*
For supper Eleanor served up a piece of pork with peas and a rhubarb and gooseberry pye so sour it almost took the enamel off my teeth.
*
Mother abed with Yellowing of the Elbow.
Friday 6th May 1768
I had the idea today of a cart or carriage that needs no horses to pull it. It will carry its own source of energy, its ‘motor’, along with it and therefore be free of the restrictions of a horse. It could speed along and make the journey from London to Birmingham in a day.
I sketched out the plans for such a carriage using a windmill as the engine. I predict that in the future every household will have one.
Saturday 7th May 1768
Tomorrow Izzy and I will go to Windvale Moor and set Lucky free.
Sunday 8th May 1768
I set out early on the road to Windvale and soon met Izzy by the millpond where she was waiting for me as arranged. We walked a mile or two before we were able to hitch a ride with some workers who were going to the moor to gather furze. It was a beautiful sunny day and we lay back in the cart and watched a skylark climb to impossible heights. A tiny speck above us, its song the faintest of trills, it stayed awhile on quivering wings and then dropped like a pebble from the sky.
I have seen this behaviour many times but Izzy worried that the lark had been shot. I assured her it was safe and that they spread their wings in the nick of time to arrest their fall and land safely on the ground. Izzy asked why they do this but I could only reply that I thought it was for sheer joy. Not very scientific but she seemed happy with the answer.
After a few hours we were nearing the moor and so parted company with the furze gatherers to walk the last mile.
Windvale Moor is even more beautiful than I remembered and today the air was strewn with threads of glistening gossamer drifting over the grass. We sat and watched the pipits and warblers making the most of the summer bounty and then set Lucky in a patch of furze and retreated to watch through my telescope. Before long he was flitting this way and that, snatching insects from the air and searching the brush for caterpillars. It felt good to have given him his freedom and I am happy that he will thrive on the moor.
At one point, as we watched, Izzy spotted a pair of huge dragonflies. They were some way off but looked to be quite twice the size of any I had seen before. At first I thought they must be swallows but the glimpse I caught through my telescope before they disappeared confirmed they were certainly not birds.
I will keep my eyes peeled for further sightings.
As we made ready to leave Izzy noticed a lone figure some half a mile away who also seemed to be scanning the moor through a glass. I watched him for a time and as I did he turned and looked towards us. For a brief minute we stood observing each other. It was a strange, unnerving feeling after such a joyous day and Izzy asked that we might leave for home.
Thursday 12th May 1768
Today being the day when Mrs Butterford teaches us, I decided to show her my sketches of the warblers that I did while they were making their nest. She was interested but was uncertain of the species, saying they resembled reed warblers or willow warblers but weren’t enough like either for her to say for sure. I worry now that Lucky was an entirely new species that I have let slip through my fingers. Oh why did I let Izzy persuade me to release him?
The next chance I get I will go back to the moor to try and find him again.
*
Mother abed with Teeth Cramps.
Sunday 15th May 1768
Today I had a baffling encounter with a stranger on the moor that has left my head swimming with questions.
I spent the day on Windvale searching in vain for Lucky or one of his kin. I spotted both reed and willow warblers aplenty and am convinced that Lucky was neither.
But as I was searching I saw again the mysterious figure that Izzy and I observed last Sunday. He was once more alone and apparently without bag or possessions, standing with his glass scouring the moor.
What was he looking for? The same thing as me?
I quickly hid behind a bluff and watched him awhile unnoticed. Every time he looked towards me I ducked down out of sight.
Crawling along the bluff I was able to reach a place where I could sit and observe the landscape whilst remaining hidden and this I did for an hour or so.
I decided at length to change position but as I turned to move, suddenly he was there in front of me. He was standing twenty paces off and pointing at me, shaking his finger.
‘What are you doing?!’ he shouted. ‘What do you want?!’
I didn’t know what to answer lest, as I suspected, we were looking for the same thing.
‘Nothing,’ was my eventual (and brilliant) reply.
‘LIAR!’ he screamed, taking a few paces back and brandishing his bony finger at me like a musket. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Tooth,’ I answered. ‘Benjamin Tooth.’
At this he flung up his arms and collapsed to the ground where he proceeded to writhe and moan as though in agony. I approached warily but he raised his hand toward me.
‘Stay away!’ he shrieked. ‘STAY! Step no closer! I relinquish it! It’s yours!’ He was reaching into his coat, scrabbling about in the pockets, and was about to draw something out when I said, ‘Sir, I was watching for birds on the moor. I mean you no harm nor want anything from you.’
He lay stone still for a moment and I took a step closer.
‘STAY!’ he howled again, holding up his palm.
I stood and said not a word. Slowly he rolled away from me then looked back over his shoulder.
‘Do you know me?’ he asked.
‘No, sir, not as I can recall.’
‘Think back!’
‘To when?’
‘To fifty years past!’
‘Sir, I am but eleven years old.’
He lay still on the grass, eyeing me suspiciously, and then slowly, very slowly gathered his coat skirts around him, got to his feet and turned towards me.
I took a step.
‘STAY!’ he cried, pointing at my feet.
Now was the first time I got a proper look at the fellow and a properly strange-looking fellow he was. It is hard to say how old he was, possibly not yet thirty, but gaunt and haunted. His skin, translucent and shiny, was pulled taut over his bones and looked as though he had been scrubbed rather too vigorously with a pumice. His eyes, a ghostly pale blue, protruded from his skull with an expression of abject terror as he watched me and his thin lips were drawn back in a grimace revealing a set of white teeth too large for his head. He had the appearance of a freshly skinned rabbit.
His clothes were old. Not just shabby and threadbare but of an old style many decades out of fashion. His hair of a sickly yellow colour was piled on top of his head like custard on a pudding.
‘Tooth?’ he said at length.
‘Yes, sir, Benjamin Tooth.’
‘And eleven years old?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘No more?’
‘I’ll be twelve years this Michaelmas.’
He stood considering this for a few moments before he forced what I can only think was intended to be a smile, though it hardly differed from the grimace he had worn previously.
‘Well then, young Tooth,’ said he, ‘you must forgive me, I mistook you for somebody else. Let me introduce myself. My name is Cupstart. Farley Cupstart.’
At this he took a few slow steps closer as though creeping up on a nervous animal that was likely to take flight at any sudden movement. Seemingly at a loss for anything else to say, he straightened up and took a deep breath whilst looking out over the moor.
‘Birds, you say?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Yes, me too. I have been watching for birds just the same as you. Birds. Fascinating creatures. And tell me, young Tooth, have you spotted any?’
‘Why yes, sir, many, and of several kinds.’
‘Indeed? Indeed!’ He nodded his head v
igorously to indicate that he knew exactly what I was talking about. ‘And have you spotted anything …’ he leant in close, ‘unusual?’
‘Not really, sir,’ I answered, ‘though I saw a harrier, which are normally elusive.’
He nodded thoughtfully and stroked his whiskerless chin.
‘Have you spotted anything unusual, Mr Cupstart?’ I asked, at which his eyes snapped suspiciously back to me.
‘Like what? What do you mean?’
‘Well … like a harrier?’
‘Ah, yes, no, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a few … chickens.’
‘Chickens, sir?’
‘Yes, chickens. Chickens are birds, are they not?’
‘Yes, sir.’
From this it was not difficult to deduce that Farley Cupstart was not a birdwatcher of any great expertise. Neither was he a good actor for he then made an unconvincing show of trying to remember something.
‘Tooth … Tooth, you say?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Tell me, young Benjamin Tooth, would you, by chance, live in Mereton?’
‘Why yes, sir,’ I replied, genuinely surprised.
‘In Church Street?’
Again I answered in the affirmative.
‘Ah, then all becomes clear!’ said Mr Cupstart. ‘I was once a great friend of one of your ancestors, many, many years ago before you were even born.’
‘Really, sir?’
‘Oh yes, very great friends and I often visited this relation of yours at the old house in Church Street. Before you were born, you understand?’
‘Indeed, sir?’
‘Yes indeed! And do you know …’ again he tried to pretend that the remembrance had only just occurred to him, ‘I left something with that relation of yours (many years ago) and I wonder if it is still at the house?’
‘What sort of a something?’ I asked and with that he started to fish around again in his coat pockets, eventually withdrawing a crumpled piece of paper and a short stick of charcoal. Moving over to a flattish rock he began to sketch something on the paper.
*
When finished he held it up to show me.
‘Does this mean anything to you?’ he asked.
The drawing resembled a large insect with veined wings and a fish’s tail. He leaned in close to study my reaction and for the first time I noticed his smell, strangely aromatic like frankincense or bergamot, but not fresh, rather stale and musty as clothes sprinkled with scented oils and left in a drawer for years and years. The drawing meant nothing to me and he must have seen it in my face as he shook the paper and pointed at it.
‘Think, boy! Have you seen this before?’
‘No, sir,’ I replied. ‘I don’t think I have. What is it?’
‘It’s mine!’ he cried, forgetting for a moment his faux-friendly demeanour. ‘And I want it back!’ He checked himself and allowed the toothsome grin to spread across his face like mould.
‘Look again …’ he said, ‘try and remember. Have you seen anything in your house at Church Street that resembles this drawing? Perhaps on a mantelpiece or at the back of a cupboard?’
‘Not as I can think of, sir.’
His brow furrowed and he slowly folded the paper before putting it back in his pocket.
‘Have a look around your house, boy, and see what you can find. Perhaps it is hidden in a closet or beneath the floor. Look carefully, for if you can locate it I will pay you handsomely for it. It is mine, you understand, and it is of no worth to anybody else but I would dearly like to see it again. It holds great sentimental value for me which is why I would reward you if you could return my property to me.’
He turned to look out across the moor.
‘Do you go to school, boy?’ said Cupstart, staring dreamily into the distance.
‘Yes, sir, to Miss Ormeroid’s dame school at Stonebridge.’
‘Then I shall meet you tomorrow on your way to school and you can tell me what you have discovered.’
He was still gazing across the moor in a trance as I got up to leave but then snapped to attention and called after me, ‘Tell nobody that you met me! It will be our secret and when you are rewarded it will be a sweet surprise for your family! Do you agree?’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
‘Until tomorrow then, young Benjamin Tooth!’
I left him sitting on the grass and started for home.
*
I arrived back to find Mother in the foulest of moods with a face like a bag of smashed crabs. Eleanor, our maid, had taken the day off suffering from Oily Eyes and the house was in a mess. I volunteered to clear up thinking it might be a good opportunity to poke around in some nooks and crannies and look for the object of Mr Cupstart’s enquiry. This did not occasion any grateful thanks from Mother but rather a sneer and ‘A maid’s work is all you’re good for,’ but I’m used to her vitriol. It’s like bile off a duck’s back.
As I tidied away I looked in all the old storage cupboards but with not much of an idea what I was looking for. Cupstart had not told me what the drawing represented, from what it was made or even its size.
So here am I trying to decipher these most intriguing of events. I shall recall the drawing as best I can and sketch it now before the memory fades.
Monday 16th May 1768
I have awoken this morn with an ill and uneasy feeling that Farley Cupstart is a villain who is up to no good.
I am ashamed to think that his promise of financial reward had me snooping around like a burglar in my own house.
If he is there this morning as he said he would be I will ask outright what is the object he seeks and if he won’t say I will tell him I want no further part in it.
Later
After I penned this morning’s brief entry I set out to school with a will of iron. I turned left out of Peter Thorington’s yard and there, a hundred yards along the lane, leaning against the gate of Church Farm, waited the menacing figure of Cupstart, waving and smiling his counterfeit grin as if delighted to see me again.
‘Good morrow to you, young Tooth!’ he shouted out when I was still some way off. He looked as though he wanted to rush forward to meet me but managed to resist the urge and remained leaning against the stile in what he imagined was a casual attitude. I approached.
‘Greetings! Greetings!’ He took my hand in his and vigorously pumped it up and down. His skin was so soft and cool that at first I thought he was wearing velvet gloves. It was all I could do to stop myself recoiling with a shudder.
‘I see you have your school satchel about you, young Benjamin,’ said he. ‘Might I be allowed to hope that within is my property that you have found and are returning to its rightful owner?’ His creepy leer did not last long and was replaced by a forbidding glare as I replied in the negative.
‘You found nothing?’
‘Nothing, sir.’
‘Did you look?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then you did not look hard enough!’ All traces of his feigned good nature evaporated now as he grabbed me by the throat with one hand and tore my bag from my shoulder with the other. He emptied the contents of my satchel on the path and kicked at them.
‘Where is it?!’ he screamed with rage.
‘I found nothing, sir!’ I could hardly breathe for his hand, though creepily soft, had a vice-like grip on my neck. ‘I promise!’
‘Did you look everywhere, boy?’ he hissed.
‘Everywhere but my grandfather’s room as he was already abed,’ I replied with difficulty.
At this Cupstart stopped and released me. He thought for a moment.
‘Your grandfather, you say?’
‘Yes, sir,’ I replied. ‘Well, he is not my grandfather but my great-grandfather, on my father’s side.’
This information seemed to strike Farley Cupstart like a bolt of lightning. He performed a series of dance steps: walking off two paces, turning back, slapping his forehead, spinning on the spot, looking to heaven and then coming in c
lose enough that I could smell his breath (mothballs and nutmeg).
‘Your great-grandfather?’ he said slowly. ‘And would his name, by chance, also be … Benjamin Tooth?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cupstart seemed to be calculating something inside his head.
‘Then it is true,’ he whispered to himself. He looked at me sideways through narrow eyes and seemed to be regretting his former violent behaviour.
‘You must not mind me, young Benjamin, or may I call you Ben?’
His suddenly friendly demeanour did not fool me for one minute but, afraid of being throttled again, I agreed.
‘I did not mean to frighten you, young Ben,’ he continued. ‘It was merely a test. Yes! A test to see if you are a brave young man! And you passed that test! Well done! And now we can be friends again! Agreed?’
He leant in close once more and very deliberately asked, ‘What does your great-grandfather look like?’
‘Why, sir, he looks like … Grandfather.’ I didn’t know how specific he wanted me to be.
‘Does he look … like me?’
‘No, sir, he is an old, old man.’
‘But does he look young … for his age?’
‘No, sir, he looks every day as old as his years.’
Cupstart rubbed his smooth cheek.
‘Wrinkled skin?’
‘Like a prune, sir.’
‘White hair?’
‘What little there is left is as white as snow.’
‘Teeth?’
‘One, sir.’
‘Ironic. Eyes?’
‘Dim and cloudy, sir.’
With that Cupstart moved away and paced up and down muttering to himself, ‘What does this mean? What can this mean?’ as I collected my things and replaced them in my satchel. Suddenly it was as though I had become invisible to him, as though he had no further need for me, and he did not raise his eyes as I edged around the fence and headed off in the direction of Stonebridge. On the other side of the paddock I turned and looked back. Cupstart was still pacing and evidently still talking to himself for he was gesturing and gesticulating to the surrounding countryside in a most animated fashion.
The Lost Journals of Benjamin Tooth Page 2