The Black Book of Secrets (15 page)

Perigoe’s secret was the last one I wrote in the Black Book.
The morning after her visit Joe sent me out for some bread.
I greeted the bakers as usual, but their response was icy.
Elias served me in silence and his eyes were shooting daggers.
The oldest boy, who was behind the counter, couldn’t
even look at me. I bade them goodbye and left, wondering
what I had done to offend them. As I stepped out of the
door I saw the other two Sourdough brothers across the
street. Usually they liked to walk with me, but today they
ran away and watched from further down the hill. One of
them threw a snowball. It hit the side of my head and stung
sharply. When I put my hand to the wound it came away
bloody and I saw a small stone lying at my feet.

Suddenly the window above me opened and the next
second a pail of freezing dirty water drenched me from
head to foot. ‘That’s right,’ came a jeering voice. ‘Get back
up the hill to your devil friend. We don’t want you around
here.’ It was Ruby.

I broke into a run and raced back up to the shop, bursting
through the door. I slammed it behind me and threw
across the bolt.

‘What happened?’ asked Joe, noticing the blood on my
face.

‘I’m not sure,’ I said, ‘but Elias wouldn’t talk to me and
Ruby threw a pail of water over my head.’

Joe looked puzzled. ‘For what reason?’

‘I don’t know,’ I spluttered. ‘All I wanted was a loaf of
bread.’

I peeled off my cloak and hung it in front of the fire. Joe
was sitting, leaning forward with his hands clasped under
his chin. I shook my dripping head and drops of water
turned to steam on the burning logs.

‘Did you know this was going to happen?’ I asked. ‘Is it
because of Jeremiah?’

‘I don’t know about Jeremiah,’ said Joe slowly, ‘but I
must say I expected something like this.’

‘Why?’

‘Because there is a fine line between gratitude and
resentment. Everyone is happy to accept my money – they
smile and say thank you, and go away and forget how badly
off they were before I arrived. Then they come back looking
for more.’

I was surprised at the bitterness in his voice. This wasn’t
the Joe I knew, who harboured no resentment, no ill-feeling,
who took it all in his stride. It unsettled me to see this
side to him.

‘You sound as if this has happened before,’ I said.

‘It has, but usually I know why.’

‘Well, whatever the reason, I think it’s unfair,’ I began,
but at the same time Saluki suddenly started to croak loudly
in the shop and the peace and quiet of the morning was violently
interrupted by the sound of a riotous altercation in
the street.

Joe leaped up and ran to the door, I followed him and
together we hurried down the hill. The sight that greeted
us, were it not for the seriousness of it, would have been
quite ridiculous and more suited to the theatre. Jeremiah
Ratchet and Horatio Cleaver were arguing, actually grappling
with each other, in the middle of the street. And the
cause of their disagreement? A turkey.

Joe’s eyes sparkled. ‘It has begun,’ he said.

As we approached the affray it became apparent what
was going on.

‘You’ll not take any more of my meat, you thieving
windbag!’ shouted Horatio and the onlookers cheered. It
seemed that the whole village had come out to watch: the
Sourdoughs, Perigoe, Obadiah, Benjamin Tup, Job Wright,
Lily Weaver, Dr Mouldered, Polly and even a few faces that
were unfamiliar to me.

Ratchet said nothing, just planted his feet more firmly
on the ground and pulled with all his might. He held
the turkey’s legs, Horatio had its head, and the poor dead
creature was near torn in two. Jeremiah was purple with
the effort and Horatio’s cheeks were a similar shade.

The men were well matched: both stout and solid on the
ground. Horatio was slightly taller, but whether this was
an advantage or not on the icy street was debatable. The
air was filled with cursing and swearing, spit and clouds
of breath.

‘It’s my turkey!’ shouted Jeremiah. ‘You owe me, Horatio.’

With one huge tug he managed to unbalance the
butcher, who let go of the bird rather than fall over. Jeremiah,
of course, fell instead and to have the turkey was no
consolation for his loss of dignity as he spun on the ice three
times before coming to a stop at Joe’s feet.

The crowd cheered and laughed and clapped as Jeremiah
struggled to stand. Only Joe held out his hand to help, but
Jeremiah ignored it and took off home, still holding the
limp bird.

‘Good riddance,’ shouted Elias Sourdough.

Jeremiah didn’t look back. I was surprised. He was not
the sort of man to let someone else have the last word.

Horatio came up to Joe in a state of great excitement
about what he had just done. I had never thought to see this
quiet man so elated.

‘Did you see that, Joe?’ He was breathing heavily and he
was shaking. ‘I stood up to him. I told him he could take no
more of my meat. Just like you said.’

He seemed to have forgotten that Jeremiah had the
turkey.

He waited for Joe to answer, to pat him on the back, to
congratulate him, but Joe said nothing. His face turned
from grey to white and, for an instant only, anger flared in
his eyes.

‘I didn’t say that,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t say that at all.’

Job Wright, the blacksmith, stepped forward and his
mouth was curled in a snarl.

‘So,’ he said, and his voice was brimming with sarcasm,
‘you’ve finally come to help us.’

‘Ratchet’s time will come,’ said Joe simply. ‘All you have
to do is wait. For now, can’t you all be happy that your fortunes
have changed?’

‘But how long must we wait?’ asked Obadiah. ‘You told
me Jeremiah would feel the force of your justice.’

Horatio looked towards the crowd. ‘And he told me
he’d give him what was coming to him.’

Then it was Perigoe’s turn. ‘I’ve been to him too,’ she said
as loudly as she could, ‘and he said he’d make Jeremiah pay.’

‘That’s what he told me,’ came another voice.

‘And me,’ said someone else. ‘But I thought I was the
only one!’

‘What are you talking about?’ asked another and his neighbour
(who had recently sold his own secret) immediately
turned to him and began to tell him all about Joe’s midnight
confessional and the Black Book.

Suddenly everyone was talking at once as they realized
exactly how many of their fellow villagers had secretly visited
Joe Zabbidou at the stroke of twelve. Those who had
been personally invited to the back room now felt cheated
that it wasn’t an exclusive service – Joe really did know how
to make people feel special – and those who hadn’t been
invited felt cheated that they had not been considered
worthy of the service. Whatever the individual’s circumstances,
the disgruntled crowd, who only moments ago
were laughing at Jeremiah, turned united to Joe Zabbidou
and fixed him with an icy glare. I looked at them all, their
faces glowing in the cold, their narrow eyes focused on Joe.
My palms were damp with cold sweat. These were no
longer friendly faces and I was frightened.

Job Wright stood with his legs apart and his powerful
arms crossed against his chest. In the absence of any other
volunteer, he appeared to have taken on the role of village
spokesman.

‘So, Mr Zabbidou, what have you to say to that?’

The chattering stopped instantly. Seconds passed and
the silence strained at its seams and threatened to explode.
I could see the muscles in Joe’s jaw clenching and unclench-ing
and he spoke through gritted teeth.

‘I said none of those things. You have twisted my words,
words I offered to comfort you.’

‘Then what exactly did you say?’ challenged the blacksmith.

‘I said to be patient.’ Joe looked around the scornful
faces before settling on Perigoe and Horatio and Obadiah,
who stood together in a nervous huddle. ‘Is that not the
truth?’

At first no one answered.

Then Horatio nodded, shamefaced. ‘I think maybe you
did say that,’ he said quietly.

Perigoe and Obadiah reddened and nodded too, but Job
wasn’t so easily appeased.

‘What is this nonsense?’ he snorted loudly, slamming his
fist into his open palm. ‘First you promise to help and now,
when we ask for that help, you hide behind words. You are
no better than Jeremiah Ratchet himself. In fact, you are
worse. He at least does what he says.’

He turned around and addressed the mesmerized
onlookers. Job had them hanging on his every word in a way
Stirling Oliphaunt would never have been able. I could
hardly believe how he had changed. He too had been in at
midnight, like the rest of them, and taken the money and
peace of mind gladly, but now he seemed intent on leading
the village against us.

‘Jeremiah Ratchet must be punished for what he has
done to us,’ Job declared. ‘We’ve waited long enough. We
started without Joe Zabbidou and we’ll finish without him.’

‘Hear! hear!’ said a voice from the back, and a deep
rumble of approval rolled through the crowd.

‘You don’t understand,’ said Joe, trying to make himself
heard above the discontented mutterings. But he was wasting
his time. No one was listening to him any more. All eyes
were on Job. Now I was really scared, for me and for Joe.
I could feel how angry they were. I wanted to shout at
them, to tell them to listen, but no sound came from my
mouth.

Job turned to Joe. ‘You come here,’ he sneered. ‘You
take our secrets and make false promises. Tell us, what are
you going to do with those secrets? How many of us are in
your debt?’

‘I paid you for your secrets,’ insisted Joe. ‘I kept my side
of the bargain.’

Job pounced. ‘Aha, so it is about money. And is it not
true you paid so much that even if we wanted them back,
we couldn’t afford them?’

‘It was a fair exchange,’ shouted Joe, by now weary and
exasperated. ‘I never expected the money back.’ Everyone
was talking at once. ‘You know it is my business.’

Job came right up to him until their noses were almost
touching.

‘Business?’ he laughed. ‘At last we are getting to the
truth. Jeremiah Ratchet says he is a businessman. I see you
two are no different.’

He turned and addressed the restless throng. ‘Maybe we
are going after the wrong man. Maybe Jeremiah Ratchet
and our good friend Joe Zabbidou here are in this together!’

I looked at the enraged faces before us and it was hard
to believe that these were the same people who had once
welcomed Joe with open arms. I could hear the words ‘liar’
and ‘cheat’ and I was incensed. I took a step forward, thinking
I might be able to protect him, but Joe held me back.

‘It is not like that,’ he said. ‘I have told you no lies. I
never promis—’

But Joe couldn’t finish because the crowd had turned
against him. They began to boo and hiss.

Joe stood there in a daze, his arms hanging loosely by
his side. People began to pelt him, with snow and gravel and
anything they could find. I grabbed his hand and dragged
him away. I knew we were in danger out here in the open.
I looked back only once and to my dismay I saw Jeremiah
Ratchet standing on his doorstep. His arms were folded
across his chest and when he caught my eye he opened his
mouth and began to laugh.

I locked up the shop and pulled down the blinds. We stayed
inside for the rest of the day. I couldn’t believe what had
happened and I paced between the rooms, going over and
over it in my head.

‘How could they do this to you? After everything you’ve
done for them.’

Joe sat calmly by the fire. He heard my rantings but
didn’t reply. He hardly said a word the entire afternoon, but
I could tell that his mind was working furiously. What was
he planning? Revenge on the village or revenge on Jeremiah?
Surely it had to be one or the other. In my heart
though, I knew it was neither. Revenge was not Joe’s way.