by Karl Fish
‘Your bird killed if falcon see her,’ the smiling gold-toothed orderly warned Pop.
‘We’ll see.’ Pop grimaced back.
The three larger men were intrigued and fascinated by the avian investigation on the rock face but Professor Meredith Malcolm had just spied what he had come for.
‘Excuse me, boatman,’ he interrupted. ‘Can you row us just over to the rushes?’ He pointed.
Pop sat back down, one eye on The Lady, the other on the two men. He heaved the oars through the marshy grasses. From above he then heard a large caw and a flash of black and white take off from the cliff face. Directly behind it, a flash of speckled brown was travelling at far greater speed. Gaining fast.
‘Your bird not make it,’ the orderly told Pop.
‘You want to bet?’ Pop replied ‘ I bet you this gold bar,’ he offered, holding up his ham fists to show the size of the prize.
‘I bet your nephew debt and that gold bar,’ the second called back.
‘Accepted,’ Pop agreed. Crushing the man’s hand in a handshake. Pop watched the now-black speck of The Lady being caught up. Seconds seemed like minutes in the intricate battle of the skies. The Peregrine’s dive speed was twice that of a bird of carrion and imminently it would puncture his beloved bird’s torso and return to its nest to feed. Just as the talons were touching her feathers The Lady expanded her wings and like a parachutist opening their chute the air inflated her instantly from a diving streamlined mass to a feathery black-and-white balloon, propelling her upwards. The falcon, who was untouchable at speed, could not swerve fast enough and was clattered by the larger magpie as if being hit by an airborne brick wall. It was sent spinning off-balance, almost dashing it into the rocks itself, before it righted and swooped down in an impressive arc just above the men’s heads and looped the loop back to its hiding place safely on the cliffs.
‘The fing is, a falcon will not take on a bird like The Lady in face-to-face combat,’ Pop advised the two men who had lost their bet. ‘Magpies, crows, jackdaws … it won’t take on any of ’em unless at speed or unless they are protecting a nest.’
‘A nest?’ they replied, their interests piqued.
‘So, ow much for two birds plus their chicks?’ Pop enquired, removing his gold knuckleduster and getting down to business.
The orderlies smiled. This was a man they could do business with after all. Lots of money was to be offered if Pop could deliver on promises.
‘Oh, and you mentioned cats. Lyle showed you a cat. I can easily get old of some moggies for ya. Cheap like.’
‘Just special cat. Ugly cat. Cat no fur.’
‘Never mind then, just the birds?’ Pop grinned as the men shook his hand, weary not to get crushed for a second time.
‘Gentlemen, quite when you’ve finished, can we concentrate on the task in hand?’ Professor Malcolm interrupted holding up a perfect specimen of the Sussex Sedge.
*****
‘Right, now listen up!’ Eric Peabody shouted from the large oak tree stump, corralling the crowd like a masterful ringmaster. ‘Oi, be quiet.’ He whistled with four fingers thrust into his mouth. The crowd of gaggling and excitable schoolchildren soon stood still and paid attention.
‘This is a scarab beetle, Scaribidae,’ Eric said holding up a fresh specimen he had found and mocking a posh Latin teacher’s accent as he’d done so to fits of laughter from the kids. ‘We knows ’em as dung beetles. That’s right, friends, dung beetles, and there is nothing they like more than a fresh juicy cow pat.’ He smiled, as children stuck out their tongues to sounds of ‘Urgghhh’ and ‘Yukk’. ‘As a one-day special though, I am paying a penny a bug.’
‘How much?’ came an excitable yell-back followed by the stunned concentration from all the children in the crowd.
‘A penny a bug, but they must be alive,’ Eric confirmed. ‘Now, it’s as simple as that and it’s a very smelly business, which is why I am most generous in my price. So, get going. It won’t be long until the Brothers are upon us.’
The children looked at each other astonished. A penny was an absolute fortune to them. So what if they had to dig around in a bit of poo. As keen as mustard, they split in multiple directions and started scouring the fields for fresh and dry dung, rotting wood, and vegetation to capture as many as they could for their ample reward.
‘If you get caught, or should I say, when we get caught, stay schtum and keep those bugs alive. I’ll still buy them off of ya later. First one to return a full jar gets a shilling bonus.’ Eric, impressed by his own industriousness, gazed on in wonder as his under-aged workforce was as busy hunting as the bugs were trying to avoid capture. Eric wasn’t getting his hands dirty at all. He was keeping an eye out for the imminent entourage of adults, and besides, he couldn’t count all of those dollars with dirty hands, could he?
*****
Agatha was the last to return to Sister Harvey’s classroom. Eric’s stunt had not only seen a fair number of pupils evade their God-fearing tutors and escape over the fence into the unknown wilds of the Braggan Marshes, but during the kerfuffle, many more had seized their opportunity to walk straight out of the unguarded front entrance as the Brothers and Sisters tried in vain to stamp their authority.
She took her seat, alone on the evacuees’ side. No Elizabeth, Gemima, or Priory-loathing allies to stand by her side. Henrietta Huntington-Smythe and the Priory girls huddled around a desk as if a cackling coven exchanging spells around a cauldron.
‘My, my, ladies. In all my years teaching at the Priory, I have never witnessed such disobedience. That Peabody family are a law unto themselves,’ Sister Harvey announced on entering the room. ‘Some people should care to choose wisely where their loyalties lie,’ she remarked, aiming a glance over her spectacles towards Aggie, much to the Priory’s amusement.
‘My mother told me that a very disobedient girl once tried to burn down the school. She was crazy by all accounts.’ announced Henrietta.
‘That’s not strictly true, Henrietta. But she did set fire to the Priory colours, was immediately expelled, and it is considered very bad form to discuss her,’ Sister Harvey replied with a light scolding to Huntington-Smythe.
‘Miss Dove and I,’ the Sister continued. ‘considering our concerns for all children’s safety, have decided to have your parents collect you early so a hunt for Eric and his escapees can commence in coordination with the Brothers. While you wait, Miss Dove requires all Priory girls to aid her in preparing for the WI’s monthly meeting.’
‘That would be our pleasure, miss,’ Henrietta smarmed on behalf of herself and friends.
‘That leaves Chatsmore and me to fulfill our detention duties,’ Sister Harvey said smugly.
The Priory girls erupted into sickly false laughter as they followed Henrietta out along the corridor to help the governess.
Sister Harvey watched her charges disappear out of sight. She slowly locked the door and turned to the nervous girl left all alone in her classroom. Removing her glasses slowly, she made her way midpoint between her desk and Aggie’s and just stared into the schoolgirl’s brilliant blue eyes. Agatha was already clenching her fist under the table. Should she have to embrace Bareknuckle Barry once more she would do so.
‘Stand up!’ Harvey ordered. Agatha tentatively rose under the instruction. ‘Follow me.’ The nun moved behind her desk and towards a cupboard on the Priory side. On opening it, stacks of aged notebooks tumbled outwards, scattering across the floor. There must have been several decades worth.
‘Your punishment, Chatsmore, is to sort these books into chronological order. You do understand what that means don’t you?’ the sister asked.
Aggie nodded to confirm she had understood.
‘And in absolute silence!’ the Sister confirmed with a steely glare.
Walking away and unlocking the classroom door, the nun began a gentle whistle. Its tune echoed acutely through the corridor.
‘There were once seven sisters, from the Seven Sisters. Fort
y-nine we called them, how about you?’
Aggie’s ears pricked up as the tune repeated itself over and over in her head. Elizabeth’s voice echoed in her mind.
‘She’s giving you a clue!’ it reverberated.
Recreating the Patience game of cards, as she had done so with the photographs the prior evening, Agatha began to sort out the books into piles. Each year was systematically sorted. She wasn’t even sure if the Seven Sisters skipping rhyme was that of her mother’s or another pupil. She wasn’t even sure why the initials C S-M were always represented in the school photographs, but it was unmistakably her mother; not to forget Gideon’s grin.
On the front of each book, the surname led, the first name followed, and then the workbook year. There were so many degrees of legible and illegible handwriting across different age groups that some were consigned to the ‘other’ pile. An hour had passed quickly and the task was almost complete when she heard Miss Dove’s voice. Aggie initially panicked, as if she wasn’t supposed to be there at all but on turning around the room was still empty. Crossing the classroom swiftly, a quick turn of the door handle proved it was still locked from the outside. Yet, she could still hear Dove talking. It was faint and echoed subtly and it seemed to be coming from the base of the cupboard. Aggie emptied it of its remaining books and below them, she found an old brass draught excluder that looked like it had rusted over. The books would have hidden it and kept the room draught free but now uncovered after many years, it led through to a sister shaft into the governess’ office.
Aggie placed her ear onto the metal plate and listened intently. There was a lot of crackling and interference. It reminded her of Florrie’s half-working wireless. However, if she listened carefully enough, she could hear the soft voice of a man.
‘Ault, Taube, nine,’ was what she heard initially from the male voice. But it didn’t make sense. Then there it was again. ‘Ault, Taube, nine.’
‘Ahh, sounds like October Nine.’ Aggie realised, and that was but a week away. What was significant about that date?
Dove did not respond to the voice but it was obvious by her silence she was listening to it. Then, a solid knock came at her door. The noisy interference was immediately silenced then came the sound of an object moving, two clicks of locks and the squeal of rotating wheels. A momentary silence lingered before the governess spoke again.
‘Enter,’ Dove affirmed from her office a corridor away. ‘Sister Harvey, what is it now?’
‘I was wondering if I may take that picture from your wall?’ she asked, pointing to a small wooden frame encasing a burned piece of fabric that sat behind the governess.
‘Why?’ Dove asked.
‘A historical lesson on discipline for the class, following today’s outrageous events,’ the Sister insisted. ‘Huntington-Smythe reminded me of it.’
Aggie tutted. It echoed back but was lost during their conversation.
‘Well, if Henrietta has brought it up, let’s do ourselves all a favour,’ Dove replied, handing the small frame over, which Harvey duly acknowledged and left.
Aggie began scurrying around, knowing the sister was on her way back. She hadn’t found what she was after. If Sister Harvey was giving her clues, why on earth wasn’t she just telling her what it was and where it was to find?
The door lock disengaged slowly as Sister Harvey entered the room. Aggie went to speak but the Sister was pursing her lips with her index finger in front.
‘Shhhhhh,’ she whispered into Aggie’s ear, before making her way over to the cupboard. She began to place the books back over the vent gently. Every so often, one book would be placed to the side until the tidy piles of Aggie’s work were just bundled and toppled over each other again in the overcrowded cupboard.
Sister Harvey passed the small pile of half-a-dozen books or so to her and then signalled for her to leave.
Along the corridor, she tiptoed and out of the front door where Cecile was waiting again.
‘Aggie, Aggie, Aggie,’ Cecile said disapprovingly. ‘You find more trouble than Eric Peabody.’
‘I’m sorry. No Elizabeth again?’ Aggie asked, desperate to read the books.
‘Not after the accident,’ she said, frowning at Aggie. ‘You have to come to the café for supper as Gideon is still not back. Come on now, it’s not safe.’
‘Still not back?’ Aggie said, fearing the worst.
Cecile had just bundled Aggie into Le Chat Noir and sat her away from the windows when a large black sedan cruised down the Steep and pulled up outside of the Priory School. The driver alighted, rounded the car, and opened up the rear passenger seat door. Sliding out smoothly, a tall, slender woman in a stripy fur-skin coat clip-clopped up the school stairs. The melted men who were still dining at Le Chat Noir, there since the morning, pressed their faces to the window for a second look. She was unlike anyone else from Ambledown. Aggie struggled to glimpse anything through the men as Miss Dove welcomed the woman into the school. Shortly after, a swift flurry of local women, all eager and overdressed, made their way into the school too.
‘I don’t understand all the fuss,’ Cecile shouted at the gawping men. ‘It’s the WI.’
‘Not her though,’ one of them replied. ‘She’s the mystery woman of the Institute. Comes and goes as she likes. We’ve all seen her, lads, haven’t we?’
A volley of agreement was met with the exception of one man, who slid into the seat opposite Aggie.
‘Apart from me, of course,’ came Archibald Goodfellow’s voice, his ghostly eyes peering at Aggie and a mischievous laughter at recognising his own disability.
‘Hello, again,’ Aggie replied, smiling.
‘Now, young lady. I understand from Cecile you are a guest of the good Professor Gideon Belchambers.’
‘That’s correct. He’s my u … umm, guardian. That is, while I remain evacuated,’ Aggie replied, concealing her identity as she was so often reminded to do.
‘Would you be so kind as to give him this?’ Archie asked, holding aloft the pound note. ‘Only, a fellow Professor friend of his asked me to pass it on. He’s at the Institute too.’
‘I’ll be sure to,’ Aggie confirmed.
‘And tell him that Archie said, “It’s a little zesty”.’
Agatha took a sniff and the faint smell of lemon was present.
Malkin, the robust black tomcat, made his presence felt by pouncing on the pile of books Aggie had sat down in front of her. Archie Goodfellow quickly removed himself as two books toppled down to the floor. As Aggie bent down to retrieve them the large cat insisted on her attention and splayed out over the other workbooks.
‘You, silly cat.’ She laughed. After a few minutes of fussing, Malkin was off pestering another patron. Aggie retrieved the two books. One had landed face up, presenting the work inside and was spread out by its bound centre. The other lay face down. The pages at the centre of the first were written in childlike handwriting. Aggie read through it, a child’s memoir of what they wish to be when they were older, with plenty of misspellings highlighted in teacher’s red pen. The second one, Aggie turned onto its cover and, there, in the same calligraphy as the inside of her blazer, were the intertwined initials L S-M. There was no other name on the front. It had been scribbled out.
She opened it up and skim read each page. She was nearing the end when she spotted a poem, entitled Forty-Nine, written in the centre of the pages in beautiful joined-up calligraphy. She read it carefully.
‘There were once seven sisters of the Seven Sisters, forty-nine as known to some but not to me and you.
When the angels came a knocking, a death so heart-fully shocking, that sisterhood of support and love became known as forty-two.
When words were finally spoken and a promise eternally broken, the six remaining sisters vowed revenge for such betrayal.
Two children orphaned, forsaken. Their heritage stolen and taken. Curse you lords of Ambledown, remain cowed behind your veil.’
*****
; Pop Braggan, Luna, and the remarkable falcon-dodging magpie ‘The Lady’ pulled up to the riverbank many hours after they had cast off. Night had crept in over them and only a few candles set in glass jars guided their path. The two large guards of the Institute sat at the opposite end, much more the happier now that Pop had struck a deal to replace the falcons, which his nephew had reneged upon. Professor Malcolm was also extremely happy as several large hessian bags had been stuffed with the Sedge plants he believed were a sufficient substitute to those within the cartouche.
‘Evening all,’ came the chipper tone of Eric Peabody.
‘You stink, boy,’ Pop informed him stepping back.
‘That’s cos dung beetles live in dung. Duh!’ he lipped Pop, instantly regretting it and too slow to duck the clip behind the ear that immediately came his way. ‘Good news is, though, I have these for ya! Da daahh,’ said Eric enthusiastically, producing jars upon jars of wriggling beetles he had lined up on the cobblestone bridge lit by intermittent candles.
‘You’ve excelled yourself, young man,’ Professor Malcolm congratulated him.
Eric’s broad grin accepted the praise un-modestly.
‘Anyone fancy a drink to celebrate our new business deal?’ Pop asked.
‘We do not drink. Besides, we late already. Mr Louds will be very angry. We need get men back,’ the orderlies announced.
‘I’ll join ya, Pop, but not the Poacher as Lizzy is running it tonight,’ said Eric.
‘Not at all, boy. Y’ too young for ale and who’s gonna let a stinky wretch like you in their establishment? The Crown and The Hart won’t. So, where’s Milly then, if Lizzy’s in charge?’
‘Mixing with the likes of the Smythes at the WI.’ Eric grimaced.
‘Beggars belief, boy. Milly?’ Pop laughed ‘Come on, let’s go to the Poacher. I’ll buy you a cordial, once you’ve washed.’
‘Perhaps I should be the one buying.’ Eric smiled fanning the dollars out in front of himself as he joined the giant man on a slow walk up the Steep.
