The Devil's Surrogate

by Jennifer Jane Pope

  Wickstanner had apparently brought in Crawley because of allegations that Matilda was a witch, or at best a heretic, possibly because she had rebuffed his amorous advances. Crawley had come, but not for this reason; the man was a fraud and a charlatan, his principle crusade not to save damned souls but to extort money. Hannah must have realised this and at first refused to pay up (this much had also come from snippets of conversation Harriet overheard in the crypt) but when it became clear that Crawley was not bluffing, she had been forced to concede.

  Now Crawley and his henchman were taking her to meet Hannah and James, presumably having arranged a rendezvous for the exchange, or so the old woman must have been led to believe. Crawley, however, obviously had no intention of honouring his side of the bargain. She, Harriet - Matilda as far as anyone but Jane Handiwell was concerned - was to be his protective shield, and Silas Grout would shoot the unsuspecting couple down in cold blood. After that, with Hannah's gold safely in hand, Crawley would indeed finally kill Harriet. The villagers had evidently been told the postponed execution would now take place at dawn, but with his mission already accomplished, she doubted Crawley would bother allowing her to live that long. A fatal shot from a musket could be attributed to the old woman, or to young James Calthorpe, and silence the only witness to his treachery. Harriet was certain that her chances of seeing even the first glimmerings of another day were remote as Crawley kicked his mount into a trot and headed it out across the now deserted village green.

  Paddy Riley was not a man usually at a loss for words, but the scene that greeted them when Toby Blaine finally responded to his soft call and admitted them into the barn came close to leaving him speechless.

  'He was trying to get the lady to tell who we were,' Toby explained, pointing calmly at the second form lying sprawled alongside the still unconscious first man. 'Don't worry, he's dead all right,' Toby added as Paddy moved to examine the corpse. 'I whacked him with that big lump of wood there. He was hurting her bad, so I just hit him as hard as I could. I didn't mean to kill him, but I reckon he was a pretty wicked sod anyway.'

  'Aye, that he was, I reckon,' Paddy murmured. He looked across to where Sarah now sat huddled against one wall, her nakedness covered by a piece of sacking. Her eyes were open but they did not seem to be focused, and he doubted she was really aware of much of what was happening around her.

  'She's Miss Harriet's cousin, Sarah,' Toby said, following Paddy's eyes. 'I don't think she's feeling very well, but I sat and talked to her for a bit while we waited. Lots of what she was saying I didn't really understand, but she told me her name, and that she was taken from the coach the other night. And,' he added, his eyes gleaming, 'you'll never guess what else she said, though I'm not sure whether it's true or just her rambling on.' He paused for effect. 'What she said was that they weren't highwaymen at all, but highway women! Would you believe it?'

  'I reckon I'd believe just about anything right now,' Paddy retorted. He turned to Sean. 'Nip back out to the wagon and bring in that other wench. I've a mind I know where I've seen her before, but young Toby here can tell us for sure. If I'm right, then the sooner we get out of here the better, though I'm doubting what we have to tell will be welcome news to Master Handiwell.'

  'This was my father's,' Hannah Pennywise said, and straightened up with some difficulty in the corner where she had removed the small section of flooring. She carefully pulled the layers of sacking away from the object she had retrieved from the hidey-hole to reveal a curious pistol-like weapon. It had a handle and a flintlock mechanism and was small enough to be held in one hand, but the barrel was unlike anything James Calthorpe had ever seen on any weapon other than a full-sized blunderbuss. It was trumpet-shaped, and across the muzzle measured a good five to six inches.

  'It hasn't been fired these past fifty years,' Hannah went on, 'so only the gods know what will happen when the trigger is pulled next. Do you know anything about this sort of thing, lad?'

  James held out a hand and carefully took the weapon from her. 'I think it's a very early flintlock mechanism,' he ventured a dubious guess. 'Is it loaded?'

  'Hardly, but there's powder in a pot on the shelf somewhere, and a bag of small balls I've been using as a doorstop since my pa died.'

  'Let's see how the flint is then.' James raised the cumbersome pistol, cocked the hammer and pulled back on the trigger. There was a rasping clack of metal followed by a bright shower of sparks. 'Astonishing,' he muttered. 'It looks like it'll still work, but to be honest, I've not the slightest idea how something like this should be loaded.'

  'Ah, well I have,' Hannah assured him, 'so you just pass it back over here and hand me down that black pot above the bed there. I doubt there's enough powder for more than one decent shot, but then I also doubt whether there'll be time to reload for a second go anyway.'

  'If that thing delivers as bad as it looks,' James muttered, 'I doubt there'll be much need of a second shot. The only trouble as I see it,' he added nervously, 'is that something like that is hardly very selective.'

  'That it ain't, and it also ain't much good beyond about fifteen paces, but close up anything within several feet either side is like to be ripped apart.'

  'And Matilda is going to be right in the line of fire,' James pointed out.

  Hannah sniffed, and took the pot of powder he passed her. 'Don't think I don't know that,' she said, 'but then beggars can't be choosers, and apart from that other pistol, this is all we've got. So, you take the other gun and I'll have this one. I expect you can shoot straighter than I ever could, let alone now I'm an old biddy, so it'll be up to you. Try to drop that black bastard Crawley first. If I'm any judge, he'll have Matilda close to him to hide behind. If he's got his other man with him I'll try to get a clear shot at him, so you'll have to be quick and try not to miss. There won't likely be any second chances.'

  'And what if he has more than the one man with him?' James asked.

  Hannah was carefully tipping powder down the gaping black muzzle, and didn't respond.

  'It looked like he had several others working for him from what I could see back at the green. Two pistols won't be much good then, even if that thing might take a couple of men out in one shot.'

  'He'll only have the one,' Hannah replied, a note of total certainty in her voice. She looked up from her task to smile grimly. 'Those other buggers are only in this for a handful of whatever he's promised them, mark my words, and Crawley won't want any witnesses this night, not if he's planning what I think he's planning.'

  'But if we know he's planning to double-cross us, and he'll be using Matilda as some sort of shield, why are we even thinking of being there to meet him?'

  'Because we ain't got a lot of choice from where I'm sitting,' Hannah snapped. 'If we don't turn up by the three elms at the appointed hour, he'll just take her back and hang her straight off. And anyway, the fact that we're expecting the bastard to play dirty gives us that little edge he won't be expecting. Now quit your mithering and get down under this bed. There should be a couple of coils of rope under there somewhere. If we hurry, there should be just enough time for us to arrange a little diversion for Master Crawley and his friend.'

  Matilda Pennywise groaned through her gag as she was finally lifted down from the wagon. She could barely stand, and but for the support of the man called Sean she would have collapsed to her knees. Nearly two hours bound in one position, even though they had cut the cords about her legs and ankles, had left her feeling stiff and sore, and now she had to be half carried into the barn.

  The events of the day were blurred in her mind, but she remembered everything clearly enough. First she was dressed in one of the ridiculous bird costumes and herded together with a group of other similarly dressed girls, and then they had been sent off into the woods to run around as sport for those sinister looking black-garbed hunters. Tired and covered in tiny scratches from all the brambles, she had managed to avoid capture for what seemed like an eternity, only to be scooped up at the la
st and trussed like a chicken bound for the oven. She was then dumped into the little wagon where she bounced about as the driver apparently went in search of further quarry. After that there had been a sudden flurry of action in which something happened to the original driver, and then a second girl had been deposited in the wagon with her, a girl with the largest breasts Matilda had ever seen. Then there was more trouble outside, some sort of fight followed by a pistol shot. She heard raised voices and some talk about a woman being hurt before the two men lifted yet another female into the now crowded wagon, a woman dressed like the male hunters except she wasn't wearing a mask, and her face was all too familiar to Matilda. The innkeeper's daughter had sat jammed into a corner of the wagon, her hands bound behind her, her mouth stuffed with a gag, glaring across at her with undisguised hatred. Matilda, who wondered why these men had chosen to remove Kitty's gag and not her own, glared back at her in turn until fatigue finally fell heavy upon her eyelids, and she drifted off into a doze until the wagon finally stopped at the barn.

  She still had no idea what was happening, or who these newcomers were, but the man Sean, at least, seemed to be taking care to handle her gently as he helped her into one of the inner chambers.

  'Bugger me!'

  Matilda's head jerked up at the sound of the youthful voice, and she found herself staring at Toby Blaine. For a moment she thought his outburst was due to the fact that he had recognised her, but then she realised her features were still hidden beneath the feathered hood and that he had merely been surprised by her garish and bizarre appearance.

  'Stop staring, lad,' Sean said quietly. 'Ain't the lady's fault, whoever she is. Just make a bit of room there and help her down. She looks like she could use a drink, too. See if you can get that thing off her head and get her a drop of water, there's a good lad. I'm going to fetch the other two in and I'll wager they've a healthy thirst on them by now as well.'

  Oona pushed her way through a thicket of brambles and threw herself onto the grass, alternately whimpering and growling and trying to turn her head far enough to get a look at the wound on her shoulder. She could smell the blood and feel the burning pain where the ball had torn through her furry jerkin, ripping the flesh beneath it, but she could not tell the extent of the damage. At least she could still move her arm.

  She rolled over onto her back and sat up, staring down at the gleaming claws tipping her fingers. They made it impossible for her to probe the wound without inflicting further injury, and the rigidity of the glove, as well as the intricacy of the fastenings holding them over her hands, made it equally impossible for her to remove them unaided. She snorted in anger and frustration, and shook her head like a mad dog in an effort to clear it of the whirling red and grey mists that always seemed to rise before her eyes whenever she attempted to think straight.

  She was accustomed to pain. The handlers here were never sparing in their use of the whip, and she could vaguely remember back to earlier days when women had used canes on her, beating her savagely day and night until she thought she would prefer to die than face another dawn. It had all been so unfair, for it was not her fault. She had not asked to grow into the grotesque creature that had emerged from her original girlish body as she entered into adulthood. Oona could hardly remember those innocent childish times now, yet she knew she had been happy, and that she had lived in a large house and worn soft clothes and slept in a soft bed. But she had been different, and her difference had appalled and frightened people she thought loved her and would protect her. They had beaten her. They had cast her out. They had sold her to traders just to get her out of their sight. And the traders had beaten her and made her into a wild and savage animal, tormenting and then playing with her until the object of so much horror and curiosity arose from its slumber and displayed itself in all its blatant lust.

  Her eyes narrowed as these memories whirled through her head. She would never forget the way they brought her here, dressed her as she was now, and called her 'dog-girl' and 'bitch-hound'. They had forced their various tonics into her, and there had been times when she believed herself mad and that she truly was a wild dog. She barked and yelped and bounded after whatever they told her to chase. She fell upon women whose scent drove her to the verge of insane lust, a lust only abated when she could mount them like bitches and plunge her hated and demanding shaft deep inside them, pounding until she sprayed her barren seed into their squirming bodies.

  Slowly, Oona rose to her feet. Her head was beginning to throb, as it always did just before they gave her her morning and evening meals. She peered down at herself. Sure enough, the throbbing member was fully awake and demanding its needs be answered. She reached down and gently touched its length with one talon, shivering as she did so, and then raised her head and sniffed the night air speculatively.

  The log was a section of a large branch three to four feet in length and split in two where a smaller branch had been growing off to one end. There were four additional projections much smaller in diameter that had all been broken off short, either by the original fall or in the time since then.

  'I had young Toby Blaine, and a couple of his friends, drag this over for me back in the spring,' Hannah said. 'I found it lying in the woods a week or two before. You can see where someone's chopped a bit away at one end, but it was a tad rotten, so they left it. It would have done for firewood though, if I could have bribed one of the boys to chop it for us.'

  'I'd have done it for you, if you'd had Matilda ask,' James asserted.

  In the near darkness, Hannah grinned. 'I know, and that was my next move. But the thing is, young Jamie, do you reckon you can carry it?'

  James walked around the piece of timber, studying it.

  'It probably weighs about forty to fifty pounds,' she added. 'My pa used to bring home lumps like this on his shoulder all the time.'

  'How far do you want me to carry it?' James asked. He stooped and knelt, reaching beneath the twisted limb to test its weight.

  'As far as the three elms, where else do you think?' Hannah snapped irritably. 'You think I've got time to worry about lighting fires in the cottage right now?'

  'Well, Mistress Pennywise,' James replied quietly, 'perhaps if you told me exactly what it was you were planning, I'd have a better idea of what was expected of me. Whether you've got magical powers as people say, or not, I most certainly haven't, so I can't read minds.'

  'You wouldn't want to read mine, young man,' Hannah retorted, yet her expression softened and she smiled gently at him. 'But you're right,' she said, and speaking quietly and rapidly, she outlined the plan she had come up with.

  James listened in silence, nodding now and then, and then he too smiled. 'Yes,' he said at last. 'Yes, that would most certainly come as something of a surprise to Master Crawley. But the question is, can we make it work?'

  'No,' Hannah replied sombrely. 'The question is, can we afford not to? And the answer, my lad, ain't going to come to us standing here. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say.'

  Jane stared defiantly at Toby Blaine and at the two troopers, but her outward defiance masked an inner turmoil that had begun the moment Paddy and Sean removed her mask. It now reached a boiling point as she was confronted with young Toby, who identified her without any trouble, confirming Paddy's earlier suspicion as to her identity. A few moments later, however, things became infinitely worse from her point of view when the bird-girls were unmasked and it was revealed that one of them was, despite her lack of hair, most unmistakably Matilda.

  'You're sure, lad?' Paddy asked when Toby had stopped gawping long enough to tell the men who she was.

  Matilda, her jaw aching from being gagged for hours, glared fiercely at the Irishman. 'Of course he's sure, you idiot! He's known me and my grandmother for as long as I've lived in the village, and that's more than two years now.'

  'But...?' Paddy looked from Matilda, to Toby, to Jane and back to Matilda again. 'You'll have to pardon my ignorance, miss, but I was under the impressio
n you was the girl that witchfinder fellow had in the church, at least that was the talk while I was in the village.'

  'She was,' Toby interrupted. 'I was watching when that Crawley and his men took her. Wickstanner was with them, and he read out something from a piece of paper.'

  'Yes,' Matilda confirmed, her face grim with tension at the memory, 'that was me sure enough, and it was me he was intending to hang, but then she took me from the crypt. There's a passageway leading out from it into the graveyard, and she brought me here. I thought they'd come to save me, but...' she shrugged, looked pointedly down at herself and then across at Kitty, who was listening to the exchange with a vaguely uninterested look on her face. 'Well, as you can see, I was hardly rescued. The one good thing was that at least here nobody was threatening to hang me.'

  'You want to try explaining any of this?' Paddy demanded, rounding on Jane. 'No, I thought not,' he snapped when she just stared at him. 'Well, I think you'll have some explaining to do to your daddy soon enough, but meantime, if you're not you, Mistress Pennywise... I mean, if the girl at the church isn't you, then who in heaven's name is she?'

  Matilda looked confused. 'I don't understand,' she said, 'what girl at the church? I'm here, aren't I?'

  'Yes indeed, you're here,' Paddy confirmed, 'but they have a girl at the church they think is you, or at least I suppose they think she's you, though I can't for the life of me see why.'

  'Because I was kept masked, with a terrible spike-thing in my mouth so I couldn't talk,' Matilda explained. 'This bitch took the mask off me in the crypt. I didn't realise they were leaving someone else in my place because it was so dark and it was all very confusing, but that's what she must have done.'

  'But who?' Sean Kelly demanded. 'One of the poor girls from here, I suppose.'