Long Summer Day (A Horseman Riding By)

by R. F Delderfield

  Discovery of his hideout came through Ikey Palfrey, whose wits, always keen, had been whetted to a very sharp edge by his association with Hazel Potter, after she had found him lost in the snow. He had seen her several times a week since then and she had revealed to him most of her secrets of the wood but although he was an apt pupil, and learned all she had to teach him at remarkable speed for a boy reared in a city, he remained in awe of her, regarding her as someone paying a brief visit from another planet. He marvelled at her strength and agility, at her ability to imitate bird calls and animal noises, from a moorhen skimming across the mere to draw an intruder from her nest, to the steady scrunch of a badger’s claws enlarging a set. There was nothing, it seemed, that she did not know about the woods and the countryside, about the weather and the whereabouts of plants and insect colonies. She showed him, at one time or another, each species in the wood at work and at play and about these things she could invent orations that seemed to him (familiar now with all Mary Willoughby’s favourite ballads) an almost miraculous deluge of sounds, part monologue, and part chant, and delivered in a mixture of broad Devon and gypsy argot that contained words he had never heard uttered before. Her appearance bewitched him too, for it had little in common with that of any of the children who sat at lessons in Deepdene schoolroom. She was invariably dirty and unkempt but somehow strikingly beautiful, with eyes that seemed to change colour according to the strength of sunlight, with long, supple limbs, half naked now that it was summer, and a great mop of tangled hair sometimes chestnut and other times bleached the colour of ripe barley. Her teeth intrigued him, so white that they shone like the underside of a cloud when she laughed at him, as she did when he stumbled or lagged behind her long, skipping strides. But the association was not quite so one-sided as it might have been, for slowly, as their friendship ripened, she began to show more interest in his background and ask him to tell her about ‘thicky gurt, smelly plaace’, from which he had, by a miracle, escaped. And because this was all he had to offer at that time he was glad to tell her, painting heroic pictures of his struggles in the metropolis, where he had often seen carriages bowling along without horses, and had once cheered Queen Vicky in a carriage surrounded by her lifeguards.

  All that spring, whenever he could escape from school or his work, he sought her out at their meeting place opposite the old pagoda which she continued to call ‘The Niggerman’s Church’, and together they ranged the woods and slopes as far as the railway line (but never over it) and the long curving shore of Coombe Bay. For him she was a kind of priestess and he told no one of his association with her; for her it was a taste of dominion over another soul, in whom she sensed a kind of worship that warmed her like June sunshine, so that it piqued her to sacrifice his company in the interests of clan loyalty, and to observe him waiting for her by the mere when she was on her way to or from her brother’s hideout.

  One still evening, when she was descending the long wooded slope carrying a sack containing a supply of tobacco and fresh vegetables, she weakened and called to him, saying that she was on her way to ‘a beastie in a caave, yonder’, and dumb with curiosity he had followed her, not knowing in the least what kind of pet she had hidden in the wood but guessing it was this that had kept her from him all these long sunny days. It was only when she emptied the sack and poked among the bushes beside the swift-flowing stream that flowed into the western margin of the mere, that he realised her beastie was a man and could be none other than her fugitive brother, Smut, and at once his heart sank, for he now saw himself faced with a choice of loyalties, to her, who trusted him, and to his other idol, Squire Craddock, who was rumoured to have quarrelled with his wife and with Lord Gilroy on Smut Potter’s account. For the moment, however, he was too interested to worry over what he should do with the information but watched her fasten a carefully-wrapped parcel to a small, raised plank, attached to a long coil of parcel string and set this little raft adrift on the current, paying out the string until it was taut. The plank sailed out of sight through a clump of harts tongue ferns and when, after an interval she began to wind in, it reappeared without its parcel. He said, goggling, ‘It’s Smut, ain’t it? He’s holed up down there?’, and she smiled and laid a finger to her lips, saying, ‘Arr, that’s zo! Us dorn mind you knowin’ for youm different. Come on, us’ll go an’ zee they badgers, shall us?’ But he was not interested in badgers now, or anything else she could show him, and as soon as he could he escaped pleading extra chores at the stable, and here entered upon a terrible battle with his conscience for it seemed to him that he was obliged to betray one of them, the girl who had shared her terrible secret with him, or the man who had given him the keys to his new world.

  He lay tossing and turning in his hayloft that night and in the morning, red-eyed and yawning, he made his decision. It would have been different, he told himself, if Smut had been hiding in neutral territory but his presence here, inside the estate boundaries, involved the Squire in the poacher’s crime, and the police had not yet ceased to search for him east of the river. Ikey was not unfamiliar with the police, regarding them with an inherited distrust. Police always meant trouble for someone and police here meant bad trouble for the Squire; it was therefore in his master’s interests that he get rid of them and once Smut’s whereabouts were known Squire would manage that one way or the other.

  He went through the kitchen and taking advantage of Mrs Handcock’s back slipped into the hall and thence to the library. Paul was at work in his office and Ikey braced himself to cross the room and tap on the closed glass door but as he did so he heard a step behind him and swung round to face Mrs Craddock and for a moment he faltered, looking furtive and guilty. Then his expression cleared, for he knew Grace Craddock shared the Squire’s interest in him and it occurred to him that the Squire would be certain in any case to pass information regarding Smut’s whereabouts to his wife. He said, before she could ask him what he was doing, ‘I know where Smut Potter is, Ma’am! I was comin’ to tell Squire.’

  He was startled by the expression of alarm that crossed her face and by the nervous manner in which she slammed the library door, leaning against it, with her hands behind her.

  ‘You’ve seen him?’

  ‘No, I ain’t seen him, Ma’am, but I know where he is orlright. He’s ’iding aht, the far side of the mere.’ He decided to skirt Hazel’s involvement and the fact that his knowledge was shared by the Potter tribe as a whole. They could find that out for themselves if they wished. His responsibility ended with passing on the fact that the fugitive was still here, on the estate.

  ‘You’re quite sure of this, Ikey?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘You could take us there?’

  ‘I wouldn’t need to, Ma’am, it’s opposite the little island, in a kind of cave under a fallen tree.’

  She stood thinking for a moment and then, it seemed to him with an effort, said, ‘Very well, wait a minute, will you?’ and went into the office, closing the door.

  He heard the rise and fall of their voices and presently both came out, Paul looking bewildered. ‘Go and fetch Mr Rudd, Ikey,’ Grace said, ‘but don’t mention this to a soul, you understand?’

  ‘No, Ma’am.’

  He went out, shutting the door softly. Without exactly understanding why he realised that his news had shocked them and he had a sense of becoming involved in events that could bring trouble and discord and was already regretting having told them. He found Rudd at the lodge eating breakfast and the agent received the news phlegmatically. ‘I always had a notion he hadn’t run far,’ was all he said and told Ikey to go back to his work and keep his counsel, even from the groom.

  When Rudd entered the library a few minutes later he was at once aware of the tension in the room but for all that he went straight to the point. ‘The best thing we can do is to urge Potter to surrender to us tonight,’ he said, ‘then we might be able to persuade him to give himself up to
Sergeant Price first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been saying, John, but Grace is very much against it.’

  ‘What does she suggest?’ he asked, as though Grace was not present, and she snapped, ‘That we send Ikey to tell him to clear out and take his chance as soon as it’s dark! Are we to play thief-takers for the Gilroys?’

  ‘To send Ikey would involve the boy,’ Rudd said, quietly. ‘If it came out, as it well might, he could be taken in charge himself and I’m not sure it wouldn’t lay your husband open to being an accessory.’

  She did not seem impressed by this but smiled her tight little smile.

  ‘Why should it come out?’

  ‘Don’t forget, there’s a warrant out for Potter, Mrs Craddock.’

  ‘For attempted murder?’

  ‘For malicious wounding and that carries a severe penalty.’

  She was silent for a moment and Rudd felt desperately sorry for Paul, who opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. Presently she looked up, first at Rudd, then at Paul, and when she spoke her voice sounded flat and defeated.

  ‘No matter what I say you’re both determined to give him up, aren’t you? It’s the law, isn’t it? It’s safe, for everyone but Smut Potter!’

  ‘Damn it, you’re twisting the facts, Grace,’ Paul burst out. ‘I wouldn’t “give him up” as you say, and neither would John. We want him to give himself up, in his own interests!’

  ‘His own interests? Three to five years in a stinking gaol!’

  ‘He won’t get three to five years,’ Paul said, ‘he’ll more likely get six months and less if the case is dealt with summarily, as one of poaching and common assault.’

  ‘Can you guarantee he’ll be so charged?’ she asked, and Rudd said no, they couldn’t, but if he came in voluntarily his chances were far better than if he was arrested out of the district and committed for trial at the Assizes.

  ‘I said in his own interests and that’s precisely what I meant!’ Paul argued. ‘Any other way, what are his prospects? He goes in fear of arrest every day of his life and can never show his face here again! I don’t think he’d want that, not when he understands all it means and the fact that he’s stayed so near home all this time proves as much, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It might prove he hasn’t any money?’ Grace said.

  ‘And you’d have me send him money?’ Paul said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said deliberately, ‘I would and if you wouldn’t I would.’

  ‘Well, I’m damned if I’ll let you and that’s final,’ he said, and Rudd thought, ‘Maybe he’s beginning to learn how to handle her! Well, good luck to him, but this is no place for me,’ and he made as if to go but she called sharply, ‘Don’t leave, John! That wouldn’t be very brave of you!’, and he stopped, his neck reddening, and said, ‘Surely this is something you have to settle between yourselves, Mrs Craddock?’

  ‘Fundamentally, yes,’ she said, ‘but not simply as regards Potter’s fate. There will be other issues like this and Paul needs your advice as much as mine. You’d better say exactly what’s in your mind.’

  ‘Very well,’ he said, turning back, ‘what’s in my mind is clear. I think Paul is complicating the issue and you’re sentimentalising it! Potter caused a man a serious injury while that man was doing a job he was paid to do. It doesn’t matter to me who that man was, or who was paying him. The law is there to protect every one of us and Potter, who derides the law, got himself into this mess and must now take his chance with the magistrates! We’ll do all we can to get him off lightly and I think Paul is right to want to provide him with a lawyer but beyond that I wouldn’t go an inch, not for my own sake, or the sake of good relations hereabouts.’

  She said, looking at Paul now, ‘Well, there’s your answer! You’d best do as John says, Paul.’

  He looked at her appealingly. ‘But you still don’t agree with us, do you? You still think it a shabby trick on our part to deny him a sporting chance?’

  ‘He’s had one sporting chance and if it were left to me I’d give him another, that’s all!’, and she left the room.

  Rudd said, as her steps had ceased to sound in the hall, ‘It’s a pity you told her, Paul.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said, ‘but I’m glad she knows. Better this way than have her thinking we said nothing until it was all over.’

  ‘Does she know where he’s hiding?’

  ‘Yes, Ikey told her. Are you suggesting I should lock her up?’

  ‘You might do worse,’ Rudd said, trying but failing to make it a joke. ‘I’ll take a stroll there right away and tell Potter to come here after dark, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, and tell him I’ll leave the garden door of the office open.’ He paused and the agent saw that he was still not wholly convinced and that Grace’s attitude had shaken him badly.

  ‘You’re doing right, Paul,’ he said, ‘and I believe you know that in your heart.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I know it, John, but it’s hard on both of us to have to face this situation so soon. It was working out, John, in spite of your misgivings and you did have them, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rudd said, ‘I did and it is a pity because I was beginning to lose them, Paul. I should like you to believe that,’ and because he felt his presence only increased the man’s unhappiness he went out, turning east along the terrace in the direction of the woods.

  VI

  Smut’s case came before Mr Justice Scratton-Forbes, at the Devon Quarter Sessions in mid-July after he had appeared before the Petty Sessional Court at Whinmouth, where a procession of witnesses went into the box to testify against him. Kitchens had promised Rudd he would do his best to limit the charge to one of assault whilst trespassing in pursuit of game, but either Kitchens was a broken reed, or the authorities were otherwise inclined, for in the end Smut was charged with wounding so as to cause actual bodily harm and only the original charge of attempted murder was withdrawn. Yet Paul did not give up hope that something might be done to improve the situation when the trial opened. It was only when he saw the judge, a dry, withered nut of a man, that he realised that Grace had been right after all and Smut’s chances of leniency were slim. There was so much to be said on one side and hardly anything on the other and the same procession of Gilroy witnesses, five in all, swore to Potter’s murderous assault upon a man seeking to restrain him from carrying away the buck. The inevitable distortion of facts made Paul feel slightly sick, for it was soon clear the Gilroy team had been carefully rehearsed, and although the barrister he hired for the defence did his best to present another aspect of the case, arguing that Smut acted in panic when about to be assaulted by armed men, the story sounded lame in the dock, where Smut cut a pathetic figure, far removed from the spry young rebel Valley folk recalled. A month of soul-searching in his cave, followed by another month’s confinement awaiting trial, had cut him down to a bewildered young man with frightened eyes and the tan fading from his cheeks, clearly at a loss to know what was going on around him. Under his barrister’s probing he told the truth in so far as he knew it and the testy little prosecutor did little to shake him, so that for Paul at least a true picture of the incident began to emerge at last—that of a man gripped by fear and fighting back with the first weapon that came to hand before taking refuge in flight. The picture was confirmed when Rudd leaned towards Paul and whispered, ‘He’s right, Paul! They’re after his blood! If things had turned out otherwise it would be Kitchens and his mob in that dock!’

  The case excited a great deal of local interest and during the period the jury were out Paul saw Meg Potter and went across to her, against Rudd’s advice.

  ‘I should like to say how sorry I am about this business,’ he said, ‘and that I won’t hold it against Smut if he comes back to the Valley,’ and she replied, to his astonishment, ‘It was in the cards and the only way he could have run contrar
y to ’em was to run faster! He couldn’t bring himself to do that, Squire. There’s less gypsy in him than I reckoned on. A real gypsy would ha’ run and kept on running, but the Potters baint gypsies, except mebbe my youngest girl, Hazel. They others, they’re their father’s seed, although time was when I thought differently o’ Smut!’, and she walked away with her slow, stately gait, without waiting for the verdict. It was as though, by allowing himself to be netted, Smut had sacrificed her sympathy.

  The verdict, as foreseen by everyone, was guilty and Mr Justice Scratton-Forbes settled down to indulge himself in a little homily before pronouncing sentence. Dry and crisply righteous phrases issued from his lips like a shower of darts … ‘malice in your heart’ … ‘despoiling property with the heedlessness of a savage’ … ‘must be taught a severe and lasting lesson …’; the sentence was five years’ penal servitude so that the limit of Grace’s prophecy had been achieved.

  Paul, and Rudd too, were appalled. Paul had resigned himself to eighteen calendar months and the agent would have been relieved to have seen the poacher go down for two years, but five seemed to them a savage and unwarranted penalty and others presumably shared their view for there was a murmur of indignation in the court that was instantly repressed by the ushers. Paul said, as they sought the castle yard, ‘Until now I never really believed there was one law for the rich and another for the poor, John!’ and Rudd replied. ‘Well, perhaps we ought not to be shocked. Scratton-Forbes is a big landowner himself and we ought to have pressed for a trial outside the county. At the worst he would have got away with three years.’