both Upwitch and Graham standing defiantly on the other side of that secured portal, Upwitch with proud, raised chin and Graham wringing his hands in fret and worry): “Speak of what, sir?”

“The warrant that Sheriff Boldwig holds in his hand. It is a warrant for your arrest and the arrest of your friend and fellow conspirator, Mr. Graham, and it must be executed.”

“If you are come to assist in this ridiculous legal charade, Lord Mayor, we’ll not admit you. Mr. Graham and I are exercising our right of asylum.”

“There is no such right within the Dell of Dingley, Reverend Upwitch.”

“Not every right possessed by the citizens of this valley devolves from the pen of the Petit-Parliament, sir. Some rights are bestowed by our Creator. They are intrinsic to our species, sacrosanct and inviolable, especially in the face of the sort of rampant tyranny that now infects this Dell. Will you deny, Lord Mayor, that several of our friends have been arrested to await an indictment of conspiracy to commit criminal acts that are without any merit whatsoever?”

“Of course I’ll deny it. I’ll deny it in full voice, young man.” Then in an undervoice to the sheriff, came a mumble and then a whining murmured defence made by its recipient, something easily gleaned by the two men inside to indicate that Sheriff Boldwig should not have shared with the barricaded fugitives the names of any of the other co-conspirators and was an arrant fool for having done so.

Once again from the Lord Mayor through the thick wooden church door: “This church is no fortress, Reverend Upwitch. If we cannot ram this door, we will fracture a stained-glass window or two and enter easily in that manner. Do you wish your lovely stained-glass windows destroyed?”

“And do you ,” returned the vicar, “wish me to climb to the top of the campanile and ring the bell to convoke a crowd, which I shall be more than willing to address with my voice-trumpet? And what will I say, Lord Mayor, that may be of interest to them? I think I shall tell them, sir, of the true purpose of your July 15 gathering, and how all of the rest of us are to be abandoned to Heaven-only-knows what sort of fate.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come, come, Lord Mayor. You would actually allow me to climb to the top of that campanile and tell everyone who will listen the truth about Dingley Dell? Knowing the threat that this would pose to the success of your Bon Voyage party? Consider the question carefully, sir. How should you like to be kept here with all the rest of us because you have failed to keep the hordes from finding out about the Tiadaghton Project?”

“Where do you come up with such nonsense? Who has told you these things?”

“I shan’t betray my sources, Lord Mayor. Let me simply say that we are not the innocents and simpletons you have long taken us for.”

“Good God.”

“Yes, God is good, your honour, and takes, methinks, a rather dim view of your complicity in bringing about an end to our Dingley Dell.”

Upwitch and Graham could not see the face of the man who had just been told that everything which he thought had been kept quiet and covert and multiply veiled was now known to a select few who had absolutely no right to the purchase of it. But the face must assuredly have been drained of all colour — for there was a sickly pallor to the very voice of the Lord Mayor as he, no doubt, thought through the repercussions attendant upon this significant revelation. Finally he said, “You will stay there, Upwitch, and you will not be disturbed under your absurd declaration of asylum, but if you so much as take one step outside this edifice, you will be promptly placed under arrest. We will have constables watching each and every door round the clock. Your lies stop here, sir, just as they have been put under commensurate lock and key at the gaol. This infestation of opposition and deliberate prevarication will not spread. I hope that there is food enough in your rectory larder to feed the two of you until—”