by G. P. Taylor
‘Isabella, we have two guests. This is Kate, and this is Thomas. They’ve been lost in the woods and have found their way here.’ He made a small gesture to them both with his hand. ‘I’ve been feeding them up to get the cold out of them.’ Rueben spoke excitedly and looked so happy to see his wife again, his eyes sparkling and every part of him seeming to be filled with joy. It was as if he would explode if he didn’t share it in an expression of welcome for his wife. He put his arms around her and they squeezed each other, Rueben lifting Isabella from the floor.
Thomas noticed that Rueben had five fingers and a thumb on his right hand. He counted his own fingers in disbelief, thinking he had made some mistake. He was right. He had four fingers and one thumb, and yet Rueben had five fingers and one thumb. Thomas looked at Kate, hoping that she too had noticed. She stared at the floor, not wanting to look at them. He realized that, like him, she had never seen this kind of love between two people.
He thought of his own parents. His father had always been at sea, and on his return he had come home by way of the Dolphin, the Old Mariner, and the Nag’s Head. He would come into their tiny, cramped, untidy cottage, pat Thomas on the head as he would some young dog, and then fall into a deep gin-sleep in the chair by the fire.
Rueben and Isabella finished their embrace and turned to Thomas and Kate. Isabella was as tall, if not an inch taller than Rueben, and was different from any women either of them had ever seen. She wore a long green dress with a white apron and a black oiled-cotton coat. Her long hair was the purest silver, each thread like a shining strand of a spider’s web caught in the winter frost. She had a rich, deep brown skin from hours of working in the summer sun, her eyes and mouth were lined with the marks of laughter, yet Thomas couldn’t guess her age. Isabella and Rueben stood together, their outlines framed by the sun now beaming through the bay window.
Isabella looked at Kate. ‘You look like you’ve lived in those clothes for a long time. Come with me, I may have something warm you can wear.’
She took Kate by the arm and led her upstairs. The size of the cottage was deceptive. Thomas noticed it had two staircases that led from the kitchen to separate parts of the upper floor.
Rueben looked at Thomas. ‘It must have been a long night for you in the wood.’
Thomas felt he didn’t want to reply without thinking what he was going to say.
‘I’m quite used to it. I’ve been living out for some time now.’ He stopped speaking and looked out of the window. He could feel his lip begin to quiver and tears well up inside him. He took in a deep breath and dug his nails into his hand.
‘My father is dead. Mother is in the infirmary.’ He reached out to the fire to warm his hands.
‘Sad thing that.’ Rueben paused and thought. ‘I think I’ve heard of you. You must be the lad from Baytown. I was told about you by some free traders. Quite a fighter, I hear.’ Seeing that Thomas was upset, Rueben half laughed and smiled at the same time, tried to get Thomas to smile. ‘What brings you to the wood? I thought you were a sea boy.’
‘A friend.’ He paused. ‘We met with a friend.’
‘And this friend of yours is still in the wood?’ Rueben moved his chair closer to Thomas. He leaned forward, drawing nearer to him.
‘Dangerous place is this. Never know what kind of trouble you can get yourself into. It’s not just the smugglers that will cut your throat in the dark.’
Thomas could feel Rueben’s breath against his face. Rueben rubbed the growth of beard on his chin.
‘Tell me Thomas, who did you see last night?’ he whispered.
‘We saw no one. I never see anyone I shouldn’t. I’ve learnt to turn my face at the right time and to walk another path when the free traders come by. I don’t see anyone, ever.’ He sat back in the chair, trying to pull away from Rueben to give himself space.
‘Good. Sometimes it’s best to see no one, and to hear nothing, especially around Boggle Mill. We’ve never had a visit from the Excise man, and I hope we never will, young Mister Thomas.’
With that came the rattle of feet upstairs. The floor shook as a fight broke out in the room upstairs. Dust fell from the kitchen ceiling. The sound of shouting filled the cottage. There was a thud to the floor and a loud yell, which was quickly followed by the sound of a smashing pot.
Rueben looked at Thomas. ‘My two boys are awake. They will be down in a moment.’
With that, the sound of the fighting drew nearer. Down the far staircase fell the joined mass of the two boys, both still wearing their nightclothes. They were punching and kicking in the air, and at each other, as they tried to get to the foot of the stairs first. As they came they screamed and shouted. The threats of what they would do filled the air.
‘Let go or I’ll pull out your brains through your nostrils – that’s if there’s any to find,’ Bealda was shouting.
‘Think you’re funny, do you? Well, laugh at this,’ Ephrig replied aiming a punch at Bealda.
‘Boys!’ Rueben shouted. His voice boomed around the kitchen louder than anything Thomas had ever heard. The two boys froze and pointed at each other.
‘It was him.’ They both spoke at exactly the same time and almost in the same voice.
Bealda protested. ‘I caught him trying to pull my tooth while I was asleep. That’s the third time this week.’
‘Enough, you two. Can’t you see we have guests?’ Rueben stepped to one side to reveal Thomas standing by the fireside. ‘Now sit at the table and I’ll get you some breakfast, and be careful what you say – we have a young lady in the house.’
‘He looks like a lad to me,’ Ephrig shouted and elbowed Bealda in the ribs. They both laughed.
Rueben motioned for them to be quiet and sit at the table.
‘This is obviously not a girl, this is Thomas. The girl is upstairs with your mother getting changed. They’re our guests, so don’t be too rough.’
‘Yes and don’t try to pull his teeth out, Ephrig.’ Bealda pushed Ephrig towards the table.
Rueben tried to stop himself laughing at the boys. They both jumped on to the long bench at the side of the table and waited. Bealda smiled at Thomas, a toothless smile.
‘Don’t worry, Thomas, they won’t try to steal your teeth; yours can’t be sold to Old Nan like Bealda and Ephrig’s.’ Rueben continued to make breakfast, setting the table and taking more roasted beef from the side oven.
Thomas looked at both the boys. They were nearly identical. Bealda was slightly larger than Ephrig, and had a wider face and longer hair. They were large children, and even though they looked no older than nine or ten, their size was easily that of a sixteen-year-old. They wore similar knee-length nightshirts made of thick cotton and buttoned to the neck. On their feet they had large sheepskin bed-boots that came up past the ankle. These were worn on top of knitted green knee-length socks. They looked well cared for and from the warmth of their appearance were well loved.
Rueben looked at Thomas.
‘Come and join us for some of this hot tea; it’s fresh in from Holland.’
Thomas did not have to be asked again. This was a drink he loved. It was a drink that was fought over, and even murdered for. Every ounce of local tea was smuggled into the county to avoid paying the duty; many a man had lost his life to bring in a chest of tea. He loved to watch the hot vapours rising from a freshly made pot, and then to savour that first taste of the bitter-sweet drink.
Thomas sat at the table and waited for the tea. He smiled at the boys who sat next to each other eating hot greasy beef with their fingers and mopping up the fat from the plate with their bread. He looked at Ephrig.
‘Do you really sell teeth to Old Nan? I thought she was a witch.’
From the staircase Isabella spoke. ‘They do, and yes, she is a witch.’
Thomas looked up and was taken by surprise. In front of him was a completely transformed Kate. Her hair had been let down and was brushed through. She wore a long, dark blue dress with white collar and a sma
ll red jacket covered her shoulders. Kate was smiling. He had never seen her look so well.
‘If you really want to know, Thomas, we sell the boys’ cub teeth when they fall out. Old Nan believes they have certain qualities …’
Ephrig butted in: ‘She thinks we’re boggles.’
It was then that Thomas noticed that both of the boys had the same number of fingers as their father.
‘Are you boggles?’ Thomas asked, unsure if he really wanted to know.
Isabella was first to reply. ‘I don’t think that what we are really matters. Just take it that we are your friends.’ She walked closer to the table and stood with Rueben. ‘People think we are many things. Wherever our folk have been we have been persecuted and driven away. They even blame us for bad weather, cows going dry, and the poor price of grain.’ She paused and looked at Rueben.
‘My wife is right in what she says. We are different, yet we are the same as you. For the last two thousand years our people have been scattered to the four corners of the earth. We get work where we can, harm nobody, and try to live in peace. The problem is, Thomas, people get jealous when we do well. Because we look different and have our own language people often blame us when we are not to blame. I’m not saying we are perfect, but do we really look like monsters?’
Thomas thought that Rueben Wayfoot could not be described as a monster. In the short time that he knew them they had been so kind. Rueben patted Thomas on the back and then ruffled his hair. Isabella put her arm around Kate and pulled her close to her.
‘From what Kate tells me, you’ve been awake most of the night. You can both take a sleep in the boys’ room. Then you can decide what you are going to do.’
Isabella went to the fire and pulled a pot of steaming water from the hot embers. From a side cupboard she took two plain white pot beakers. She took down a dried sprig of green herbs that hung behind one of the beams. She rubbed some of the leaves into each beaker, then covered them with the hot water. Isabella handed the beakers to Kate and Thomas. The smell of mint, lavender, and camomile swirled around him. The hot vapours filled his nose as he breathed in the strong scent. He closed his eyes and allowed the powerful fragrance to wash over him.
‘Drink this. It will take away all those thoughts that will stop you from sleeping. Don’t worry, it won’t poison you; they don’t call me Old Nan.’
Thomas and Kate knew that it would be pointless to argue. He felt comfortable with Isabella. He always thought he could judge someone by their eyes, and she had the eyes of someone filled with love. Isabella turned Kate by her shoulders and pointed her to the stairs.
‘Now go on, you two. We have work to do. We’ll call you when it’s time to get up.’
Thomas followed Kate to the boys’ bedroom. It was large and clean, with two wide, wooden, handmade beds. It was so different from the corner of the cave where Thomas slept on a worn-out horsehair mattress under a thick, stiff old blanket. He sipped from the beaker and looked around the room, taking in all that he could see.
The walls were of the same plaster and wood as the rest of the cottage. In each square of plaster was painted a small picture of a lamb or a fox. On the wall around the window was painted an incredible tree that looked solidly rooted into the floor. Its trunk and branches rose up and surrounded the window, and its rich green leaves looked as if they could be picked.
On each branch were painted golden spheres that hung like fruit. Within each sphere was written, in fine blue paint, a word in a language that Thomas could not understand. He sometimes found it hard enough to recognize the King’s English, but these words looked as if they were from another world. The painting filled the whole wall and made him feel as if he were a part of the tree. The brightness of the vivid gold, green, yellow, and blue vibrated against the eye.
Every branch of the tree was interconnected, every golden sphere linked by a thread of silver vine leaves. On the left was a full moon setting in the hills, on the right a golden sun rising from the sea. At the base of the tree was painted a man and a woman holding hands. Between them stood a young lamb. Crawling through the painted green grass was a black leviathan, half-lizard, and half-snake. Its purple eyes stared out at Kate and Thomas, following them around the room.
They stood mesmerized by the painting, their eyes searching out each and every detail that they could find. Hidden amongst the leaves were the faces of children. Small birds and fruit filled each bough. With each second of looking more and more was revealed, as if the picture was being painted before their eyes.
Thomas felt envious that these two boys had such a beautiful room. By each bed was a small table, and set on each was a candle in a hand-carved wooden holder in the shape of a small green boat. The floor was made of wooden floorboards, and a small peat fire was set in the neat fireplace.
Neither Thomas nor Kate spoke. They sat on opposite beds and then lay back into the soft mattress. Within moments they were both asleep.
*
In the kitchen Rueben and Isabella sat by the fire and waited until there was no more sound from the room above. Bealda and Ephrig continued to eat breakfast at the table by the window. Isabella looked at Rueben and with her hand, beckoned him to move closer.
‘They’re in trouble, Rueben. The girl told me that they had been chased through the wood by some strange creatures. She has a pistol that she stole from her father, and when I came back to the cottage I found a sword hidden by the cow fence.’ She spoke quietly so that the boys wouldn’t overhear. ‘She said there’s another lad who is trying to get into the house of Obadiah Demurral, the priest. She said the lad was black as the night. From Africa.’ Isabella continued to speak in a quiet, yet excited, voice. ‘The boy is called Raphah. You know what his name means. He is a child of The Book. Kate told me he has come here to find something stolen by Demurral.’
Rueben rubbed his hands together and looked at the boys and then back to Isabella.
‘Raphah is the name of a healer. I hope this lad can live up to his name. I knew there was more fear in Thomas’s eyes than just running from smugglers. If the old goat Demurral is involved, then it’s not the work for two lads and a girl, but we can’t stop them. We don’t want anyone to be attracted to what we are doing here. We can help, Isabella, but now is not the time to get involved with Demurral and his schemes.’
Rueben got up from the chair and stood with his back to the fire.
‘They will want to do what they will do. We must pray for them, they will need the help of all heaven if they are in conflict with the priest.’ Rueben took hold of Isabella’s hand. ‘Let’s put the sword and pistol away. When they wake we will see what they want to do. Jacob Crane is coming back tonight; they’ll have to be gone before he arrives.’
Dagda Sarapuk
THE Vicarage was always a dark place. Even on the brightest autumn morning it had the feeling that night still clung to its portals. It had a strange, rugged beauty, and looked as if it was hewn from the rocky headland high above the bay.
Demurral had cheated his way into being the Vicar of Thorpe. Many years before, he had been the guest of the Parson Dagda Sarapuk. Demurral had been a visiting preacher, earning his keep with penny sermons that he preached from haystacks, carts, or wherever he could summon a congregation. From the moment he stood in the cliff-top garden of Peak Vicarage, and looked out across the three miles to Baytown he had been ensnared by the powerful charm of the house and the beauty before him. In the bay the waves broke against the rocks, the dawn-tinted heather stretched into the distance, and the green of the hills rolled out like some luscious carpet for miles and miles. He knew that he could never leave this place. Whatever happened, he had to become the possessor of each stone and blade of grass that was Peak Vicarage. As he stood on the battlements that towered over the sea, he was overcome by a sudden greed.
Darkness and desire had consumed him, washing from him all his light and charity. Demurral was changed in the twinkling of an eye. Every ounce of goodness, ever
y drop of mercy, and every speck of joy were suddenly and powerfully transformed in one shudder of his bones. In that instance he had given over all that was good to that which was corrupt.
On his first night as guest of Parson Sarapuk, when Sarapuk had drunk far too much wine, Demurral had persuaded him to wager all that he owned on the outcome of two cockroaches racing across the large kitchen table. Sarapuk had chosen the biggest and fattest cockroach he could find. Demurral had selected the slightest creature from the scurrying mass that ran across the stone floor; it was the only one his wine-numbed fingers could catch. The mini-beasts were placed next to each other, and to start the race Sarapuk dropped his handkerchief to the table. Demurral closed his eyes and began to pray. For the first time in his life he could feel a power coming from within him. He felt as if he was not alone, that he shared his body with another being. It was like being a god, with the power to make all the elements of earth, wind, and fire, obey him.
To his surprise his scraggy, thin, long-legged cockroach attacked its fat rival, biting off its head and leaving it like an up-turned, six-legged, black saucer. The conquering cockroach then waddled to the other side of the table, winning for Demurral the Vicarage, and the living from all the land as far as the eye could see. Sarapuk had begun to sob, realizing his stupidity. He had lost everything. Demurral leapt from the chair lifting the victorious cockroach in his hand.
‘Praise you. Praise you, my little dark beast,’ he shouted as he leapt around the kitchen, waving his hands in the air and then falling across the table. He was again overcome with the force of powerful desire. He looked at Sarapuk and began to laugh. ‘And you, my stupid friend, you will be out of here in the morning.’
Demurral leant over to Dagda Sarapuk, holding out the cockroach towards him.
‘Do you want to change your luck? Go on, take it. I’ll race you again with the odds in your favour,’ he said mockingly.
