The Wanderers of the Water-Realm

by Alan Lawton

  “Silas Oldshaw!” She muttered to herself as though uttering a curse. “You will never be given the opportunity of sending your evil minions from the slums of Manchester to seek out the ‘Wisewoman of Elfencot.’ Nor will you use another woman as cruelly as you did my friend Marsie.’ The revenge that I will shortly wreak upon you will be for her sake as much as my own!”

  Hetty opened the door of a store cupboard and took out one of the many blocks of rough household soap used to scour the floor and the kitchen equipment. She took a sharp knife and dug out a hole in the soap-block that was just large enough to hold the vial. Hetty then inserted the vial and covered the aperture with a fragment of soap, which she smoothed down with her dampened thumb until the surface of the block had a uniform appearance. She completed the task of concealment by marking the block of soap with a scratch from her fingernail before hiding it beneath its fellows in the cupboard. Finally, the witch cast the oilskin pouch upon the hot coals within the range followed by the contents of the remaining vials and watched as the heat destroyed the dangerous liquids. She then took the empty vials, the buttons and clasps from her discarded clothing and her reserve of gold coins and dropped them down through the hole in the staff privy and into the mass of liquid sludge lying in the cess-pit beneath.

  Afterwards, Hetty washed the grime of the night from her body, before returning to her room to await the inevitable hue and cry that would result when Silas Oldshaw eventually discovered the loss of his pet fugitives together with his latest victim.

  Hetty was dozing when she heard the sound of voices drifting up from the yard that lay far below her bedroom window. It was still dark as she rose from her bed, but looking out of the window she was able to make out a number of shadowy figures, bearing lanterns, moving about in the yard and the surrounding grounds.

  The wisewoman lit a candle and looking at the clock and she realized that it was almost time to begin her daily chores. She quickly dressed and was descending the stairs when she ran into one of the housemaids.

  “Thank heavens you’re up.” The girl said breathlessly. “Mr Crowther says you’re to brew tea and prepare sandwiches for the men searching the grounds and the surrounding countryside!”

  “What on earth has happened? Hetty asked, pretending to be completely ignorant.

  “Why, last night, thieves broke into the masters private workshops in the east wing and tried to steal all his secrets,” The girl gasped. “Some of his business rivals, I expect. The master thinks that some of them may still be in the vicinity and he’s ordered the men of the household to conduct a close search. Hurry, for Crowther is demanding that refreshments be available for the men as soon as humanly possible.”

  The girl rushed away and Hetty entered the kitchen and immediately shook down the ashes and re-lit the cooking range. She placed a cauldron of water to boil on the hob, before hastening to wake Mrs O’Day.

  The women set to work and prepared platters of cheese and cold meat sandwiches, which they served to the men as they began drifting into the staff dining room from first light onwards. Crowther was amongst them and it was easy to observe the signs of the repressed anger distorting his features. He still clasped the walking stick, that he had so recently used to beat the shrubs growing abundantly in the grounds, and so tightly did he grip the head of the stick that his knuckles where completely white and bloodless. The butler uttered not a word as he drank his mug of tea, then he angrily banged the container down onto the dinner table and urged the men to resume their search.

  The dining room soon emptied and the two women cleared away the used crockery and prepared a cauldron of stew placing it upon the hob to simmer, for there was no telling at what hour the men would return for their midday break.

  At exactly twelve noon, Hetty happened to glance out of the window of the kitchen and she noticed that Silas Oldshaw was standing in the middle of the yard with his hands on his hips. Before him stood Crowther with his normally immaculate house-suit covered in dirt and clay. Another member of the staff stood at his side, a wiry individual, who, it was whispered, had once been an accomplished housebreaker.

  Between the men lay an old ladder that Hetty instantly recognized as the one she used to climb over the boundary wall little more than three nights ago; with it lay the old quilt that had protected her from the hooks.

  “Hetty’s heart gave a lurch, for she realized that she had quite forgotten about the two items of equipment that she had left hidden in the elderberry thicket and close to the mouth of the disused sewer. The presence of the two articles lying at the industrialists feet, suggested conclusively that he now knew of the subterranean duct running beneath the Grange and he also knew that some trusted member of his household staff, had assisted in the escape of the trio from the east wing.

  “A foolish oversight,” The wisewoman muttered, as she chided herself for her dangerous stupidity. “Now I must push along with my plan to encompass yon bastard’s downfall, before I’m eventually discovered.”

  A little before one o’clock, Crowther entered the kitchen and informed the two women that every person employed at the Grange, would be expected to attend a meeting in the staff dining room in exactly fifteen minutes time, when they would be addressed by Mr Oldshaw himself.

  The butler departed and the pair removed their kitchen aprons and entered the dining room. Other members of the staff began arriving and the room was soon filled with visibly worried individuals by the time that Silas Oldshaw finally appeared.

  The master was dressed in a light blue waistcoat and trousers and he carried a heavy walking stick with a polished brass handle. The industrialists face was purple with rage and the witch had no need of her inner-eye to realize that he was in a diabolically evil temper.

  Oldshaw’s gaze swept over the entire gathering. “You will all have heard by now,” he began in a loud voice, “that my research quarters in the east wing were entered last night by my enemies, who appear to have departed scot free. However, I have reason to believe that assistance was afforded them by at least one member of this gathering.”

  The industrialist paused and a buzz of whispered conversation ran through the company. He let a few more seconds pass and then brought his walking stick down with a crash upon the surface of the dining table.

  “Remember this.” He exploded. “I dragged most of you out of the gutter and I promise you, if this informer who hides in our midst, is not quickly found. Then I’ll toss the lot of you back into the slime without a moment’s hesitation!”

  Oldshaw paused again and Hetty swiftly glanced across the room at Piggins, who had turned a deathly white and she fervently prayed that the gardener would keep his nerve.

  Once again, the walking stick descended upon the top of the table. “You may now eat.” He hissed. “And this afternoon, your belongings, your own persons and the complete interior of this house will be searched in order to discover clues to the identity of our traitor”.

  He paused for the final time. “Search diligently, my servants, or you may all be enjoying your last meal at Westdyke Grange!”

  Mrs O’Day wept uncontrollably as the two women served the midday meal to a subdued gathering in the dining room.

  “Onto the streets again,” the cook moaned. “Oh, a hundred curses upon the ungrateful creature who would betray so good a master.”

  Hetty attempted to console the woman as she waited for the search to begin and she fervently hoped that all the precautions she had taken during the previous night, would be sufficient to conceal her true identity.

  The search, when it began, proved to be as nit-picking as Silas Oldshaw had promised. Firstly, the entire staff was split into pairs by the butler. The couples were then detailed to undertake a stripped-down search of another pair of individuals drawn from a different portion of the house. Hetty and Mrs O’Day were confined to the kitchen and carefully searched by a pair of upper housemaids, whilst they themselves carried out a similar duty upon the persons of the two old femal
e skivvies who normally tended the fire-grates and helped in the garden.

  Once the personal searches were completed, the entire staff was then ordered to begin a search of the house and its contents. Mattresses were turned, carpets were lifted, and every nook and cranny of the house was energetically probed in case it should prove to be a hiding place for some incriminating object.

  Oldshaw stalked about the house as the staff laboured and his unabated rage was plain for all to see. Once, he poked the wisewoman viciously with his walking stick, as she was kneeling upon a carpet in the mistresses’music room, in order to examine its upturned edges. He poked her again as she rose and ordered her to check the interior of the upright piano standing in the corner. It was whilst she was examining the inside of the instrument, that fate intervened and gave her the ideal opportunity to destroy the industrialist and all of his evil works.

  A clatter of hooves sounded from the yard. Moments later, a sweating horse-messenger was ushered into the music room. The man handed Oldshaw a brown envelope, which he tore open and Hetty watched with interest as the master quickly scanned the single page of writing that it contained. Oldshaw was visibly shaken by the information contained within the letter, for the heavy stick fell from his hand and he groaned aloud. Even so, the man rapidly regained his composure.

  “Travis. Travis!” He roared at the top of his voice and he continued to repeat the summons until the startled coachman arrived from the other side of the house.

  “Get that bloody coach ready as quickly as possible.” He ordered. “Take me down to Stalybridge railway station as fast as you can, for I must get to Manchester without delay. Crowther can deal with affairs here. Now I must go upstairs and say goodbye to my wife.”

  Hetty smiled to herself as Oldshaw rushed from the room, for she guessed the letter contained news of the expected police raid on the Cleopatra, and the man was probably hurrying to Manchester, in order to ensure that several incriminating mouths remained firmly shut.

  The witch knew that she must move quickly and she pretended that a sharp splinter from the inside of the piano had lodged beneath her fingernail. She declared her intention of visiting the kitchen and drawing the splinter with a pair of tweezers that were always kept ready for such a purpose. Mrs O’Day, who was engrossed in checking a window-sill, raised no objection and Hetty swiftly made her way to the kitchen.

  The wisewoman found herself quite alone as she entered the kitchen and momentarily taken aback by the mess, for cooking utensils’and items of furniture were strewn around the floor for the searchers had done their work and moved elsewhere. The contents of the store cupboard had also been scattered around the floor, but the witch had no difficulty in finding the soap block containing the hidden vial and she quickly extracted the tiny glass container, and placed it in the pocket of her work-gown. She then made her way back to the main hallway where she was relieved to find only a young housemaid poking at the underside of the lower stair carpet with a short stick.

  Hetty walked over to a hat-stand in the vestibule and pretended to look for objects hidden behind the mirror. As she did so, she secretly slipped the vial from her pocket and carefully scattered the contents around the interior of the master’s favourite top-hat lying on the hat-stand along with a pair of kid gloves. The witch then visited the outside privy and consigned the empty vial to the sludge filled cess-pit.

  Hetty returned to the music room and rejoined Mrs O’Day in the fruitless search that was destined to continue until almost midnight.

  A few minutes later, Silas Oldshaw descended the main stairs and crossed the hallway to the vestibule. He paused for only a moment to slam his favourite top-hat upon his head, before beginning his hurried journey to Manchester.

  Most of the grains of white powder that Hetty had poured into the top-hat, evaporated harmlessly, due to heat from his scalp. But a few fatal grains found their way through the industrialist’s blonde hair and allowed the terrible brain poison to enter the pores of his skin.

  Oldshaw was only slightly confused when he entered a first class carriage of a train bound for Manchester, but he was little more than a mindless dribbling vegetable by the time the engine drew into Piccadilly Station.

  The once hard-headed industrialist was lodged in the local bedlam, where he was examined by numerous doctors. Five days later, he was removed to a private hospital specializing in the accommodation and care of the permanently insane. Thus did the ‘Wisewoman of Elfencot’ extract her revenge.

  Hetty overslept on the following morning and small wonder, for like the rest of the staff, she had been worn out by the almost paranoid searching of the previous day.

  She was soon joined in the kitchen by Mrs O’Day. Despite the late start, the two women were soon able to prepare a heavy breakfast for the household staff when they duly arrived for their first substantial meal since yesterday’s lunch.

  The butler did not order a resumption of the search, but detailed all members of the staff to begin clearing up the chaos caused by the fruitless rummaging of the previous day. Hetty and the cook therefore spent every spare moment stowing away scattered utensils and re-packing spilt foodstuffs.

  A little before midday, a messenger arrived in all haste from the industrialist’s Manchester household, bearing an urgent letter for Mrs Oldshaw. He was shortly followed by the mistress’s physician and a minister from her chapel in Stalybridge.

  By mid-afternoon, a rumour was spreading throughout the household that some dreadful affliction had befallen the master, and the exact details of the matter were quickly provided by Mrs Oldshaw’s personal maid, who had been at the bedside as the physician attempted to calm her distraught mistress.

  It was an extremely worried group of servants who gathered in the staff dining room for their evening meal, for the fate of the ex-criminals who made up the vast majority of the household staff had always been closely bound to the fortunes of their master. Some had undoubtedly loved him and a number of the maids were weeping openly into their handkerchiefs and few in that company had much of an appetite for the rich brown stew that was placed before them.

  During the night, Crowther and Travis the coachman packed their belongings and disappeared under cover of darkness and only one person witnessed the departure of the master’s two evil accomplices. Hetty stood at her attic window and watched the two men as they crossed the moonlit yard. Before they melted into the night the wisewoman had extended her right arm in their direction and uttered the words of an ancient death-curse.

  Perhaps it was the men’s lifestyles rather than the witch’s curse that brought about their demise only weeks after their departure?

  In any event, Crowther was fatally stabbed by an irate pimp in a Cheapside brothel, after the ex-butler roughly handled one of the whores; whilst the coachman suffered a fractured skull after being kicked in the head by an overworked dray-horse in the city of Bristol.

  The worst fears of the remaining servants proved to be quickly justified, for several of the mistress’s close paternal relatives arrived by coach upon the following day.

  The desperately sick woman was soon persuaded to accompany them to one of their country residences, where she could be lovingly tended by members of her own family; a family that would soon add the immense Oldshaw fortune to their own already considerable wealth.

  A steward was immediately detailed to oversee the closure of Westdyke Grange. Exactly one week later, a sad and sorry group of unemployed servants, carrying their few possessions, turned their backs upon their former place of work and trudged through the falling rain in the direction of Stalybridge.

  Hetty, bringing up the rear, turned upon her heel and took one last look at the dark outline of the Grange and she swore a solemn oath before rejoining her companions.

  “Never, as long as I live, will I ever return to that accursed pile, where so many evil acts have been contrived and committed. I wish for nothing more than to leave this place and return to the peace of my home in Elfencot
”.

  The first storms of early winter had begun sweeping over the bleak Pennine hills, soon after the wisewoman had returned to her cottage in Elfencot. The winter that followed proved to be extremely hard, with blizzards frequently sweeping down from the high crags and covering the valley with snow for weeks at a time; but Hetty sheltered comfortably in the warmth of her kitchen and only ventured abroad when she was called out to tend some sick person in the surrounding district.