by John Fowles
Q. After what?
A. There where they went that first of May.
Q. How know you where they went? Did you not go to Barnstaple?
A. No, sir. Oh dear God, would that I had. Dear God. (Again, Welsh words.)
Q. Do you know where the maid presently is?
A. On God's honour, no, sir. Unless it be at Bristol, as I will tell. And she was no maid.
Q. And Mr Bartholomew?
A. Dear God.
Q. Why do you not answer?
A. I know who he truly was. 'Twas thus I became entangled, curse the day, though I meant well. Your worship, I could not help it, it was told me without the asking, by a fellow that -
Q. Stop. Tell me the name you were told, no more and no less. Do not write his answer.
A. (Respondet.)
Q. Have you told or writ this name to any?
A. No, sir. Not one, on my mother's soul.
Q. You know then for whom I pursue, Jones? Why thou art here?
A. I may guess, sir. And most humbly crave his mercy, for I thought to act for him, sir, when I knew.
Q. We will come to that. Now I repeat, what know you of his Lordship, subsequent to the first of May? Have you spoken with him, had news of him, had any knowledge whatsoever of him?
A. I know not where he is, I swear, sir, nor whether he lives, nor of Dick and his dying. Your worship must believe me. Oh dear God, you must believe I hid all because I was so sore afraid, nothing else.
Q. Hid what, thou sniveller? Get off thy knees.
A. Yes, sir. I mean I knew later Dick was dead, sir, God rest his soul. But no more, I swear you by St David's grave.
Q. How came you by this?
A. By suspicion of it, sir, not certain information. When I had been two weeks or more in Swansea, I fell in with a mariner in a tavern there late come from Barnstaple, who told of a dead man found with violets stuffed in his mouth near that town. He gave no name, sir, he mentioned it in passing, as a strange matter. Yet it gave me forebodings.
Q. And then?
A By one I met after I removed to Cardiff, sir, in my master Mr Williams's house, that is, his place of business, who spoke of the same affair, for he landed that very morning from Bideford, and talked of new discoveries, and that Bideford was full of it and said 'twas now thought five travellers lay murdered two months past. He said no names neither, but I guessed by the number, and other circumstance he spake of, and have lived in great fear till this day and would have told you at once, sir, were it not for my poor mother and -
Q. Enough! When was this - the second report?
A. The last week of June, sir. To my best memory. Or worst, alas. I meant no harm.
Q. Why fear'st thou so much, if thou art innocent?
A. Sir, I have seen such things I'd not believe myself, were another to say them.
Q. Thou'lt say them to me, by Heaven, Jones. Or see thy own evil carcass hanged. I'll have thee swung for horse-stealer, if not for murderer.
A. Yes, sir. (More in the Welsh tongue.)
Q. And enough of thy barbarous gibberish.
A. Yes, sir. 'Tis but a prayer.
Q. Prayers will not save thee. Nothing but the truth entire.
A. You shall have it, sir. On my word. Where would you have me begin?
Q. Where you first lied. If that were not the cradle.
A. I have told you no lies till where we stayed when we left Amesbury, sir, which was at Wincanton. All passed as Mr Lacy told. Unless it be Louise.
Q. What of her?
A. I thought I was right in what I first told Mr Lacy, as to where I had seen her before.
Q. Entering Claiborne's - that she was whore?
A. Yes, sir. But he would not have it so. So I did not press it, yet believed what I believed, as the saying goes.
Q. That Mr Lacy had been deceived by his Lordship?
A. Tho' I knew not why, sir.
Q. Did you charge her with it?
A. No, sir, or not in manner direct. Mr Lacy said I maunt. I spoke some light words with her, by way of proving her, and half in sport. As I told, she would yield no ways, and spoke as a lady's maid might, no better nor no worse.
Q. You were less certain?
A. Yes, sir, and less again when I found she lay with Dick. I knew not what to think, unless they both laughed at their master behind his back. Yet still I thought her she I had seen, as was proved right, sir, you shall hear what fell at the end.
Q. You are certain his Lordship showed her no special favours, nor met apart with her, or the like?
A. Not that I saw, sir. He would bid her good day in the morning. He used once and again to ask if she were tired or sore, upon our riding, tho' no more than a great gentleman should, passing civility to his inferiors.
Q. She never to your knowledge went privily to his chamber, where you stayed?
A. No, sir. I cannot truly tell, seeing I was seldom upstairs except to Mr Lacy. 'Tis most landlords' rule, no manservant shall lie where the maids lie, I mean in that same part of the house.
Q. And wisely. So be it. Now let us come to what passed at Wincanton.
A. One in a greatcoat came up to me, there at the sign of the Greyhound, who had seen us ride in and said, What's afoot? I said, Nothing's afoot, what mean you? Come, says he with a wink, I know who your Mr Bartholomew truly is, I was coachman till two years past to Sir Henry W-, and knew him there when he came to visit. I would know him and that mute man of his in a thousand, he said. He is - who I said you just now, sir.
Q. He spoke the name?
A. Yes, and his noble parent's as well. I was at a stumble, sir, I knew not what to answer, but thought it best to make no argument, so winked him back and said, Perhaps it may be, but hold your tongue, he'd not be known. To which he said, Very well, have no fear, but where goes he? I says, To hunt a young partridge in the West. Ah, he says, plump and pretty, I don't doubt. Then that he had guessed as much.
Q. Who was this man?
A. Coachman to an admiral, sir, who went with his lady to the Bath. His name was Taylor. A well enough fellow, he meant no harm beyond his curiosity, and was no trouble to turn aside, once we were started. I said Mr Lacy to be his Lordship's tutor, and our pretext that we made a tour, tho' it was truly to lay a siege, and the girl Louise at hand for when the young lady was captured. Then Dick came by and Taylor would greet him, and the fool near spoilt all by making out he knew him not, and going off. I said he was frightened, Taylor was to take no offence, he must know Dick had only half his wits. Then ten minutes later down comes Louise to fetch me. Farthing, she says, your master calls. So I went with her, and outside the door she says, 'tis not Mr Brown, but Mr Bartholomew who wants you, I know not why. So I go to him, sir, and he says, Jones, I fear my disguise is pierced. I say, Yes, my lord, I fear it is, and explained how it came about, and what I had said to Taylor. Very well, he says, howsoever Mr Lacy knows nothing of this, and 'tis best we continue so.
Q. Gave he a reason?
A. That he esteemed Mr Lacy, sir, and would not cause him concern. To which I said I was his Lordship's to command. Then say nothing, he says, and give the fellow this to drink my health and hold his tongue, and here's a half-guinea for you also. Which I took, sir, and felt myself beholden.
Q. And never spoke of this to Mr Lacy?
A. No, sir. And later, when I drank with Taylor, he told me how he had heard his Lordship's noble father was in a great rage that he had refused a party proposed to him. I began then to be afraid, sir. Better a bed of nettles than a secret shared, as the saying goes. I saw an angered parent, sir, and one such I ought not dare offend. And thought of my Bible, and what is commanded in the fifth of Moses, honour thy father.
Q. Had you never thought that before? Did you not know the general case, what his Lordship was about, before you left London?
A. I saw it in new light, sir.
Q. To wit?
A. 'Twas my duty, sir, to see if I might find out more of what his Lordship int
ended.
Q. In plain, that it might serve thy pocket best to serve his father?
A. That it was prudent, sir.
Q. You begin to cant, Jones, like all your nation. You saw a smart profit, did you not?
A. I hoped for some reward, sir. If the gracious gentleman saw fit.
Q. That I'll believe. From Wincanton on you were full resolved to spy upon his Lordship. Was it not so?
A. If I might, sir. I knew not then that I would. Those two days still of travelling were not in Gladherhat for Jones.
Q. In what?
A. 'Tis how we Welsh say of Somerset, sir, a merry place, all cider and fat cattle.
Q. Now thou'dst grant thyself scruples. I will not have it, thou art plain rogue. Why else didst thou call upon Mr Lacy at Taunton to advance thee more of thy money - thou wert resolved, and there's an end to it.
A. Yes, sir.
Q. And until you came to the Black Hart, you learnt no more what his Lordship purposed?
A. No, sir.
Q. Tell me all, from the moment you waked on the first of May.
A. Rogue I may be, sir, but I spent a poor night of it. I knew not what it was best to do. Yet in the end I rose and went quiet below and there found an end of candle and an inkhorn and wrote what you know of to Mr Lacy.
Q. None of what I know of- pass to where they parted upon the Bideford road.
A. 'Twas two miles' riding, sir, a place where the road became two, a three-legged cross, and there I waited hid upon a well-bushed hill, on purpose to command the place, seeing I did not know which road they should take. 'Tis where the gibbet stands, you may know it without trouble. And I waited a two hours or more, and was pleased a fine clear sunshine day promised, fool that I was.
Q. Did none others pass?
A. A cart with some maids in, and young men beside it, who made a great laughing and singing. They went to the maying. Then others who came on foot, soon after, for the same.
Q. None came riding, as it might be messengers, upon pressing business?
A. No, sir. His Lordship's party alone came for Bideford, and stopped at the forking of the road, where the gibbet stands.
Q. I know of this. You heard nothing of what was said?
A. Not a word, sir. 'Twas four hundred paces to where I lay.
Q. Proceed.
A. Well, sir, I was sorry to see Mr Lacy go by himself in such a place. Soon he fell out of sight, for his road went down the perm, while theirs went rather up. I bided till they reached the first brow, and then came I down from where I was hid to the road, and after them; to get down from my horse at the brow, to see where they were and whether I might forward or must wait. And so, sir, it may be two miles more, by which time we was entered in great woods and the road with more close turns that a shipwright's awl, that I feared me greatly to come straight upon them, I could nowhere see far ahead. And so it fell, sir. For as I came round a bank, a great rock beside the road, I saw them not one hundred and fifty paces ahead. To my fortune their backs was turned. They was stopped at where a stream that fell from higher crosses the road, which happily made a rush, sir, or their ears must tell them I was behind. Off I jump from my horse, and lead him back in a trice and tie him out of sight, to come more cautious forward than before and peep. And wist, they are gone, tho' not upon the road, for I see a glimpse of Louise's back behind Dick, that climbs above it, upon the mountain.
Q. Know you the name of this place?
A. I do not, sir. I saw no farm nor house there, nor none near. You may tell it, 'tis not the first crossing of water in the woods, yet larger, and set well back in the hill. While the stream falls sharp on the left side of the road, with much noise.
Q. Next.
A. When I judged it safe I went to where they had stopped, beside the water, and saw 'twas a ford, mayhap some six paces across, not more, for it goes on a great flat bed of stone, and the road runs on behind it. And now I saw where they had gone, for the ground above was less steep than where I had been, and went uphill more in a cwm, as we call it, among the trees. Well, sir, I could see at first no path, and must cast about, until at last I came on where a way led up into the cwm, and could see where their horses had trod.
Q. A path often used, you would say?
A. Sir, I'll swear no other horses had been upon it that many a month. Further up, as I will tell, I saw signs 'twas a shepherd path, to gain the summer grazing upon the mountain above. Branches plashed yesteryear, their beasts' dry turds, the like.
Q. What supposed you they were at?
A. Upon some secret way to where the young lady lived, sir, or to some meeting-place they had fixed apart. I could not say, see you I knew not where the great houses and fine estates lay in that country. Misery for me I did not turn back. But Jones, I thought, hung for the lamb, hung for the ewe, as the saying goes.
Q. Where led this path?
A. To a desert place, sir, narrow and steep and strewn with stones and great rocks among the trees. It lay on a curve, as a new moon, so, and ever upwards to the mountain. 'Twas melancholy, sir, despite the shining of the sun. I marked no birds that sang, as is their nature at that time, as if all had forsook it, which made me afeared. When I was already afeared enough for what I was at, and so twice in doubt of it.
Q. When came you up with them?
A. Not for near an hour, sir. 'Twas not so far, not beyond two miles, or hardly more. I must move very slow, with many halts, to listen. I could see nothing for the thorn-trees and bushes, and thought they must be in worse case than I, and slower still, their ears a-cock for such as I, and nothing but the tumble of the linn to hide me.
Q. Come to where you saw them first.
A. It was thus, sir. I came where the cwm made a trifle more narrow, yet ran on more straight, and where could I but find a vantage-point, I might see ahead. So I tied my horse, sir, and climbed afoot a little to one side, where I could look better. At first I saw nothing, though I saw the cwm's end. And thought, for all seemed bare up there, how shall I come close. 'Tis bad today, 'twill be worse tomorrow, as the saying goes. And I cursed myself then, sir, that I had thought such following was easy as pissing abed. Then saw I a man that climbed the side, a half mile ahead, and knew it was Dick. I could not see his Lordship nor the wench, and supposed them still below, with the horses, where the stream ran. He stopped upon a shoulder and looked ahead, to beyond my sight, see you the cwm's end was twain and forked like a serpent's tongue, and he sought into the part that lay atwist to one side from t'other.
Q. Seemed he cautious in his manner?
A. Not that I could see, sir. He stood not long, and walked on, out of my watching.
Q. And then?
A. I thought they must be come near their journey's end, and I must ride no more, sir. That if I did they might hear or see me from their better vantage. So I took me my horse to a thicket and tied him, the best I could hide him in so buddled a place. Then made my way on foot beside the stream, where they had passed. Where after some little while I spy a white thing in the green, a hundred paces or more off, as of linen laid out to dry. So stop, then creep aside to where I can watch better, and find it is Louise, dressed out.
Q. How mean you, man, what dressed out?
A. As I say, sir. As a May queen upon that day, all in white linen, cambric, ribbands, I know not, as fine as fivepence.
Q. Jones, I will not be thy fool.
A. I swear it true, your worship. I lie not now.
Q. Saw you this dress earlier that day? Upon the road to this place?
A. No, sir, I am certain she wore it not, for at the gibbet she did go behind some bushes for her needs, begging your pardon, and I saw her green and yellowy dress then, her quilt Norwich petticoat, as always before.
Q. You maintain, she had changed garments at this waiting_ place, while you crept up on them?
A. She must, sir, and not put back her cloak. There was no wind, and the day grew warm. You must believe me, sir. If I told some tale, I should make
it more pleasing to your worship's will.
Q. And his Lordship?
A. Stood apart, sir, by the horses, which were tied higher, and watched up where Dick had gone.
Q. And what the wench?
A. She sat upon her cloak, on a stone above the stream, sir, and made a chaplet of may on her lap, paring the thorns with a pocket-knife Dick carried, that had brass ends, which I made out. And how as I watched she pricked her fingers more than once, and sucked upon them. And once looked back to where his Lordship stood, so to complain she must suffer this for him.
Q. Against her will?
A. It might be, sir. I could not tell.
Q. Was this dress simple or rich? Such as a lady, or more as village maid might wear?
A. Rather the last, sir. Though there was rose ribbands at the hem and shoulder, and white stockings. The chaplet I found less strange, for she'd pick her nosegay, wherever we stopped. I rallied her once, I said I believed her no lady's maid, but crier of flowers about the streets.
Q. What said she to that?
A. That there were worse ways to earn a penny.
Q. She did not speak with his Lordship?
A. No, sir. She made her maying crown, and looked as innocent there amidst the green as a pail of milk. Faith, she'd have slain a blind man, as 'tis said. She was killing pretty dressed so, spite of all. I had not before seen her so sweet and handsome, sir, begging your pardon.
Q. As sweet as pitch. What next?
A, it stood so for a little while, sir. At the last I heard some stones tumble, and there was Dick upon the far side of the stream, back down whence he came, across from where his Lordship was, and made a sign, and one that boded ill, sir, for 'twas the Devil's horns.
Q. Show.
A. Like this, sir.
Q. Write, with little and fore finger cocked, and the two between bended back by the thumb. You had never seen this sign made before?
A. They say 'tis how witches greet, sir. So we believed when I was a young lad. Though we used it among ourselves in scorn and jest, to say, to the Devil with you. Dick made no jest, as I must tell.
Q. Then?
A. His Lordship came to where Louise sat and she rose, and they spoke briefly, but I could not hear. Next went she with him to where Dick stood, who leapt in the stream and carried her in his arms across, that she wetted not her shoes. And his Lordship crossed after, and they made their way up the hill, where Dick had already been.
