Balorbane

The Letter

The Letter

The following day, Willy rode to Withyford once more and was warmly welcomed. It was Sarah Vale that met him and bade him come into the kitchen and sit by the fire. “Mr. Vale is out checking the sheep at the moment, he’ll be in shortly”, she said. “I take it, you wish to see him?”. “Yes, I have a letter for him”, he said as he handed it to her. “Please see that he gets it, I must return directly”, he said. She poured him some cider, which he drank quickly and bade her good day. She watched him ride out of the yard as the pony trotted toward the moor.

When Vale returned, Sarah gave him the letter which Willy had left in her care:

Dear John,

In answer to the quest the Constable made to the Justice of the Peace at Exeter, is as follows:

Until we have proof or sufficient evidence to convict them (the four brothers that is), there is nothing we can do, or they will do. At this point, we are on our own. If however, we have evidence or witnesses to prove their guilt, we may arrest them and take them to Exeter. The Justice of the Peace will then put them on trial. It is up to the Constable to summon them and arrest them.

This is a dirty business, John.

The Constable may also deputize any of us to assist him if needed. We are advised not to take the law into our own hands. That is, do anything without the Constable's authority. John, we must begin to collect evidence against them.

Yours Faithfully,

Basehart

Vale read it twice, then folded it and put it in his waistcoat pocket. Sarah called him to supper, so he joined the rest of his family at the kitchen table. Sarah knew there was something on her husband's mind, but she said nothing about it in front of her children.

After supper, they spent a quiet evening around the fire until it was time for bed. It was then she asked John about the letter. He explained to her the matter concerning the Stickles, but mentioned nothing of the evidence he had heard concerning Fry’s sheep on his return journey from the Mede. “I shall be sending Morgan to Baseharts tomorrow Sarah, with a letter of my own”, he said. “Well, I hope you know what you are doing, John”, she said. She was thinking of her sons safety.

Outside, the soft moan of the wind encircled the house, darkness lay once more upon the open moorland and everything seemed to be peaceful.

Early the next morning, after a good breakfast, Morgan saddled his horse Blue and made ready to leave for the Mede. His father handed him a letter and his horse pistol. “Make sure Basehart receives this letter and keep this pistol handy, but don’t use it foolishly. Keep your eyes peeled and your wits about you, especially by yonder Stickles path”. “Yes father, I’ll take care of the letter and myself”, he said. He mounted his horse, bade them farewell and left with an easy gait toward the moor.

The morning was fresh and the sky clear; the mist and clouds had rolled away through the night. It felt good to be out in the moorland air, free from farm chores. He rode on, his mind in a dream; he was looking forward to seeing the lovely Rachael again. Maybe a chance to be alone with her, just for a few moments. The moor seemed still, silent, almost eerie. He prayed that it would stay that way until he reached the Mede. He rode past the rocks where his father had met Gwen Trott. Far to the west, the skyline appeared jagged and uninviting. He came near to the rocks and path that led to Hoggs Hollow. A thin spire of smoke rose in the distance from the cottage that was hidden from sight at this point. The wind blew from the west like a whisper, rustling the dead grasses, gorse and bracken. Other than that, it was ghostly quiet.

Blue easily carried him over the beaten track without a slip or stumble. The sound of a hawk, drifted over the hills from the north; it sounded eerie and lonesome. The wind blew stronger, fluffing up Blue’s mane and sending a chill through its rider. He shuddered for a moment, then realized he was close to the Stickles path, his mind now became alert.

Riding on with pistol in hand, hoping he would never have to use it, he urged the steed into a slow canter. His eyes searching the vales, gullies and sentry — like boulders for any sign of the Stickles. His heart pounded as he neared the four-cross way, the sound of creaking leather from his own saddle hurried the pace of his heart still faster. The clicking of the horses hooves on loose stones, the sighing wind, the eerie cry of the hawk and the occasional snort from his steed enhanced the fear running through his veins. These sounds stayed with him all the way to the Mede, but as he drew closer to Basehart Manor, his fear subsided.

In the courtyard, he was met by young Whiddon, who took his horse to the stables. Morgan went to the oak door and knocked, the sound echoing in the hall. It was answered by the maid, Julie. “Come right on in Master Vale sir”, she said. “I haven’t seen you in such a long spell, I’m sure you’ve grown some. Miss Rachael will be glad to see you”. Morgan blushed, was it that obvious. “Mister Basehart is in the parlour. I assume you wish to see him”, she said. “Thank you, Julie”, said he, removing his hat and cloak.

He found the Squire sitting in a chair smoking his pipe and enjoying the warmth of a lively fire. “Ah, Morgan my boy, haven’t seen you for a while, come sit by the fire. I trust you had a good journey”. “Yes, thank you sir”, he said, holding his hands near the heat of the fire. “What news do you bring”, said Basehart. “My father has written you a letter, I have it here”, he said and passed the envelope to him. The Squire read it slowly. It explained all that happened on his return journey from the Mede. Basehart paced the floor as though deep in thought. Eventually, he said, “Morgan, I wonder if you would mind fetching Willy for me. He should be in the stable”. “Yes sir, I’d be glad too”, said the youth. He left the parlour and stepped into the hall. He was thinking of the eagerness in the Squire's voice, when another voice brought him back to reality.

Rachael stood there before him. A lump came to his throat as he looked at her. She was so pretty, more than that, beautiful, radiant. Her dress of a delicate sky blue seemed pale against the blue of her eyes. Eyes that sparkled with life and vitality. He gazed at her, lost for words. He could not think, his hands fumbled with his hat carelessly. She smiled at him, “Hello Morgan”, she said softly. “Have you come to see my father?”.

It almost seemed to say, ‘Have you come to see me?’. She smiled at him, saucily. “Yes, Miss Rachael”, he stammered. His face coloured, he was sure it must be bright crimson. The sound of a door opening behind him, reminded him of his task. He excused himself politely and left her standing in the hall.

She was looking at the door through which he had passed when her father’s voice disturbed her thoughts. “By the look on your face, I suspect you saw young Morgan”, he said. “Yes father”, she said. “Sensible young lad, works hard by all accounts, handsome too”. “Yes, he is, father”. She made an excuse about finding her mother and disappeared from the hallway. Giles watched her leave, then returned to the parlour and put another log on the fire. He felt that things were beginning to happen between his daughter and his visitor.

A few minutes later, the voices of Morgan and Willy could be heard coming nearer. When they entered the parlour, Morgan could not understand the impish grin he received from the Squire. It made him feel uneasy. He quickly went to the chair beside the fire and stared into the flames, hoping Basehart would turn his attention toward Willy.