Haunted Ground (30 page)

Lizzie was just clearing away the supper dishes when a knock on the door distracted her and made Tim look up from his wooden horse, which he was moving back and forth in front of the hearth in simulation of a gallop.  They had few visitors, and even fewer in the evening.  Stephen opened the shutter and glanced out the window before unlatching the door to his brother, who came in bringing a gust of cool wind scented with decaying leaves and the smell of impending rain.  Eugene was carrying something wrapped tightly in a piece of muslin; something that was seeping juices and instantly filled the house with an appetizing smell. 

“Good evening to all,” Eugene called out cheerfully as he kissed the top of the children’s heads and handed the package to Lizzie.  “Amy made some blood sausage today.  Thought you might like some.”  Eugene took a seat on the bench and gave his brother an expectant look.  He clearly wanted to talk, so Stephen sent the kids off to bed, promising to do the washing up, and poured Eugene a cup of beer before taking a seat opposite him. 

“Thank you for the sausage, Gene, and thank Amy for me.  She’s been so good to us since Betty died.”  Amy was always sending over a little of this and a bit of that; anything she could spare from her own family, and Stephen was most grateful, especially since he didn’t have any notion of how to make these things himself and Lizzie was too young to do it on her own. 

“Think nothing of it,” Eugene replied, taking a sip of beer and casting his eyes upstairs to make sure the children couldn’t hear him before speaking in a low voice.  “I stopped at the tavern this evening for a quick drink,” he began, smiling guiltily.  Amy didn’t like it when Eugene went to the pub, especially during the week.  She thought it was an awful waste of money when Eugene could have the same ale or beer at home, but that wasn’t quite the point of the visit, as well Amy knew.  Eugene simply wanted an hour to himself, away from the never-ending chores and the demands of the family.  He wanted to talk to other men, exchange news and bits of gossip, and play the occasional game of dice.  Who could blame a man for that?

“Was Amy upset with you then?” She must have been very cross if Eugene felt the need to escape the house for a bit. 

“No, no more than usual, but I overheard something that I thought was strange.”  Eugene was warming up to the subject now, his beer forgotten.  “There were two men there, gentlemen by the look of them, drinking.  Seems they’re here to meet a friend by the name of Brendan Carr, Caleb’s nephew.”

“Is that the one who’s been accused of killing those three men?” Stephen asked.  “Why would he be here?”

“I don’t know, but I got the impression that they are less friends and more enemies, if you know what I mean.  They didn’t look too friendly.”

Stephen shrugged his shoulders.  What did he care about Brendan Carr?  He’d met his family years ago at Maisie’s wedding, but the Carrs never came back again after that.  Stephen glanced at Eugene, who was still looking over-excited.  “Why do you think this is significant?”

“Well, think about it, Stephen.  Three men are murdered in cold blood, and the murderer just happens to be the nephew of one of our neighbors.  Clearly, he wouldn’t go home, as that would be the first place anyone would look for him, so maybe he came to hide with his kin.  We might have a murderer among us.”  Eugene leaned across the table and whispered in a conspiratory manner.  “I think those are the magistrate’s men, and they mean to see him hang.”

“You always were fanciful, even as a child,” Stephen remarked as he rose from the bench.  “I think we are safe, at least for tonight.  Now go home to your wife and thank her for the sausage.”

Eugene drained the last of the beer and got to his feet, grinning at his brother.  “All right, just thought I’d tell you; since you happen to be betrothed to the niece of a man who might be hiding a killer.”  Eugene clapped his brother on the shoulder and disappeared into the night. 

Stephen bolted the door and turned his attention to the dirty dishes.  He didn’t mind doing the washing up from time to time to give poor Lizzie a break.  No ten-year-old girl should work as hard as she did, little lamb.  Stephen went to work, but his mind kept returning to the conversation with Eugene.  Maybe what Eugene was suggesting wasn’t as unreasonable as he first thought.  He’d heard of the murder about a month ago, and it was just around that time that Rowan seemed to start spending more time at Reverend Pole’s.  Before, she used to go over about twice a week to cook and wash for the reverend, but the past few weeks she seemed to be stopping by nearly every day.  And then there was the man he’d seen at the cottage. 

Stephen dropped a plate into the basin and sat down heavily on the bench.  Of course!  Brendan Carr was said to have been wounded by the men.  Somehow, he managed to get to Caleb without being seen, and Caleb had hidden him with the reverend, knowing that no one would ever suspect Reverend Pole of harboring a criminal.  Rowan, who had some knowledge of herbs and remedies, would be the most likely person to care for Carr since no one would think anything of her going to Reverend Pole’s house.  No wonder she’d been so distracted of late.  Had she developed feelings for Carr?

Stephen turned the empty cup in his hands over and over, his mind on the situation at hand.  What Carr did was none of his business, but Rowan was.  What if he’d hurt her or threatened her in some way?  What if he’d violated her?  The man was a murderer and a fugitive, and his poor, sweet Rowan was sent to care for him, left alone with him for hours on end, hours when anything could have happened.

Ordinarily, Stephen would mind his own business and leave justice for others to carry out, but this was different.  His future was at risk, as was the woman he loved dearly.  If the men were from the magistrate, then would it be wrong to inform them of the whereabouts of a murderer?  After all, if Carr had a good reason for killing those men, he could defend himself at the trial and prove his innocence.  It wasn’t Stephen Aldridge’s responsibility to protect him from the law.  And if the men removed him from the village and took him to Lincoln to be tried, all the better for Stephen, who could comfort and support Rowan until she forgot all about the scoundrel and turned her thoughts once more to their life together. 

Stephen rose to his feet, pulled on his coat and jammed his hat onto his head.  He was just about to head out into the night when a cry from the loft stopped him in his tracks.

“Da, I’m scared.”  Tim’s little face was peering down at Stephen, his nightshirt flapping around thin, white shins.  “Da, where are you going?” he wailed. 

“Nowhere, son.  I’ll be right up.  You just go back to bed and I’ll come up to tell you a story.”

“All right,” Tim replied, but remained exactly where he was, waiting for Stephen to take off his coat and hat and bolt the door for the night.

Rowan hung her cloak on a nail by the door and rubbed her hands in front of the fire to warm them up.  It was a chilly afternoon, a breath of approaching winter in the air.  Over the past few weeks the leaves had begun to change, going from the vibrant green of summer to the crimson and gold of fall, and setting the village and forest ablaze with glorious color until they began to fall, twirling to the ground in an annual cycle of death and rebirth.

Aunt Joan was sitting at the table, defeathering two fat pheasants, their skin pallid and wrinkled in the spots that had already been cleaned.  Rowan wondered briefly where they came from, as Uncle Caleb didn’t do much hunting, but it didn’t matter.  It’d be nice to have something different for a change.  Rowan smiled at Aunt Joan and patted her on the shoulder in a gesture of affection before going up to her room at the top of the stairs. 

She felt a funny fluttering sensation in her stomach at the thought of tomorrow night.  It was All Hallows’ Eve, and the night of the escape.  Brendan had told her not to take too much, but she couldn’t just leave with the clothes on her back.  She’d need a change of clothes, her winter boots, the comb and hand mirror set that Aunt Joan and Uncle Caleb gave her for her sixteenth birthday, and a nightdress.  It didn’t seem like much, but it made a sizeable bundle nonetheless.  Rowan stuffed the bundle under the bed and sat down, her hands folded in her lap.  She had no reservations about leaving with Brendan, but the thought of leaving her aunt and uncle made her sad.  They’d been the closest thing she’d had to parents since her mother’s death, and to leave without a word was a sure sign of ingratitude and betrayal; something she never wanted them to feel. 

Brendan never actually said that she couldn’t tell her aunt and uncle they were leaving, so she decided to say goodbye tomorrow and thank them for everything they’d done for her.  They would be shocked and maybe disapproving, but in time they’d come to accept her decision.  Stephen, on the other hand, was a different matter.  She owed him an explanation and an apology, but she couldn’t tell him the truth.  He would have to hear of her desertion from Uncle Caleb, and Stephen would no doubt feel angry and betrayed, as would his children whom she’d grown to love.  She never intimated that she loved Stephen, but she did accept his proposal and had been planning a life with him until Brendan arrived.  Rowan hoped that Stephen would forgive her in time, and not think too badly of her.  He was a handsome man with much to offer to any woman, and she knew that in time, he would forget her and find himself a suitable wife; one who would appreciate him and love him in a way he deserved to be loved.  He was still a relatively young man and could have a long and happy life with someone.  Rowan knew that she was thinking these thoughts to make herself feel better and assuage some of her guilt, but there was nothing to be done.  She’d made her choice, and now all she could do was hope for forgiveness from those she wronged.

Rowan sighed and got to her feet.  She’d go downstairs and help Aunt Joan with supper.  The pheasants were already cleaned and gutted, a small basin at the end of the table containing what was once their lifeblood, but now just a disgusting mess of innards and gore.  Aunt Joan was arranging the birds in a clay pot, and stuffing chopped chestnuts, slices of apples, and pieces of old bread into the cavity between their legs.  The bread would absorb the fat and juices of the birds, and cooked together with the apples and chestnuts would make a nice stuffing to enjoy with the meat.  Rowan had never heard of anyone stuffing meat with apples, but her Aunt Joan liked to try new things, and they usually came out quite good once you got past the notion that you were eating things that wouldn’t be normally eaten together. 

“Lovely, plump birds,” Joan announced as she patted the breast of one of the pheasants.  “Pip Wilkinson brought them by this morning.  I think he might have poached them, but by the time anyone suspects anything, they’ll be long gone.”  Aunt Joan grinned at Rowan in a conspiratory fashion.  “I do love pheasant.”

Rowan just nodded and smiled as she checked on the loaves of bread in the oven at the side of the hearth.  The coarse brown bread would go well with the gravy.  Rowan was just about to take the bread out of the oven to make room for Joan’s pheasants when Uncle Caleb came bursting through the door, bringing a gust of cold air and the pungent smell of rotting leaves. 

“Caleb, what is it, man?” Joan asked, alarmed by the look on his face.  “Is anything amiss?”

“Two men arrived in the village yesterday and have been asking after Brendan at the tavern.  Pip just told me that they’ve asked for directions to Reverend Pole’s house.  I must warn Brendan.”

“Nooooo!!!!!”  The scream was more like a roar that tore from Rowan’s chest as she dropped the loaves of bread and flew out the door.  Joan watched Rowan hitch up her skirts and run, her expression one of stunned disbelief.  She’d forgotten the sound of her voice, but what she heard was not a girl’s soft voice, but a cry of anguish so deep that it tore at her soul.  Joan knew Rowan had grown fond of Brendan, but this was something else, something primal and raw.  This was love.

“We must go after her,” Joan said, snatching the loaves from the floor and covering the pot of pheasants with a cloth.  Supper would have to wait.  Caleb nodded.  “Let me get my blunderbuss.”

Joan just gaped at her husband.  “Caleb, you can’t shoot the magistrate’s men, if that’s who they are.  They’d hang you, even if you missed.  Leave the gun.  All we can do is warn Brendan.  The rest is up to him.”  Caleb nodded.  Joan was right.  This wasn’t his fight.  He did, however, grab his dagger and slide it into his boot.  It didn’t do to be completely unarmed. 

***

Rowan ran through the woods as if the devil himself were in pursuit.  She’d avoided the lane and sprinted through the forest in the hope that she would get to Reverend Pole’s before the men.  Branches tore at her clothing, and she tripped and nearly lost her balance a few times, but she hardly noticed.  Her cap had fallen off, and her hair fell down her back free of its pins.  It blew into her face as she ran and nearly blinded her, but she just brushed it out of her eyes without breaking stride.  Rowan was panting by the time she burst into the cottage, shocking Reverend Pole and alarming Brendan, who was sitting at the table drinking a cup of ale with the reverend. 

“Brendan, go now.  There’re men coming for you.  Go!” she screamed.  Reverend Pole just stared at her, but Rowan had no time to explain anything.  “There’s a thicket about half a mile southeast.  Go hide there until I come and get you, you hear?”  She was beating her hands against his chest, tears streaming down her face. 

“I can’t just leave you,” he replied, gazing into her eyes as if he had all the time in the world. 

“They’re not interested in me; it’s you they want.  Go!  I’ll come for you.”  Brendan thought of climbing to the loft to get his sword, but there was no time.  He had his dagger on him; that would have to suffice.  He kissed Rowan as he ran from the house, headed in the direction she specified and vanished into the woods just as two horsemen came into view at the top of the lane.  The men seemed to be in no hurry as they cantered toward the house, talking quietly between themselves.  Thankfully, they hadn’t seen Brendan, so he had a chance of escape.  Rowan let out a long sigh of relief as she smoothed down her apron and tried to tidy her hair.  She reached for the pot warming over the fire and carefully stirred the contents.  Let them think she was preparing supper for the old man.  Reverend Pole gave her a reassuring smile.  “It will all come out all right, my child,” he said just as the door flew open, nearly coming off its hinges. 

“Good afternoon, Reverend,” a man said as he stepped into the small room.  He was the shorter and older of the two, but clearly the one in charge.  His companion filled the doorway with his large frame, but didn’t step inside, effectively preventing any attempt at escape.

“Good afternoon, my son,” Reverend Pole answered quietly.  “How may I be of assistance?”

“My name is Edward Sexby, and I’m looking for one Brendan Carr.  We have some business, him and I, so if you would kindly tell him we’re here.”  He glanced upward toward the loft, but then turned to face the reverend, his expression one of expectation.

“There’s no one by that name here, Mr. Sexby.  It’s just Rowan and I.”  Sexby’s gaze settled on Rowan, making her feel as if she were suddenly naked before these men.  His eyes roamed over her in a most insolent fashion, making her blush nervously as she fixated her gaze on the pot to avoid looking at the men. 

“Rowan, is it?  What a pretty name.  And do you know Brendan Carr, Rowan?”  Rowan just shook her head violently, hoping her face wouldn’t betray her.  She felt weak in the knees and just wanted to sink down on the bench, but she remained standing by the hearth, a long spoon in her hand as she pretended to mind the stew.

“The child doesn’t speak,” Reverend Pole said, stepping in front of Rowan.  Sexby cocked his head to the side and gave Rowan a winning smile before turning back to the reverend.

“I’ll just look around, shall I?”  Sexby didn’t wait for an answer as he climbed the ladder into the loft.  Rowan could hear heavy footsteps as he walked around, stopping once or twice to look at something.  Brendan hadn’t had any time to hide any of his belongings, so the man was sure to find something of interest.  The other man stood silently by the door, his face tense as he waited for his master’s orders.  He flexed his muscles in a way that Rowan found intensely threatening and gave her a slow smile as he caught her eye.  Rowan whipped her head away, terrified by what she saw in the man’s eyes.  She sank down on the bench next to Reverend Pole, praying fervently that they would just leave. 

Finally, Sexby came back down carrying Brendan’s sword.  Where is he?” he hissed.

The reverend didn’t answer, but returned Sexby’s gaze without fear, resigned to whatever Sexby planned to do.  Sexby looked at the old man and then allowed his eyes to travel to the girl.  There was no proof that the sword belonged to Carr, but the expression on the girl’s face told him that he wasn’t wrong.  Her eyes opened wider in fear as Sexby said Carr’s name, and she quickly averted them to stare at the floor.  These two knew where he was, and after spending weeks in pursuit, Sexby wasn’t about to just accept defeat.  He glanced at Will and gave him a brief nod, which Will intercepted and acknowledged with a small bow.  He left the house, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

Rowan continued to stare at the floor, terrified to meet the man’s gaze.  The other one probably went to check the outbuildings, but he wouldn’t find Brendan, and sooner or later they would be satisfied that he wasn’t there and leave them in peace.  Rowan willed herself to breathe slowly to calm her racing heart.  It would be all right.  Brendan had enough time to get away.

She started as the man spoke again, his voice low and silky, but full of menace.  “Reverend, I know that you know where he is, so I will ask you one last time.  If you decline to answer, you leave me no choice but to force the information from you.  I would really rather not.  I find it distasteful to harm clerics and young girls.”

Reverend Pole stared the man down, his resolve unshaken.  “Mr. Sexby, I do not know where Brendan Carr is, and neither does Rowan.  She’s just a simple girl who comes to help me with some domestic chores.  Soft in the head, you might say,” he added for good measure.  “She knows nothing.”

“We shall see.”  Sexby suddenly grabbed the reverend by the arm and forced him outside, with Rowan following on their heels.  She wanted to protest that the reverend didn’t know, but it would be pointless.  The men suspected the truth and wouldn’t just leave them alone.  Rowan stifled a scream as she saw two nooses hanging off the oak in front of the house.  The other man had not been checking the outbuildings, but making a gibbet.  He now leaned against the stout trunk of the oak, his face alight with expectation. 
This wasn’t distasteful to him; this was what he lived for
, Rowan thought as she met his eyes which were fixed on her.

“Reverend, do you have anything to tell me?” Sexby asked as he stopped just short of the tree with the noose swaying above Reverend Pole’s head. 

“God has a plan for us all, my son, and if this is His plan for me, then I will accept His will.”  He crossed himself and began to pray under his breath, infuriating Sexby. 

“And does he have a plan for your simple girl?  Are you willing to let her hang as punishment for your stubbornness?” Sexby hissed, amazed by the old man’s resolve.  Was he really willing to die to protect Carr?  And the girl?  He didn’t want to hurt her, but the old man was making things difficult.

“She knows nothing.  She understands nothing.  Please, let her go.  She’s naught by a simpleton,” the reverend begged, but Sexby wasn’t so sure.   The girl’s eyes told him everything he needed to know.  She understood perfectly well, and she knew what he wanted to know.  He hoped that threatening the reverend would scare her into revealing what she knew, but she just stood rooted to the ground, her eyes on the tree and her mouth open in horror.

“This is your last chance, old man,” Sexby said, willing the reverend to speak.  Why did these people have to make things so difficult?  All they had to do was give up Carr, and he’d leave them in peace, but the Reverend gazed at him defiantly, daring him to do his worst.

“Any last words?”  The old man shook his head as Will detached himself from the tree and came forward.  He seized the old man and dragged him toward the tree.  Rowan stuffed her fist into her mouth in terror as Will tossed the rope over Reverend Pole’s thin neck.  Sexby was watching her intently.