would have witnessed Jack Skank’s mouth drop wide open.
“Pimples?” said Skanks, who had never heard of this stupid Club, nor of a Scarlet Pimpernel either.
“The Club we just formed to fight, silly,” said little Spike, her cheeks glowing in the dark, and delighted with the success of her trick, “so to be scared of nothing, and to rescue Juliette before they leave, and do lots of brave and good things too. Ideeels. And we’ve got a magic….”
“Oh Spike,” snapped Henry in exasperation.
Eleanor had not only disobeyed their noble brave and brilliant leader, but had broken all the oaths in a single go too, although so had he, Henry suddenly realised, or at least his promise to Mr Wickham, in not hiding his special watch properly.
“C’est vrai, Monsieur,” said Count Armande grandly though, as if his word on the matter was bound to be believed, “it is all true, every word. My sister Juliette has been kidnapped, by the Revolutionary Committee of Public Security.”
Count Armande St Honoré was drawing out the letter from Dr Marat, but Francis Simpkins stepped up beside him and Hal now, and they all felt much braver, standing shoulder to shoulder andsuddenly closer too.
“The C-c-count’s not lying, Sir,” stuttered Francis, “we all sw-sw-swear it, S-S-Sir. Though I only j-j-joined today and we don’t have much equipment.”
Although Francis Simpkins had started to stutter again, he was pleased at his sudden courage. It was most unlike the owlish lad.
“Though ‘enri thinks he’s the leader,” said Armande, “but I’m a Count and one day I’ll…”
“Shut up, Armande,” ordered Henry.
The Highwayman’s sparkling eyes narrowed, but suddenly Jack Skanks threw back his head and gave such a belly laugh that he almost startled his horse, Betsy, into flight.
Skanks rocked back, and laughed and laughed, roared with laughter, so freely that Henry started to get annoyed. But then the highwayman stopped, growing serious again and backed away from the strange Club and the coach.
“That-a- way,” he grunted suddenly, indicating a path with his brace of pistols.
“You’re going to m-m-murder us, aren’t you, S-s-sir?” moaned Francis, but now Jack Skanks pulled down his soggy black handkerchief and the boys and little girl were surprised to see a kind and very cheerful face behind it. The terrible highwayman was no more than twenty two.
“Murder you, lad?” he cried. “No fear. I’m goin’ to ask you all ta dinner.”
That is how Skipper Holmwood got warm again by the heat of a glowing open fire, in the not so haunted forest, and how the brand new Club sat on great logs around its dancing flames and ate poached wild partridge, off the bone, as they shared a bottle of cider with an infamous Highwayman. Well, the boys did, at least.
That is how Nellie Bonespair told them how she had hidden inside the coach luggage box, when the others had gone off to get the spare wheel from the barn, then found herself locked inside and started banging, when she couldn’t breath.
Gradually Spike had made a hole for air though, with the catapult stick, perfect for firing the stones in her pocket through, that had so startled silly Major Bishop’s horse, then wicked Jack Skanks too.
As she told it Skanks held up his thumb, which had started to bleed again and Armande noticed that the colour had suddenly drained from Francis’s cheeks.
Henry looked furiously at his little sister, then grew more understanding, as the cider made him dizzy and giggly.
Hal was holding a raw steak to his eye now, that Skanks had given him. It felt delicious, but as Francis turned his gaze on it, he suddenly went white and seemed to rock backwards.
“What’s wrong, F?” said Henry, with concern.
“Blood,” whispered Francis Simpkins, trying to sit up straight nd going red. “I hate the sight of blood.”
“But the talking wood,” grunted Skanks suddenly, by the
“Pimples?” said Skanks, who had never heard of this stupid Club, nor of a Scarlet Pimpernel either.
“The Club we just formed to fight, silly,” said little Spike, her cheeks glowing in the dark, and delighted with the success of her trick, “so to be scared of nothing, and to rescue Juliette before they leave, and do lots of brave and good things too. Ideeels. And we’ve got a magic….”
“Oh Spike,” snapped Henry in exasperation.
Eleanor had not only disobeyed their noble brave and brilliant leader, but had broken all the oaths in a single go too, although so had he, Henry suddenly realised, or at least his promise to Mr Wickham, in not hiding his special watch properly.
“C’est vrai, Monsieur,” said Count Armande grandly though, as if his word on the matter was bound to be believed, “it is all true, every word. My sister Juliette has been kidnapped, by the Revolutionary Committee of Public Security.”
Count Armande St Honoré was drawing out the letter from Dr Marat, but Francis Simpkins stepped up beside him and Hal now, and they all felt much braver, standing shoulder to shoulder andsuddenly closer too.
“The C-c-count’s not lying, Sir,” stuttered Francis, “we all sw-sw-swear it, S-S-Sir. Though I only j-j-joined today and we don’t have much equipment.”
Although Francis Simpkins had started to stutter again, he was pleased at his sudden courage. It was most unlike the owlish lad.
“Though ‘enri thinks he’s the leader,” said Armande, “but I’m a Count and one day I’ll…”
“Shut up, Armande,” ordered Henry.
The Highwayman’s sparkling eyes narrowed, but suddenly Jack Skanks threw back his head and gave such a belly laugh that he almost startled his horse, Betsy, into flight.
Skanks rocked back, and laughed and laughed, roared with laughter, so freely that Henry started to get annoyed. But then the highwayman stopped, growing serious again and backed away from the strange Club and the coach.
“That-a- way,” he grunted suddenly, indicating a path with his brace of pistols.
“You’re going to m-m-murder us, aren’t you, S-s-sir?” moaned Francis, but now Jack Skanks pulled down his soggy black handkerchief and the boys and little girl were surprised to see a kind and very cheerful face behind it. The terrible highwayman was no more than twenty two.
“Murder you, lad?” he cried. “No fear. I’m goin’ to ask you all ta dinner.”
That is how Skipper Holmwood got warm again by the heat of a glowing open fire, in the not so haunted forest, and how the brand new Club sat on great logs around its dancing flames and ate poached wild partridge, off the bone, as they shared a bottle of cider with an infamous Highwayman. Well, the boys did, at least.
That is how Nellie Bonespair told them how she had hidden inside the coach luggage box, when the others had gone off to get the spare wheel from the barn, then found herself locked inside and started banging, when she couldn’t breath.
Gradually Spike had made a hole for air though, with the catapult stick, perfect for firing the stones in her pocket through, that had so startled silly Major Bishop’s horse, then wicked Jack Skanks too.
As she told it Skanks held up his thumb, which had started to bleed again and Armande noticed that the colour had suddenly drained from Francis’s cheeks.
Henry looked furiously at his little sister, then grew more understanding, as the cider made him dizzy and giggly.
Hal was holding a raw steak to his eye now, that Skanks had given him. It felt delicious, but as Francis turned his gaze on it, he suddenly went white and seemed to rock backwards.
“What’s wrong, F?” said Henry, with concern.
“Blood,” whispered Francis Simpkins, trying to sit up straight nd going red. “I hate the sight of blood.”
“But the talking wood,” grunted Skanks suddenly, by the
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