Chapter 2

I sometimes wonder why my mistress keeps me, she doesn’t seem to have any particular use for me, but since she provides food and lodging, and a small amount of pocket money, why should I complain? It is true that there are certain tasks that I perform for her. No, no, nothing like that! My trip to Blackford is the kind of thing. And I suppose it is handy for her to have a man about the house, although I know that Dervla would disagree with that.

The next morning I was with the mistress when the door bell rang. A moment later Dervla came in.

“Sir Warburton Gamble, Mistress,” she said.

A well dressed man entered. No, that’s wrong. He wore expensive clothes, so well dressed from that point of view, but they did not look good on him. He was short and stout, with double chins and I doubt that anything would look good on him. I’d have put his age past fifty, but he could well be a deal younger. He reminded me of nothing so much as a toad.

“Good day, Mistress Americk,” he began, then looked at me, “and...”

“Cillian,” she said, which indicated that she wanted me to stay.

“Master Cillian,” he said, rather condescendingly. “I called to welcome you to my village,” he went on. “I hope everything is to your satisfaction.”

Before my Mistress could provide an answer he carried on, and we discovered that he was basically just full of himself. Whether his self importance was due to his stature I could not say. After he had harangued us for fully half an hour with tales of his brilliance, without really telling us anything, he wished us well, and left. We were none the wiser as to anything except that his love affair with himself was all consuming.

“Well,” said my Mistress, “that was interesting, was it not, Cillian?”

“Most enlightening, Mistress,” I could think of nothing more appropriate to say. Well, I could, but it was best kept to myself.

Mistress Americk laughed. “We’ll make a diplomat of you yet, Cillian.”

For the next couple of days there was little to do beyond my usual chores, and I was able to acquaint myself rather more thoroughly with the village. Particularly with the Fox and Goose. This establishment was now run by Annie Smith, Arnie’s widow. She had been the brewer so his death had made very little difference, and together with her daughter Rosie they ran a very happy establishment. I was assured by one other patron that this had been far from the case before Arnie’s demise.

“If thik ole bastid thort yew wus lookin’ at Annie he’d bust yer skull,” he told me. I was amazed that I could follow his accent.

“What about Rosie?” I asked.

“Ah! Now that were roight strange. Yew’d think she were sum one else’s daugh’er. Din give a shit.”

Which was odd, because cuddly as she was, she was a very attractive piece. And a man appreciates a bit of comfort, so she must have got a lot of attention. Annie herself was also an attractive, if rather more cuddly lady, so it was no hardship on my second visit, to strike up a conversation with Annie.

“I’m sorry to hear of your loss,” I told her.

“Then you’d be the only one,” she laughed. “‘E were a miserable bastard. I’m glad to be rid of him. And before you say, no it weren’t me as pushed ‘im in the river, but I’m grateful to whoever it was.”

“I was told he’d fallen,” I said.

She looked at me. “Maybe,” she said. “But he walked that way every night on ‘is way ‘ome.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, genuinely perplexed. “But I don’t follow.”

“No more I’d expect you to. Every night ‘e ‘ad a skinful at the Arrows, the Sheaf of Arrows that is. And then ‘e’d come ‘ome across the river. ‘E’d upset more people over the years than you could shake a stick at. Had a hell of a set to with Sir Warburton. So it could’ve been almost anyone. Lessen ‘e did fall, o’ course. ‘Tis possible.”

“As you say,” I replied. I’m sure I mentioned that there were two inns in the village. I wouldn’t miss something like that.

I felt her hand on my arm, fingers gently probing.

“I’m sure a strong young feller like you would like to comfort a poor widder woman,” she smiled at me.

Indeed I would. But then I thought to myself that she might just have been the one who did the pushing, and I decided there was somewhere else I ought to be. Strange how an inviting smile can suddenly morph into a tiger’s grin.

“You hurry back, now,” she told me

As I left the Fox and Goose I met Nancy.

“Hello, Cillian,” she greeted me. “I’m just going to see Mistress Merridew. Would you like to accompany me?”

Why not?

We walked on a bit further and came to a substantial house next to the vicarage. In doing so we passed the entrance to a large house that was out of sight from the road.

“Who lives there,” I wondered.

“That’s the Manor. That’s where Sir Warburton Gamble lives. He lives with his secretary and his bride to be, Mistress Halliwell. They say she’s his neice.”

“Since you know so much, what do they say about him? I met him the other day with your mother, but really he told us nothing.”

“He’s a local boy, and he made a lot of money, and got the knighthood, although no one seems to know much about how.”

Mistress Merridew was just on her doorstep as we approached. She was in her mid forties, perhaps even fifty, and you’d have thought she’d be married, for she was a good looking woman, and had a slim figure, rather flat chested for my taste, but nevertheless I thought she was rather ... yes, well.

“Good day,” she greeted us. “Have you come to see me?”

“Indeed Mistress Merridew,” Nancy replied. “My mother asked me to bring you this.”

Nancy indicated something in the basket she was carrying, I couldn’t see what.

“Oh, yes. She promised me that,” said Mistress Merridew. “Do come in.”

We went in and she indicated for us to sit.

“You’ll have to forgive the dust, I have no maid. So difficult to get someone good,” she went on.

“Your last maid was Emily Grubb, wasn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes. Yes it was. Such a terrible thing. A sad loss. The Coroner’s verdict was suicide, but I’m sure I don’t know. I think it more likely to have been an accident.” she said.

“What happened?” I asked.

“The girl had developed a cough,” she told us. “Well, if I’m honest she seemed to have something wrong most of the time. Particularly if it stopped her working. She’d been to the doctor’s, and he’d given her some sort of syrup. But she had all sorts of lotions and potions. It seems one of them contained arsenic, and she took that by mistake.”

“I understood that she was a little umm...” I began.

“Oh no, no. She had a young man, but that was all. There was a suggestion that he had done away with her, they often had rows. But no, I don’t think so.”

Whilst I was digesting this information a large ginger cat came in, saw me, hissed and spat, and walked past.

“Oh Fluffy! There you are!” said Mistress Merridew. “He doesn’t like men, I’m afraid.”

The cat went over to Nancy and sniffed, and then jumped up on her lap. He sat there, purring. Hmm, so would I.

“Mind his ear, dear, oh...” said Mistress Merridew.

Nancy had obviously touched Fluffy’s bad ear and he leapt down and disappeared.

Shortly after that we left. I never did work out what it was that Nancy had delivered.

On the way home, as we were approaching Doctor Hornbeam’s house we saw a man enter. Nancy identified him as the village carpenter, Henry Minton. How she managed to pick up so much information in so short a time I’m sure I don’t know. With the suggestion that the good doctor would be next, I had a nasty suspicion that I knew why he was there.