by Anna Jacobs
‘Mum’s the word on that, if you don’t want to go on breathin’.’
‘Aye, I suppose you’re right. But if we go an’ tell him what’s happening first, we could be too late to do anything before Lord Tarnly gets here. I’ve no mind to swing for it, even if you have!’
‘But . . ’
‘But nothing! We’ve got to find out where they’re keeping the lads and make sure they don’t talk about us.’
A small figure hidden in the bushes watched them go, then slipped back to The Golden Fleece, where Thad and his friends had miraculously sobered up. When they heard what he had to tell them, they all left in a hurry.
Those remaining in the tap room looked at one another. ‘Somethin’ up,’ said Richard Bennifer, with the smug interest of an old man who is past the stage of getting personally involved in trouble.
‘Ah,’ agreed one of his cronies. ‘Thass for sure.’
‘We’d better get ready for trouble, then,’ said a third, who was still young enough to resent being left out of the conspiracy. ‘They might need a bit of help.’
‘Now, don’t you go a-starting anything!’ warned Sam, torn between his duty as constable and his own desire to join in.
He was ignored.
‘I’ll go an’ get my fowling piece. She’s old, but she still works all right. Been oilin’ her up lately.’
‘I sharpened my pitchfork,’ said another man. ‘Do a mort o’ harm, a nice sharp pitchfork can. Hev to be careful I don’t poke it into someone, shan’t I?’
Within minutes, the atmosphere inside the inn had changed completely. Men slipped out to their homes and returned with their chosen weapons, then settled to wait with a heavy patience few town-dwellers could match. If there was any chance of striking back at Sewell, they would be ready.
Even Will had underestimated the depth of their anger.
Nate took one look at their faces and thanked God he’d changed allegiance. He shrank back into a corner and buried his nose in his ale. No one had included him in their earnest discussions, but at least they’d left him alone. He wasn’t going home, though. He wanted them to see plain that he wasn’t warning anyone.
Deep in the woods, Izzy and Hugh dismounted and led their horses, the better to see the tracks they were following, footprints clearly visible in the mud. Dusk deepened around them as they made their way along a little-used path, stopping at regular intervals to listen carefully and make sure they were not being followed. Any poacher would have laughed at the amount of noise they were making in between their pauses, but they had been bred in the stews of Bristol and their few years in the country had not taught them how to blend in with the woodland noises as they moved - which their pursuers were doing with their usual skill.
When at last the cottage came in sight, the two men paused and Izzy let out a soft ‘Aaah!’ of satisfaction. Two voices could be heard from inside, raised in raucous song. Were all the villagers drunk that night?
‘They’ve run mad,’ marvelled Izzy. ‘Think they’ve won already, they do! Stupid dolts!’
‘Shhh!’ A punch in the arm emphasised this command and Izzy scowled as he rubbed the bruised flesh.
As they moved further down the track, they could make out the words:
Oh, we’ll hang him with a rope, rope, rope,
Yes, we’ll hang him with a long, long rope!
And he will not have a hope, hope, hope,
When we hang him with our long, long rope!’
Every now and then the music stopped as pots were clinked together and toasts drunk.
‘To Sewell!’
‘To Sewell!’
‘Hope he don’t catch jail fever!’
‘Not afore they hang him, anyhow.’
Another burst of laughter followed this exquisite piece of wit, then, ‘To Izzy! To Hugh! Long may they swing on the gibbet!’
‘Try to get us hanged, will they?’ muttered Hugh. ‘We’ll see about that!’
‘Will you shut up, you fool!’
Outside the cottage, hidden in the eaves, young Zacky Haplin was keeping watch. He’d heard the sound of the approaching horses a while ago, but not till he caught sight of two shadowy figures approaching the cottage did he pull hard on a piece of string attached at the other end to his father’s wrist. Two sharp tugs a moment later showed him that Ted had got his message, and the tune the two Haplins were singing changed abruptly.
Zacky sank back into the shadows. His part was played now, unless something untoward happened, and his Dad had threatened to flay him alive if he tried to join in the fighting, or even stirred from his perch under the eaves till he was given permission. And Ted Haplin’s children all knew when to do as they were told. But Zacky wasn’t complaining, because he was in a prime position to see everything, unlike his brothers and sisters.
When the song changed, something stirred briefly in the shadows behind the new shed, and Zacky noted the movements with satisfaction.
The two conspirators stopped to confer.
‘We’ll try the outhouses first,’ whispered Hugh. ‘If they’ve got ’em locked up there, it’ll be easy enough to deal with ’em. You got your pistol and knife ready?’
‘Course I have!’ An’ he’d use them on some of them bastards afore this night was through, Izzy added mentally, angry now - and afraid as well. Hang him with a rope, would they? Sing an’ laugh about it, would they?
Slowly they crept forward. Izzy waited outside while Hugh slipped into the first shed, checked that it held no prisoners and returned to pass on that information. It seemed to the hidden watchers that the two were in disagreement about something.
‘I’m checking that new shed next, I tell you!’ Hugh moved forward again. The door opened, then reopened and he hissed at his companion, ‘They’re here! I told you they would be.’
The men inside strained against their bonds and made gurgling noises into their gags as their rescuers took out their knives.
One of the hidden observers turned his ankle in a rut, and the slight noise made Izzy and Hugh freeze where they were for a moment.
‘No time to get’m away! They’re on to us!’ hissed Hugh, and raised his knife.
‘Stay where you are!’ Will roared, unable to stand by and see men killed in cold blood, even murderers like these.
His command was ignored. Knives flashed and the night erupted into noise and confusion as shots were fired and an attempt was made to catch the intruders. A villager yelled in sudden pain, and one of the prisoners writhed against his bonds and then jerked slowly into eternal stillness.
Then, as suddenly as they had begun, the noises subsided. Will roared for lights to be brought. Ted’s lantern revealed one dead prisoner, a second badly wounded and the third safe but hysterical with terror at his narrow escape. There was also a wounded villager, but he’d mend.
Sewell’s man, Hugh, had been caught and was struggling vainly against those who held him, cursing them all. Of Izzy there was no sign.
‘Damnation!’ said Will. ‘I didn’t want any of them to escape until we were ready. He’ll warn Sewell before we can get Lord Tarnly here! We’d better follow him as quickly as we can.’
Ted Haplin, on the edge of the group, judged it time to call in reinforcements, whatever the Squire had said about keeping this business to themselves. He beckoned to his son. ‘Run to the village, Zacky. Tell ’em what’s been happening. Say we’re going over to Marsh Bottom an’ we need a bit of help. Look sharp, now, boy!’ He hadn’t the slightest doubt that the other villagers would come. Enough of them, anyway.
‘We’ll have to capture Sewell before he has time to get away,’ Will was saying, as Ted turned back to listen to his leader’s instructions. Ted’s mouth curved into a slight smile. Will Pursley had become Squire and turned gentry, so he’d be bound to try to take Sewell alive, but he, Ted, knew when it was time to rid the country of vermin. If Sewell were taken alive, he’d find some way to wriggle out of this. Ted wasn’t having any more troubl
e around his village, not now he was set fair for a life of luxury in the gatehouse, with a wife as sweet-tempered as she’d been sharp before. And no one, no one in the world, was ever going to threaten the safety of his family again!
When Will had finished talking, the group of men set off towards Marsh Bottom, dragging Hugh and the other prisoner along with them, making sure they bounced off a few trees on the way, and leaving the badly wounded man behind, tied to Joe’s bed. Time enough to deal with him later.
Chapter 17
Zacky Haplin arrived in the village out of breath and wild with excitement. He erupted into the Golden Fleece, panting so hard that he could scarcely get the words out.
‘They - got ’em,’ he managed to gasp at last.
‘Who?’
‘Sewell’s new bully boys. First my Dad an’ Squire got one lot as tried to kill Squire this afternoon, then they shut ’em up in our new pigshed.’ He stopped to gulp for more breath. ‘Hugh an’ Izzy come to rescue ’em, an’ when my Dad tried to catch ’em, they fired their guns and stabbed folk with knives an’ it were a right old turn-up. One of the bully boys is dead, an’ good riddance to him, an’ Squire’s caught Hugh, but that Izzy got away. He’s run back to warn Mr Sewell, so Dad says you’re all to come down to Marsh Bottom an’ help us catch them afore they get away again. An’ he says not to come empty-handed.’
While the precise details of what had happened might not be totally clear, the main message was. Sewell’s hour of judgement had come and they were needed.
For a few minutes, the inn was filled with noise, as each man turned to his neighbour and claimed to have expected this all along. It was Sam who called for silence and got their reluctant attention.
‘Thass agin’ the law, goin’ after Sewell is! We hafta send for His Lordship, like I been tellin’ you all along. Us don’t want to be took up for rioting.’
‘Well, you go off to find his lordship, if you like, but we’re goin’ to get Sewell,’ said Nancy Bell’s brother Ralph. ‘I been waitin’ for this ever since they attacked our Nance.’
They poured out of the inn at his words, unwilling to wait a moment longer to get their weapons and leave.
Inevitably Mr Rogers was awoken by the tramping of heavy feet, the hushed voices and the clinking of spades, picks or other improvised weapons. He appeared suddenly among them in his nightshirt and cloak, his breath steaming in the cold air, his sparse white hair standing out like a halo.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded. ‘What is this?’
They stared at him unblinkingly, earth-coloured men in homespun garments, broad, callused hands clasping a strange mixture of weapons, their unity of purpose holding them together in a way that was almost visible.
‘What are you doing?’ repeated the parson.
Ralph took it upon himself to act as spokesman, ‘Them sods hev been shootin’ at Squire again. It were Sewell behind all them troubles, like we allus thought. Now we’re goin’ to settle with him once and for all.’
‘Will!’ gasped the parson, clutching his thin chest. ‘Will’s been shot again?’
‘No. Just shot at. They missed him this time.’
‘He’s all right? You’re sure he’s all right?’
‘Ah, right as rain. But now we hev to get Sewell, afore he escapes. Ted Haplin sent to let us know. Thass right, ent it, Zacky lad?’
‘Yes. My Dad sent me to fetch help. He said people were to come to Marsh Bottom.’
Someone stepped forward to support the frail old figure, for the parson had suddenly started shaking like a leaf.
‘You can’t take the law into your own hands,’ he quavered. ‘You must not!’
‘If we don’t do somethin’, who will?’
‘First our hayrick,’ said a voice at the back.
‘Then my sister Nancy,’ said Ralph.
‘Then the smithy,’ growled a friend of Thad’s.
‘And they nearly got my inn, too,’ said Sam Poulter, his features flickering in a demoniacal way in the light of a lantern he held aloft. ‘But I still say us should do it right an’ call out Lord Tarnly an’ that there militia of his. Us shouldn’t try to do it on our own.’
‘Where was Lord Tarnly an’ his precious militia when Squire was shot after Christmas? What did he do to help then?’
‘Nothin’!’
‘Now them sods are startin’ at it again, an’ we’re not havin’ it!’
A deep growl approved this statement.
‘It’s time us did somethin’ about it ourselves. Long gone time!’
‘But you can’t go after Sewell!’ cried the parson, afraid for his flock. ‘The law will deal harshly with you, if you try to take matters into your own hands!’
‘If us don’t, who’ll they attack next?’ demanded Ralph. ‘He laughs at us, Sewell do. Calls us bumpkins an’ clods. Laughs when he turns folk out o’ their homes, too. Won’t laugh after tonight, though. Nor will them two bullies of his. If I had my way, they’d never laugh again.’
Another rumble of approval greeted this statement.
‘No, no!’ begged Mr Rogers, but the men were already melting away into the darkness, and soon he was left standing alone in the flickering light of a lantern which hung on the wall outside the smithy. Its flame, blowing first this way, then that, lit up the still-blackened outer wall, then the old man’s white face, with the thin plume of breath trailing from his lips, then swung back to show the wall. So long did the parson stand there that Prue eventually came out of the inn and begged him to get indoors before he caught his death.
‘I must fetch help,’ he stammered. ‘I must fetch help!’ But what help was there to be found in a little village like this?
‘Nothin’ to be done, Parson,’ said Prue grimly. ‘They’ll not be stopped. An’ my Sam’s goin’ for help, isn’t he? Goin’ into Sawbury.’
‘But His Lordship won’t be able to get here in time!’
At that moment Sam came round the side of the inn, leading a horse. He nodded to the two figures standing in the small pool of light and heaved himself up into the saddle.
‘Ride as fast as you can, Sam,’ begged the parson. ‘Tell his lordship to come at once, with as many men as he can raise. Tell him to come straight to Marsh Bottom, and I’ll meet him there.’
‘Sam, take care!’ wailed Prue, suddenly afraid that her husband would be hurt.
He galloped off into the night without even a glance over his shoulder.
Mistress Jenks stepped out of the shadows, making Prue squeak in fright. ‘Come and get dressed, Parson!’ she said quietly. ‘You can’t go to Marsh Bottom in your nightshirt!’
‘You’ll not stop me going!’ warned Mr Rogers.
‘No. No, I’ll not even try to stop you. Some things have to be done, whatever the cost, and if you’re there, maybe you can speak up for those misguided fools to his lordship. But I’ll not let you catch your death of cold to do it.’
Prue whirled and ran back into the inn, terrified now for Sam’s safety. If Lord Tarnly came out to Broadhurst with the Sawbury militia, then there were sure to be arrests. Men would fight viciously to avoid the harsh penalties of a law that could hang a man for something as small as the theft of a handkerchief. No use going after the village men to try to stop them; they’d not listen to her!
She stood frozen for a minute, then said slowly, ‘But they might listen to Squire’s wife. She’s Mistress Elizabeth’s daughter, after all. They might just listen to her.’ Moreover, if Prue was there with them, she might be able to keep her Sam safe when he returned. She knew him. He was already torn between doing his duty as constable, and joining in with his friends.
Throwing on a dark dress over her nightgown, she crammed her bare feet into her shoes and went to harness the other horse to their trap, sobbing aloud as her chilled fingers fumbled with the stiff leather straps.
As the parson began to make his way on foot towards Marsh Bottom, accompanied by Mistress Jenks, Prue drove as fast as the f
itful moonlight would allow towards the Manor, and Sam rode towards Sawbury, lashing one of the most placid horses in the district till it galloped hell for leather through the dark countryside.
* * * *
Will and his men arrived at Marsh Bottom first and made their way in silence round to the stables. There they found a horse that bore signs of having recently been ridden furiously, its chest heaving and splashes of mud on its withers, not to mention spur marks showing clearly on its flanks.
‘That’s how Izzy got away from us,’ said Thad. ‘He must have had a horse waiting. In a mighty hurry, he were, ridin’ the poor creature like that.’ He stroked the still-nervous animal’s sweaty nose, but it blew through its nostrils and tried to jerk away from him, its eyes still wild with fear.
‘Let’s go to the house,’ Will said. ‘It’s time to confront Sewell.’
Sombre-faced, the group of men slipped outside again and surrounded the house, then, at a nod from Will, Ted went up and banged on the front door.
* * * *
At almost the same time, Prue was hammering on the door of the Manor, sobbing under her breath, sure this night would see her losing her husband if she didn’t do something about it.
Sarah, still fully dressed, woke from an uneasy doze in the parlour, thinking at first that Will had been hurt again. She rushed out to fling the door open, heedless of her own safety and gaped to see Prue Poulter standing there, her hair in wild disarray on her shoulders.
Once she realised that Will was all right, Sarah’s brain started to function clearly again and she wasn’t slow to grasp the dangers of the situation.
‘I’ll come!’ she said quietly. ‘We must stop them killing each other!’
The same inflexible unity of purpose that had drawn the men of the village together to redress their wrongs was now making other women follow them to the Manor to protect their husbands, it was hard to bear the waiting. They began creeping through the night to find out what was happening.
* * * *
At Marsh Bottom, Sewell refused to open his door and when some of the men tried to break in, he loosed off a shot through an upstairs window that grazed Thad in the upper arm.
