by Jack Elwin
CHAPTER 11 A WISE MAN
I HAD GAINED a lot in the last week or two, and resolved to celebrate my new wealth by engaging our part-time help as a live-in servant for my wife, and (if I could find one) by buying a horse for myself. To get Hester Hollard to come as our maid was easy, as she had been wanting to come to live with us for some time and had great affection for Agnes, who indeed returned it. She settled into the little room at the top of the house, and at once I noticed a change for the better in that the house was cleaner and tidier and the meals more varied, for Agnes had been so much occupied with the baby in recent months.
But to find a horse was a more difficult matter, the soldiers having requisitioned so many. However, next market day I met Jacob Perrin, for he came across to thank me again for recovering his cart.
‘You’ve saved my life, or at least my livelihood,’ he said. ‘I’ve taken your advice too, and painted the cart a drab brown.’
‘Let’s hope the soldiers won’t come your way again,’ I said. ‘People are saying Prince Maurice has gone off and sacked Cranborne. He’s done horrible things there, they say, far worse than here at Dorchester.’
‘Then I hope he’s taken every one of his thieving rascals with him,’ said Perrin. ‘Anyway, Mr Judd, if I can ever be o’ service to you let me know.’
‘As a matter of fact you might be able to help me with something right now. I’m wanting to buy a horse, for it would be useful in my work. But I don’t know where to find one.’
‘I’ll find ’un for you,’ he said. ‘I know a man who can get hold of ’un, if anyone can. You leave it to me.’
Sure enough the following week he came to my shop. ‘I’ve found you a hoss,’ he said. ‘It’s a two year old belonging to a farmer at Warmwell. If you’re interested I’ll take you over there.’
The following day he did so, and I became the proud possessor of a fine chestnut, which enabled me to attend to sick folk far beyond the bounds of Dorchester as well as collecting plants for medicines and saving much time. Hester had settled in well, little Mark was growing and strong, Agnes was happy, my business was picking up after all the disturbances of the past months, I had a new set of clothes from Tom Hartley, and all seemed to be fine for me.
Yet Mr Whittle’s lost money still fretted me. I could not help feeling that it was lying hidden somewhere, perhaps as near as the Ridgeway, waiting for someone to discover—and I couldn’t help imagining that this someone could be me. I had had an idea of how it might be found.
Mr Whittle himself seemed to have become reconciled to his loss, for I believe he still harboured hopes that somehow he would be able to arrange what he would call a good marriage for his daughter. But Nicholas Dashwood’s treatment of her, though damaging to her pride and feelings, had had a good effect on her character, I thought. She seemed more assured and more ready to assert her own wishes. I asked Denis Faire whether he was having any joy in his wooing of her.
‘Mr Whittle still won’t let me visit her,’ he said, ‘but she has given me some hope. I’ve met her two or three times when she’s been abroad in the town and had some talk. But she says her father would be very angry if he found out.’
I had the paradoxical thought that if I did succeed in finding the treasure it could be a bad thing for Elizabeth, because her father would then try to find a rich and perhaps unloving husband for her. And although with her new-found strength of mind she would surely resist, he might wear her down or get her to submit by appealing to her daughterly sense of duty, and the end result might thus be unfortunate.
One day Mr Whittle came to consult me.
‘I know you favour that young Denis Faire,’ he said, ‘and I must say, he seems a personable young fellow, and hard working too. But I do want to do the best for Elizabeth, and young people’s affections don’t always lead to lasting happiness and a good home and family life. And what I’m afraid is that she may marry him by default, as it were, that without a dowry she’ll only be able to marry a poor man.’
‘Do you think that if you had the dowry money, and so had a choice of lots of young men, she would choose someone else?’ I asked.
‘You’re right, you’re right,’ he said eagerly. ‘If she had more of a choice she wouldn’t look at him, I’m sure.’
‘If you recovered the money, would you let her choose for herself?’
‘I would try to arrange a good match for her, but yes, if she really wanted someone of her own choice I wouldn’t stand in her way.’
‘Even if that someone were Denis Faire?’
‘You do keep on about him, don’t you? I’ve said I’d let her have the final yea or nay. But I hope she’d have more sense than to pick someone as poor as ’ee.’
‘Then I will have one more try to find your treasure,’ I said. ‘I’ll ride out tomorrow to the Ridgeway, and look around where that soldier said your Sergeant spent the night. I have had a thought of someone I’ve heard of who might be able to help—the Wise Man of Upwey, he’s called. But if he can’t find your money I fear it will be lost for good.’
‘Beware of the devil, Micah. I wouldn’t want you to be mixed up with wizards or witches or people of that sort, even to recover my treasure. But if anyone can find it I believe you can—and I think you will. Ever since you told me how that Sergeant Barnby had died I’ve had the feeling that the Lord had somehow preserved it and kept it safe until the time for it to be revealed. And you’re the man to find it, Micah, I truly believe you are!’
‘Hold on, Nathan, not so fast,’ I protested. ‘It’s most unlikely that your treasure will be found, hidden in a field as it is.’
‘“Hidden in a field”,’ he cried, ‘just like our Lord’s parable in the Gospel. Remember how the man found the treasure, although it was hidden.’
‘Yes, but he had to buy the field, and I’m sure you won’t be able to do that. All I can promise you, Nathan, is that I will ride out there tomorrow morning and make a thorough search. And don’t worry about the devil. Some of those the villagers call “wise” only use their powers for good. But don’t let your hopes rise, for I shall probably come back empty-handed.’
In spite of all I could say he still seemed sure that I would succeed, so I promised again that I would do my best on the morrow, and saw him out.
Now that I had a horse it was a simple matter for me to ride out to the Ridgeway and have a look, and with most of the soldiers having gone and no reports of marauding deserters in the neighbourhood, I had little fear of my horse being stolen. So next morning I set out with a light heart, though really I had little expectation of success. But I knew I would always regret it if I did not at least make one effort to find the treasure, so I rode along happily and with a feeling of holiday.
There were a few other travellers already on the road, some on foot or in carts and a few horse-riders, like the two I could see some way behind me. But most of them turned off to Monkton or Herringston or other places on the way, or hurried on beyond me towards Weymouth.
As I drew near the top of the hill and looked again at the place Nat Bluett had pointed out as the spot where the soldiers had spent that night on the way to Weymouth, my spirits sank. It would indeed be a case of looking for a needle in a haystack. The field was very large, and stretched as far as I could see along the hill below the Ridgeway, disappearing in the distance as the slope got steeper beyond a little rise. But of course Sergeant Barnby would not have gone nearly so far to hide his spoils. Probably (as I had thought when Nat first showed me the place) he had hidden it in one of the two dry-stone walls that here ran along each side of the Ridgeway. But these were as hopeless to search in as the field itself. He might have wandered along the Ridgeway while his men were preparing their bivouac, and pulled out a stone anywhere, hidden his package and replaced the stone. He would have noted some mark or arrangement of noticeable stones, or how many paces the hiding place was from some tree or bush, so that he could find it again, but without knowing the secret it would be useless to look.
Yet look I did. I walked my horse a few yards along the Ridgeway to the right, away from the Dorchester to Weymouth road, and hitched his reins to a twisted tree that actually grew out of the further wall. Then I walked a quarter of a mile or so along the Ridgeway, carefully examining the wall on my right. I then climbed over the wall, taking care not to dislodge the stones, which were rather loose in many parts, and came back along the other side, though I thought it more likely that the Sergeant would have put the treasure on the Ridgeway side, or even more likely beyond the wall on the far side of the Ridgeway, out of sight of his men. Or again, he might have buried it in one of the thickets that grew beside the road near there, or even have put it in the hollow of one of the wind-stunted trees. But of course my search was based upon the assumption that the treasure had in fact been left somewhere hereabouts. Yet the Sergeant might have stepped aside from the line of march almost anywhere between Dorchester and Weymouth, and thrust a bundle into some hole or hollow tree. The hopelessness of my search struck me afresh.
However, when I came to the end of the wall (where it met the main road) I walked back examining the other wall similarly, then climbed over to look at the other side on my way back. Some of the stones looked loose, a few had fallen down, but none gave any clue to where the treasure might be.
I came back and mounted my horse. I was certain that I would never find the treasure by simply searching. The only hope would be to consult a wizard or a person gifted with second sight, and the only one I knew of in those parts was the man Will Horder, the tranter, had told me of. I remembered his words: ‘There’s a Wise Man in the village, who divines with a rod, and finds lost things.’ It would surely be worth trying him. Provided I did not attempt divination myself I trusted my soul would not be harmed.
I rode down the steep hill on the Weymouth side until I reached the turning which led through the hamlet of Elwell and right again up the valley to Upwey. I stopped to ask a group of women who were washing clothes in the river there where I could find the Wise Man. To my surprise they burst out laughing, and I had to repeat my question.
‘You be wanting Malachy Moore,’ said one at last. ‘He be the only wise man hereabouts.’ That set them laughing again, and I asked with some asperity,
‘Where can I find him then?’
‘Go to the little house beyond the church, next to the last on the right,’ she said, ‘you’ll find him all there.’
‘Or not all there, maybe,’ said another, and they fell to laughing again.
‘You want to be careful, sir,’ said the first one, ‘for if he don’t like you he might put his eye on you.’
‘You might come back with your hoss riding you!’ said the other, and again they laughed, so I rode on.
I know ‘wise’ is a word sometimes applied by the country folk to those who might otherwise be called queer in the head or mad, so I began to wonder what sort of a person Malachy Moore would turn out to be. I rode past the church and soon saw the little house or cottage, a one story building, with thatch badly in need of repair, partly built into the hillside. I dismounted, hitched the reins over a post and knocked on the door. A high-pitched cracked voice cried out, ‘Go away yer toads!’
‘Is that Malachy Moore?’ I called. There was the sound of movement and presently the door was opened by an old man with wispy white hair down to his shoulders and a bushy white beard and a thick stick in his hand.
‘Huh,’ he grunted, ‘I thought it was the chillen. The toads come banging on my door and running away.’
‘That’s a mean trick to play on a man,’ I said, ‘but I suppose children will have their fun.’
‘Chillen be devils,’ he said. ‘But what mid you be wanting wi’ me?’
‘I’m told that you can divine with a rod: is that true?’ I asked.
He gazed at me with a sly suspicious air.
‘Who are ye?’ he asked. ‘Are ye from the church, come to make trouble? I’m a good man, I am, a good Christian. Don’t believe any o’ they who tell ye otherwise.’
He made a movement as if he would close the door, so I hastened to say,
‘I’m sure you are, I don’t doubt it for a moment. I’m not from the church, and have not come to cause trouble. But I’m in trouble myself, and hoped you might be able to help me.’
‘What is it ye want?’
‘There’s something that’s lost, some money belonging to a friend of mine, and I hoped you might be able to find it.’
‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘maybe not.’
‘Could you try? I would pay you.’
‘Money, lost, belonging to his friend, can I find it?’ he muttered. ‘Where do you think it was lost?’
‘It was stolen by a soldier when they plundered Dorchester, and he may have hidden it up the hill here by the Ridgeway. I don’t know for certain that it’s there, but if it is it’s probably hidden in a dry-stone wall or possibly a nearby thicket. Is that something you could find?’
‘Are ye sure you’re not from the church? nor a lawyer? I hate lawyers. Won’t have nout to do wi’ ’em.’
‘No, no,’ I assured him, ‘I’m not from the church and I’m not a lawyer. I’m an apothecary who goes about trying to help the sick and heal people.’
‘Let me feel your hand,’ he said, and held my right hand for what seemed a long time while he gazed at my face. At last he let go my hand and beckoned me into the house. I followed him into the one room. The underside of the thatch and the rafters were visible above, and hanging from a beam were three rabbit skins. There was a big fireplace and a simple bed, table and chair. On the table was a very large black cat which stared at me with green eyes.
‘Your hand seems honest,’ he said, ‘let’s see what Simmany makes o’ it.’
I didn’t understand at first what he wanted me to do.
‘Put your hand on Simmany.’ he said, indicating the cat. So I laid my hand on the cat’s back, and was rewarded with a rumbling purr.
‘He thinks you’re a right ’un then,’ said Malachy.
‘Well, what do you think,’ I asked, ‘could you find what my friend has lost?’
‘Could be, depends,’ he said. ‘The powers o’ things don’t always come and show when they’re wanted.’
‘I thought there might be a let-out,’ I said. ‘I don’t suppose you can really find things.’ I was being deliberately provocative, although I was a bit afraid that if I offended him too much he might refuse to help.
He did seem to be roused by my words. He drew himself up and his eyes seemed to flash.
‘Here, mister, see this,’ said Malachy. He pointed to a crumpled metal cup or beaker on the mantleshelf. ‘That pot on the clavy, I found it buried in a vield wi’ my hazel-rod.’ He turned and grinned at me a toothless grin. ‘I mid find a hidelock o’ money if it hassen been ta’en.’
‘Will you come then?’ I said. ‘It’s at the top of the hill, near where the Dorchester road crosses the Ridgeway. I could take you with me on the horse, I think.’
‘Nay, leave thy hoss here, or lead ’un,’ he said. ‘I’ll take thee the short way up.’ Without waiting further he put down his cudgel and snatched up a forked stick from the window-sill and set off at a good pace out of the cottage door and further along the lane. I unhitched my horse and led it in pursuit, and followed him when he turned right up a path and almost straight up the slope. I was surprised that such an apparently frail man could walk so fast up the hill, his beard blowing in the wind and his shabby clothes flapping around him.
He paused when he reached the Ridgeway and waited for me to catch up.
‘Now where, mister?’ he asked.
I explained to him how the soldier who stole the money had spent the night in the shelter of the wall, and might have hidden it amongst the stones anywhere from where we stood as far as where the Dorchester to Weymouth road went across, or possibly in a thicket.
‘It’s more likely that the hiding place is nearer the road,’ I said, ‘an
d if he wanted not to be seen he would likely have hidden his spoils away from his men, who were camped beyond the wall there, I think. But of course I don’t know that it’s here at all, and he may have taken it on to Weymouth.’
‘What is it—gold, silver, jewels?’ asked Malachy.
‘Mainly gold coins, I think, though there may have been some silver ones and other things as well.’
He took the hazel twig he had been carrying, holding it by the forked end with both hands. The shaft of the twig he held out in front of him parallel with the ground.
‘I mun picture it in my mind, like,’ he explained. ‘Now I’ll jus’ go along this side, and try en out, so you keep quiet, mister, while I fixes my thoughts.’
He grasped his twig more firmly and stood for a moment letting his gaze range along the wall. Then he began to walk quite slowly, holding the twig turned slightly towards the wall on his left, and moving it up and down a little as he walked. From time to time it seemed to hesitate as if about to move of itself, and two or three times it did suddenly swing right up until it pointed at his beard, and he would stop and point the twig again and move it to and fro. He reached the road, where some bushes marked the end of the wall. He paused there for a little, then came slowly back on the other or field side of the wall.
Meanwhile I had tethered my horse to another small tree, and stood watching him. He did not seem to want me to accompany him, and I thought it might be because I would somehow disturb whatever it was that might enable him to sense the treasure.
When he got back to me I asked, ‘Do you think it isn’t here?’ but he shook his head angrily and his long hair flew about his head. He turned again, and walked along the other wall similarly, climbing over at the far end and coming back in the field on the Weymouth side. Every now and then he would stop as before, and at one place retraced a few steps to examine a place more carefully. At last he reached me again and said, ‘Come over in the field here, mister.’
I had to climb over the wall, which was quite difficult as although there were plenty of footholds the stones at the top were liable to fall off if one pulled on them to haul oneself up. I then hurried after Malachy, who was standing by a part of the wall where I had noticed he had stopped before. There he faced the wall and the twig swung upwards. He beckoned to me, and I went to stand beside him.
‘’Tis strong here,’ he said. ‘Try if this be the hidelock’ (hiding place).
He moved the twig to and fro, and again at one particular spot it seemed to try to leap out of his hands. He forced it down and swept it along, and again at the same spot it leapt up.
I pulled away the stones there, and had to take six or seven long ones from the wall. At first I thought there was nothing to be found, but then I saw, buried right in the middle of the wall, was a cloth bag. For a moment I was disappointed because it was not bigger, but when I pulled it out it was heavy and as I opened it I saw the glint of gold.
‘You are indeed the Wise Man of Upwey,’ I said, and explained, ‘These are not mine, so I must return them to their owner.’ However, I took one of the coins and presented it to Malachy, adding,‘This is but a poor token of thanks, but I do indeed thank you very much.’
‘’Tis nothing, mister, but don’t ye tell the church or the lawyers,’ he said, and broke into high-pitched laughter,
His laughter stopped suddenly as if it had been cut off, and he gave me a very strange look so that I shivered and felt uneasy, for I felt that he might be in touch with the devil.
‘Take ye care, zur,’ he said. ‘I feel a darkness —all this’ll bring ye sorrow.’
Then he turned away without another word, and began to stride back along the Ridgeway. I stood and watched him until he was out of sight, then I stowed the treasure in my saddlebag.
In spite of his words my heart was light and I felt like singing aloud, for I had had such amazing success, far beyond my hopes. Three people had come to me with their worries after they had lost treasures, and I had recovered them all and been well rewarded. And now with the third treasure safely stowed, I pictured Nathan Whittle’s joy when I returned it to him. I still had that worry about him though: would the recovery of his money turn his head a little? Would he still want to arrange that ‘good’ but totally unsuitable marriage he had set his heart on for his daughter? I would have to do my best to dissuade him.
I remounted and rode the little way along the Ridgeway to rejoin the main Dorchester road, but as I reached it two men came riding from behind a thicket on the far side and barred my way. They were both large and on big horses. Each had his hat low over his eyes and a handkerchief covering the lower part of his face, and each had a pistol in his hand pointing in my direction.
‘Stand!’ shouted the more thickset one, ‘give me your gold.’
I knew that voice and felt my anger rising, for it was the voice of the man who had led the mob against Mr White. The other man came close and grabbed my horse’s bridle. My heart was beating almost audibly and I felt the blood rush to my face. I had thought it would be safe enough riding that way in daylight. The danger of deserters from the armies who had turned to highway robbery was a growing problem in some parts, and got worse in the next year or two as the war dragged on. But as I mentioned earlier, there were not supposed to be any such in our part of the country at present. In fact the passage of armies and the recruitment of many ne’er-do-wells and idlers as soldiers had cleared the roads of robbers of late, so I was the more shocked to be waylaid in this way.
‘You shall have my money, friend,’ I said. ‘Don’t harm me.’ Slowly, so as not to give them any excuse to shoot, I reached down and took out my purse and handed it to the taller man, both of them keeping their pistols at the ready.
But the man threw my purse on the ground.
‘Where is it?’ he demanded.
‘What?’ I asked, though I guessed he knew what I was carrying and my heart sank.
‘What you found in the wall,’ he said. ‘Is it in your saddle-bag?’
For a second I wondered whether I dare try kicking my heels into my horse’s sides and riding away. But it was hopeless; the pistol-barrels were both close to my heart and I would not stand a chance. I tried to play for time.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said, ‘my gold is in the purse there.’
‘Don’t trifle with us,’ said the other man—and that was the last I heard. Something hit me on the side of the head and I rolled off the horse and felt a shock of pain, then all was dark and silent.
