‘Mrs Tilley bakes good pies,’ Woods said. ‘I’ve just had one. It were oozin’ with thick gravy. Do you like Mrs Tilley’s pies?’
Billy nodded and stared at Woods curiously. Lavender stood still and let Woods take the lead in the conversation. Woods, the family man. Woods, the loving father of four children – four beautiful, perfectly healthy and normal children.
Woods pointed down to the half-finished sketch of a large dog on the paper in front of Billy. The vicious-looking creature had malevolent eyes. ‘What you got there, Billy-Boy?’ he asked. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s Black Shuck,’ Billy said. He poked at the drawing with his pencil. ‘He likes the water. He only comes out at night when it rains. He rolls in puddles and wades through streams swollen by the rainfall.’
‘Sounds like a nice doggie,’ Woods said.
‘Ah no,’ Billy corrected him. His face was deadly serious. ‘His howl can make your blood run cold. You don’t want to meet him in the dark.’ His tongue poked out at the corner of his mouth again.
‘I’ll remember him,’ Woods said. ‘Was Black Shuck out and about in Middleton durin’ the night of the storm – the night when those men broke into your home and attacked you and your da?’
Billy’s puffy eyes narrowed and his flat forehead creased up in a frown. ‘No,’ he said and shook his head. ‘I didn’t see Black Shuck but he may have been outside howlin’. I wouldn’t have heard him over the thunder. Black Agnes was abroad though,’ he added. ‘She tried to steal the children.’
‘That were cruel of her,’ Woods said sympathetically. ‘Who else did you see that night?’
Billy flinched and his eyes dropped down to the floor. ‘No one believes me, for sure,’ he said sulkily.
‘I will,’ Woods promised.
Billy lifted his head and stared straight at him. ‘The Dark Elves were there. The water from the Well at the World’s End had poured out and they got through the breach.’
‘How did you know they were the Dark Elves?’
‘Because of their black faces, silly.’
Woods hesitated, lost for words.
‘See, I knew you wouldn’t believe me.’ Billy lowered his head.
‘Oh, I believe you, lad,’ Woods said quickly. ‘I’m just a bit shocked, that’s all. It’s grim news about them elves. I’ll wager they were up to no good.’
‘They were stealin’ Mammy’s furniture. I saw them takin’ it.’
‘How many of them were there, these elves?’ Woods asked.
‘There were three.’
‘Did they take anything else?’ Lavender asked suddenly.
Billy glanced across at him. ‘Who are you?’ he asked, his voice heavy with suspicion.
‘I’m Stephen,’ he said. ‘I’m a friend of Ned’s.’
‘I don’t have any friends,’ Billy said. ‘No one likes me.’
‘Now, now, son,’ Woods said gently. ‘I think Mrs Tilley likes you. She seemed right fond of you to me.’
‘Ah sure, Mrs Tilley likes me,’ Billy brightened, ‘and Doctor Wallace. But the bully boys don’t.’
‘How old are you, Billy?’ Lavender asked.
‘Mammy says I’m twenty-four years old. My birthday is the Feast of St Mary Magdalene. Mammy will bake me an almond pastry on the day.’
His eyes shone at the thought and his slack mouth curled up into a huge smile. He looks quite nice when he smiles, Lavender thought.
‘St Mary Magdalene is the sweetest and strongest of the saints because her love was so great. Did you know this, Stephen?’
Lavender smiled back. ‘No, I didn’t,’ he confessed. ‘Thank you for telling me. I have a lady friend called Magdalena.’
‘Oooh!’ Billy laughed and his smile lit up his chubby face. Lavender and Woods found themselves smiling too. ‘A laaady. She will be sweet and strong, for sure.’
Strong, maybe. Lavender smiled. ‘Sweet’ wasn’t an adjective he would normally apply to Magdalena – she had too much spirit to be sweet.
Billy picked up his pencil and turned back to his paper. ‘I will draw her for you. You must come back tomorrow.’
Lavender took a step forward and leant down towards the young man. ‘Thank you, Billy,’ he said. ‘I will look forward to it. We’ll come back tomorrow. But before we go, please tell me, did you see those bad elves take any of your father’s money?’
Billy glanced up at him and frowned as if Lavender had asked him a stupid question. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘They’d got it wrong.’
Lavender opened his mouth to question him further but closed it again. Billy had turned his back on them and bent over his paper again. They had been dismissed. Lavender caught Woods’ eye and jerked his own head in the direction of the door. Woods nodded and stood up. ‘We’ll leave you for now, Billy-Boy,’ he said.
But Billy Sculthorpe was too engrossed in his work to reply. The figure of a woman with flowing hair and a swirling gown appeared on the paper beside the evil hound, Black Shuck.
Chapter Seven
They closed the door gently behind them and paused on the chilly landing.
‘What now?’ Woods asked.
‘This case gets more complicated by the minute,’ Lavender said grimly. ‘I need some time to think. We also need to send Clancy back to Market Harborough with Sculthorpe’s reliquary as soon as he has introduced us to Constable Sawyer – and we need to find a place to stay in this village tonight.’
Woods smiled. ‘Well, I reckon we should visit The Woolpack. You can do your thinkin’ over a tankard of ale and we can ask about a room for the night while we’re there. That pie were very tasty but I need something to wash it down.’
Lavender nodded. The salt in the gravy had left him with a thirst.
They collected Clancy and walked the short distance to the tavern at the end of the village high street. This double-fronted house had low rectangular windows on either side of the door and a wooden sign above it that read ‘Francis Bunning: Cobbler’. A large assortment of men’s working boots stood in rows in the low windows.
‘This is an inn?’ Woods asked, surprised.
‘Yes, Bunnin’ has turned his parlour into a taproom for the local farmers,’ Clancy explained. ‘It gets quite busy at night. By day he works as a cobbler in the outhouse at the back. A lot of the folks in the village have two occupations.’
‘Very enterprising,’ Woods said.
Bunning’s deserted parlour-cum-tavern was a cold, plain, drab room with scuffed and muddied floorboards and a few low tables and stools. An ancient longcase clock in the corner of the room broke up the monotony of the furnishings. Badly scratched and battered, it was missing the glass cover that should have protected the white face with its twelve Roman numerals. Yet despite this, the exposed hands of the clock still continued their juddering, stilted journey around the dial accompanied by a sonorous ticking. Instinctively, Lavender pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time.
Clancy leant closer and peered over his shoulder. ‘Well, this clock is set at the right time anyway,’ he said.
Lavender snapped shut the casing and returned his watch to his pocket. ‘You’re a quick learner, Constable Clancy,’ he said.
A young woman with long unkempt hair sidled into the room draped in an old gown that was several sizes too large for her. Her shoulders slouched forward as she walked and the dirty hem of the gown trailed behind her on the floor. She carried three tankards and a jug of ale in her hands. ‘You be wantin’ ale?’ she asked. A sensual smile spread across her face.
‘If you don’t mind so early in the day, Susie,’ Clancy said pleasantly. ‘How are you keepin’, by the way?’ He sat down at one of the low tables. Lavender and Woods followed his lead.
The young woman placed the pewter tankards in front of them and pushed her body next to Clancy’s shoulder. ‘Oh, I be keepin’ fine,’ she drawled in Clancy’s ear. ‘All the better fer seein’ you, my bonny lad.’ She leant forward to pour out the ale a
nd her gown fell away to reveal her deep cleavage and the curvaceous mounds of her flesh. Her breasts strained to be released from her bodice. Clancy blushed but his eyes couldn’t help themselves. ‘That’s grand, Susie,’ he said lamely.
‘Thank you for the ale,’ Lavender said as he picked up his drink. His tone cut through the atmosphere of enforced intimacy like ice. ‘Can we speak to Mr Bunning?’
‘Which one?’ The girl glanced up at him and smiled. She twirled a loose strand of greasy hair around her dirty finger. ‘There’s two of ’em Bunnin’s at work in the back.’
‘Mr Frank Bunning,’ Lavender said. The woman made no attempt to leave. She eyed Lavender up and down. The tip of her tongue flicked out and licked her smiling lips. ‘Yer an ’andsome swell,’ she drawled. ‘Do yer have a sweetheart?’
‘I do,’ Lavender said. ‘We’re to be married soon. Leave the jug on the table before you go.’ The girl scowled at the abrupt dismissal and sidled back out of the room.
‘That’s Susie Dicken, Bunnin’’s housekeeper,’ Clancy said. ‘He took her out of the poorhouse to work here.’
Woods drained the last of his ale from his tankard, gave an appreciative belch and reached for the jug. ‘Looks to me like she’s the kind of gal who keeps more than the kitchen range stoked on a night,’ he said with a wink.
Clancy smiled. ‘Bunnin’’s smitten with her,’ he whispered. ‘There’s rumours he plans to marry her.’
‘Good luck to the man,’ Woods said as he refilled his tankard. ‘Those gals from the poorhouse can be jiltish ladybirds.’
A bald, plain-looking man in his mid-forties appeared, wiping his hands on a soiled cloth. Shoemakers’ tools, pliers and a hammer poked out of the pocket of his grey apron. Frank Bunning had an unhealthy complexion and small, nervous eyes. Despite the chill of the room, he also had beads of sweat across his pale forehead.
Lavender introduced himself and Woods.
‘I’ve already told Constable Clancy everythin’ there is to be said about that dreadful night,’ Bunning said, frowning. ‘I don’t think there is much I can add.’
‘Tell me again,’ Lavender said.
Bunning shrugged. ‘’Twere a bad night,’ he said. ‘That storm brewed for hours. Some of my regulars came in early and disappeared back to their homes before the rain came. By the time the storm broke, I only had a couple of customers still in here.’
‘Can you remember who they were?’ Lavender asked.
Bunning’s large, white forehead creased into a frown. ‘Old Pete Jarman were one of them. He never misses a night, does Old Pete. He spends hours sat by my fire with a single tankard of ale.’
‘Anyone else?’
Bunning shook his head. ‘I can’t remember,’ he said, ‘but I remember the shock when Jed Sawyer staggered through the door and told us he’d been pounced upon by a gang of villains.’
‘What time was this?’ Lavender asked.
Bunning pointed to the old clock in the corner. ‘’Twere just afore ten o’clock. A quarter off the hour. I’d just checked the time and were thinkin’ about shuttin’ up for the night. There didn’t seem to be much profit in stayin’ open for longer.’
‘What kind of state were he in?’ Woods asked. ‘Sawyer, I mean.’
‘A bad one,’ Bunning replied. ‘His face were bloodied and the bastards had nearly broken his arm. He’d had to run fer his life.’
‘What happened next?’ Lavender asked. He wanted to ask what a ‘nearly broken’ arm was but decided to stick to his main line of questioning for the moment.
‘Well, me and my nephew – and Harry Goode, he were still here – we raced down to Sculthorpe’s cottage as fast as we could. I thought the old fellah had already gone but when Doctor Wallace arrived, he said Sculthorpe were still breathin’.’
‘Did you see or hear anyone in the street when you left here?’
‘No, the streets were deserted. Sawyer said the gang had run off in the opposite direction. The whole village were shut indoors, waitin’ out the damned storm.’
‘This Harry Goode,’ Lavender asked. ‘Who is he?’
‘He’s a labourer up at the Home Farm. Why?’
‘I wondered if he’d been in the tavern all night.’
Bunning frowned as he struggled to remember. ‘Yes – no. No. He’d come in a few minutes earlier. He said the storm had woken him up and he might as well sit in here with a brandy as at home.’
‘And he arrived before Constable Sawyer came through the door?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You’ve been very helpful, Mr Bunning,’ Lavender said. ‘Just one final question: did William Sculthorpe ever drink in here?’
Bunning nodded. ‘Yes, he were partial to a glass of brandy,’ he said. ‘He once let it slip that Lady Anne from Rockingham gave him a bottle or two now and then. When it ran out, he’d come in here.’
Lavender frowned. ‘Lady Anne Fitzwilliam sent William Sculthorpe brandy?’
Bunning nodded. ‘It’s about the only thing I know about him. Quiet, broodin’ old fellah, he was. When he came here, he’d buy a glass and sit with Old Pete by the fire. A right pair of miserable bookends they were.’
‘This is helpful,’ Lavender reiterated.
‘Well, I does what I can.’ Bunning seemed embarrassed by the compliment. ‘What happened that night were shockin’. Sculthorpe were a miserly old beggar but he didn’t deserve to die like that.’
Lavender asked him about a room for the night, and the landlord confirmed he had an empty bedchamber upstairs.
Suddenly, they heard the outer door open and felt a draught of cold air swirl through the room. In the hallway outside a man laughed. ‘Afternoon, Susie,’ said a loud voice. ‘My, you look like a rum duchess today.’
‘It’s Constable Sawyer,’ Clancy said, rising to his feet.
A stocky man in an old black coat with tarnished silver buttons entered the room. A dirty sling held his right arm against his chest. Susie Dicken sidled in behind him, grinning.
Clancy greeted Jed Sawyer warmly and introduced Lavender and Woods. Sawyer grasped Lavender’s hand like a vice and shook it firmly.
‘Jedediah Sawyer, sir. At your service.’ Sawyer was about fifty years old. A shaggy, unkempt mane of grey hair fell down to his shoulders from beneath his hat.
Sawyer turned and gave Clancy a friendly slap on the back. The younger man staggered beneath the force of the blow. ‘Is he doin’ well, assistin’ you in your inquiries?’ Sawyer asked. ‘He’s a good lad is Sam. Known him ever since he joined us as a Johnny Newcombe. Taught him everythin’ I know, I did.’
‘It didn’t take him long to do that,’ Clancy quipped. Sawyer threw back his head and burst into laughter. His teeth were black with rot and several of them were missing.
‘Constable Clancy’s help has been invaluable,’ Lavender said, smiling.
Sawyer carried another stool over to their table and joined them. ‘I heard you’d arrived. I’ve been lookin’ for you all over the damned village,’ he said. ‘I might have known young Clancy here would be in a tavern. He likes a knock-me-down, does our Sam.’ He winked at the younger man, who flushed. ‘I’ll take a bumper tankard of ale with these gentlemen, Susie, my love.’
The woman disappeared out of the room, quickly followed by Frank Bunning. Lavender sensed the landlord’s relief that his own interrogation was now over.
‘So how are your inquiries proceedin’, sir?’ Sawyer rubbed his bushy sideburns with his hand. ‘Have you made any arrests yet?’ His bright eyes beneath his thick, greying eyebrows flicked curiously between Lavender and Woods.
‘I’m glad you’ve found us, Constable Sawyer,’ Lavender said. ‘I wanted to ask you in person about the events of the night of the attack.’
Susie returned with her jug of ale and a fresh pewter tankard for Sawyer. ‘Give us a kiss, wench,’ Sawyer said with a grin as she poured his drink.
‘Eugh, yer need a shave,’ she complained.
Sawyer raised his bandaged elbow. ‘You try shavin’ with one good arm, gal,’ he said. ‘Mind you, the other rammer still works fine,’ he added with a grin. To prove his point, he grabbed the woman around her waist and pulled her down into his lap.
She squealed and scrambled to her feet, laughing. Ale slopped over the edge of her jug onto the stone floor. ‘Gerroff! You old goat!’
Lavender sat back and quietly watched their horseplay. Sawyer’s injuries didn’t seem to have damaged his high spirits, he noted. The woman eventually escaped Sawyer’s clutches. He deftly tossed her a coin for the ale and she sidled out of the room.
‘Rammer?’ Woods said. ‘I haven’t heard that expression for a while. It’s army slang, isn’t it? Musket-ramming arm. Were you in the army?’
‘Aye, thirty years ago.’ Sawyer grimaced at the memory. ‘I were a swaddy with Lord Cornwallis and the 33rd in the Americas when those bastards kicked us out of the colony. Took part in the Siege of Charleston, I did – and the Battle of Yorktown, where the buggers finally beat us.’
‘Those must have been hard times,’ Woods said sympathetically.
‘Yes,’ Sawyer said. ‘I were injured, worn out.’ His face brightened and he pointed to his bandaged arm. ‘A bit like now. I’m a bad bargain now as a constable.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll still be able to help us with our inquiries,’ Lavender said. ‘I read the statement you wrote for the coroner’s inquest. In it, you said you were doing your evening patrol through the two villages when you saw the villains.’
Sawyer took a deep gulp of his ale, then wiped away the moisture from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. ‘Yes, that’s right. I were just walkin’ down the high street. I saw several men comin’ out of the alleyway where Sculthorpe lived – ’
‘When was this?’
‘Just after half past nine.’
The Sculthorpe Murder Page 6
