An arsehole is a useful thing, Gideon had once told his son, but sometimes they walk and talk. Flynt had met more than his share of such men, he believed, but he had not expected to meet one within minutes of setting foot in the village of Gallowmire, though perhaps he should have. After all, Charters had once said he attracted trouble like flies to dung. That was the way of it, but as he saw the look in the eye of the walking muscle and waited for that look to transform into action, he reflected upon Addison’s warning.
‘Gallowmire is a cursed place,’ he’d said, ‘and thee would be well advised to steer clear of it.’
When Flynt approached the village around midday, he saw nothing particularly cursed about it, at least not from his vantage point on a slight hill. Smoke from cooking fires curled from the roofs of the dwellings, most constructed of timber, a few older wattle and daub, a few of stone and brick. A river was spanned by a wooden bridge devoid of parapets, at that moment being crossed by a cart pulled by a single horse. He reached into his saddlebag and found his spyglass. The cart was led by a woman, with a child and a black and white dog riding up front. He swung the glass towards what appeared to be an inn, judging by the sign hanging over the door, where he saw three men dressed in black seated at a table set outside to allow patrons to take their ease in the afternoon sun. He then picked out a wooden construction in the centre of a patch of grass opposite the tavern and his lips thinned.
A gallows.
It wasn’t the three-legged design of Tyburn but a single upright carrying a crossbeam spar. He saw no rope looped around it but its purpose was sufficient to cast a pall across the sunlight. He examined the road through the village. It appeared sturdy enough but the dry weather would have solidified the mud that would clog it when the rains fell. The most substantial building he could discern was the church, Norman in design, its square steeple topped by a single bell open to the elements. Around it was ranged a small graveyard peppered with memorials of stone, wood and slate, itself enclosed within a low wall of dry-stone construction. Low moorland hills crowded around the outer reaches of the settlement, as if trying to prevent it from growing – or going – further. The heather was beginning to turn purple, the land punctuated by white dots that were sheep, and green pockets of trees.
He slipped his glass back from whence it came and nudged Horse into motion, walking her down the hill and over the bridge, her hooves clipping on the old wood. The cart had come to a halt outside the inn where the woman was in conversation with the three men. Flynt and Horse ambled around the green sward, giving the gallows a cursory glance. Now that he was closer he could see where the hemp had scraped at the timber. He recalled Addison Severs’ words about this being a little piece of hell on earth. How much of a hell could it be that it required a permanent execution site?
The woman’s raised voice reached him as he neared the inn. A man who would make a plough horse feel undersized had her gripped by the arm and was propelling her back towards her cart, which Flynt could now see bore baskets of vegetables and piles of recently shorn wool. The woman protested at being so manhandled and the innkeeper, a squat man with the build of a labourer, had appeared in the doorway. The large man had seen him and waved a finger in his direction. Flynt urged Horse forward again until he was in earshot.
‘Don’t thee get thyself involved in this,’ the big man warned the innkeeper, his voice deep and threatening, ‘it’s no business o’ thine.’
The two other men had moved to the rear of the cart where one hauled at the baskets and tipped out the contents while his friend ground them into the dusty earth with his heel. The woman twisted in the big man’s grip and spat something at them in a tongue that Flynt didn’t recognise, but he knew by the tone that whatever she said was far from complimentary regarding their parentage or manhood or perhaps both at the same time. He sighed inwardly. Wherever he went he found arseholes that walked and talked.
‘There’s no need for this, Joshua Cooper,’ said the innkeeper, and Flynt heard the sound of the Scottish borderlands in his words.
‘His lordship’s orders, they be, and you know it,’ said Cooper.
‘Please, Andrew, do not interfere,’ the woman said.
The innkeeper seemed inclined to do just that but a glare from the big fellow made him reconsider and he backed away a couple of paces. One of the other men glanced over his shoulder and saw Flynt leaning on his saddle, watching the scene. ‘Josh,’ he said.
Cooper turned to squint against the sun, which was at Flynt’s back.
‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ he said, amiably, touching the brim of his hat towards the woman. ‘Madame.’
The men exchanged looks and the one named Cooper seemed even more annoyed. ‘And who be thee, stranger?’
Flynt smiled. ‘Just a traveller, heading north.’
The man let the woman go and she rushed to stand at her cart, where the child, a boy he now saw, watched from the seat, his face pale, his eyes wide, his arm around the dog which was up on its paws, its eyes fixed on the big man, a low growl vibrating. Flynt sensed that should the boy remove his arm, that dog would launch himself.
‘Stand easy, Samson,’ the woman said, and the dog immediately obeyed, sitting back down at the boy’s feet. His gaze never left Cooper, though. One word from the woman, perhaps even the boy, was all it would take.
Cooper’s eyes narrowed a little and he gave his companions another meaningful look. ‘What’s thy business in Gallowmire?’
Flynt had no intention of making his reason for being in the village common knowledge. ‘As I said, just passing through.’
‘Then pass through and God speed.’
Flynt swung one leg over Horse’s back and dismounted. ‘I would patronise yonder inn, for the road is long and I have a thirst and hunger upon me that requires attention.’
‘Then get yourself within and leave us to our business.’
Flynt led Horse to a hitching post and tied her off, pausing to stretch his back, the hours of riding and sleeping on hard ground having taken their toll. He considered removing Tact and Diplomacy from where they nestled in his saddlebag but decided against it. Instead he slid his cane from under a leather strap stitched into the saddle and glanced back at the men, each of whom watched his every move intently. He looked at the woman, who stood her ground, her dark eyes flitting from Cooper to Flynt and back again. Her skin was of a darker tinge than Flynt would expect to see in this small northern rural setting, her black hair tucked under a scarf of bright colours, but there was a careworn look to her eyes accentuated by the shadowed flesh beneath them.
‘Thee seems right hesitant to enter, traveller,’ said Cooper. ‘Has thy thirst and hunger deserted you of a sudden?’
‘Not at all,’ Flynt said.
‘Then I would advise thee to leave us be and do it now.’
Flynt nodded, touched his hat to the woman once again and took a step towards the inn door, where he saw the innkeeper watching him carefully, now drying his hands on a rag that had been draped over his shoulder, but the action seemed only to be a means to keep his hands occupied. He caught Flynt’s eye and gave him a warning shake of the head, somehow sensing his intention to make this his affair. Flynt gave him an almost imperceptible shrug, as if matters were out of his control, and paused again.
‘It’s just…’ He turned to face the big man once more. ‘It’s just I do wonder why this lady is being so manhandled and why it takes three of you to do so?’
‘I already told thee, this here does not concern thee, stranger. This be village business.’
Flynt smiled. ‘I merely make an observation, friend.’
Cooper studied him, taking in his hat, coat, boots and the silver cane and something in what he saw made his eyes narrow. ‘Then tha should keep thy observation to thyself,’ Joshua said. ‘Or better yet, mount up and be on thy way.’
Flynt held up his hands as if in supplication, his cane gripped between his right thumb and forefinger. ‘No need for unpleasantness, friend.’ He half-turned, then swivelled back. ‘But I would really like to know.’
A wicked little smile crossed Cooper’s lips. ‘Would thee now? Would thee really?’
‘I really would.’
Cooper adjusted his stance in a way that told Flynt he was preparing for attack, then made a show of scrutinising him again. ‘Scotch, be thee?’
‘Scottish,’ Flynt amended.
Cooper sneered and shot the innkeeper a meaningful glance. ‘Just come up from London, by any chance?’
Something in the way he asked the question put Flynt even further on his guard. ‘No, Manchester.’
‘You live down there, eh?’
‘From time to time, but I return home now.’
‘You be travelling out of thy way to reach here.’
‘I’m in no hurry to be home, so I thought I would see more of your fair county.’
Cooper took this in, then spat at the ground, as if cleaning out his mouth. ‘I don’t like t’Scotch much.’
‘I feel sure my fellow countrymen are in mourning.’
Cooper’s lips thinned. ‘I give thee fair warning again, Scotchman, and I’m not one to repeat myself, but tha really don’t want to be inserting thyself into this affair.’
‘You’re right, friend, I don’t wish to insert myself. And yet, here I am, inserting myself.’
He hoped the man would not ask why, because he did not have a satisfactory answer. Sometimes he did things simply because he had to.
Cooper had braced himself. ‘Then thee should be aware that I am constable here, appointed by his lordship hisself, and by thy actions, thee is interfering in true process of law.’
‘True process, eh?’ Flynt said, a slight laugh rippling his words. ‘And is it true process in these parts that allows destruction of property and the abuse of women by a witless, hulking brute?’
Through gritted teeth, Cooper said, ‘Did thee just call me a witless, hulking brute?’
‘I did. I feared calling you a bulging sack of pus might offend.’
Cooper soaked that in for a moment before launching himself with an enraged roar, but Flynt had long anticipated such a move and easily stepped to the side. The big man blundered beyond him a couple of steps but whirled quickly and came at him again. This time Flynt stood his ground and met the onslaught, jabbing his right fist sharply into Cooper’s face. The force of the blow and the man’s own impetus caused blood to erupt and he rocked back, both hands darting to his nose. Pain jagged from Flynt’s knuckles and he considered drawing his blade from its silver sheath but decided no weapons were required, so he merely swung his booted foot with considerable force between the man’s legs. Air squealed through Cooper’s gritted teeth as he sank to his knees, his hands now clasping the fresh injury. He was a big man, though, and the street fighter in Flynt was well aware that he would have to put him down. He clenched his hands together, his gloved fingers laced around his cane to give the blow additional solidity, and swung both arms like a club against the man’s jaw. Cooper’s face snapped to one side, a spray of blood bursting from his mouth, then his body twisted slowly in the air as he pitched to the ground.
Flynt heard the woman curse and he whirled on his heels to see one of the others had gripped her from behind, but she jerked her head back sharply to connect with his nose. There was an audible crunch and he let out a high-pitched howl. She spun and followed up with a right-handed swing that sent him crashing into the side of the cart. His companion had at first been caught by surprise at the suddenness of the violence but he realised some action was required on his part so lunged forward.
‘Samson, bring down,’ the woman shouted, and the dog immediately flew from the cart to barrel into the man, knocking him from his feet. The dog stood over him, legs splayed on either side of his torso, his lips curled back to reveal sharp white teeth as if daring the man to make a further move, his low snarl rumbling in his throat, his hair razored on his back. The man chose to remain still, which Flynt thought was a wise decision.
‘I’d be making myself scarce if I were you, stranger.’
The innkeeper had emerged once more from the shadow of his doorway and again Flynt detected the Scottish burr. ‘You’re a borderer, correct?’
‘Aye, but been in this place for more than twenty years. I’d recommend you not remain a moment longer though. Joshua there is a bad loser and he has the support of his lordship.’
The woman interjected, ‘His lordship is as bad as Joshua Cooper, worse, for it is he who has corrupted him.’
The innkeeper glanced around as if fearful that the woman’s words would be overheard, but for the first time Flynt realised there was nobody else in view. No one had emerged from their homes, no one walked the narrow dirt street. For all intents and purposes, this village may have been deserted.
‘That may be the case, Masilda lass, but he is still the might in this land and Joshua there works for him.’ He jabbed a thumb towards Flynt. ‘And you, my friend, laid hands upon him and they will take that ill. You too, my dear. Both had best leave now and don’t look back. There is only one way this will end and it will not be pretty.’
‘I must sell my goods,’ the woman insisted.
The innkeeper’s look was pained. ‘Nobody will buy them, lass, for the word has been given and that word is law. Nobody dares.’
Flynt frowned. ‘Word given by whom? This lord of the manor of whom you speak?’
The innkeeper glanced towards the man still being guarded by Samson. ‘The who or the why matters little, my friend. What matters is that by your actions this day you have put yourself in harm’s way. Go now, and may God speed you, for you’ll need His aid, I fear.’ He gave the woman Masilda a meaningful look. ‘Both of you.’
Flynt was about to say that he had business to attend to in the village but the third man was listening while keeping a wary eye on the dog standing over him, so he kept his own counsel. He merely accepted the innkeeper’s urging with a compliant nod and said, ‘Madame, I think we should take our leave.’
She stared at him for a moment as if intending to argue the point, but in the end she reached the same conclusion. Without even looking, she said, ‘Samson, leave.’
The dog immediately leaped away from the man and back onto the cart where he was once again folded in the boy’s embrace. His mother took the reins of the horse and wheeled the cart round. Flynt climbed into his saddle as the innkeeper moved to tend to the recumbent, though now stirring, Joshua Cooper. Flynt followed the woman as she walked towards the bridge.
She stopped midway across and looked back at him. ‘I don’t need your company, sir, though I do thank you for your assistance.’
‘It would be remiss of me if I failed to ensure that you are not further molested.’
‘They are in no condition to come after me.’
‘Perhaps, but I would be happier if you would allow me to see you home.’
She still did not move, but rather studied him as if trying to fathom his motives. ‘Why did you involve yourself in this, sir?’
‘It seemed like the thing to do.’
Her narrowed eyes pierced him. ‘You will not get anything from me. Not my coin nor my body.’
He began to say that he required neither but she jerked the horse’s bridle and the cart began to move again. The boy looked back and gave Flynt a weak smile. That was something, at least, he thought as he followed. As they left the bridge, Flynt had Horse pick up her pace to bring him alongside the cart. He had intended to seek directions to the Millhouse at the inn but that avenue seemed closed to him for now, so this woman was his only available conduit.
‘My name is Jonas Flynt and I heard the innkeeper call you Masilda. That isn’t a local name, is it? I detect an accent in your speech.’
She said nothing for a few paces, then spoke reluctantly. ‘I am Romani.’
‘And what brought you here?’
She gave him a quick glance. ‘You make many inquiries, sir.’
‘I have an inquiring mind. So what brought you to this place?’
She ignored the question. ‘What brings you to Gallowmire?’
Understanding that she meant to tell him nothing of herself, he replied, ‘I seek a friend who has taken up residence here.’
She glanced at him this time. ‘Who is your friend?’
‘His name is Templeton, and he lives in the Millhouse.’
She brought her horse to a halt once again. ‘The Millhouse,’ she repeated.
Something in her tone made him wish he hadn’t mentioned it. ‘Aye. There is something amiss with that?’
Her eyes flicked over him, taking in his boots, black coat and hat. She saw something that spawned fresh suspicion. ‘That property is owned by Lord Gallowmire. Your friend is his guest?’
Gribble had said that he had inherited it. ‘It was my understanding that it was once the property of an elderly lady, now deceased, and is now in the possession of a nephew in London.’
‘There was no elderly woman there, just an old man, though he did die, and the property has been in the ownership of the Gallowmires since I came here.’
‘How long has that been?’
She fell silent again. His reason for being in the village had not assuaged her suspicions. He already knew there was friction between her and the lord of the manor so the fact that the man he claimed as friend lodged in a property owned by the nobleman had not gone down well. He could not backtrack on that now.
‘I can assure you that I have no knowledge of Lord Gallowmire,’ he said. ‘I am here only to find my friend and return him to London.’
She jerked the horse into motion again. ‘Then let me detain you no further.’
He continued to follow. ‘There are many people who seem to either suggest that I avoid this place altogether or, now that I am here, to move on. Why is that?’
‘Ask your friend in the Millhouse, perhaps he will enlighten you if he is close to his lordship.’
‘As far as I am aware he has no connection with anyone in Gallowmire.’
‘Then why is he here?’
Flynt was beginning to wonder about that himself, Gribble’s lie over the Millhouse grating at his mind. ‘In truth, he is in hiding from troubles in the city, troubles with which I can assist him.’
She began to walk again up the hill. ‘Then assist him and leave me be.’
His curiosity had been kindled by the altercation in the village square, now it was aflame. There was something amiss in this place and he needed to know what it was. ‘Masilda…’
‘I did not give you leave to call me by name, sir. Go to your friend. If he is as innocent as you say, if you are as innocent as you say, then take him from this place and never think of Gallowmire again. You will be much the better for it.’
She pulled the horse and cart ahead of him and he reined Horse in to watch her go, the boy craning backwards to look at him as they crested the hill, his eyes still wide but filled now with curiosity more than fear. The cart vanished from his sight and he looked back along the track towards the village. The area outside the inn was deserted now, so the men had either moved on or had repaired within for a commiseratory ale. She had made it plain that he was not welcome, even the innkeeper had stated it. The actions of Cooper and his men seemed to confirm it. Addison had been correct in his assessment that there was something badly wrong in Gallowmire, but he was here now and he had to fulfil his mission. The problem was, he still did not know the location of the Millhouse.
He would have to return to his original plan, but with added stealth.