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entertainment.
At every manor where these players were asked to perform, there was more than enough food and drink for any
who cared to attend, and those who could walk or ride followed the Mummers wherever they went in order to
partake in yet another feast.
Next in importance to the Dymchurch performance (which was ever the most popular because Sir Antony
Cobtree was the host) was that given at Lympne Castle by Sir Henry Pembury upon the following night.
The castle hall was thronged not only by the tenants on the hills of Lympne and Aldington, but by everyone who
could climb the inland cliff from the Lower Levels of the Marshes. Three districts these Marshes: Romney,
Welland and Denge.
Sir Henry, Lord of Lympne, not only threw his castle doors open to all the common folk who cared to come, but
took the occasion of this Boxing Night Revel to send invitations to all the immediate gentry, most of whom joined in
the dancing that followed the play.
Long before the performance of the festivities about to be described, Sir Henry, hearing form Doctor Syn that
since Dymchurch was honored by harboring so many King’s men in the shape of hands from the Dover guard Ship
and a squadron of Dragoons from Dover Castle, the play had been given extra attention, and was in his opinion well
worth seeing, the fat and pompous Lord of Lympne sent out more invitations than ever before. He left nobody out,
and begged all to come.
One and all gladly accepted with thanks except Captain Blain who curtly replied that he and his men would have
witnessed the play the night previously at the Dymchurch Court House, and that he could not so far play into the
Scarecrow’s hands, as to leave the Marsh when no doubt all good citizens would have left it for Lympne Castle. “It
is a great night for a ‘run’, and no doubt the scarecrow would have been delighted to think that I could leave my post
and the road clear for him. But such a thing I do not intend to do, and should you have an inkling who the rascal is,
you may tell him what I now write to you, declining your kind though misplaced invitation.”
This reply naturally sent the Squire of Lympne into a great rage, and Doctor Syn, who knew something of the
matter, mounted his fat white pony and jogged along to Lympne Castle as a mediator. He had told his guest,
Captain Blain, that in his opinion he had failed to show tact or any tolerance towards an older man, which was
reprehensible during the season of peace on earth and goodwill towards men, and finally he had ridden to the
aggrieved Squire with something of an apology in the Captain’s writing.
On entering the library of the castle, Doctor Syn at once perceived that the Squire was in one of his worst
tempers. He was sitting before the great fire in a large chair with a table at its side, and upon the table lay a letter
which the old lord seemed to be scowling at.
“Come in, and welcome, doctor,” cried Sir Henry. “If you heard me muttering somewhat fretfully when you
entered so quietly, it had nothing to do with you, whom I am always most happy to welcome to the castle. I dare say
you did hear me muttering, eh?”
“To be perfectly frank,” replied Doctor Syn with a smile, “I heard nothing of a fretful muttering, but a good deal
of honest swearing. In fact, that is why I have mounted Lympne Hill. I guessed you would be swearing, and getting
your good self into a high pother which Doctor Se
you by erasing the letters which have caused you so much ado.”
The Squire picked up the letter from the table and shook it in the air. “This is the most impertinent letter I have
ever received in my life, Doctor Syn. I should have thrown it into that fire on my first reading of it, but that the
sheer effrontery of the words makes me read it over and over again.”
“Then, sir, refrain from reading it any more,” said Doctor Syn in a soothing tone. “This is a time of year when all
good men like your honored self should be ready to hold out the hand of forgiveness to his worst enemy.”
“That I will never do in this case,” cried the Squire. ‘Not even upon the advice of a saint like yourself, Reverend
Sir. The writer is one that I hate, and shall always hate most fiercely. A traitor and an unmitigated scoundrel.”
“Oh, come now, Sir Henry,” went on the Vicar. “I think you wrong him there, upon my soul. No one who
knows anything of him could question his bravery.”
“Many a scoundrel has been brave,” interrupted the Squire.
“And as to his being a traitor,” went on the parson, “his whole life’s career gives the lie to that.”
“Oh, aye,” nodded the Squire sarcastically. “He’s loyal enough to his own men it is said, but then that is only to
his own advantage. This letter to my mind is the saucy culmination of a million impertinences in a scandalous
career.”
“Now listen, sir,” urged Doctor Syn. “I bring you a written apology from Captain Blain, and”
“Damn the Captain and his apologies too,” shouted the Squire.
“I am sorry you take it so badly,’ replied the Parson.
“The Captain is small fry and don’t matter a damn, Parson,” retorted Sir Henry.
“He is at least big enough, sir to own his fault against you and ask pardon,” argued the Vicar. “And to prove my
words I have here a letter which I must ask you to read.”
“I’ll read no more letters,” cried the Squire with rising irritation. “This one is quite enough to last me a lifetime.”
“But I say that you should forget about it, sir, in view of the other letter I now bring you.”
“Now see here, Doctor Syn. And I will endeavor to be calm while I convince you that you have no idea what
you are talking about. The Captain’s letter was merely silly.”
“And he owns so much in this second one,” said the Vicar.
“But this letter here,” continued the Squire, “is not silly. It is terrifying. Yes, Parson, it is exasperating but
terrifying too. And it is not from that disgruntled Captain who is trying to catch the Scarecrow while eating your
good fare at Dymchurch Vicarage. No, it is not from that failure to catch the scoundrel and his smuggling gang, but
it is from HIM. Him himself. I mean HE himself, or what is it?”
“But who is HIM or he himself?” asked the bewildered Parson.
“The Scarecrow, Doctor Syn,” explain ed the Squire. “I keep telling you that his letter in not from Captain Blain
or whatever his name is, but from the Scarecrow, and its impertinence is, as I have said, terrifying.”
“Another letter from the Scarecrow?” asked Doctor Syn.
“Aye, Parson, and worse than the last one I received from him, as you will agree when you hear it, which you
shall.”
“Let me see; the last one you had from him,” said the Vicar, “was a reproof that you had not invited him to the
hunt with the Prince of Wales, and stating that he intended to come, which he did, and much to the Prince’s
amusement. That was bad enough, so please let me know what can be worse.”
“He now invites himself into my house,” replied the Squire. “Aye, he intends to visit Lympne Castle without an
invitation. Before it was at least out of doors. This time it will be within doors. Think of my unmarried daughters.
The danger is frightful.”
With an effort Doctor Syn repressed the smile which he felt inwardly at the thought of the Scarecrow having
designs upon anything so unattractive as the Squire’s unwieldy daughters. Aloud he said: “I think you may dismiss
any fear of harm in that direction. Your young ladies have too many gallant followers, I should hope. So many who
would protect them with their lives.”