The Class War - Part 4
This story is a work of fiction, all characters and plot lines are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
The Class War remains the property of the author. The story or characters may not be reproduced or republished elsewhere without the expressed written consent of the author.
Lord Melrose strode across the clearing waving his walking cane imperiously. He stopped and peered at the sticky white mess which marked the position of the captives. “Algernon ? Is that you there boy? And this one is …. William? And I do believe that person down there is my stable boy.” As he surveyed the state of his son and heir Lord Melrose was turning a very peculiar colour. His features, always flushed, were now apoplectic and a purple vein pulsed dangerously at his temple. For a moment he was rendered speechless – but only for a moment.
Turning to the Miller boys he raised his cane as if to strike them, thought better of it and spluttered “Ruffians! Hooligans! You unspeakable louts! How dare you! Not content with trespassing on my land, you kidnap my son and subject him to this foul abuse …”
“Flour abuse” Ned corrected him. Joe swiftly cuffed his ear.
“You’ll pay for dearly for your impudence” said the incandescent Lord. “I’ll see you all in jail and have you soundly birched. Not the local magistrate for nothing! Eh. What eh!” Turning to his keepers he said “Take them in hand, men. Back to big house with them and put them in the old store shed. Keep them under guard and send immediately for the constable!”
The three gamekeepers each firmly grasped a struggling Miller boys and marched them away in the direction of the estate buildings. The shrill evidence of Ned’s extensive grasp of Anglo-Saxon invective gradually faded into the distance. Lord Melrose set to work on the messy task of freeing his son and his friend. He was reluctant to free George because he didn’t hold with over-familiarity with the staff, but was eventually persuaded to do so when reminded that since he paid the wages bill, George was better employed working than lying around in the woods.
The three flour-coated victims were hustled back to the big house where Algy and Will were bathed, pampered, and fussed over by a nanny, three housemaids and a footman. George was hosed down in the stable yard by the chief groom.
Meanwhile, in the old store shed, the three gamekeepers were in gloomy conversation together. “That bone-idle excuse for a constable says that he can’t get here till after eight this evening.” Said the head-keeper.
“That’s all very well, but I aint ad me supper yet! – And the missus promised something special tonight” said another with a sly wink.
“Could’nt we take turn about, and just leave one of us to guard the perishers ?”
“ Naah, this old place aint secure, they could break out or get the jump on just the one of us.”
“Not if we tied em up !” A happy grin appeared on three faces.
And so the gamekeepers set about tying the three Miller brothers. They had initially intended to simply tie the hands and leave the boys in relative comfort, but unfortunately once more Ned was unable to control his potty mouth and tried to viciously kick the men. The keepers were simple men of a pragmatic turn of mind. They dealt with the latter problem by tying Ned’s legs back to his hands in a hogtie – this conveniently positioned his feet for the removal of his socks which they used to solve the former problem. They were so pleased with dramatic effect on the local noise level that they decided to repeat the exercise with Joe and Ben – just on general principles.
Thus the Miller’s were left hogtied, gagged with their socks and with just a single jailer to await the arrival of local constabulary.
As soon as they had been released from their involuntary ablutions Algy and Will got together.
“It’s so unfair, It was all our idea anyway but pater won’t listen to us until he’s calmed down – and that won’t be until tomorrow.”
“Yes, It would be jolly beastly to let the constable take them for a birching. We have to rescue them !”
“I’ve got an idea, but we’ll have to get George involved again.”
A still moist George was somewhat dismayed when the two young masters he had so recently betrayed suddenly appeared in the inviolate sanctuary of the servant’s quarters. However they cornered him in quiet spot and explained their plan.
“We need you to help rescue your brothers.”
“Why should I help them” he protested, “they flour-bombed me too. Besides, Lord Melrose would have me boiled alive if he found out that I helped them to escape.”
“Well they ARE your family, and besides which, if you don’t help, I’ll feed every horse in that stable laxatives for the next week. Don’t worry about papa, he’ll have calmed down by tomorrow and we can explain it was all our fault.” And thus George was recruited once more and the rescue plan swung into action.
George warily approached the keeper who was lounging outside the locked shed door wherein Ned, Joe and Ben were uncomfortably wriggling and mmphh-ing.
“Hello Mr Sykes” he said “Could I have a look at the prisoners. After what they did to me I want to gloat a bit.” That at least was definitely true. Sykes grunted, groped for the key and turned to unlock the door. It was time to check on the lads anyway. The door swung open and the three squirming but impotent captives were revealed. At the same instant Algy appeared round the corner of the shed holding a large open sack which he thrust over the unfortunate Sykes’ head. Simultaneously Will executed a text book rugger tackle at the man’s knees bringing him crashing to the ground. Algy and George then sat heavily on him while Will secured the sack in place by winding rope around the man’s shoulders. It was the work of a moment to free the prisoners with the help of a sharp knife that Algy had procured from the kitchen. They all melted away into the nearby woods, with the Millers cursing and hopping along in their bare feet over the gravel path.
Once within the shelter of the woods they paused to get themselves back into good order again.
"Don’t worry about pater. He's not a bad old duffer really. When he calms down and we explain it all to him he'll laugh and say that it's our own damn fault for letting a bunch of village kids outsmart us."
"What about Sykes? He'll be hopping mad and take it out on George wont he?"
"No, I don’t think so, I left him a bottle of single malt whiskey, borrowed from the cellar, which should ease his pain."
They shook hands and agreed that they were all square. Even Ned was persuaded to shake hands, though it should be noted that he did spit on his palm first.
There were other occasions when the lads met in the woods to play adventure games and to enjoy the thrill of capture and escape. It would be nice to say that they became good friends and lived happily ever after, but sadly that is not the case. Already storm clouds were gathering over Europe and in just a few short years the Great War swept all of them up. Only Ned returned from the Flanders battlefields and he was, by then, a broken and bitter man.
© Copyright Cinched 2009
| Previous | |
|---|---|