Balorbane

An Urgent Matter

An Urgent Matter

A door at the side of the house opened and a stocky figure with reddish whiskers and hair came out to meet Vale.

“Welcome to the Mede, John”, said a hearty voice. “Thank you, Giles, I’m surely glad to be here”. “You look as though you've had a rough and tiring journey. Come into the house and sit by the fire”, said Giles, as he led the way into the old house through a hallway and into the library.

The Squire poured a mug of cider and handed it to Vale. They sat by the glowing embers of a log fire and lit their pipes. Suddenly, Giles left the room after excusing himself and made his way toward the courtyard. His booming voice echoed across the yard toward the stable. “Thomas...Thomas?”, no answer, “Thomas!”, called Basehart. A man appeared in the stable doorway. “Yes sir”, the rather shaky voice drifted across the yard. “Make sure Willy goes home and changes out of his wet garments”. He turned to go back into the house and heard Whiddon say, “Yes sir, right away sir”. The groom disappeared into the stable and found his son brushing down the pony even though his clothes were wet through. “I’ll finish that Willy, go and change”. The Squire entered the old ivy laden house, the branches of which covered most of the home were leafless now. Returning to the library, he found Vale sitting comfortably by the fire, sipping cider surrounded by a thick cloud of tobacco smoke that filled the room with a rich aroma.

Basehart was an even tempered man about the same age as Vale, but looked older. Unlike Vale, he wore his hair long, his whiskers were wiry and bushy. His features were rounded, and his face was nearly always flushed with a red tinge, almost pixie like with cunning deep-set eyes. It took quite a length of belt to circle his waist. Today an element of seriousness showed beneath his jovial nature, which suited him like an over-tight pair of boots.

It was almost three o’clock. Vale rose from his chair, went to the window to survey the scene outside; it was raining again. “Feel good to be inside John?”, asked Basehart. “Yes it does. A fire always cheers me up, the warmth of it”.

“How did you find young Willy to travel with?”, asked Giles. Vale returned to his chair, sat down and crossed his legs with an air of satisfaction. “Fine thank you; I found him to be a most interesting fellow; he seems to be a bright young lad”. “Good”, said Giles. Vale said nothing about the story concerning the Inn. Another log blazed upon the fire and silence fell upon the room until it was broken by the clatter of hooves in the yard.

The Constable, Edward Masonbury, had arrived, followed by farmer Jeremy Fry. The two men were shown into the library. “Good day Squire”, said the Constable. He handed his cloak, the same type that was worn by stage drivers and drovers, to the maid. “Come on in Masonbury”. “Afternoon, Squire sir”, the harsh voice of Fry sounded in the hall. “Good day, Fry”, replied Basehart.

At ten after three, the four men sat around the table having what seemed a general discourse. A few minutes later, their conversation was interrupted by the fifth member of the committee. Vicar Stanley Braystone had arrived. He came into the room in a rush, as was his custom and without as much as a “Good day”, just a nod, rhymed off a length of apologies for being so late. The Squire told him no to worry and placed a pewter of ale in front of him. The Vicar was a man of some sixty years or so and, although balding, had long white hair on the side of his head. He was quite energetic for his years, but a bit hunched over. Sharp eyes peered out each side of a rather long narrow nose at his fellow committee members through round - rimmed spectacles. When he smiled, which was rare, he showed his teeth almost savagely, not unlike a dog. It was not a nice smile. His hands and fingers were long and bony, there was something about the man that was frightening, not normal — especially being a Vicar. Such was the local committee, a Squire, a Vicar, two farmers and the Constable. There was silence for a moment, as though conversation was hard to come by.

The library door opened slowly, and a shuffling sound was heard as George Basehart, a blackthorn walking stick in his hand and a long stemmed pipe in the other, made his way to his own chair. He proceeded to fill his pipe from a very old pouch which he pulled from his waistcoat pocket. A gnarled left hand held the pipe firmly as his other hand with weather - worn fingers pressed the tobacco into the bowl.

Being in his late eighty’s, he was considerably bent over, and his full beard brushed against his chest as he undauntedly set about his chore. Having greeted the four men with a nod, as he was quite deaf, he now ignored their presence.

Basehart was the first to speak, “Well gentlemen, now we are all here, we will get down to business”. The wind caused the shutters to rattle against the window; the old man in a world of his own heard nothing. The scene was set in the oak panelled library, the heat of the blazing fire bathing the room in a cozy warmth. Basehart pulled the shutter fast, the rattle ceased. Sternly he faced his guests. “Gentlemen, I’ve called this meeting at the request of our Constable, therefore I will hand the meeting over to him”.

Constable Masonbury stood up and took on the air of great importance. He was a big man and liked to show off his authority when the opportunity presented itself. “Thank you, Squire”, he paused, just to get their attention. “Well, there was trouble at the 'Bull and Cow Inn' at Green Hays for one thing. It seems the Stickles had too much to drink again, which is their custom, I might add. A few of the locals were knocked about a bit, even wounded to the point of bleeding. I’m told, Jan Worthy from Greenbank farm, was shot in the leg. Trouble is, I can’t prove it was done on purpose or what he may have done to provoke them. It might have gone off accidental like”. He paused for a moment to take a drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now there’s this latest mishap of Peter Hopkins being beaten up, so to speak. He says the Stickles did it and stole some of his sheep into the bargain. Now whether he will say that in a court of law, remains to be seen. I doubt it very much”. Another pause, as though he were deep in thought. “One thing I do know, and that is, I cannot arrest them without a warrant, some evidence...or by myself”. This was his last remark; he sat down, and the room became very quiet. Finally, the Squire said, “Well, what do you suggest we do. People are getting quite concerned about the whole affair”.

The Vicar’s chair scraped the floor as he slowly arose from it. All eyes turned towards him. “Brethren, we should pray that they change their ways, in the mean time, people must avoid them and not do anything to upset them - stay away from the inns”

At this, farmer Fry butts in, his patience long passed. He jumped up from his chair noisily, the Vicar withdrew meekly. “Vicar, with all due respect, you do what you feel you should and tell the folk what they should do, from your pulpit on Sunday if you like, but that will not stop the Stickles from stealing and gadding about looking for folk to terrify. I say we should get a few soldiers and have it out with them!” “You cannot go and get soldiers Fry”, said Basehart. “And why not?”, snapped Fry. “Because it has to be done in a lawful manner; this is the nineteenth century we’re in, not the ninth Fry”. “Well we are dealing with ninth century vagabonds, so we are”, said Fry in disgust.

“Gentlemen”, said Vale, interrupting what looked like the usual heated argument between Fry and the Squire. “Gentlemen, I think we should send the Constable to Exeter and meet with the Justice of the Peace or someone of authority, to find out just what could be done - or where we stand regarding the whole affair. It’s no use going at it like a bull at a gate”. “I agree”, said the Squire. After more discussion, it was decided that their troubles should be taken to a higher authority. Even the Vicar agreed to this, but Fry only agreed because he was out numbered and made this remark. “I agree, if after the Constable has wasted his time and nothing comes of it, we do something ourselves and have it out with them face to face”. He was determined to have his view heard. The four men looked at Fry, then at each other; it seemed to be understood, they would go along with his remark. Each one hoping it would never come to that. Masonbury said he would leave for Exeter in the morning at first light, so the meeting was adjourned.

Another log was placed upon the fire, the flames flickered higher and the crackling of it caused sparks to spit into the hearth. “Nothing like a log fire on a cold day”, said Giles. “No”, said Vale, he was deep in thought. “What’s on your mind Vale?”, said Basehart. “I was just thinking about the 'Bull and Cow' incident, what young Willy told me on the way here”, said Vale. “What?”, said Basehart. “What did he tell you?” “Just about the same as the Constable quoted”, said John. “There’s one other thing though. It seems they told everyone to keep their women folk under lock and key”.

The Squire’s face was red by now as he paced the room impatiently. He turned and snapped a question at Vale, “Why did you not mention this before now?” “I wanted to hear what others had to say about it, just to compare”, said Vale. Giles looked hard at Vale, shook his head and walked out of the room into the hall. The four men heard his voice echoing from wall to wall as he called his son, Daniel. From another room, his son answered the Squire. “Go and fetch Willy in here and be quick about it, and his father. We’ll get to the bottom of this”. Twenty year old Daniel disappeared quickly, his father was angry, a rare thing. There must be trouble of some sort, he thought as he crossed the yard to the stables.

Basehart returned to the library and paced the floor uneasily. “I intend to find out the truth about all these rumours and such”, he said. The other men sat in silence. The Squire was a man who did not like idle gossip or lies. Vale did not like Basehart’s tone much; all he said was, “Go easy on the lad, you know what boys are like. We don’t know what this might unfold or what trouble it may bring on the lad”. Basehart stood with his back to the fire impatiently waiting. Vale took this opportunity to say what was on his mind. “Giles, if Willy states anything that could convict the Stickles in any way or form and is found out...what I mean, well...I wouldn’t want anything to happen to the lad or his family. Besides, it's probable, he heard it from his father or someone local who was just boasting about being there at the time”. “You think so”, said the Squire as he opened the door to the sound of footsteps in the hall. “Well, we’ll soon find out”. “Come in”, he said. “We want to talk to you about some rather serious business”. Both Whiddon’s stood together, nervously squeezing their hats in their hands. Daniel left the room; he would like to have stayed, but knew better. For a moment, tension and silence held the scene until the Squire turned toward his two employees, the questioning began.

“Now Willy, there’s been a lot of talk and rumour about the Stickles of late. I hear you gave quite a good account of some recent events that took place at the ‘Bull and Cow Inn’. We would like you to tell us all about it, in your own words. I also want to know where you came by such information. Who told you about it?”

The room became deathly silent as Willy looked first at Vale, then at his father. Thomas was obviously very nervous at this question. “Don’t be afraid to speak Willy, anything you say will remain within this room as far as we are concerned”, said Basehart. He tried to be friendly, to put the boy at ease. “I, uh, I heard it from...from my father, sir”, said Willy. “That’s just what we thought”, said the Squire. “Come and sit down”. All eyes turned toward Thomas Whiddon. “Now you know why I asked you along also”, said Giles. Thomas swallowed hard; he was very nervous as he looked from the Squire to Vale and then to the other men seated around the table. They watched him with great interest. “Don’t look at me boss, I don’t know anything about the likes of them”. Whiddon’s voice was shaky. He was interrupted; “Now look here Thomas, this is important; a very important matter. We must know the truth concerning this whole affair. We cannot have people like the Stickles running the countryside terrorizing everyone!”. Thomas, a fair size man, was obviously afraid to say anything that would convict them. “I’m not going to say a word against them”, he said slowly. “Very well Thomas, what do you think the Stickles would say if they heard a certain Thomas Whiddon had been spreading abroad rumours about them”?

Everyone in the room stared at the Squire, except the old man sitting in his chair dozing. Whiddon stared at Basehart with open mouth and wide-eyed. He had never seen him like this before in all the years he had worked for him. Giles did not give him time to speak. “You know they would not like it. But, if you help us by telling the truth, we will see to it that nothing happens to you or your family”. Whiddon stared at the table, he realized he was beaten; his interrogators were very earnest about the whole affair. It was no use trying to evade the questions any more. With fear in his eyes, he slowly answered. “Well sir, I suppose the truth never hurt anyone. I was at the 'Bull and Cow' when the four brothers walked in and stirred up a parcel of trouble. A few of us left directly and hid in the tallot above the stable. After a bit, a middling old ruckus is heard from the Inn. Shouting is heard and a scream or two, then a shot is fired - I know what a gun shot sounds like. Someone hollers aloud and the Stickles came out of the inn laughing and singing. Real loud they were; frightening to see.

When they left, they told the men that were still there within hearing distance to keep their women folk under lock and key or suffer the consequences. That’s the truth sir, I swear it. The reason I was afraid to say anything was my family, not myself”.

“That’s alright Thomas, we understand, I must apologize for forcing you to tell us all you know in such a manner. But, it was necessary”, said Basehart. Each man around the table looked from one to the other. The group were brought back to reality when the Constable spoke. “I’m going to Exeter tomorrow like we first planned. Someone should be able to advise us”. “Aye, that’s right”, said Basehart, “We’ll leave it at that. In the meantime, we must gather as much evidence as possible against them. Something to prove their guilt”. He put the poker to the fire vigorously, added another log, crackling flames curled around the new fuel, bringing the fire back to life. He turned to the Whiddon’s, “You may take your leave, Thomas, Willy. Don’t be hard on the boy, we need all the information we can get about these rogues. It would be a better place and far more peaceful without the Stickles threatening our lives”.

Once again, the meeting was adjourned and the five men were called to supper. In the dining room, a large table was laden with cold salted beef, boiled potatoes and cabbage. To this was added homemade chutney and bread. The table was situated in a large room with high ceilings. Oak beams stretched the length of it, there were three of them. On two of these hung flintlock muskets. A large window on one side over looked the garden and lawns. A huge fireplace dominated one wall.

Basehart sat at one end while his wife Elizabeth sat at the other. She was a fair featured woman, a little younger than Giles. A kind, gentle person descended from a long line of well to - do people from the west country, namely the De Boares. Vale sat next to Giles with Daniel beside him and old George Basehart occupied the chair opposite. The old man set his walking stick down beside the chair and peered through very cunning eyes at the various guests seated around the table - giving one the feeling that he never missed anything of importance. The Vicar sat next to him and behaved so politely and fussily throughout the meal it somehow made one feel ill at ease.

Beside Daniel, Jeremy Fry, whose manners were rather crude, ate in silence; eating with gentry was out of place for him. Beside him, the Constable ate his food with the determination of a soldier on the battlefield. Last, but by no means least, was the beauty of the Basehart family, Rachael, a girl of eighteen. Soft fair hair caressed her delicate shoulders, everyone was captured by her eyes and attractive smile. She was dressed in a long white skirt and blue bodice with puffed slashed sleeves in the Elizabethan style. A narrow dark blue waist band held the garment tightly around her slim waist. Secretly, she was disappointed that Morgan was not there, but said nothing, keeping her thoughts to herself. The Vicar was asked to say grace, which he did methodically. “Thanks be given for the food upon this table. Bless it, Lord, that it may give strength to our minds and bodies. Amen.”

Not much conversation took place throughout the meal, everyone seemed to have a hearty appetite. When supper was over, the Constable, farmer Fry and the Vicar excused themselves, thanked Mrs. Basehart, bid the Squire and Vale good evening and left the manor Giles and John returned to the library, old George, already seated, ignored them. They sat by the fire and lit their pipes. The smoke filled the room with a sweet aroma. The rest of the evening they spent talking about farming and other local affairs. Later, when the logs had burnt down to a low glow, both men took a glass of brandy and went to bed. Vale was staying the night, and it was not long before he was settled into a comfortable feather bed. He drifted off to sleep thinking of his wife and family across the moor.

A poem filtered through his mind:

Moonlit shadows danced across darkened moors,

Leaping and diving o’er high granite tors,

Cattle and sheep from the wind do hide;

In darkness now, they must abide.

In shadows and darkness across the moor, the Stickles raided a lonely farm. A ruby red fat steer was their prize. Quietly the four brothers guided the beast out of the yard and down the lane toward the eerie moor. At a certain market, they would sell the beef and make a tidy profit. Disturbed geese honked, dogs barked, but by the time anyone from the house stepped outside to see what all the noise was about they found nothing. The dogs strained at their chains, looking in the direction of the farm gate and when ordered to be quiet, the only sound was geese and that ceased. The wind sighed softly, an owls hoot drifted in the night air, and then silence.

The Stickles had managed another successful raid and were now disappearing into the moorland shadows.