Curious Case of a Horseless Headman

"That is interesting."

"More than that, when I was but sixteen, I was seduced by a dashing Captain in the local militia, one The Honorable Valentine Albury, son of Colonel Sir Jack Albury, now—."

"Now Sir Valentine and his father Lord Albury?"

"Aye, now Val's father is become the Lord, after his elder brother died in the Parliamentary War. His son Valentine has always refused to acknowledge my Ben as his real son. Lady Arabella Montague was said to be more advanced in child than I, and had the greater wealth and position of her family behind her, thus ensuring she had the greater claim over the father and became his Lady, though her child was lost before birth."

"So you were left, with child, to cope alone?"

"Aye."

"What of your family?"

"My mother died when I was five, in childbirth, along with my new baby sister. So I was left but an only child. My father ..." she allows a sob to escape.

"What happened to your father?"

"When he found out that Sir Valentine was the father of my child, who was marrying another woman instead of his despoiled daughter, he ... he called him out to fight..."

Ferdinando let her finish after a pause.

"It was a farmer pitted against a captain of the militia and a practiced swordsman. I was made both an orphan and an unmarried mother by the same man!"

"And this house was finished by—?"

"With ne'er one ungrudging brass penny from the Alburys!" she exploded, "not those knaves. On his deathbed, my father struck a bargain with Val's father Lord Albury. Being his only daughter and having no claim on the tenancies my family had enjoyed for generations, passed from father to son. This house and its chattels are on twenty eight acres of freehold pasture, that my grandfather scrimped and saved for, though suitable only for raising our Sussex sheep. My father signed the freehold over to Ben, it is his, but he could never afford to build as comfortable a cottage as this. It was completed by Lord Albury and, by the agreement signed, the house and garden of one acre is mine until I die, when the ownership will revert to the Lord or his heirs, so I cannot pass it onto my son, although he has in turn the right to rent it from the Lord only for his lifetime."

"For the annual rent of?" asks Ferdinando, recalling the cottage name.

"A single rose, to be presented to the Lord of the Manor, or his representative or the church in his absence, by noon on 25th September, three days hence."

"Ah. The origin of the name of the cottage?" observed Ferdinando, "And the roses growing round the door?"

"Exactly."

Chapter 4. SWAINLEY GAOL

The next morning Ferdinando leaves Thomasina, immediately after breaking his fast, saying he is off to Swainley, to release her son from the prison.

Why does he still not tell her that he has already released him, not four hours or more before he first made his acquaintance with the fair lady? Indeed, he admits, never a fairer lady has he met or enjoyed the company of before. The woman is attractive, as well educated as any woman of his immediate acquaintance, keeps a good house and pleasant company. Yet he is both attracted and repelled, troubled by his own inexperience with the fairer sex, having never mated in love, nor has he ever contemplated real intimacy with anyone, until now. Thomasina disturbs his baser instincts like no one has before. Desire, how long, he asks himself, has it been since he desired love from anyone?

And there's the young woman's voice in his head, continuous in private conversation, without revealing her name or her circumstances. 'No,' Ferdinando tells himself, 'I must take care, something here isn't right, isn't right at all.'

He had released young Benjamin fforde on his own cognisance two days ago, and sent him with Jones by his coach to the nearest respectable inn, The Lamb at Swainley, while sending Handley to arrange for a physician to attend immediately to his injuries. The report returned that he has a broken ankle, partly healed, which the doctor had to break again to reset correctly, otherwise the young man would be crippled for life. He will be laid up here in the Inn for a week under the good doctor's care before returning home to his mother.

While awaiting the doctor's report, Briant had checked the two other male prisoners, finding both similarly severely beaten.

Then he saw the last prisoner, the maiden Isote Durney, who was beaten even more severely than them all, her lips split and bloody, one eye closed, her nose bone smashed flat by gaoler's fist to her face. The girl tried to get up with difficulty, her dress ripped open, her teats bitten, weals and bruises commensurate with rape and sodomy, the oozing blood left unwashed from her tortured body. She was pale, weak, and riven hot with fever, barely able to stand. Again, Briant had despatched her off to the Inn, a private room for both innocent victims, full board and nursing care. Handley the coachman was reminded, with a disarming smile, to "get receipts for all, John, and no adding a sly penny here or there, I know the price of eggs".

"Aye my Lord," his long-serving servant had grinned in reply.

Revisiting them now, two days after their release, he notes, both patients are doing as well as the doctor expected, but Izote is still low with fever and unable to answer his questions.

Ben fforde claims to be unable to throw any light on what is already known of the case.

"I was asleep, exhausted from the long walk at the pace Sir Valentine on his horse dictated, the night I was attacked," fforde said. "I have no idea why there has always been this animosity between us, or what brought this to such a conclusion."

He is not aware that Valentine is his father, Ferdinando realises.

The boy's testimony is given some slight question by uncertain little glances away, Ferdinando notes. An honest boy, normally no doubt, but not telling the whole story in regard to his relationship with his employer. Does he know Valentine is his father, or has Thomasina never revealed this fact to him? Or is it because he is hiding that fact that he is enamoured with the girl Izote? No matter, the truth of that matter will keep for now.

***

"Ye are what ye eat, whatever tasted so sweet!"

Ferdinando was full, enjoying this meal more than any meal before. Even the little girl's voice in his head is laughing with him; they are now conversing mind to mind, almost all the time during his conscious hours. A lovely voice that charms and captivates him. When he asks who she is, the apparently honest reply of 'Thomasina fforde', is confusing, while the very woman named is sitting opposite his place at the table, smiling sweetly as if totally unaware of his internal conversation with an external consciousness. Is he going mad, never having heard voices before this case landed in his lap? He keeps his powder dry by not saying anything directly to the lady hostess, however comely and charming she appears to be.

He is in the cottage enjoying his evening meal, roast shoulder of lamb, with minted potatoes and buttered baby turnips, the best meal yet, from the same ewe slaughtered just days ago. Ferdinando tells Thomasina that Ben is free and that he will remain in Swainley for a few more days yet. She nods, accepting the situation that the daily help she has employed to deal with the sheep will have to continue until Ben recovers and can resume his duties.

"And what of Izote Durnley?" she asks.

Of course, the girl is also of this village and once, no doubt, a pupil of Thomasina's school. She talks fondly of the time she taught local children in the school for a penny each a week, closed shortly after the Albury's took possession of the Manor. She still teaches a handful of the village children in her own parlour twice a week for a handful of coppers. Gently he explains what happened to the poor girl, Izote. Involuntary tears form in her eyes, echoed by the equally sorrowful lament of the girl's voice in his head, and Ferdinando is moved to hold her physical hands in comfort and expressing empathy in his thoughts to two different women.

"I have wondered if she was related to Mary Durnley, Albury's housekeeper, but they look so unlike." Lord Briant says.

"Izote is half sister to Mary, they share the same father. Mary is about seven years older than Izote, and lost her mother in infancy to the smallpox, as Izote's mother did when she was only five. Mary was more of a mother to Izote. I hope this injustice to the poor girl doesn't..." She leaves her thoughts in that direction unsaid. "And will the Magistrates hold a trial?"

"They will not need to, Ma'am. On my way here I stopped off where your son's rough gaol was situated. I examined the mittimus that the gaoler held—"

"Mittimus?"

"The mittimus is a charge sheet, which forms the basis for the offender's imprisonment pending trial. It is issued by the local Justice of the Peace, as a warrant to arrest persons of interest to the courts, and this one was written in barely legible dog Latin."

"I never learned Latin, but I do teach the children of the village their English grammar and mathematicks."

"Quite so, tho' Latin is required for anyone wishing to enter the Inns of Court. I learned to speak, read and write my Latin like a native. Anyway, I endorsed the mittimus with my own seal and noted that the prisoner, your son Benjamin fforde, was accused of aiding witchcraft, although no evidence to thwart testimonies already received to the contrary were noted. So I released him on his own cognisance to be on good behaviour until his trial. I am sure no trial will actually need to take place as there are no viable charges for him to answer to."

"Thank you my Lord, I have been worried about him and his dear betrothed. Where is he? Were his injuries such that he could not walk home today?"

"He has a broken ankle, which had to be reset by the physician, which was carried out boldly and with careful skill, and borne admirably by your brave son. I had Benjamin taken to an inn in the marketplace, where he was given a bath, a hot meal, and a bed for tonight at the court's expense. His clothes will be cleaned and ready for him in the morning. A ride home has been secured for him when he is able to return, the doctor says, in about a week. I trust him to be the best judge of the healing process."

"How can we ever repay you your kindness, Ferdinando?"

"The cost was not from my pocketbook, Thomasina, I receive a stipend including funds to draw upon for such exigencies as this."

"And how is he? The gaoler has both a reputation for being rough on prisoners and a particular loathing for Dellamere folk."

"Worry not about the gaoler, he was hanged that first day at four after noon. As for—"

"What?!" She is startled and pushes her chair back from the table, putting distance between the enforcer of the King's justice and ordinary member of the King's subjects, though she does not rise.

Ferdinando immediately regrets bringing up the subject. Hitherto he had been relaxed, enjoying polite conversation with a lively and quite lovely woman, in stark contrast to the coarse discourses which formed the majority of his customary exchanges on his ventures of any depth into the country shires.

"The right ankle of your son was broken at least a week since and left untreated. While torture has its right and proper place in the pursuit of justice, the gaoler exceeded his remit in beating his prisoners without recourse to explicit and countersigned instructions by the proper authorities."

"I see," she says quietly.

But Ferdinando can see that she probably didn't see and that he would have to continue, knowing, with regret, that she would hate and fear him for his just but terrible execution of the Kingdom's common laws and statutory instruments pertaining to maintaining law and order and the pursuit of justice.

"Your son Benjamin fforde is not badly hurt, but the proliferation of bruises and contusions in differing stages of healing and subsequent reopening, evident in all four of the prisoners, are commensurate with a regular succession of regular and severe beatings, subjected when the hands and feet were bound, judging by the rope burns at the appropriate joints, indicating that the gaoler, Harry Shands, systematically beat his prisoners, irrespective of their guilt or otherwise."

"I have heard of such beatings before, but why was Shands hung?"

"Hanged," corrected the Judge. "Two of the prisoners were a thief who stole a ham and the other a forger of journeyman papers. The first was caught red handed eating the said ham and will likely hang in due course with no need for a confession. The second prisoner is due a public whipping, so the odd beating matters little, neither here nor there, but would be in excess of such whipping by the courts, in his case I decided he had had enough and his sentence deemed to have been satisfactorily executed. But your so. Benjamin was held in protective custody, as a suspect of God knows what in a case where no crime by any mortal could be identified, which was clear even from the muddled mittimus, so torture or a beating in his case is a misdemeanour, which pu,d lead to a fine."

"So it was the fourth prisoner, Izote Durnley, for which he was hanged?" She holds both hands to her mouth, eyes wide open, her brow furrowed.

"Aye. The maiden had been imposed upon regularly for a week, her injuries consistent with wrist and ankle burns, and redoubtable resistance to multiple assaults on the body of the victim, while Shands had bite marks about his person which he couldn't justifiably explain away."

"I blame myself for this ... she should have been protected by me. And how is she, in body and mi d?"

"Distraught but comforted by Benjamin, clearly a close friend."

"They are betrothed to marry, my Lord, and have been inseparable since early childhood."

"I wasn't aware of any relationship, which perhaps explains some of his reactions under questioning."

"They've known each other since before they could walk, always devoted one to the other."

"The maiden was unjustly spoiled by the gaoler, his capital punishment therefore decreed by statute. However, I believe she has the internal strength necessary and will recover from her injuries and be pretty of face once more, even if Benjamin rejects her in due course on grounds of purity."

"He will never reject her, Ben loves her to distraction."

"Well, I summoned one of the magistrates and the constable, who immediately assembled a court, aided by the Mayor. The two felons gave adequate witness testimony of the assault on Maid Durnley, so neither Benjamin or Izote were required to run the gauntlet of testifying. Twelve of Shands' good peers unanimously condemned him thereupon by the evidences before them, and his plea for mercy taken into account, before he was summarily executed."

"Could he not have had leave to appeal to a higher court?" she asked, "I know he was guilty, but..."

"There is no court higher than mine, Thomasina, besides, he confessed his guilt and, knowing the penalty for rape, he begged only that his end be swift. It was."

"I see."

"His private gaol has been seized for the Crown in forfeit of his irregularities and I've a mind to put it to good use by the town council as the town gaol. A town of that size should have its own, the crumbling castle's keep is much in need of repair to be of use at present. I thought it wise to advise the Mayor that the keep be upgraded, as I see some turbulence ahead."

"Turbulence?"

"England and Scotland are Protestant countries, Thomasina, with a Catholic King sitting upon both thrones who insists on making Catholic appointments in high places. Now he has a miracle Catholic baby born to the previously resigned childless couple, and a Protestant Princess whose ambitions of Coronations to these islands thwarted. Clear conflicts of interest which portents an unsettling future, knowing these islands' history as we do."

"I do, Ferdinando, regrettably."

"Therefore a new gaoler at Swainley is already appointed, a one-legged man who was very grateful for the appointment."

"Alan Westlake, I know him, a good man."

"Aye, that's the very fellow. Should Maid Durnley be with child through this Shands' uncalled for ministrations, then the town council have agreed they will use the savings from the gaol towards the child's upkeep and education."

Chapter 5. WITCHES

Next morning Fernando visits the hall again, to question the household. The old cook was once the housekeeper, so he questions her closely to see if there was resentment over Sir Valentine's preferment of Mary Durnley in what was originally her position.

"Sir Valentine has eyes on'y for young Izote," the fat old cook admits, frightened by Ferdinando's face, that reminds her of an over-broiled blood pudding, "not, Miss Durnley. An' I 'as no cut with Mary, she leaves me ter me kitchen, what suits I. If thee's askin' me, if'n that Valentine was goin' ter murder that sweet boy, young Benjy fforde, an' teke the girl fer hisself, I ask I-self else why camp on the green, when he 'ad 'is own 'ouse an' promise o' 'ot food 'n' a cumfty soft bed but a few steps away?"

Yes, why, it looks like Valentine weakened the boy so he would sleep and make it easier to kill his rival for Izote's honour in his sleep. Fernando rides onto town once more, and speaks to the Mayor, confirming that Shands' prison, claimed for the Crown by Briant three days ago, be signed over to the town on a peppercorn rent as the town prison. The cost to the town is much lower than under Shands' ownership. Thereby, part of the money saved from keeping prisoners is formerly agreed to be used to feed them better and set another part of the same aside to pay for Izote's child, should she be with one, even though she was not from any of the three parishes within the town's ancient walls. Shands' widow was not too upset at her husband's demise, independent of means by dint of her thriving bakery. The Mayor gladly strikes the bargain with the Judge.

"The wench has a fine pie shop and'll not stay single long, I fancy," The Mayor confides in Ferdinando. "An' 'as fer Sir Valentine, y'know, 'ee be wed to Lady Arabella, a distant cousin of 'is, who be rumoured to have long bin favoured mistress to Lord Albury, the father, and lately said to have been introduced even unto the King's Chamber, if'n ye knows what I mean," the Mayor winks.

Ferdinando remembers that, since his Coronation, King James has given up his two former mistresses, both tall, slim, dark-haired young women. The woman with Lord Albury, seemed to Ferdinando to fit the King's bill, were he to defy the Privy Council regarding his propriety.

Then onto The Lamb, to interview Ben and the girl, gladly finding that they are both indeed devoted to one another. Izote is now able to stand, curtsey and thank the Judge for saving her. She is still weak in body but her spirit is strong, and her fever is finally broken. She has cleaned up well, a tall, dark-haired and quite slim young woman, in stark contrast to her half sister, the Hall's housekeeper. Her nose is reset by the skilled Town doctor, but around both eyes she is yellow, black and blue and will be for a couple of weeks before her natural beauty returns. They are both grateful that the town has no choice but to agree to pay the doctor's fees for treating all four prisoners and the Inn's not insubstantial bill while the couple recover from their imposed injuries.

In conspiratory whispers, once he has sent his beloved from his chamber, Ben fforde confirms Ferdinando's pointed question about the afflicted Knight's carnal intentions towards his betrothed.

"Aye, my Lord, Sir Valentine promised me the incentives of Stewardship of all his Manors and free use of his stable, were he given license to deflower Izote, and impregnate her for her first-born, for me to act as cuckold to raise such cuckoo child as if it were mine own. He desired to use my wife as and whenever he wished, but I refused him completely of all his wishes notwithstanding his threats and inducements."