‘Be calm, calm yourself now.’

‘Can’t! Can’t!’

‘Here, have a little medicine. Have a draught of this.’

The smart one handed over a bottle. Rowland Collis snatched it away and glugged deeply. I smelt it then, it was familiar enough. Gin.

‘Grandmother said he must be kept like this,’ said the one with the medal, ‘until it’s understood. He just stays here. My thing. No one knows. Only Granny, and now, it seems, you. Who are you anyway and what are you doing in my room and how did you get all these things?’

‘I fell.’

‘That much I can see.’

‘Can you help me?’ I asked. ‘Please help me out. I think I might have broken something.’

He stood before me, puffing his pipe, shaking his head, then he stopped, then he looked at me closer, even reached out to tug a little on my hair.

‘Oh … my … lord!’

‘What?’ I said. ‘What? What?’

‘I’ve just worked out who you are.’

‘No, I’m not … whoever it is you’re thinking … I’m not what you think. I’m a servant, true, I’m a thief too. A servant and a thief.’

‘You don’t belong here, do you?’

‘No, no I don’t and I’m trying to get out of here. Can you help me? Please?’

‘No, no I couldn’t possibly. Toastrack, get my shoes!’

‘Should make my day, sir.’

Rowland Collis seemed quite calmed by the gin now, and slouched off to return shortly after with a pair of polished gentleman’s lace-ups.

‘Put them on me.’

Rowland Collis did so.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

‘Out, you foreign thing. I’m going out!’

‘Please help me! Please!’

‘Oh, I’ll fetch help soon enough. Toastrack, stand guard, when I come back in get into your place, not a sound. I’ll make it worth your while.’

‘Two bottles!’ said Rowland Collis.

‘Yes, at least.’

The smart one went to the door, he took keys out and unlocked all the locks. He opened the door and the moment he did another foot from the other side wedged itself in so that the door must stay open now.

‘Who’s there?’ the handsome one called. ‘Who’s at my door? Stand back! I’ll have you whipped!’

I recognised the shoe in the door, I knew it from earlier, from the Sitting Room, it was scuffed. I recognised the trousers too, and following the trousers up I saw at last the person that was inside them.

Clod.

‘Clod!’ called the handsome one.

‘Clod!’ I shouted.

‘Rowland Collis,’ moaned Rowland Collis, ‘that’s who I am, if anyone cares.’

And then Clod hit the one with the medal square in the head with a skillet, with my skillet.

21

A PIGNOSE WHISTLE

Clod Iremonger’s narrative continued

I Make an Entrance