Amos sat in his winged arm-chair, reading his Troilus and Cressida. The virtual ostracism by his family that he felt was temporarily driven from his mind as he tried hard to understand Shakespeare’s study of human values in this tale of war between posturing Greeks and Trojans, abduction of the beautiful Helen of Troy, the chivalry and honour, the homo-eroticism, sexual innuendo, and the unfaithful Cressida’s betrayal of Troilus. He was so engrossed, almost to the point of being carried away into the midst of the quarrelling between Achilles, Ulysses and Ajax, when suddenly he felt the touch of his wife’s hand upon his shoulder which, although unexpected, seemed a welcome conciliatory attempt. To be at odds with his own family was upsetting and a wave of relief swept over him to think that Sarah had finally accepted that what he had done in reporting his suspicions about Joseph to the police, had been done with the best of intentions. He grasped her hand and tenderly pulled her down to sit on his lap. They kissed and hugged to put their differences to right. Amos never once suspected that this was Sarah’s ploy to beguile him.
The evening was a very relaxed affair and the tenderness and romance they shared was so very typical of a close, loving couple – as indeed they were – but the atmosphere was so very different to what it had been during the last couple of days. As Amos fed logs onto the fire, Sarah’s mind wandered to Joseph and she wondered whether he was warm and dry in whatever hiding place he’d found. When she thought the moment was right she casually said,
“Thank you Amos for being such a wonderful husband”. Amos smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips then replied, “I’m flattered - but I’m just pleased to have such a wonderful wife and family”.
“Yes, we should be grateful for everything, a lovely home and such an easy life compared with many”, she answered.
Amos looked into her eyes and wondered where this conversation was leading.
“We’re all lucky we’ve been spared the poverty and hardship we see around us; fortunate for the comfort of our own home, but why do you let that concern you?”
“Oh, I think it must be dreadful to have nothing and to be hungry and cold”.
He pulled her close to him and said, “You’re thinking of Joseph aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, I am”.
“I knew it. Look here Sarah, he’s gone. Forget him. The man’s an impostor and we’re well rid of him”.
Sarah drew back a little, planted a tender kiss on his lips and then said,
“Just suppose for a moment that you were wrong. Just suppose that he was genuine”.
“Oh, Sarah, why can’t you see he was out to swindle you”.
“Alright, but just for one moment, suppose he was genuine, wouldn’t you do everything in your power to help him”.
“You’re forgetting Sarah, he’s a wanted man. He’s a thief and a burglar at best and perhaps much worse – so even if he was the genuine Joseph Craven would we want to help him escape justice?”
“But Amos, I always thought a man was innocent until he was proved guilty”.
Amos felt his ire, his resentment, rising again but was so very thoughtful not to offend Sarah’s sensitive feelings that he struggled to temper his tone. He certainly didn’t want to offend her and suffer being cold shouldered again.
“Sarah, you know very well that I followed him in the night – I know he’s guilty – but why are we having this conversation now, he’s gone?”
“I was reading my bible – and it says you should do unto others as you would have them do unto you – and if I was destitute I’d wish someone would help me”.
“Do you include in that sentiment someone who’s trying to swindle you?”
“The bible says you should turn the other cheek”.
“There’s only so far you can take that. We helped Joseph, nursed him when he was sick, housed and fed him – then he repays us by throwing a knife so close to my face to purposely frighten me. You can’t help people who abuse your generosity and hospitality”.
“But don’t you see? These are special circumstances. Joseph was our benefactor – he was the one whose money gave us what we have – the cottage we always wanted and the money for all of us to live a very comfortable life”.
Oh Sarah, I can see where this is leading. Look, we’ve discussed this before and I’ve always said that if this man could prove that he was your genuine Joseph Craven I’d be very sympathetic and quite willing to settle money on him, but that’s unlikely to happen isn’t it?”
Sarah held her tongue for a moment, contemplating her husband’s reaction if she told him that Joseph was still here – somewhere in the vicinity, then she made up her mind and continued,
“What would you say if he hadn’t gone?”
“What do you mean? Are you telling me he’s still here? I cleaned out the vardo and there was no trace of him having returned.”
“He’s still here – at least he’s somewhere nearby. Ruth has seen him and even gave him some food”.
“Doesn’t she realise he’s dangerous? Good grief, she’ll be the next Elaine Gould”.
“Oh Amos, I wish you could understand. Ruth’s convinced he’s her father – a father she’d only known from our conversations – someone of whom her mother had painted a romantic picture in her mind; someone who had left the two of us his fortune; someone who had died such an honourable death – and now he’s reappeared and his death such a mistake, how could she possibly be afraid of her father?”.
“This tries my patience to the limit. Sarah, once and for all this man’s an impostor”.
“So you say, but you can no more prove he’s an impostor than he can prove he’s Joseph, but wouldn’t you be prepared to give him money to help him escape – to be rid of him? You wouldn’t have his execution on your conscience then”.
“Why should his execution be on my conscience? I’ve already told you that Carew said he’d made enquiries of the Army Board and the Colonial Office about Joseph Craven and they had said as far as they were aware he was dead – a casualty of war, so he’s no reason to believe they’d be pursuing him as a deserter. If the possibility of a capital punishment still hangs over him, it must be for something other than being a deserter. Another thing about this impostor that puzzles me is that if he was such a close friend of Carew, then why wasn’t he prepared to assist him – it’s not as if he’s short of a few guineas – and why has Carew cleared off and left him here, penniless? I’m more convinced than ever that they were all three in this together, trying to swindle you.”
“Well if Sir Duncan is a fraudster, then how do you explain how he was able to sketch a portrait of Joseph?”
It was Amos’s turn to hesitate, to gather his thoughts; however Carew had obtained the sketch, it wasn’t such a big issue – it wasn’t as if it was beyond the wit of man and he answered,
“I don’t know, perhaps he was genuinely a friend of Joseph, and with Joseph’s death he saw an opportunity to use his knowledge of Joseph to obtain the inheritance from you, but there again, how difficult would it be for someone with a dubious intent to find Army records of Joseph and concoct this story? He’s probably well practised in this sort of fraud and obtaining details like this could come second nature to him”.
“I begin to think we’d have been better off without the money, it’s beginning to make our lives miserable. Someone once said, ‘Be careful what you wish for’ and I’m beginning to understand what they meant. Life was difficult living in the vardo and travelling the countryside, but we weren’t troubled with problems like this”, she replied.
“Sarah, my love, it’s avarice that’s the problem – the connivance of others to take what you have from you, and I don’t intend to let that happen. We have two lovely daughters and a third child on its way, and we have to protect what we have because it’s their future”.
Despite her feelings of benevolence towards the Joseph she remembered - who had been her childhood lover and father of her child, who now emerged from the grave to charge her emotions over again - she understood her husband’s determination not to part with their money to someone without an identity, someone who couldn’t prove who he was. Her guile in bringing about the conversation had failed, and instead, Amos had reasoned with her to good effect. She took him by the hand and led him upstairs to bed but she wondered how she was going to explain to Ruth that she’d tried to talk her husband round, and had failed.
The morning broke to a quite dismal day. The incessant drizzle from the low cloud that enveloped and obscured the Roaches made it miserable and Ruth’s mood was no brighter. Her father was constantly on her mind, concerned that he might be wet and cold, with the distinct possibility that it might affect his health – as it had before. Even if he had kept dry he’d certainly be hungry so she knew she’d have to go to him again. After breakfast, as Amos busied himself with his daily chores, Sarah took the opportunity to draw Ruth aside and tell her that her attempt to persuade Amos to settle money on Joseph had failed. Ruth’s eyes filled with tears as she said, “What can we do? I must go to him, take some food and explain to him that at least we’ve tried.”
“I’ll come with you, Ruth. We’ll try to explain about the money and we can tell him what Sir Duncan said about there being no hue and cry for him as a deserter”.
“No, Ma. I promised. I gave him my word that I wouldn’t tell a soul where he was hiding”.
“He won’t mind if I come with you”.
“No. A promise is a promise”.
“Alright. I’ll prepare a parcel of food for you to take but please, Ruth, be careful. Amos is convinced that he’s dangerous. I can’t see it myself but I don’t want anything bad to happen to you”.
“Oh Ma, he’s not dangerous, he’s just scared. Anyway, he’s my father – he’s not going to hurt me.”
“No, of course not but what still worries me is the state of his mind”.
Ruth wrapped up against the elements and set off to the barn to meet her father, as arranged but instead of following the previous route that took her through the wet bog, she went through the yard at Bright Meadows farm, carefully avoiding any contact with Mistress Sissy. Only Tess, the collie dog paid her any attention and began to follow her, eagerly expecting fun and games as usual, but a sharp word from Ruth sent her ruefully back to the yard. The only person she saw was one of the boys who was busy about his work and who disappeared inside one of the buildings, apparently more concerned to be out of the weather, and who clearly didn’t see her. Avoiding the muddy ground at the gateway from the fields to the yard, that had been trodden up by the animals, she was soon into the meadows where the grass was cropped short, but even so, her feet were soon soaked.
The barn was at quite some distance and the drizzle was, or at least seemed to be, getting heavier. There was but little cover to conceal her, but what little there was she used to hide her from any prying eyes back at the farm which meant that for a good distance she was entirely visible from the barn. The thought went through her head that her father had chosen extremely well in hiding in the barn as anyone approaching could be seen from any direction.
She entered the barn without any hesitation, pleased to be out of the rain. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she looked around for her father. She looked up to the top of the ladder into the loft and although there was no sign of him she began to climb, the food parcel held secure by the string that Sarah had placed around it. As she emerged from the ladder onto the loft floor she looked around her and formed the impression that she was alone. Had her father gone? the thought troubled her but then, in the light available from the pitching hole through which the hay was normally thrown in from outside, she saw movement from a solitary leg sticking out from a pile of sweet smelling hay. Relieved that he was still here she spoke but there was no response so she carefully knelt and uncovered the near comatose form of her father. The smell of brandy was so strong about him that she found it offensive. He was inebriated but she was surprised how warm he felt cocooned in his bed of hay.
Ruth shook him by the shoulders but only achieved an incoherent exclamation. She wondered what she should do. Leaving him to his stertorous breathing she went to the pitching hole and looked outside. The rain was heavier now and the mist had dropped to shroud the whole place and she thought she would be better to stay where she was until the weather abated. She sat down on a pile of hay with her back against the wall, watching her father and feeling sorry for him that the pain from his disfigurement should have to be dulled by strong liquor. The time passed very slowly as he slept off the brandy and, with nothing to occupy her mind, she dwelt upon the experiences her father had endured to bring him to this sorry state.
It was a depressing state of mind and she couldn’t help but weep quietly to herself. She repeatedly got to her feet and looked outside but nothing changed and she sat down again, until finally, Joseph sat up with a start. He looked at her and opened his mouth to speak but his tongue felt thick and wooden and the words were hard to form. He brought both hands up to cradle his head as the pounding of hammers tortured his brain. He began to retch and with one hand across his mouth he staggered to the pitching hole and hung his head outside as he vomited. The cool rain on his face actually felt refreshing. Eventually, he drew back inside but, still leaning against the wall, he said in his thick, slurred, attempt, “Have you brought some money?” Ruth ruefully shook her head and answered, “No, father. I can’t persuade Amos no matter how hard I try”.
Ruth handed Joseph the parcel of food which he unwrapped but left untouched. “I’ve lost my appetite,” he declared. He sat silently for some moments, obviously thinking, and then said,
“Well, we shall have to try a different tactic”.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, forget it. It’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about”.
Although he wasn’t forthcoming about what he meant, the remark had ominous overtones, and Ruth began to worry that he might do something desperate that would lead him into capture.
“Father, don’t do anything silly that you could regret”.
Joseph went down on his hands and knees searching for his brandy bottle amongst the hay but when he eventually found it he put it to his lips and uttered a curse when he found it was empty.
“I need a drink. My head’s feeling enough to burst open and my face is burning as though it’s on fire”.
“What did you mean – try a different tactic?” He hesitated for some moments and then said,
“I think you’ll have to stay here – make him change his mind”.
“What? Keep me here? I can’t stay here”.
“You’ll be alright – we’ll keep each other company. I’ll leave him a note to tell him that I’m holding you and you won’t be released until he’s come up with the money, but don’t you worry, you’ll be perfectly alright”.
“You can’t do that, father. It’s kidnap and they’ll set up a hue and a cry for you”.
“It’s the only way. He’s not going to part with his precious money unless he’s forced, and he’ll do anything if he thinks you’re in danger”.
“No, father, I won’t do it”.
“You have no choice, my dear. You’ll do as you’re told. Now sit down and don’t make my headache any worse.” He manoeuvred to place himself between Ruth and the ladder then roughly pushed her down onto the hay.
“Now, just do as you’re told and you’ll be alright. I won’t harm you, you know that, I just need you to stay here until he believes you’ve been kidnapped”.
“How could you? You’re my own father”.
“Just accept it, after all it’s only likely to be a couple of nights”.
The hours dragged through the afternoon and as dusk began to fall, Ruth’s pleading fell on deaf ears. The rain had virtually stopped and the mist had receded to reveal the crescent moon shining above. Ruth’s tears did nothing to change Joseph’s mind. He roughly tied her hands behind her and her mind instantly went to Elaine Gould and what the policeman had said about her hands being tied. Fear suddenly gripped her as she imagined what might happen to her.
“Please, father, no. Father, please”, she cried.
“Calm yourself, girl. I’m going to make sure you stay here whilst I go out. I’ll be gone a couple of hours so just resign yourself to it. Don’t struggle because the rope will tighten if you struggle and it’ll be tied to this beam behind you so that you stay where you are. I’ll be back later and then I’ll untie you, so just be good and relax”.
Sarah, meanwhile, was getting concerned. She knew where Ruth had gone, or at least she knew she’d gone to meet Joseph, but it was beginning to get dark now and it shouldn’t have taken her so long. Tea was laid and Ruth wouldn’t normally be late for tea. All sorts of things were swimming around in her head as she reflected on what Amos had said about Joseph being dangerous – but he wouldn’t harm his own daughter – would he? – or, had she fallen and injured herself? Was she lying injured somewhere? She was trying hard not to let her concerns show, but as it grew dark she knew something was terribly wrong.
“Amos, I’m getting very worried. Ruth hasn’t come home”.
“What do you mean – has she run away. If it’s that young Carew again………”
“No. It’s not. It’s Joseph. I told you last night that she’d seen him. What I didn’t tell you was that she knew where he was hiding. She went off to take him some food this morning and she hasn’t come home”. She began to sob.
Amos’s natural reaction was to feel annoyance at the connivance between his wife and daughter, but he held his temper as he said,
“Good grief, Sarah. You’re telling me you knew all about this and you’ve kept it from me. The girl should never have been allowed to go to him on her own – you know how vulnerable she is and more to the point, how dangerous he is”.
“I’m sorry, but we didn’t tell you because we knew how you’d react. I’ve been worried all afternoon but I honestly believed she’d be alright – after-all it’s her father”, and tears streamed down her face.
“Well, we’d better go and see what’s keeping her. Where’s she gone?”
“That’s the trouble - I don’t know, she wouldn’t tell me because she’d promised him not to tell”.
“Didn’t she give you any clue to where he was?”
“No. The only thing that might mean anything is that when she came home yesterday her feet were wet through and her shoes were covered in mud as though she’d walked through some wet ground”.
“Well, that could be anywhere. The first thing that comes to my mind again is the cave up on the Roaches but that’s too far away for Ruth to have had any contact with him there. It’s got to be somewhere closer. When she left this morning which direction did she take?”
“I only watched her walk up the lane as far as Bright Meadows. I’ve no idea where she went from there.”
“Well, at least that gives us a starting point. Before we go any further I’d better go and have a word with Mistress Sissy and search through the farm buildings – it’s as likely a place as any”.
“I’ll come with you”.
“No. You’ve got to stay and look after little Beth and someone needs to be here in case she returns”.
Amos was already lacing up his boots and reaching for his coat as he finished speaking. He tried to re-assure Sarah as he took his lantern then left the house followed closely by Meg the dog. His heart began to thump as he strode out for Bright Meadows, thinking “Oh why oh why couldn’t the girl see that this ne’er-do-well wasn’t her father. Why couldn’t she just confide in me – I’ve been more than a father to her”, but even as the notion entered his head he knew it was only natural for the child to cling to the hope that this was her real father and that his own attitude towards this Joseph had prevented any possibility of sharing a confidence.
As he entered the yard of Bright Meadows a light was burning in the kitchen. He knocked at the door and there was immediately a growling from inside then Sissy’s voice called out, “Who’s there?” He answered, “It’s Amos, Miss Sissy”. Recognising his voice there was an immediate click of the key being turned in the lock, followed by the withdrawal of bolts. The door opened and there stood Sissy holding an oil lamp.
“What’s wrong Amos, lad. You look as though you’ve got the troubles of the world on your shoulders”.
“It’s Ruth. She’s missing. We know she’s been meeting with this Joseph chap she thinks is her father and apparently she went off this morning, unbeknown to me, to take food to him. She hasn’t come back. We only know that she came as far as Bright Meadows but she might have gone anywhere from here. I thought I’d better start by looking through your buildings if I may, just in case they’re here somewhere”.
“Oh dear Lord, Just let me put my boots on and grab my coat and we’ll have a look round, although to be honest I don’t think they’d be here – there’s too much activity around the place. My lads are about here all day and neither of them has said anything of seeing signs of anybody hanging about that shouldn’t be. As there’s been all those burglaries and that business with young Elaine Gould, we’re all being a bit careful about the place”.
They walked together across the yard, Meg racing ahead, eager to sniff out a rat, their lanterns giving just sufficient light to see where they were going.
“Let’s start in the byre”, suggested Sissy, “It’s about the warmest place with the cows being inside. That’s where I’d be if I had to sleep out here.”
The cows were contented and were obviously disturbed by the couple entering the byre carrying lanterns, and it was clear there was no-one else there. The pig pens were next - although a less likely place for anyone to hide - no stone was going to be left unturned. The grunting, as the pigs were disturbed from their slumbers, was yet again sufficient evidence that no-one was there. The calf shed next, then the stable with its loft above, and finally the barn all proved empty, and surely Meg would have indicated if there was anyone about.
As they moved towards the rick-yard to check amongst the hay-ricks with their thatched tops, there was an urgent shouting that Amos recognised as Sarah’s voice. “Amos”. “Amos”. Clearly something was amiss.
“Sarah, I’m here – the rick-yard”. Sarah appeared, out of the night, carrying the bundle of Little Beth wrapped tightly in blankets. She was clearly out of breath and almost demented in her anguish. Amos lifted Little Beth from her as she recovered her breath. The pain of her breathing and the upset clearly affected her swollen belly and she held herself fearing the onset of labour. She wasn’t due yet for another month but already she’d been experiencing twinges – and now this!
“I was putting logs on the fire” she gasped, “and suddenly there was a crash and a stone came through the window. There was a note wrapped around it – it’s here”, she sobbed.
Amos lifted the lantern and took the note and struggled hard to read as the scrawl was almost illegible;
“I got her. Bring some money. You better come alone and don’t warn anyone”. The note was unsigned but there wasn’t much doubt about it – it was from Joseph. A chill ran through Amos’s bones as it sank in. Sissy’s immediate concern was for Sarah and she took her arm and said, “Come on lass, let’s get you inside. We don’t want any mishaps out here in the dark”, and she walked her back to the farm kitchen. “A hot drink’s what you need – and you must get your feet up” and she sat Sarah in a comfortable chair and drew up a stool to raise her feet.
“Oh what are we going to do, Amos. I’ll never forgive myself for being so stupid”.
“There’s nothing we can do about the money at this hour of the night”. He looked again at the note and then said, “He’s not given this much thought. He’s told us to bring him the money but he’s failed to say where we’re to bring it. He’ll realise after a while and then he’ll have to get in touch with us again. That’s when I’ll be waiting for him”.
Meg pushed her way through to take advantage of the fire and soon settled, curled up in the hearth. Sissy busied herself making a hot drink for Sarah but all the time she was thinking of where this maniac might be hiding. There was just a chance that he might be hiding at the stables at the Flying Horse, but then again, he couldn’t keep a hostage there – she’d be heard. That possibility wasn’t really worth mentioning although she was sure that Amos would already have thought about that place having had so much contact with the Carews there. There were odd cottages along the lane but they were all occupied and the people living there would be as alert to anyone hiding there as she was in view of the burglaries. Her mind was a blank, unable to make any sensible suggestion of the most likely hiding place.
Ruth was afraid and cramp was making her limbs ache with being tied in such an uncomfortable posture. Her hands were quite numb, the bonds restricting the flow of blood, and her feet were quite cold. She tried lying on her side but no matter how she squirmed she couldn’t get comfortable. Joseph had been gone at least two hours she thought, although time dragged and it was difficult to tell how long she’d really lain there. The intense darkness of the loft was quite sinister. The small sounds of rodent life scurrying around her weren’t exactly confidence boosting and she was sure there were bats flying about – or was that just her imagination? She’d just about cried all the tears she could and although she felt so very dejected and miserable her face had dried. The rope tethering her to the beam restricted her movements but she managed to struggle to her feet in an attempt to give her muscles some exercise – get the blood flowing. “How could my own father be so cruel” she thought but now the doubt that Amos had seen all along, was beginning to take shape in her own mind. As she stood, balancing herself against the wall, her hands felt something protruding from the stone-work – a spike – obviously driven into the wall to secure something. It was quite a large spike and very rough. All of a sudden she felt a glimmer of hope as she slipped her hands over the rusty spike right up to the wrists and began a sawing motion in an attempt to cut through her bonds. She quickly realised that the space between her wrists was quite small and the sawing motion was cutting into her wrists as much as it was affecting the rope. It was going to be a long slow process and she felt the blood begin to trickle down her fingers as the soreness became more and more intense. She imagined the rusty spike would probably cause her blood poisoning but the desire to be free was stronger than the concern regarding any infection she might pick up.
Her ankles ached from the constriction of the bonds, her calves and thighs were suffering cramp and the searing pain from the torn flesh at her wrists was almost more than she could bear, but sheer desperation drove her on. Several times she had to rest and she sank down onto the hay, but always her ears were finely tuned to the natural noises of the wind outside, creaking timbers, sighing grasses, even the scurrying of rodents about the loft, ever in the hope that Joseph wouldn’t return before she’d freed herself. Time after time she struggled back to her feet and returned to the task of cutting through her bonds. The pain from her torn wrists intensified and she began to doubt her ability to continue, thinking she might at any moment faint. It was hard to guess how long she been alone on the loft, or what time of the night it was, but her desperation to free herself was beginning to turn to despair. ‘Will these bonds never wear through?’, she asked herself.
She knew she had to be resilient and steeled herself against the pain, even singing silly rhymes inside her head just to distract from it. ‘Try to divert your mind, Ruth – the pain’s not real. Focus on something good in your life’, she told herself over and over. Eventually, with great relief, she felt the bonds go slack about her wrists and realised that the rope had worn through. A wave of elation swept through her body as her bonds slipped from her wrists. She sat down again on the hay and with numb fingers she began to pick at the stricture around her ankles and the rope that tethered her to the beam. The knots had tightened with her continual struggle against them and with unfeeling fingers they were taking for ever to untie. Her desperation began to grow, fearing he’d return at any moment to foil her escape.
At last free from her bonds, Ruth descended the ladder. The old barn door was falling into a poor state and had been left permanently open, hanging only on the top hinge. She peered out from the doorway. It was dry now, the cloud had virtually disappeared and there were stars shining through. The crescent moon was shining bright but hardly bright enough to light up the meadows around the barn and the last thing she wanted to do was to walk out into the arms of her tormentor. ‘What was that?’ she thought, and listened harder – it was an unmistakeable, if somewhat smothered, cough. ‘Oh no. To have got this far only for him to catch me again’, she thought in desperation and a shiver of nervous tension ran through her body. ‘Dare I make a run for it? Would he see me if I did? How close is he? What would he do if he caught me again?’ were all the questions running through her mind. Another sound, perhaps the sound of squelching mud under someone’s foot, made her realise that whoever this was, and it was certain to be Joseph, he was too close for comfort.
There was no option now, she must hide. Thankfully the inside of the barn was just deep shadow, but although the dark shadows were a help in concealing her, they were also a problem in-so-much as she couldn’t see and feared that she might fall over something and alert him to the fact that she’d escaped. These thoughts flashed through her mind in an instant but holding her breath she decided to hide behind the open door. Her pulse was racing. She clasped her hands together in an effort to stop herself shaking. Peering through the gap between the hinged edge of the door and the jamb she saw, rather than heard, a shadowy figure enter the barn, and then heard the rustle of the debris on the floor as he dragged his feet towards the ladder. The now familiar smell of liquor-soaked breath drifted and lingered on the still air inside the building. Ruth remained motionless, holding her breath, as he began his steady climb towards the loft, then suddenly either in his inebriated state his foot slipped from the ladder or a rung broke, what-ever the cause, there was a cry and an almighty thud as he fell to the ground. He lay there moaning. This was her opportunity and as quietly as possible she crept around the door and ran out into the night.
She knew the general direction in which to run but even on relatively flat meadow-land the ground had its pitfalls that made running in the dark a problem. Mole hills, rabbit scrapes, even tussocks of grass were enough to trip her. So dire were her fears that when she fell, which was several times, knocking the breath from her body, she was immediately back on her feet and running again, her body fuelled by adrenalin. Soon out of breath, her lungs felt almost on fire, she gasped as she sank to her knees to rest. Acutely afraid he was pursuing her, she struggled to her feet again but exhaustion dictated only a steady walk or more accurately, stumble, continually looking back and listening but there was no sign of him. For one brief moment she wondered, ‘Should I have gone to him – he might well have done himself some serious damage – he might lie there all night, injured and unable to help himself’, but the fear she’d felt soon put the thought from her mind. It was only now that the pain of her sore and bleeding wrists returned to her, the adrenalin coursing through her veins in her flight had taken the pain completely out of her mind. She stumbled her way back to Bright Meadows, constantly looking over her shoulder, and as she approached the yard she could hear the hub-bub of voices and see lanterns swinging as men gathered for the search. The unmistakable figure of Amos loomed out of the gloom, lantern in hand, and she ran to him and burst into uncontrollable sobs as she threw her arms around him and he around her.
The relief of having her safe again was enough to fill Amos with emotion that filled his eyes and he eagerly opened the kitchen door to the astonishment and elation of both Sissy and Sarah. The tearful reunion of mother and daughter was a joy to see. As Sissy began to wash and bind Ruth’s injuries, the inquisition began.
“What did he do to you, Ruth. Has he hurt you”, asked Sissy.
“He tied me up and said he was going to keep me there until Amos changed his mind about the money”, she replied through her tears.
“How did you escape?” asked Sarah.
“There was a rusty spike in the wall and I cut through the rope on that. I was just going to run from the barn when he came back. I think he was drunk. He tried to climb the ladder but he fell. I ran off and left him lying there, moaning”.
“What barn?” asked Amos, and as Ruth explained where the barn was, Sissy remarked,
“I should have known. It didn’t entered my head though”.
Amos gathered the men and set off at break neck speed to find the barn but probably their lanterns were enough to alert Joseph from a considerable distance and by the time they reached the barn there was no sign of him. This dangerous criminal was like a ‘will o’ the wisp’; it was pointless now trying to search for him in the dark, it would have to be left until morning light.