The occupants of our small cottage went to bed early. All would have to rise before dawn—the men to get ready to go to the coal mine, and us two women to serve up the breakfast and pack their lunches. Aunt and I slept in the bedroom, and Trevor slept on a mattress in the sitting room, while the two younger lads scaled the ladder to hunker down in the loft for the night. Aunt Pam would jokingly say, “The only place to isolate us from their loud snoring.”
Trevor snored contently on the other side of the wall; it wasn’t a loud, raucous one, rather, it was gentle and rhythmic, having the effect of lulling one to sleep. Having him nearby was comforting too because it meant if anyone was stupid enough to risk raiding our home, they would suffer greatly by his powerful hands and temper.
Once I was certain everyone was asleep, because I heard loud snoring coming from the loft, and Aunt Pam’s sleep mutterings, I arose from the bed, put on a shawl, grabbed my boots, and being extra careful, tiptoed past Trevor in the sitting room. I stealthily exited the door at the side porch, climbed over the wall instead of using the noisy front gate, and put on my boots out on the lane.
There was a waxing moon, giving a luminescent clarity to the lane. I walked stealthily along. Suddenly, there came a snorting sound somewhere beyond. I prepared to dive into the long grass when it became apparent that the sound came from a hedgehog. I laughed under my breath; I watched with fascination the spiked orb of a body carrying itself business-like toward the verge on the other side of my path, not at all perturbed by my close proximity.
Every single windowpane was void of any light, not even the gentle wisp of a smoke plume came out of the chimney tops; it had been a long drawn out summer and far too hot to keep the fires going on longer than the evening meal preparation. Everyone was asleep, giving me the feeling I was completely isolated from the rest of the world, free to do as I pleased, like a phantom in the night.
I reached the point where there were no houses but a parallel stretch of stone walls. It took me an age until I came to the turnoff to Evercrest Lane. This led me in the direction of the bridge, at our swimming hole, but it was the spot before there where my intentions laid, where the oak trees grew thickly on the Davenport property. I lowered myself into the trampled grass, walked along the boundary, but alas, when the time came to gain access via Albert’s secret entrance, it was to find the stones had been freshly mortared into place. The wall was no longer impenetrable.
The only other option was to aim for the bridge that was about a mile away. Considering I had run a great distance to escape the men the day before, I estimated it would take me at least fifteen minutes to walk there. No, I needed to get there faster. I needed to be home before Aunt Pam woke up to get the range fire ready before sunrise.
I jogged gently up to the bridge where on the other side it was a whitewashed gate. I slid down the bank and followed the well-tread trail that ran toward the river. Getting over the wall proved to be a struggle without the assistance of the girls this time, but once on the other side, it was a matter of following the same moon-lit sheep trail to the place where we had committed the fruit theft.
There was the sound of an owl. Rustling movement came from within the blackberries, which I had decided for my own peace of mind was a rodent. The gentle sound of the river caressed over the stones like a pianist playing a gentle melody on the tips of his fingers, while the warped reflection of the incomplete moon seemed to wave up at me from below the water’s surface. Someday, I reckoned, I would add the essence of this moment into charcoal imagery, or better still, and when I could afford to buy it, paint.
I scaled the bank and made it to the spot not far from the apple tree where the locket had fallen. Hoping the moonlight might highlight its whereabouts, I was sorely disappointed to see there was no sign of it anywhere. Maybe the heavy rain had washed it farther down and into the deepest growth of the plants, or one of two unbearable thoughts—a crow had snatched it away with its talons, or the rain had washed the precious keepsake directly into the river.
My heart slumped. I solemnly retraced my steps to the lane. Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat—the whitewashed gate on the other side of the bridge stood wide open and closed off the road entirely. Out from the entrance trotted several panicking cattle. Thinking the animals had escaped, that they had pushed their way out after some farmworker had carelessly forgotten to secure the latch during the day, I was preparing to stand out in front of the creatures to usher them back into their field, when two riders rode out onto the lane. I instinctively threw myself down into the long roadside grass and looked on as the cows trotted by.
There came the sound of a cantering horse in the distance. A new arrival pulled up just above where I lay hidden. He said in an upper-class voice, “All went as clockwork, I see. Meet me Wednesday noon at the Old Rose Inn. I’ll sort out your payment there.”
“But we both be wantin’ our money now like you promised!”
“Shut up, Spike!” said Spike’s companion.
The uppity voice replied, “If you want more business, then do as I say, Linklater. Now listen to my instructions or you can go back to your pitiful existences.”
“We understand, milord. Spike never thinks before ‘e speaks. I apologize for ‘is rudeness.”
“Now take the journey gently. If somebody questions you, say it is the quiet time that your employer likes to move stock. What with these pregnant beauties, I would hate for them to lose their cargo.”
“It is as good as done, sir. You can count on us to follow your orders.”
“Now be on your way, I must get back. I have a poker game to win.”
The men parted ways—two on sturdy, solid horses, one of the horses having an unusual white marking under its belly, and the other rider unseen, returning back from whence he came. His horse must have been designed for fantastic speed, for the galloping hooves quickly disappeared out of earshot.
The moon peeped out every so often behind the dark blanket above. A sudden cracking noise in some trees ahead made me dive under grassy cover. A bough bounced its way down a tree and landed in the middle of the road. Tugging at my conscience, thanks to my aunt’s thoughtful upbringing, I was set on going to remove the branch off the road. What halted me in my tracks was the sound of horses galloping. From around the bend ahead appeared a team of horses. The leading ones of the quartet saw the road obstacle up ahead and balked to an abrupt halt. From behind the thick sward of grass, I observed the driver jumping down from his seat to the sound of a baby wailing inside the carriage.
“Why have you stopped?” an agitated female’s voice yelled from the window.
“Sorry, my lady, it is just a branch, that is all.”
“Well, do it quick! We need to get this home.” The woman’s voice was swallowed up by more distressful cries from the infant.
The driver climbed expediently back into his seat and then whipped the horses into a gallop. As the carriage rumbled past me, the moon’s light broke clearly through the cloud blanket above, landing on the door image of the familiar eagle holding a cross-bearing shield.
Who was the woman in the carriage? Was she Albert and India’s guardian, since the driver had addressed her as “my lady?” And whose baby was she looking after, or had she secretly given birth? There would certainly have been much to say in the community about Lady Charlotte Davenport’s—nee Parker—pregnancy. For many years, the woman, who now ruled Evercrest Hall meticulously, had been rumored to have longed for a child of her own despite being barren. Having witnessed the two unusual nocturnal activities spaced so close to one another, I was able to reflect on them as I ran the rest of the way home.
»»•««
“You’re yawning a lot,” said Aunt Pam. She was busy shoveling coal into the range. “I can’t understand why you’re tired. You did nothing in the way of work yesterday.”
“It must be that time of the month that’s all,” I lied.
“A good kidney stew will put the blood back into you again.”
I had hardly slept a wink after getting home from my midnight mission. I was worried sick over losing the most precious memory that had belonged to my mother; not only that, it was the anticipation of how Aunt and Trevor would react when they inevitably found out I’d lost a family heirloom. The other preoccupation was why would that woman who married Alby’s uncle have been able to give birth to a baby without anyone being aware of her pregnancy, and return home in the depth of night. Why was she using the back road to enter the Davenport property? Was she afraid of the mad young men on their gigs, madly racing up and down the old coach road? No, no one would be about on the early hours of Monday morning, apart from cattle rustlers.
“Aunt,” I asked, sitting at the table. “Has Ewan Davenport’s wife ever had any children?” I wasn’t going to ask, “Has she just had a baby?” which would have induced her question, “Why do you ask?”
Oblivious to my eager stare as she mixed scone batter, Aunt replied, “She has never had children. I doubt she ever will, and if she was pregnant, it would be the talk of the village.” Aunt looked across at me. “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing, I was just wondering that was all.” I made sure to answer casually. Thankfully, there was no further prompting from the woman agitating the bowl’s contents with a wooden spoon, leaving me in peace to plan my return to the Davenport’s property in the daylight of today.
After pushing myself to do several jobs, such as the tedious task of hoeing the weeds in the vegetable garden, I asked Aunt, “Is it all right for me to go down to the river now?”
“No! Not in your state. You can’t go down and defile the water with your menses.”
“I don’t want a swim. It’s just that I saw some cress on the bank and not a soul knows about it, not even Vera. I’d rather pick it now before it flowers and is too bitter to eat. It will be perfect with the stew.”
“That is very thoughtful of you, my dear.” Aunt Pam smiled broadly. “But you can’t take the horse, not in your state. And don’t be too long away…oh, and remember…cover up from the sun!”
“Yes, Aunt Pam.”
Wearing a wide-brimmed hat and cardigan, and stuffing a sack under my arm for collecting the cress, I did the exact same trip as I had done the night before. It was at the bridge that I observed several hoof prints and manure splatter patterns where the poached cattle had moved along nervously. I climbed down the bank, over the wall a little more adeptly now that I’d had much practice, and entered the Davenport property. I was extra vigilant by keeping down low by the water’s edge. If I heard any sound, I had the freedom of choice to hide behind the numerous little blackberry shrubs that had branched off independently from the main growing area. Finally, I reached the spot, not far from the lording apple tree, where the girls and I had huddled the other day. I made a final canvas of the scenery until I was satisfied there was no sign of human life before squatting and beginning my second search attempt for the locket.
I ignored the thud from the tree behind me. An apple continued its bumpy course past my right side to meet up with several rotting predecessors deep in the blackberry below. In the meantime, I craned my neck to look for any glint of the locket, in between looking up at the pastureland across the river for any riders. Again, another fruit thudded, and this time it bounced more vigorously past my left side.
“Oh, dear Lord, where is it? Please give me a sign,” I called toward the heavens.
There were two thuds, and two apples bounced past, one on either side, but this time there followed a voice. “You won’t find what you are looking for down in there.”
Sheer dread came over me like pins and needles, at the same time I clambered in a fluster to my feet, nearly losing my hat. I turned slowly to face where the voice had called from, only to see a human form, not the bright light of an angel, slide down from the lower bough of the apple tree and land on both feet with the delicacy of a cat.
It was not too late to run, yet I was riveted to the spot as the striking-looking man swaggered in an easy manner toward me, still holding a half-eaten apple in one hand, the other casually stowed away in the front pocket of his riding coat.
“Well, what a coincidence that I should meet you here on this fine lovely day. It just so happened that I was riding past my favorite apple tree when I decided to have a sample…before it all disappeared.” He stopped walking and bit into the apple. Bits of juice carelessly spilled down his chin, and with the unsophistication of a child, he wiped it off with the cuff of his sleeve, saying with his mouth full, “Did you know this apple tree dates back two hundred and fifty years?”
I profusely shook my head, not at all concerned with the age of a stupid tree, when my thoughts were screaming—run now!
He walked up and studied me from head to toe with amusement. “It must be very precious for you to return here in broad daylight…especially after committing your gross offenses.” I trembled, still frozen to the spot. “Do you know it is a crime to trespass?” he added.
I nodded.
“I am at liberty to shoot trespassers.” I trembled visibly this time. “However, it is against my good nature to dispense another’s life; it would be such a shame to end the life of something as delicate and intricate as a flower.” He laughed with a derisive air. Changing the subject suddenly, he asked, “So, is this what you normally do in your spare time? Stealing from people?” He took another chomp out of his apple.
I looked away, unable to bear the man’s intense stare, which burned holes into my conscience. My attention was alerted to another bouncing apple, this time a half-eaten one.
Davenport’s voice took on an authoritative air. “I had a trespasser come on my property last night.”
My conscience poked hard before I could check it, and I said, “I am sorry, I won’t do it again!”
“Oh, was it…I mean, of course it was you.”
“Why didn’t you stop me?” I cried.
“I didn’t want to intervene, not until I could see the person in broad daylight and speak with them personally when they returned to the scene of the crime, which is the case now.”
“I…I only wanted my locket. That was all.”
“Ah, but that is what you are telling me now because you have been caught. I know you returned last night because you wanted more. Not intent on a diet of berries and apples alone, you wanted meat too.”
“Fish…?” I asked in bewilderment.
“No, not fish. Much, much bigger than that! I don’t know how you managed to pull it off, but if you are a sole worker, then I have to give you credit in managing to steal twenty-seven of my prime in-calf heifers.”
“No, no…no! That wasn’t me!” I shook my head. “I can’t handle cows and sheep. I don’t know the first thing about them. It certainly was not me, but I did see the people responsible, and they were using horses.”
The man clicked his tongue four times. He paced judiciously back and forth with his hands behind his back, only stopping to speak. “So you are not some miraculous animal worker. You had accomplices to aid you? Oh, how very disappointing. I would have gladly overlooked your crime in favor of hiring you as a gifted animal handler.” Davenport resumed his pacing. He turned to face me and took two abrupt steps toward me. “Who was it then? Seeing you were an accomplice, opening and shutting the gate and so forth.”
“I am not an accomplice! I had nothing to do with it!”
“That’s what all criminals say when they’re caught. You are working for a rustling gang, and now you are trying to save your own hide.” He clicked his tongue, slowly shaking his head. “Well, well, well, a liar, a thief, a traitor, not good qualities I’m afraid! I ought to shoot you right here and now.” He slowly put a hand into his tweed pocket.
“Oh please, please believe me. I admit to stealing berries, and apples, and the walnuts each year, and mushrooms, oh, and those lovely red plums, all those things you wouldn’t notice. But never, never on my aunt’s life would I ever steal cows or sheep—ever!”
“Convince me otherwise. I have much time on my hands.” He took another step toward me.
“I came here last night to find my locket, but failing that I returned back to the lane. That was when I saw the two horsemen herding the cows through that white gate of yours, the one closest to the bridge. I didn’t think anything of it at the time and well…I hid in the grass. Then another man rode up from the lane and said, ‘If someone asks anything, tell them the owner likes them moved at night when it is quiet.’ It sounded genuine to me, to prevent the animals from stress, because as the man had said the cows were carrying offspring and he didn’t want them to miscarry.”
“These men, can you describe them?”
“Well, not really, naturally because it was dark and I was hidden. I did hear that one of them was called Spike Linklater, though.” I looked at Davenport, hoping he might know the name, but his face was blank. “All I can say is that two were gruff-sounding men, you know, the usual inn-dwelling types; and the man who was talking to them instructed them to meet him on Wednesday at the Old Rose Inn. He was the one they addressed as ‘milord,’ and he had a voice that sounded just like your lot.”
“My lot, your lot, a thief is a thief no matter the class or the gender!” He looked at me sideways.
“Obviously, I’m guilty of everything in your eyes. But for the life of me, I did not poach your stupid animals, and I can swear on the bible too.” He glared at me mirthfully this time. I looked pleadingly into his eyes and cried, “I apologize for the theft of fruit and berries, sir.”
Davenport made me jump as he yelled, “Not only should you apologize for the theft, but what you did to me!” The man leaned forward, aiming two fingers like a pistol to his temple, at the dark bruise. It could have been a funny scene in other situations via another person; however, it was no laughing matter as I feared what the consequences would be dealt from his hand.
“Oh please, milord, I am sorry for hurting you; it was just that I thought…I thought you and your friends were going to…”
“I would never hurt you. I did try to reassure you that I wouldn’t, but that didn’t stop you hitting me with a rock upon my very property, that, come to think of it, is a crime worthy of a long jail sentence—or a bullet!”
I clasped my hands before me as if in prayer. “I am sorry for everything I did to you. I was frightened because the other men…they were talking like they were going to…” I burst into tears and sobbed into my hands.
“Now, now, please don’t be upset; nothing untoward would have happened to you, not in my presence, at least. The lads were just joking amongst one another.” Davenport allowed me time to compose myself before saying, “I suppose I could forgive you, but on one condition.” I looked up at him, aware my face was a tear-streaked mess. “I want you to come with me to the Old Rose Inn.”
“Yes, yes, certainly, sir. I might be able to identify them by their voices.”
“I expect you to be waiting outside the church on Wednesday at eight o’clock in the morning. I shall send my driver, Johnson, to come pick you up.” Davenport began striding off. “Oh, and, Miss Smith, please dress up in something nice.”
I cried after him, “But what shall I tell my family?”
“Say you have a job at Evercrest Hall.”
I watched him walk out of sight. Moments later, I heard the sound of a horse galloping off. Obviously, he had tethered it out of the way in anticipation of catching an apple tree raider.
»»•««
“Where’s this cress you promised us?” demanded Aunt Pam. “I was looking forward to using it in the stew.” She stared forlornly at the pot simmering away on the range next to the steaming tea billy.
“Oh, I was sidetracked, but I have some fabulous news!”
“This better be good.” Aunt had her hands on her hips.
“I have a job at the big house!”
“You mean Evercrest Hall?” Aunt Pam exclaimed, a face of disbelief.
“Yes, at the Davenport’s!”
“Oh my, how did you come about this?” Aunt Pam looked overcome with weakness as she sat at the table.
“I met Mr. Davenport.”
“You mean Mr. Ewan Davenport?” My aunt’s nostrils flared.
“No. It was his nephew, Albert Davenport.” I noticed Aunt sighed with relief. “He said there was a job going and he had decided to give it to me.”
“Did he recognize you as the…fruit thief?”
“No,” I lied.
“How on earth did you meet him?” Aunt Pam looked sideways and squinted at me.
“We were talking down at the river, and that was when he said there was a job going at his place. I happily offered my services.”
Aunt Pam brushed her hands off of imaginary flour and slowly got up. “What position is it for?”
“Ah, he said…a maid.” I felt the blush of shame spread over my cheeks.
“Of course it would be a maid, but what kind? There are chambermaids, parlor maids, kitchen maids, laundry maids, so many jobs in a big house like that.”
“It’s only as a”—I cringed at the lie—“chambermaid, that is all.”
“Chambermaids are higher up the order. Pray, how did you get a job like that straight away?” She shrugged. “It is surprising that he is organizing staff. From what I’ve heard it has always been his guardians who have been in charge of the hiring, or rather that woman.” Aunt Pam glared angrily at the stove as if it was “that woman.” “Maybe the young man is practicing pushing his weight since he will be taking over the reins in a few years; unless he gets married sooner, then he will take over then.”
I felt uneasy at the thought of him marrying. Why?
Aunt Pam cautiously spooned tea into the pot. “Maria, are you sure he offered you a job? You have to be careful, you know. You are a pretty young thing. Some men can have hidden motives, pretending to employ gullible girls so that they can have their wicked way with them.”
I laughed. If my new employer had wanted to show his hidden motives, he’d have taken advantage of a girl trespassing on his property and in the solitude of a blackberry spot. Not that I cared to mention the fact to my aunt.
“It is not funny, my dear. You never know what those types are capable of; that goes for all men in fact, except for my boys, they would never take advantage of a woman.” She adamantly shook her head.
Scoffing inwardly at my aunt’s high esteem for her own boys, who sometimes returned home after a night of binge drinking and telling yarns about all the loose woman at the public house in the city, I asked, “So, Aunt, did you ever have your own set of problems when you used to work for that old Lord What’s His Name?”
“Oh, goodness no, he would have been a cradle snatcher if he had. I don’t think he was capable of loving a woman; his love was for mammon alone.” The billy bubbled away. Aunt Pam grabbed the handle using a tea towel and poured the steaming liquid into the teapot. “When do you start work?”
“On Wednesday,” I said, looking anywhere that wasn’t my aunt.
“Hmm, maybe they had a new staffer that upped and left. A few of them have done so since that woman took over. Nevertheless, who is to say that he is playing games with you, my dear?”
“Oh, Aunt, if he does plan to have his wicked way with me, I can kick him hard where it hurts. And remember I can run like the wind. You will just have to hope and pray that he is not the monster you regard him as.”
Aunt Pam sighed. “It’s a fair journey. Perhaps we could brush up old Big Red…oh no, I forgot.” Aunt Pam let out a hearty laugh. “His tail might betray your evil doings.”
I giggled. “Don’t worry, his lordship has arranged for a driver to come and pick me up.”
“My-oh-my, traveling like royalty now, eh? That solves that problem, now all we have to worry about is how you’re going to act, what you’re going to say, and what we’re going to do with your hair.”
“Yes, Aunt, as you say, but without the horse hair.”
“So, he didn’t notice you?” Aunt Pam clicked her tongue with disbelief. “Well, I’ll be, my disguise indeed worked long enough for you to fall from his memory.” She smiled and filled the cups to the brim, placed them at the table, and sat. “By the way, miss, where is your locket?”
“Oh, err, the chain broke. I know how to fix it. I just haven’t got around to doing so.”
“Such a precious thing that is, only reminder of your mother. The fire took everything else.”
“Aunt, please. I hate talking about it.” The fire was my mother’s strangler’s way of trying to rid the evidence of his crime. Fortunately, an unseen hero had heard my screams from within the wardrobe.
“All right, my dear, let us discuss this job instead, eh?”