by Sara Fraser
‘What’s the problem here?’ Tom intervened between the pair.
‘This is the fuckin’ problem!’ The young man now brandished the cap before Tom’s face. ‘I paid a whole crown piece for this piece o’ shit, because he told me that it was made o’ Russian bear’s fur and not wind nor water could pass through it. Well water and wind does get through it, and now it’s falling to bits as well, so it is. The stitches has broke and the peak’s come off, and I aren’t been wearing it for more than a month!’
‘Constable, my own dear childrens sew my caps, and they do good works. Please, take a close look at my goods for yourself, Constable! Please, lift them and look at them very careful.’
Weiss spoke so volubly that flecks of spittle sprayed from his pendulous lips as he dramatically gestured towards the wooden frame on which rows of fur headgear were hanging.
‘And I sells them very cheap as a favour to the poor peoples who have to work very hard for little monies. I have never ever cheated any man, woman or child in my life! And it wasn’t me who sold this man his cap.’
‘It was you, you fuckin’ liar,’ the young man shouted. ‘And I bought this off you in Bromgrove mart, not more than a month since! Now give me my money back!’
‘Please, will you calm down?’ Tom requested politely. ‘Losing your temper and shouting will not solve anything.’
‘There’s fuck all needs solving. Here’s the fuckin’ proof of what I’m telling you!’ Again the fur cap was brandished and the young man’s beer-laden breath gusted against Tom’s face as he threatened, ‘And if this cheating bastard don’t give me my money in two seconds flat, I’m going to ram this up his arse and rip up every cap he’s got, and then take every penny he’s got off him.’
As always in such potentially violent situations Tom’s heart was pounding and he was struggling to master his apprehension. He shook his head and managed to keep his voice firm as he warned, ‘You’ll not rip up anything, and you’d best stop making these threats.’
‘And you’d best fuck off right now, you lanky streak o’ piss!’ the young man warned in return. ‘Or I’ll make fuckin’ mincemeat out of you at the same time as I does this cheating bastard!’
Tom drew a long, deep breath, and gabbled, ‘If you keep making threats against me, I shall be forced to arrest you. So just go away now and come back next week in a calmer frame of mind to discuss this matter with this gentleman – which discussion I promise to preside over.’
The young man instantly punched Tom in the face, sending his top hat flying, and Tom himself staggering backwards to collide with an onlooker, who cried out in protest and pushed Tom violently, sending him staggering helplessly forward to be met with another heavy punch from the initial assailant. Tom’s knees crumpled under him, but at that same instant he flailed out with his staff. Its lead-filled crown thudded into his attacker’s temple, sending him reeling and collapsing limply on to the cobbles.
Tom was on his knees, shaking his head to clear his scrambled senses, and trying to focus his eyes on the young man. He levered himself painfully upright and realized to his immense relief that his opponent was unconscious.
Pointing his staff at different men among the onlookers, Tom panted, ‘In the King’s name I’m calling on you, and you, and you and you, to help me take this man to the lock-up.’
He next selected a woman who was carrying a large covered basket.
‘Do you know where Doctor Laylor lives, Ma’am?’
‘Indeed I do.’
‘Then I would ask you please to go to Doctor Laylor’s house and request him from me to come to the lock-up and examine the prisoner.’
None of those selected raised any objections to being summoned to do their lawful duty in the King’s name. To be so actively involved ensured that they would have colourfully embroidered stories to tell, which would arouse envy in those unfortunates who had missed this dramatic incident.
The return to the lock-up resembled a bizarrely triumphal procession, with Tom, the victor, at its head, his defeated foe borne on the shoulders of the four men directly behind, and a noisily excited crowd following them.
Amy came out on to the lock-up steps, calling anxiously, ‘What’s happened, Tom? Are you alright? Are you hurt?’
He hurried to her. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about, my love. I’m perfectly well. There’s just been a dispute in the mart, that’s all.’
‘Look at the state of your clothes, they’re filthy dirty!’ she exclaimed in annoyance. ‘And where’s your hat?’
‘It fell off, and I haven’t had time to look for it.’
‘Is he dead?’ She pointed to the senseless countryman, her eyes widening with alarm. ‘Did you kill him?’
‘No! Of course not! He’s merely stunned! Now please, Amy, just allow me to get this man into a cell. I’ll tell you all about it later.’
‘And I pray that you’ll also be telling her to stop thieving my finest green tea leaves to put on airs and graces in front of her skivvy friends!’ Widow Potts screeched furiously from the upper window. ‘My caddy was full, and now it’s empty, and I’ve not had even the taste of a tisane for days! That’s what comes of marrying beneath you, Thomas Potts! You’ve brought her and her low cronies, who’re the very dregs of humankind, into my home to take tea as if they were gentlefolk like myself!’
The crowd immediately erupted with jeering cheers and catcalls.
‘That’s what you all are!’ Widow Potts screeched as she shook her fists at the crowd. ‘The dregs of humankind, the very scum of the earth!’
She was answered with even more jeering cheers and catcalls, and instantly countered with another screeching diatribe.
From bitter experience Tom knew that all he could do now was to get the prisoner into a cell as quickly as possible, and hope that his mother and the crowd would soon tire of their mutual entertainment.
He beckoned the bearers into the lock-up and they laid the unconscious man on to the raised stone slab sleeping bench in the nearest cell, then despite their obvious reluctance to leave were shepherded outside by Tom. As they separated one of them gave Tom the offending fur cap.
Tom thanked him, then took Amy’s arm, led her into the lock-up and barred the door.
Inside the cell the prisoner’s features became animated, his arms and legs twitched jerkily, and he began moaning loudly.
‘I’ll need to manacle him in case he becomes violent again,’ Tom told Amy. ‘Will you wait by the front door and let Hugh Laylor in when he comes.’
Amy frowned anxiously. ‘Why not just lock the cell and wait for Hugh Laylor to come and help you? That bloke might have another go at you while you’re chaining him up!’
It was an unwelcome possibility, and Tom was very tempted to agree to this suggestion. But, unwilling to display any hint of timidity before her, he shook his head.
‘I’m well able to deal with him, sweetheart.’
He took manacles, chains, keys and padlocks from the wall hooks and went into the cell. The prisoner was still lying on his back, limbs jerking, but now his eyes were open and he was mouthing sentences which to Tom sounded like gibberish.
For several seconds Tom was paralysed by foreboding. ‘Will I be able to master him if he fights with me again? Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait for Hugh to arrive? If this one was to get the better of me, what evil might he do to Amy?’
Then self-disgust coursed through him. ‘What a bloody coward you are, Potts! Why must you always shiver and shake like a frightened old woman? For God’s sake get a grip on yourself, and act like a man for once in your miserable life!’
Dominated by the impulsion of self-directed anger he warned the prisoner, ‘Don’t try to resist, or it will be the worse for you.’ And within a very short space of time he had secured the man’s arms and legs with the padlocked, manacled chains.
The bells clanged as Tom completed the task, and he told the prisoner, ‘I’ll take these off you when I’m satisfied that you’ll
behave yourself.’
The man only went on mouthing unintelligibly, his limbs jerking spasmodically. Tom could only hope for the doctor’s quick arrival.
The crowd outside was watching intently as Amy opened the door to the woman who had gone to the doctor’s house.
When Tom joined the pair, the woman informed him, ‘It don’t look as that there’s anybody at Doctor Laylor’s house, Master Potts. I rung the bell and hammered on the door real loud, but nobody come.’
Because of the condition of his prisoner this was unwelcome news for Tom. ‘Very well, Ma’am, I’m most grateful to you for your help. I thank you for it.’
She craned her neck trying to stare past him into the passageway. ‘Is there aught else I can do for you, Master Potts? I can come in and help if you wants me to.’
‘No, thank you, Ma’am, everything is done. But thank you anyway.’
Tom tried to close the door but she pressed her hand against it.
‘I’m Mrs Maud Harman. I’m a neighbour of Alfie Bennett.’
Tom was puzzled. ‘Ma’am?’
She smiled amusedly at his reaction. ‘Alfie Bennett, Master Potts. He’s the bloke you’ve just took in. He’s a neighbour of mine.’
Tom moved to allow her access. ‘Will you be kind enough to step inside, Ma’am?’
There was a concerted groan of frustration from the onlookers as the door closed behind Maud Harman.
‘What can you tell me about Alfie Bennett, Ma’am?’ Tom asked.
‘The first thing I can tell you is that he’s telling the truth about his cap. I was there in Bromsgrove mart when he give that robbing Jew bugger a full five shillings’ worth for it.’
Tom grimaced ruefully. ‘I wish I’d known that fact before I intervened in their argument. It might have saved a deal of trouble.’
‘It would have saved us the cost of losing a brand-new beaver, and your best clothes from being ruined! You great fool!’ Amy scolded him.
‘Yes, Amy, I accept that,’ Tom told her wearily. ‘But I’m on official duty now, and engaged upon more pressing matters than my own hat and clothing. So would you please go away and allow me to talk with this lady in private.’
‘Humph! I’ll be happy to do just that, you great fool!’ Amy tossed her head, and flounced off.
Tom reddened with embarrassment. ‘I do apologize most sincerely, Mrs Harman. My wife has been under much stress of late, and this is causing arguments between her and myself.’
Mrs Harman waved his apology away. ‘Don’t give it another thought, Master Potts. Now, like I said, me and Alfie Bennett lives nigh to each other on Merry-Come-Sorrow Hill, above Feckenham village . . .’
A loud wailing sound caused her to stop speaking and cock her head to listen.
Tom hastened to tell her, ‘I fear that’s Master Bennett. I’d best make sure he’s alright.’
Maud Harman shook her head. ‘Oh, don’t bother with him, Master Potts. He’ll just be having one of his funny turns. He fell out of a tree and landed on his head when he was a nipper, and ever since he has these funny turns regular. Especially when he’s been on the drink. Just leave him be and he’ll soon go to sleep; and when he wakes up he’ll be as right as rain. If you goes moithering him now, it’ll only make him play up worse.’
‘Well . . .’ Tom was hesitant to accept. ‘Well, perhaps if I just . . .’
‘There’s no perhaps about it!’ She frowned sternly. ‘I knows him, don’t I. You just leave him be, and he’ll quieten down and go off to sleep.’
Tom decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and accepted meekly. ‘Very well, Ma’am, as you say, you know best in his case.’
‘Indeed I do.’ Mollified by her victory she smiled pleasantly. ‘And now if you’ll allow me, Master Potts, I’ll tell you all about poor Alfie . . .’
She spoke at length, and Tom mentally docketed the salient facts.
Alfie Bennett lived with and was the sole support of his aged parents, and without that support they would be forced to go into the Poorhouse. Totally illiterate, he made a meagre living by catching rabbits and vermin, and whatever casual labour he could obtain.
Maud Harman emphasized that she was convinced that when he struck Tom, he was already suffering a funny turn. She ended by pleading with Tom not to bring charges against Bennett, for the sake of the man’s aged parents, describing in heart-rending detail how hideously that innocent, harmless, fragile couple would suffer if their beloved son was taken from them and cast into prison.
When she fell silent, Tom mulled over what he had heard. Remembrance of something she had said much earlier caused him to ask curiously, ‘When you spoke about Alfie paying for the fur cap, you said he paid a “full five shillings’ worth for it”. Why did you use that particular term?’
For a moment she seemed puzzled by his question, but then smiled and nodded. ‘Oh, I see what you’re asking. What I meant was that Alfie paid the Jew in skins. Moles and rats and suchlike. You see when Alfie goes rabbit and vermin catching for the farmers and others, they gives him a few pence and lets him take the dead vermin and some of the rabbits. So then Alfie sells all the skins and him and his Dad and Mam eats the rabbit meat. And if truth be told when times is hard and they’re getting desperate hungry, they eats the vermin meat as well.’
‘Ah, yes I understand now.’ Tom nodded, then the vivid memory of Alfie Bennett’s angry shouting came back to him.
‘I paid a whole crown piece worth for this piece o’ shit, because he told me that it was made o’ Russian bear fur and not wind nor water could pass through it.’
And the unbidden voice that dwelt in the depths of Tom’s mind suggested, ‘Could that be why the dogs were stolen? Would their fur be weatherproof enough for it to be worth going to the trouble of stealing them to make fur caps?’
‘No, surely that can’t be,’ Tom muttered aloud, and then became aware that Maud Harman was staring curiously at him, and hastily apologized.
‘Pray excuse me, Ma’am, I was thinking aloud.’ Even as he spoke the unbidden voice was urging him, ‘Go and ask the pedlar if he ever deals in fur caps made from dog skins. Go now and ask him.’
‘What about Alfie, Master Potts?’ Maud Harman pressed.
Tom made an instant decision. ‘I shan’t bring him before the magistrates, Ma’am. You may tell his parents that he’ll be released as soon as he’s recovered from his funny turn. You may see him now and reassure yourself that he isn’t severely hurt, and then I have to go out again.’
After Maud Harman had inspected Bennett, she and Tom left the lock-up together. As they walked across the Green he remarked casually, ‘That’s a large basket you have, Ma’am. When it’s filled it must be heavy for you to carry back to Feckenham. That’s a longish walk when bearing a load.’
‘And don’t I know it,’ she agreed, smiling happily. ‘But I’ll not be bearing the load today. Parson Winward brought me here in his gig and is taking me back in it.’
‘Parson Winward?’ Tom shook his head. ‘He’s not known to me, I’m afraid. I understood Reverend Mackay was the curate at St John’s church.’
‘He is. But Parson Winward is come to the village on some church business or other, and he’s lodging at the Old Black Boy. I works there, you see, that’s how I’ve come to know him. He’s ever such a kind and charitable gentleman, so he is.
‘Like you am yourself, Master Potts. I shan’t be forgetting how kind you’ve been about poor Alfie. If I can ever do you a good turn, then you only need to ask it of me, because I’ll be more than glad to do it for you.’
At the Market Place they parted company with mutual good wishes and Tom went to speak with Yakob Weiss, but the space the pedlar had occupied was empty.
‘Do you know where the fur cap man has gone?’ he asked the nearest stall holder.
‘No idea, mate; he packed up his stuff and went off while you was taking that bloke to the lock-up, and the next time I saw him he was beating his donkey and goin
g like the clappers over the crossroads there.’ The man laughed. ‘I reckon he thought that one unhappy customer was enough for the day and scarpered afore another ’un got hold of him.’
‘Are you sure the donkey was his?’ Tom queried.
‘O’ course it’s his. He’s too fuckin’ idle to backpack his wares about wi’ him. I’ve seen him with the bloody thing at Worcester and Bromsgrove markets. You must have known he keeps it tethered behind the Red Cow when he’s here.’ The man nodded.
‘Oh yes, so he does,’ Tom concurred. ‘Well I’ll leave you to keep on selling.’
He continued his patrolling of the market and the nearby inns and taverns, calling in at the Red Cow tavern to verify that the pedlar did indeed customarily tether a donkey in its back yard. An hour later as he was checking that the shops and taverns along the High Street were not having trouble with any obstreperous drunken customers, he noted in passing the exceptionally fine quality of a horse and gig parked outside Bromley’s Emporium. Some short time later he was coming out of a tavern when the same gig came past at speed, and he saw its passenger, Maud Harman, talking animatedly to the fat, florid-featured driver who was dressed in clerical clothing.
‘That’ll be the Reverend Winward,’ Tom told himself, and without any conscious reason thought casually, ‘He’ll certainly be easy enough to recognize again, should I ever have need to speak with him.’
SIXTEEN
Redditch Town
Sunday, 27th January
Early morning
It was raining hard when Elias Bradshaw tugged on the lock-up bell-rod in the darkness before dawn to interrupt Tom Potts’ breakfast.
Tom took the lamp and went to the door calling, ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s Elias Bradshaw, Master Potts. I’ve got a job for you.’
Tom unbarred the door and invited, ‘Step in out of the rain, Master Bradshaw. What can I do for you?’
‘You can find the thieving bastards who stole my dogs during the night, Master Potts,’ Bradshaw growled angrily.
