ancient English customs â all that sort of thing. Marlowe introduced me to him as a sort of guide to rural England. Said heâd met me on the boat coming over, as of course he had. Anyway, Iâve let him the house. Thereâs a title of Lord of the Manor that goes with it, isnât there?â
Giles glanced up. âThere is something like that, isnât there, St Swithin?â
The old man nodded and smiled. âThereâs a document in the church to that effect,â he said. âI donât know what good it is to anybody nowadays, though.â
âOld Judge Lobbett liked it, anyway,â said Mr Campion. âIt gives the place a sort of medieval flavour. But Iâll come to that later. All that matters now is that the old bird has taken the place off your hands at fourteen quid a week. And if he knew as much as I do heâd realize he got it cheap.â
Giles sat up. âYou expect trouble?â he said.
Mr Campion nodded. âI donât see how we can escape it,â he said. âYou see,â he went on hastily, âI had to get the old boy out of the city and down here, because in a place like this if thereâre any strangers knocking about we know at once. Look here, Giles, I shall need you to help me.â
Giles grinned. âIâm with you,â he said. âItâs time something happened down here.â
âAnd Iâm in it too,â said Biddy, that expression of determination which the others knew so well appearing at the corners of her mouth.
Mr Campion shook his head. âSorry, Biddy,â he said, âI couldnât have that. You donât know what youâd be letting yourself in for. It was only in a fit of exuberance that I went into it myself.â
Biddy sniffed. âIâm staying,â she said. âJudge Lobbett has a daughter, hasnât he? If sheâs going to be in it, so am I. Besides, what would you three poor fish do without me? Weâll move over to the Dower House.â
Mr Campion turned to the rector. âBring your influence to bear, St Swithin. Tell her that this is stern stuff â no place for the tender sex.â
The old man shook his head. âIn the words of the poet, âI do remain as neuterâ,â he said. âPersonally, I always obey her.â
Mr Campion looked abashed. âYouâre making it very awkward for me,â he said. âIâd never have done it if Iâd dreamed that I was bringing you into it, Biddy.â
The girl laid her hand upon his knee. âDonât be a fool,â she said. âYou silly old dear, Iâm with you to the death. You know that.â
Mr Campion almost blushed, and was silent for an appreciable space of time. The rector brought him back to thesubject on hand. âLet us be specific,â he said. âNo doubt you have your own dark secrets, Albert, but what are we expected to do?â
Mr Campion plunged into the details of his scheme. âFirst of all,â he said, âweâve got to keep the old boy here. And that means weâve got to keep him interested. St Swithin, I rely on you for the archaeology and whatnots. Show him the village trophies. Get out the relics of the witch burnings and polish up the stocks. Make it all bright and homely for him. Then thereâs the doubtful Romney in the drawing room. Get his opinion on that. Heâs a delightful old cove, but obstinate as sin.â
He hesitated. âWhat heâs really interested in,â he went on after a pause, âis actual folk-lore and superstition. Havenât you any prize yokels who know a few ancient wisecracks? â old songs and that sort of thing?â
Giles glanced up. âPlenty of those,â he said. âDid I tell you, Biddy, I set George to cut down that dead thorn at the end of the home paddock this morning? When I passed by at lunchtime he grinned at me, as pleased as Punch â