The Miss Fotheringays and the Faun (The Miss Fotheringays Investigate Book 1)

by Florrie Boleyn

Silas nodded and a cloud settled on his face. He gave a long pull at his beer and wiped the foam from his moustache.

  Mr. Benjamin smiled. “I remember a week or so ago, you had a right barney outside here with his Lordship,” he said. “Gave him a right talking to, you did. The old man didn’t know what hit him!” he added with apparent admiration.

  That caused a twist in Silas’ face. A smile seemed to be warring with the frown that was bringing his eyebrows together. “Ay, I did that,” he said. “Told him what for, I did!” Then his voice dropped, “Did me no good, though. Blamed old devil, kicked me out of a job, then when I found a way of making meself a bob or two, bugger me if he didn’t scotch that too.”

  “You used to get a bit out of his Lordship now and now, did you, Silas? You managed more than most, then!”

  “R,” said Silas, and then - encouraged by the beer - decided to become confidential. “Twas this way,” he said, leaning close and breathing beer fumes into the potter’s face. “His Lordship was amusing hisself wi’ my girl.”

  “No!” said Mr. Benjamin.

  “True enough,” said Silas, nodding, “true as I stand - sit - here. Well, Millie she was hoping to get summat out of his Lordship in time, but she never had the head for making the most of her chances; she’d ha’ let it drag on for years wi’out sticking him for summat good.”

  “But not you, eh Silas?” asked Mr. Benjamin.

  “What d’yer take me for? I aint a blamed fool girl,” sneered Silas.

  “That you’re not,” agreed Mr. Benjamin. “So you had a word with his Lordship, did you?”

  “I did,” said Silas. “I made him see sense alright. Told him I’d be off to have a word with her Ladyship if he didn’t slip me a few pounds each week.”

  Mr. Benjamin whistled. “Every week, you say?”

  “I aint a fool,” said Silas again. He finished his pint and slammed the empty glass down on the table.

  “I can see you aint,” said Mr. Benjamin. “Want another?”

  Silas smiled beatifically; he hadn’t felt so good in weeks. “Go on, then,” he said, “twist me arm.”

  Mr. Benjamin nodded at the ever-watchful George Draycott, who drew another pint of bitter and placed it on the edge of the bar. He watched, curious, as the potter got up, leaned over to pick up the beer from the bar and went straight back to his seat, placing the tankard in front of Silas. He didn’t know what Mr. Benjamin was up to with old Silas, but whatever is was he obviously didn’t want it interrupted. Silas picked up his new pint and sighed with pleasure. Two and a half pints of best bitter warming his belly and another one on the way - what more could life offer? He was a good chap, that potter.

  Mr. Benjamin took another small sip of his pint. “But I suppose his lordship stopped paying when poor Millie died?”

  Silas waved a dismissive hand. “Before that,” he said. “He said it was all over. O’ course I said I could still cause trouble for him with his old lady, and d’you know what he said? D’you know what he said?” The old man was obviously highly affronted. Mr. Benjamin shook his head. “He said,” continued Silas, “he said I could do my damnedest! Said he’d have me thrown out if his servants caught me trespassing on his property, and if by any chance his wife did get to hear of it she would just pretend she hadn’t heard, like any well bred woman!”

  “No!” said Mr. Benjamin.

  “It’s a terrible thing,” said Silas, “a terrible way o’ carrying on and they call themselves our betters!”

  “Disgusting,” said Mr. Benjamin.

  “You’re right, potter,” said Silas. “You’re not wrong.”

  “Seems to me,” said Mr. Benjamin, slowly, “seems to me as if you’d do better with the young 'un.”

  Silas took his nose out of his tankard. “What?” he said, blinking at the potter. The man had gone all fuzzy at the edges, but Silas did his best to bring him into focus.

  “I said you might do better if you had a word with young Master Gervais.”

  Silas’ face sharpened. He might be three parts drunk, but he was still as keen as a ferret after a rabbit when it came to money. “Are you saying what I think you’re a-saying?”

  “Thought you’d ha’ known,” said Mr. Benjamin.

  “That namby pamby mummy’s boy and my girl?” Silas didn’t know whether to be insulted or delighted. The lure of money won and he actually put the tankard down in his enthusiasm. Then he picked it up again. “No use now,” he said, “wi’ my girl dead I aint got nothing to pin on him. Wouldn’t have a chance.”

  “I could lend you this,” said Mr. Benjamin. He leant down and picked up the large envelope from where he had carefully laid it, in the corner. Silas blinked again. Surely the man wasn’t about to ask him to read something? Not now - well, not ever really, but certainly not now. But Mr. Benjamin drew the photograph half out of its envelope, just enough to show Silas the picture of Gervais, the lightly-clad girl, and Gervais’ obvious intention as to that girl. He kept the girl’s face obscured by his thumb, although Mrs. Ravilious had slightly over calculated her timing and the features of the girl’s face - full in the light from the window - were flattened by over-exposure. But Master Gervais in semi shadow had come out much better.

  Silas grabbed at the print, but the potter kept a tight hold on it. “By gor,” said Silas, “what I could do with this! Be damned to his lordship, I’ll have the young one!”

  “He’s off to foreign parts in the morning,” warned Mr. Benjamin.

  “He’ll not escape me,” swore Silas, “I’ll go now! Right this minute!” He stood suddenly, his chair scraping on the wooden boards and his heavy boots slipping a little on the uneven flags of the floor. For a minute he stood wavering, his hands flat on the table to support himself. Then he made a grab with one hand for the rest of his beer, downed it in a gulp, and aimed himself at the door. The cheery farmers made way for him, guffawing, one of them giving him a hearty slap on the back to speed his exit.

  The canny Cocker was already gone; he had slipped outside the pub as soon as he saw Silas get up with a roar and was slowly sauntering along in the direction of the bridge, with his hands in his pockets and his hat on the back of his head, when Silas overtook him, going at a good clip despite all the beer sloshing around inside him. In point of fact, Silas relieved himself of one part of the beer in the shadow cast by the bridge before carrying on down the footpath, but the considerate Cocker politely gave him time to adjust his clothing before continuing his discreet surveillance. It wasn’t long before he was joined by his Chief and the two continued down towards the pottery, able to follow Silas by hearing alone on this particular night. There are some times, around dawn and dusk, when the world seems to hold its breath; when the jumble and rumble of everyday life is over, and the secretive rustle of the night has yet to commence. There was hardly a breath of wind - even the rushes along the river were still, and the water itself was unruffled and smooth, reflecting only the high clouds, the banked up cumulus that still caught the last glow of the sun which had already set below the horizon as far as earth-bound creatures were concerned. But the clouds rode high - the sort of clouds that appear in rag-books of nursery rhymes that tell of the adventures of Winken, Blinken and Nod.

  The two policemen, intent on their quarry ahead of them, were not aware that they themselves were being followed. In single file, at a discreet distance, came Mr. Benjamin, Miss Harriet Fotheringay, and Miss Euphemia Fotheringay - although what the town would say if ever it got to hear of such a night-time excursion of two maiden ladies in the company of a single man, Miss Effie spent quite five horrified minutes in considering before she was able to thrust the distracting thoughts from her and concentrate on keeping up with her sister.

  CHAPTER 16

  Transfiguration of a Faun

  Unaware of the various parties converging on them, Elwy and Grace were sharing a pot of tea. Elwy had been insistent that Grace should stay away from him and go and stay
with someone respectable until they had a better idea of where Elwy stood in relation to the law. Grace of course insisted that she would go nowhere without him, and Elwy had been torn between gratitude, love, and frustration that he should be dragging his beloved into danger and disgrace. “We just have to wait for a while,” he said, stroking the tines of the antlers in order to keep his hands occupied. He would much rather have been stroking Grace, but despite looking like a faun he was actually a man of rigid morality and would have despised himself for making love to a girl when he might find himself in prison within the next day or two and unable to protect her from the world. Grace had no such morality - woman are generally the more pragmatic sex - and had no hesitation in winding one arm around his neck and laying her head on his shoulder. Elwy did his best to be strong-willed, and felt he really should put her from him, but the best he could manage was to clear his throat. However the next moment Grace moved away of her own accord. He looked rather surprised as she headed for the door.

  “It’s alright,” said Grace, “I just need to step outside for a while - it’s all that tea,” she smiled. Elwy got up from the bench.

  “Can you see your way to the privy clear enough?” he asked.

  “Course,” she replied, anyway, it’s not so far.”

  “Mind the pool,” said Elwy, “it’s main dark out there, don’t fall in.”

  “I wont,” she promised, “anyway, it’s not so dark, the moon’s coming up.”

  Elwy followed her out of the door and looked up at the sky. The moon was just clearing the top of the line of trees that fringed the water meadows; there were long black shadows across the patches of silvery light. All the colour had leached out of the world, turning it into a landscape of shades of grey. He watched as Grace moved silently as a moth across the grass, her workday dress transformed into the palest of draperies as she made her way through the scrub and along to the privy, which was sited at a respectable and hygienic distance from the pottery.

  It was as she was returning that Silas reached the environs of the pottery and the pond caused by generations of potters digging their clay from the water meadow. His state of befuddlement had not been improved by the night air, and his head was swimming. However he had kept doggedly on, and so far had avoided falling into the river. The thought of mulcting Master Gervais for enough to keep him in beer and skittles for the rest of his life was a strong enough attraction to keep him upright and moving.

  He paused when he came to the pond, though, and it occurred to him that - unusual an activity though it might be - splashing some water over his face might help to clear his brain. Falling to his knees at the edge of the pond was easy enough - his knees had been unwilling collaborators in the transportation of Silas for quite some time - and the mud was pleasantly soft.

  On the other side of the pond, Grace paused for a moment, hearing the movement. But she was a country girl, and used to the oddly amplified sounds of the small creatures of the night. Cautiously, she came on. So it was that just as Silas bent his head and stretched his hands out towards the water, there appeared the reflection, upside down, of a slender woman dressed in a long, pale dress and framed by the towering clouds. Silas became rigid, staring horror-struck at the reflection in the dead calm body of water. But one whispered word escaped him: “Millie!”

  Grace stopped at the word, too terrified to move.

  “Millie!” said Silas again, hoarsely. With infinite slowness he raised his head to face the apparition on the opposite bank which, to his confused mind, had appeared from out of the water. “Millie!” For long seconds they stared at each other, separated by a dozen yards of water. Grace was standing behind a clump of rushes, the glow of the rising moon behind her body throwing her face into darkness, and she did indeed look as if she, as well as her reflection, belonged to the water. “What d’you want of me?” whispered Silas. “I can’t... I didn’t...” He drew a long, ragged breath into his lungs and seemed to draw strength from it. He shook his head, and then suddenly turned his outstretched hands into fists and beat the water with them, shouting “No! Go away!”

  Further down the river bank, the two policemen broke into a cautious lope, and, beyond them, Harriet and Effie exchanged one shocked look and then hurried along in the wake of Mr. Benjamin.

  But Elwy was a lot closer and moved faster. In less than the time it took for the ripples of Silas’ splashing to clear, he was standing in front of Grace, ready to protect her from whatever might threaten. As the old man rubbed his eyes to clear them from the drops of water thrown up by his frantic fists, he saw the Protector of his dead daughter - Old Nick himself, standing outlined against the night sky, the moon caught in the tines of his horns - for Elwy was still holding his beloved antlers, although he seemed to be about to use them as a weapon against whatever should threaten his beloved and had raised them as a spear thrower raises his spear - holding them up and behind his head. For Silas it was the last straw and, fully convinced that the devil had come to claim him for the murder of his daughter, he screamed his horror and his guilt and his pathetic excuses as he scrambled up and backed, staggering, into the waiting arms of Cocker and his Chief.

  * * *

  Both Elwy and Grace still looked rather dazed, sitting handfast, side by side on the settle next to the fireplace in the potter’s cramped cottage, clinging as if each were the other’s only safety line.

  The police had hauled Silas away and cautioned Elwy not to wander off until they gave him leave as he was now an important witness. But the Chief had smiled at him, and Cocker had gone so far as to give him a friendly clout on the shoulder - the generality of men being incapable of truly separating the blessing from the bellicose.

  “He said I would ha’ to tell what I saw,” said Elwy. “I can do that right enough, but only thing is, I don’t rightly understand what I saw. What should take ol’ Silas that all of a sudden he should be struck all of a heap like that, and go ravin’ on about killing Millie.” His hand clenched tighter on Grace’s; the knuckles stood out white against his tanned skin. “He said he didn’t mean to kill her,” said Grace.

  “Tis all one to those Peelers,” said Mr. Benjamin with some satisfaction. “Mean it or not, he said he’d killed her.” He nodded, and dug around in the bowl of his pipe with a vicious-looking metal spike that was apparently one of the tools of his trade, although subverted to a less honourable usage.

  “Shouted it, more like,” said Elwy.

  Harriet and Effie nodded.

  The policemen had looked rather affronted when the two sisters had arrived, somewhat breathless, hurrying on the heels of Mr. Benjamin. The presence of the potter was only to be expected - it was his home, after all - but arriving in company with two maiden ladies, at this hour of the night? Effie’s babbled excuse that she was merely bringing a cloak for Miss Albright... “the evenings are so cool, even though we are fast approaching Midsummer - but then it is always the way, do you not find? Every year the same - quite a shock to find that in a few weeks it will be Midsummer when it seems that spring is only just coming to an end - just being washing away, as one might so often say, although to be sure it has been quite a pleasant spring this year with remarkably little rain. Indeed, I have several times felt quite sorry for the poor flowers in some front gardens, they have looked positively dusty - not all gardens of course; often I see dear Mr. Otway with his watering can when there have been a few days without rain. He is, of course, on the main road and the poor gardens do get so dusty from the carriages - but Mr. Otway is there with his splendid watering can, and - oh! is it not wonderful, the smell of the wet plants? One of the loveliest smells in the world, do you not think? Rain after sun? Not that this is actually rain, of course, for Mr. Otway gets his water from the tap, as do we all, but...”

  Miss Effie smiled now at Grace, huddled in the pale pink satin cloak. The girl had not wanted to put it on, saying it was too fine, but once Miss Effie had persuaded her to try it, and Grace had felt
the slip and sheen of the material against her skin, she had been equally unwilling to take it off again.

  “But why?” said Elwy again, once it seemed that Miss Effie had run out of steam, “I mean, the ol’ devil was drunk, right enough, but why should he start a-shouting and a-carryin’ on like that?”

  Mr. Benjamin chuckled. “You’re right in saying ol’ Silas was a devil, lad; but in his eyes 'twas you as was Old Nick himself.”

  Elwy stared at him, his black brows heavy in the high-cheekboned face. He looked almost angrily at his friend. “I hope as you means to explain yourself, Mr. Benjamin, 'cos I don’t like what you’re saying.”

  “It is all a matter of a point of view, Elwin,” said Harriet repressively. “Things often depend on one’s own viewpoint, and while you and Grace saw things from the far side of the pool, Silas - and the rest of us of course - saw everything from the nearside.” She held up one finger to stem a further angry outburst from Elwy. “Wait a moment and I will explain.” She settled herself more comfortably on her chair - the best Windsor chair, of course, with the cushion in the seat, and carried on. “My sister and I did not arrive to see the beginning of the performance, but I imagine that Silas first saw Grace as a reflection in the pool. Of course he did not see her clearly - the uncertain light and his own, even more uncertain state of mind (her nostrils pinched slightly), combined to make him believe he was seeing a young woman in the water. And his guilty conscience did the rest - he believed it was Millie.”

  “Come back to haunt him,” nodded Effie affirmatively.

  “He thought I was Millie! Of course, he said 'Millie', I heard him,” whispered Grace.

  “And then he shouted 'Go away' - we all heard that, of course,” continued Harriet, “and by the sound of it he was beating the water - trying to rid himself of your reflection, or to strike the girl in the water as he struck Millie herself.”