Balorbane

A Death & Stolen Eggs

A Death & Stolen Eggs

“Willy, I want you to find the Constable, tell him I wish to see him as soon as possible, without delay”, said the Squire. “Yes sir, right away sir”, said Willy. He left the house and ran down the lane toward the village. Morgan was left alone with Basehart who spoke of many things, but not about his daughter. He felt relieved about this even though he constantly thought about her. For now, he would not know what was in Basehart’s thoughts. He wished he knew, for it made him feel uneasy being in his presence.

About an hour later, the Constable arrived at the Mede and was shown into the parlour where the Squire was waiting for him. Basehart explained the latest events and a discourse began about what action should be taken regarding the matter. They realized that finding stolen stock and identifying them, would be no easy task.

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a loud commotion in the hallway followed by a frantic knocking on the parlour door, which put an end to the matters at hand. Basehart answered the door impatiently, annoyed at being disturbed at such a time. “What’s the trouble out here? Why all the fuss and noise”? Julie, the housemaid, stood wringing her hands in a dreadful fit of despair. “Oh, Mr. Basehart sir, it’s awful what’s happened”. She burst into tears, crying pitifully. “What’s awful woman, never mind snivelling, out with it”. He was becoming rather red in the face by this time. A young lad, fourteen years of age, stood in the corner of the hall. His face was very pale, it looked as though he was trembling. His eyes were full of fear, and he was still breathing heavily, as though he had just run a long way. “Who’s this young fellow, what’s he looking so scared of?”, asked Basehart impatiently. “This is Sammy Penstock sir”, said Julie, wiping her eyes and sniffing at the same time. “From Stonehayes Farm, son of Wilfred Penstock”. “Oh, yes, of course, what’s the trouble with him?”, said the Squire, recognizing the lad. The boy was speechless, so Julie continued the best way she could under the circumstances. “The Stickles sir, they killed Wilfred and burned the house down, so they have”, she stammered. “They did what?!?”, roared Basehart. His hair seemed redder than ever and his face was almost to the point of exploding.

Julie continued her story, fighting back the tears as she put her arms around the lads shoulder. “The poor dear must have run all the way here to save his own life, the shame of it all”. The Squire exploded, “That’s it, damn it. Come on Masonbury we have things to do!”. Julie interrupted, something she rarely did when dealing with the Squire. “But sir, what about Sam? What shall I do with him”? “The boy”, he said, “can stay here for a couple of days. Take him to the kitchen and give him something to eat”. Without waiting for an answer from Julie, he darted into the parlour where the Constable and Morgan stood nervously waiting for him.

At Basehart’s entry, Masonbury became agitated; he knew now the Squire would want something done, and it was no use arguing about it. He would have to come up with some sort of plan or at least a suggestion, and act upon it immediately. “Masonbury”, Basehart always referred to him by his last name when it had something to do with business. “What is your plan and when do you propose to carry it out?”. The Constable scratched his chin as though deep in thought and looked at the Squire with beady eyes. “Well sir, it’s like this, now we have a bit of ground to go on, so to speak. If the lad says they killed his father and stands by it, then that’s fine. We have to have a witness. It won’t do to be without one”. “Yes, yes, we know all that”, said Basehart. “What do you plan to do, is what I want to know”. “Noon, tomorrow”, he said. “A bunch of us will meet at the ‘Hounds Cross’. They usually hang about home at mid-day. We’ll go to the Stickles place and apprehend them. Now, the next thing is, I have to deputize some of you. It will take more than the likes of me to do the job and, well you know it...I’m not a one - man army”. Masonbury seemed rather pleased with his speech. The Squire agreed and, after a short discussion, it was decided that five men would ride along with the Constable.

Six men should be able to make a successful arrest. The men involved were, Masonbury, Basehart, his son Daniel, Jeremy Fry, John Vale and Morgan. Willy was immediately sent with a letter to Fry, explaining what was expected of him the next day. A short while later, Morgan left the Manor, mounted his horse Blue and rode away from the Mede. The only thing he regretted right then, was not seeing Rachael. He missed her and wished there had been an appropriate moment to spend with her, before he took his leave.

The sky was dark and there was a westerly wind blowing. The hills looked shrouded and mysterious in the distance, spreading all around like threatening monsters from a dark age. He urged his steed on, riding hard, partly from fear, partly from excitement. His mount was moving at a good pace when the stone pillar of ‘Hounds Cross’ came into view and beyond that, the Stickles path. His mind started to thrash within him. Would they be waiting for him? Of course not, they didn’t know he was riding that way at that moment. Maybe they would be there by chance, what would he do then? I should have gone around by the road, he thought to himself as he approached the four-cross way. The tension of the moment stabbed his nerves, cold sweat ran down his back.

Two riders waving fowling pieces emerged from nowhere, right in front of him. In sudden fear, he put spurs to Blue's flanks, ignoring a rough order to stop. The startled horse responded quickly and lengthened its stride, charging at the mounted ruffians like a well-trained warhorse. The surprised Stickles had no time to retaliate as Morgan’s steed ploughed into them. One pony reared up, throwing its rider to the ground. The other took the full force of Blue’s weight. The lighter pony fell to the muddy earth, sending its rider sprawling into the mire. The heavier steed slackened its pace for a moment on impact, but gathered speed again as Morgan urged it on, shouting loudly. He lay low over the horses withers, expecting any moment to feel the sharp burn of a lead ball in his back. The report of a fowling piece being discharged, seemed very vague in his mind, but the whistle of the slug was very real as it passed close to his body, to close. One of the Stickles had fired wildly and had come uncommonly close to hitting his target. Morgan rode on frantically, leaving the cursing behind him, praying that they would not follow him and for the safety of his home. His pounding heart and thud of hoof beats was the only sound he heard and it came as though he was in a dream.

“Caw, caw”, the raven, perched on the stone cross, seemed to be laughing with approval, but nobody heard it. It seemed to take forever to reach the ridge over looking the farm, but he did and how good it felt. He could feel the warmth of the house and the comfort of his family from the windswept knoll.

Without realizing it, he had pulled Blue to a stop and watched the smoke from the chimney of the old house drift away and vanish from sight. For a moment, he forgot the Stickles, his mind seemed clouded over until a chill gust of wind brought him back to reality.

Turning away from the tranquil scene, he looked toward the horizon to see if there was any trace of being followed. The moor was empty of any moving thing. For the first time he felt ashamed at his lack of courage during his encounter with the Stickles. To him, it was his baptism of fire, even though it was only one shot that he had been lucky enough to have the fortune to escape from. Descending the hill, fear crept into his body once more. Fear that tomorrow, when he would need all his strength, he would be afraid. Blue snorted and tossed his head, he also knew that a warm stable awaited him. “OK boy, I know what you're thinking, you’ve earned your oats today!”.

Just then, someone came running through the gate toward him. It was a girl, shabbily dressed and dirty. In her hand she carried a small basket covered by a cloth. As the rider approached, she stopped and looked up at him with anger in her eyes, but she quickly turned to fear and trembling at the sight of a horse pistol pointed at her.

Morgan needed something to regain his courage. The girl made an easy quarry. Her untidy hair blew savagely in the wind as she stood staring at the horse pistol which was levelled at her slender body. Morgan’s voice was firm when he spoke; “What are you doing girl”? She made no attempt to answer him. “Turn around and walk to the house, now”. Again, he tried to be firm, but she, regaining some of her courage, refused to budge. He urged the horse closer, like a dog with a stray sheep. Realizing she had no escape, she reluctantly obeyed, looking back at him every few steps. The sound of the horses hooves in the yard brought John and Worthy to the door. The girl stopped her slow walk as Morgan dismounted.

“Hello Morgan, what have we got here?”, said Vale. “Do not jest, father. I found her running through the farm gate away from the yard”, said his son dryly. “She was, eh?”, said Vale, turning to the girl. He had already recognized her as the same girl he had encountered on the moor previously, but he said nothing of this.

“What is your name girl and what were you doing here?”. The girl stared at the ground and said nothing, She was shaking all over, but the Vales perceived it was from the cold and not fear that she trembled. There was silence for a few moments, then Gwen looked up and flashed angry black eyes at each one of them, but said nothing. “Worthy”, said Vale, “Take the basket from her and let us see what she is carrying of such importance”.

Worthy stepped toward the girl and reached out to take the basket from her, when suddenly, without warning, she struck him a violent blow across the face with her free hand. Her long dirty finger nails left their mark. He felt the sting of it and reeled back in pain, reaching his hand to his face as trickles of blood surfaced from three lines on his left cheek.

The next move came just as fast. Morgan struck the girl hard across her buttocks with his riding crop. The crop hissed through the air and found its mark in a stinging crack. The girl screamed with pain and shock, dropping the basket. Broken eggs spilled from it, the yellow yokes soaking into the ground. The surprised girl, falling down, clenched her fists. Then clawing the dirt and stones, she lay grovelling at his feet. The next instant, a huge black raven, cawing loudly, flew at Morgan savagely, flapping its wings as it struck him in the face, causing him to fall back against his horse which reared up to one side, knocking Worthy to the ground. The gelding's eyes rolled, flashing white, its ears flattened against its head as John tried to control him. Morgan lashed out at the bird with his riding crop, to no avail, it only cawed louder and flew into a nearby tree.

The shouting and the noise brought the rest of the family to the scene, but Vale sent them back into the house again. His face was very stern when he looked at his son, “You should not have done that, she’s not a dog”. “I wouldn’t treat a dog like that father, just witches and thieves like her and her kind”, he said. His father turned his attention to Worthy, who, having picked himself up, still nursed his bleeding face with his hand. “Better get into the house and ask Mrs. Vale to look at that Worthy”, he said. The young lad disappeared into the house, glad of the chance to be away from the girl.

“What do you intend to do with her?”, asked Morgan, drawing his father’s attention to her. “Nothing for the moment”, he said, watching the girl as she still sat upon the ground. “Well it seems to me she stole those eggs and should be punished for it. Besides look what she did to Worthy”, he said coldly. His father’s answer was a totally different subject. “Did Basehart send any message for me, Morgan?”, he asked. “What about her?", persisted his son, ignoring his father’s question. She still sat on the wet ground, trying to keep back the tears which stained her pale cheeks. “You’ve punished her enough, now, any message?”, the voice was firm and meaningful.

Morgan brought forth the letter from his pocket and handed it to his father. Vale read of the death of Wilfred Penstock and the plan that had been set to arrest the Stickles the next day. When he had finished reading, he put it in his pocket and spoke to the girl who still sat sobbing. “Get up girl and leave these premises and don’t let me see you around here again”. She looked up at John Vale with a questioning gaze in her tear stained eyes, then at his son, who stood by his horse, riding crop in hand. His face was hard set, his eyes appeared cruel to the girl. Her fear was of him, not his father. Vale seemed to sense this and said, “Put your horse in the stable. I’m going to let the girl go, I’m sure she’s learned her lesson”. Morgan left, leading Blue. Looking back, he saw the girl rise slowly and walk away as quickly as she was able, through the farm gate toward the moor. The raven flew down from the tree and joined her. It had watched the whole scene, now it was with Gwen, perched on her shoulder. Both Vales watched in amazement. Something uncanny about that bird, thought Morgan to himself as he turned toward the stable.

Blue received a good grooming, some sweet hay and later a cool drink of water. The stable was warm and dry, the smell of horses filled the small building with an aroma that all true countrymen loved. The other stock noticed the attention that Blue received from his master, their heads turned in his direction as though they too, were looking for the same treatment. Before he left the stable, he patted each horse and pony, then, satisfied that all was well, returned to the house.

Inside there was the usual activity taking place. Bread and dumplings being made, whilst the soft soothing voices of the women drifted from room to room as they chatted together.

“Where’s father, Susie”?, asked Morgan. “In the study, but I don’t think you should bother him just now. He seems to have something on his mind”, she said. “I have to talk to him...by the way, how is Worthy's face?”. “It’ll mend”, she said. “Humph”, he shrugged his shoulders and left the kitchen. The study, as she called it, was just a small room set aside from the kitchen. When Morgan was a small boy, he thought of it as ‘the armoury’.

He knocked on the door, no answer, so he knocked louder. This time a voice said, “Enter”. Inside, he found his father standing at the table cleaning a fowling piece. Two horse pistols lay on the table, the metal parts shining brightly. His dog, Toby, stretched in front of the fire. “What’s the matter father, why the fowling pieces?”, said Morgan. He could think of no better way in which to start the conversation. He knew what the guns were for, and it worried him. Vale handed his son the letter. “I take it you know about the contents of this and what it means?”. “Yes father”, he said, looking at the guns. “Do you think we will need those tomorrow”?

It was a foolish question; they certainly would not be able to arrest them without guns. It was the using of them, he was afraid of. Vale looked at his son with a thoughtful stare, Morgan met his father’s gaze, it was like they both realized for the first time what the next day might bring, someone wounded or worse. Morgan looked away and stared into the fire. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved today, father”, he said. “Well, I expect this whole affair has made you a little excited and nervous”, said his father. It was unlike his son to behave in such a way. It puzzled him until Morgan explained all the events that took place after he left the Mede. He put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, no wonder you were tense. Will you be alright tomorrow?”. “Yes, I’ll be alright, once morning comes. I don’t want to miss it because of today’s events. Besides, I had to meet them sometime, today was as good as any”. “Aye, and you had the better of them into the bargain!”, laughed his father. “The moor will be a safer place to dwell on, without the likes of them plaguing us”.

Just then they were called to supper, so they gathered around the kitchen table, said Grace, and ate a hearty meal of roast beef, potatoes and homemade bread. This was followed by apple pie with Devon cream.

After supper, Morgan checked the livestock, as was his custom, all the while wondering what tomorrow would bring. He thought of the trouble the Stickles might cause, any fights or whether they would just give up when faced with a fight involving the Constable. He rather doubted the latter. It was a foolish thought. The Vale family sat around the fire as usual that evening with Sarah knitting woollens for the winter and Susie reading, she read as often as she could. Worthy sat by the fire staring at the flames as they danced about the hearth. Vale sat thinking about the next day while smoking his pipe, whilst Morgan cleaned a fowling piece.

Across the moor at the Stickles farm, old man Robert Stickles feebly blew out the candle by his bed, the room was cold as he lay shivering on an old straw stuffed mattress. Each day he grew weaker, he was failing fast, and his sons took it for granted, what will be, will be. Hilroy was the only one of the four, that would do anything for him. The others hardly ever showed they cared, or so it seemed to the old man as he lay there in the darkness. In another part of the house, four men, after some heavy drinking, lay in fitful sleep, unaware of the plans that had been laid out for their benefit. They had plans of their own, plans for a little fun.

Outside, the sky clouded over, it became a little warmer, the wind dropped, and it began to rain. By morning, the ground would be soft, the tracks would be muddy. An uneasy sleep fell upon those who the next day intended to enforce the law, as night drifted toward the dawn.

A black brute, the Stickles only dog, hugged the embers of a dying fire, his body twitching every now and then, as dreams entered its savage brain.