by Sara Fraser
Josiah dragged the dog back and Tom began digging, his excitement rising as he found the stony soil malleable and easily worked due to previous penetration.
Barely two feet down the shovel blade began to hit what seemed to be wood, and when Tom had cleared a larger area of dirt from it he found a layer of branches from the shrubs. He lifted them away and plunged the shovel blade into the earth again. This time it bit into something soggy, and the stench of rotting flesh rose to his nostrils. The dog’s baying became hysterical as it fought against its restraining leash in frantic efforts to reach the hole.
Josiah dragged the dog some yards further away and secured its leash to a shrub, leaving it howling and struggling to break free. Then he took the other shovel and aided Tom in carefully uncovering the find.
It was a rag-wrapped, unevenly rounded bundle, over a foot in diameter and weighing several pounds. The two men exchanged a long look, both instinctively knowing what they were confronting. Tom knelt, carefully unwrapped the rags and sighed pityingly.
‘They’re both girls. And could have been full-term in the womb judging by their size and weight. Dead not too long since, judging by the degree of rotting. Whoever buried them took care to make sure that animals couldn’t dig them out.’
‘I’ll tell you what I’m wondering, Tom.’ Josiah Danks scowled. ‘Look how their belly cords are broke, but not knotted. I’m wondering if theym Jared Styler’s and Carrie Perks’s kids, and if he forced Carrie Perks to let him abort ’um I’m wondering if he killed Carrie Perks because her was threatening to tell folks what he’d done?’
That same explanation had already occurred to Tom, but now he was struggling against the overwhelming temptation to accept it as fact before he had discovered the absolute confirmation of its truth.
‘It could well be the case, Josiah. During my medical days I’ve known men who’ve done the same to girls they made pregnant, and some to their own lawful wedded wives as well. But until we find Carrie Perks’s body and have it examined for any evidence of recent pregnancy, then those charges won’t stand muster before a judge. We’d best wrap these poor little mites back in their rags and stow them in the cottage until we’re done here.’
The sun was setting when, hungry, thirsty and frustrated, the two men finally decided to abandon their fruitless search. The Otterhound had proven its powers of detection, and they had dug up a wide variety of decayed flesh and bone detritus, none of which were readily identifiable as human remains.
‘Thanks to the dog we’ve certainly covered a very wide area,’ Tom observed ruefully.
His companion offered some comfort. ‘Well, at least we know that the wench aren’t anywhere in this particular stretch o’ land, and I can’t see him risking burying her on local farmland. Or even in the woods at this time o’ year when the bloody poachers and their dogs, and us keepers and our dogs am searching through ’um day and night. So he must have had a horse when he shifted her, and that means her could be buried anywhere within a hundred square miles or more.’
‘He’d certainly got access to both horses and wagons after he took the job as Harvest Steward for Andrew Parkman, so you could well be right,’ Tom accepted.
Josiah Danks shrugged regretfully. ‘Trouble is Tom that I can’t take any more time off me work to help you search further afield. So I reckon youm just going to have to hope that somebody comes across her grave and reports it to the local constables, wherever that might be.’
Dusk had fallen when Josiah Danks dropped Tom off at the Lock-Up and bade him farewell. Tom stood motionless watching the horse and trap travel around the Green to avoid the market area where shoppers still flocked about the stalls.
Since finding the dead babies Tom’s mind had been tormented by the memory of his own dead child, and a savage anger against whoever had been responsible for the deaths of the two baby girls had been burning within him.
Now, although his body was desperately weary, his mind was alert as he grimly planned his course of action. When he had decided upon it, he rang the bells and silently told God, Hear me, Lord, I’ll not be repenting for what I intend doing to Styler. He’s an evil brutal bastard, and I’m going to do whatever is needful to find out the truth.
The door opened and light from the indoor ceiling lamp spilled across Tom.
George Maffey, dressed in red tunic and black shako, snapped smartly to attention and saluted. ‘All present and correct at this post, Sir. The prisoner has behaved well, and has been fed and watered. No reports received of any trouble at the market or in the town, Sir.’
‘Thank you, Corporal Massey.’ Tom entered and gently placed the rag-wrapped bundle and the slender roll of silk cloth and mattress cover on the floor. ‘Come, we’ll go to the kitchen and I’ll explain what I’ve in mind to do, for which I shall need your presence.’
Within a very short time Tom and George Maffey, both armed with pistols, were standing at the prisoner’s cell door. When Tom unlocked the door and pushed it open, Jared Styler lay snoring on the raised bed block.
George Maffey trained the beam of a bullseye lamp on Styler’s face, and Tom stepped into the cell to roughly shake the sleeping man’s shoulder, ordering loudly, ‘Get to your feet and step out of the cell!’
‘Whaa! What!’ the man grunted, blinking his eyes, dazed.
‘Step out of the cell!’ Tom reiterated. ‘Step out of the cell!’
He grasped the other man’s shirt collar and dragged on it, and Styler, still groggy with sleep, got to his feet and stumbled into the passage.
‘Stand fast!’ Tom shouted.
Styler stood for several seconds, alternately rubbing his eyes then blinking hard at the two men facing him, who both were pointing a pistol levelled at his face.
‘What the fuck’s going on here?’ Styler appeared to be completely bewildered. ‘What’s I done?’
‘You’ll find out in just a moment.’ Tom gritted out the words. Facing this man whom he regarded as being nothing more than a cruel, bestial brute, this was one of the extremely rare moments in his life when he was actually lusting to hurt and to kill.
Now he pointed to the rag-wrapped bundle placed on the floor directly in the beams of the hanging ceiling lamp.
‘Do you see that bundle there, Styler? You are to go down on your knees and open it with great care.’
‘What?’ Styler shook his head in bemusement. ‘What sort o’ fool’s game am you playing, Potts?’
With his left hand Tom pulled a second pistol from his shoulder slung holster, levelled it at Styler’s cell door and pulled the trigger.
The blast of the report was deafening in the confined space, the acrid smoke of burnt powder swirled round their heads and the impact of the lead ball sent the cell door slamming back on its hinges.
‘Do as I say, Styler, or I’ll blow your head off.’ Tom enunciated the sentence very calmly and clearly as he levelled his right-handed unfired pistol at Styler’s face. ‘I shall count to three. If you have not obeyed me when I reach that count of three, then you are a dead man.’
He paused for an instant, then enunciated firmly. ‘One! Two! Th …!’
Styler dropped to his knees and began to tear at the rags.
‘Open it very carefully, Styler, or else!’ Tom snapped.
Styler snatched his hands back, his breath now coming in quick, harsh pants. ‘I’m being careful! Look! I’m being careful!’
His hands were visibly trembling now as he slowly and with exaggerated care began to unwrap the bundle. When he saw its contents, he gasped out: ‘What’s this?’
‘Surely you can recognize your own daughters? The daughters you tore out of Carrie Perks body and slaughtered, you evil scum!’ Tom gritted the words out and, stepping forwards, rammed the pistol muzzle against Styler’s forehead, breaking the skin and causing blood to spurt. ‘I’ll save the hangman a job, you murdering bastard!’
Styler’s eyes widened in terror and he screamed out: ‘No! No! These am naught to do wi�
� me! I can’t have kids! I knows nothing about these!’
‘Where have you buried Carrie Perks?’ Tom hissed. ‘If you don’t tell me by the count of three, you’re a dead man! One! Two!’
‘Noooo!’ Styler howled like a terrified animal. ‘No, I’ve not killed her, nor these neither! I don’t know nothing about where’s her’s gone! Or who these belongs to! I knows nothing! Nothing! I’m telling the gospel truth! I aren’t never harmed any babby in me life!’
Tom began to physically shake with furious hatred as images flashed through his mind of the tiny pathetic corpse of his own dead son, the bloodied, smashed bodies of the Haystack Woman and the child she carried, the broken bleeding face of Carrie Perks and the filthy ragged shroud of her dead babies.
A red mist veiled his sight, and his finger was tightening on the pistol trigger when suddenly George Maffey’s hand clamped and pushed down the pistol barrel. George Maffey’s fingers rammed into the narrow gap at the rear of the trigger so that it could not be pressed far enough to fire the weapon. George Maffey’s voice was shouting into his ear, ‘Listen to me, Tom Potts! I’m not letting you get into trouble for shooting this bastard. We’ll find that wench’s body and then go together to watch him dangling from a rope. A ball in his head ’ull give him too quick and easy a death. He’ll suffer far more when he’s sitting nights and days in the Death Cell waiting for the hangman to come for him! Believe me, I knows this from experience!’
Maffey’s hobnailed boot lifted and thudded into Styler’s face, sending him sprawling backwards, blood exploding from his nose and lips. ‘Get back in there, you fuckin’ piece o’ shit,’ Maffey bellowed and, like a terrified wounded beast, Styler scrabbled on his hands and knees back into the cell.
Tom stood motionless, dragging in gulps of air as the red mist slowly cleared from his sight and the lust to kill slowly ebbed from his mind.
At last, he said quietly, ‘You may release me now, Corporal. My fit of madness has passed. And I give you sincere thanks for saving me from the possible consequences of it. I can only hope and pray that I never again lose control as I just did.’
Maffey instantly released his grip, quickly locked and barred the cell door, then told Tom, ‘You don’t owe me any thanks, Sir. The only reason I stepped in was what I told you. A ball in the head is too quick and easy a death for the bugger. Now I’ve saved us our rations, so I reckon we should ate and drink our fill and then get a good night’s sleep.’ He grinned and added: ‘But I wants to hear all the details about what you’ve been doing today before you goes to your bed.’
Tom was now relaxed enough to smile. ‘And so you shall, Corporal. That Otterhound we used is a most remarkable beast. I’ve never seen the like of its skills before. But first, I’m going to wash these poor mites, wrap them in clean cloth and lay them peacefully in the end cell.
‘I’ll be honoured to help you do that, Sir.’ Maffey patted Tom’s shoulder. ‘You’d have made a fine officer, you know, because you’re one of the “Come on, men! I’ll lead!”, and not one of the, “Go on, men! I’ll follow!”’
TWENTY-NINE
Sunday, 9 August, 1829
At seven o’clock in the morning, Tom rose from his cot and came down to the ground floor of the Lock-Up to answer the ringing of the bells. He found that unexpectedly it was Lily Fowkes delivering the breakfast keg of porter, small pail of porridge and platter of bread and beef-suet sandwiches.
‘Good Morning, Lily, it’s most unusual to have you doing this job,’ he remarked casually as he took the porter keg and porridge, placed them on the floor just inside the door and reached for the platter.
‘Pfft!’ Her fat cheeks swelled as she expelled an indignant snort. ‘It aren’t fair, Tom Potts! This is our skivvies’ job, not mine. But theym both swanking about like Lady Mucks and getting all primped up in their finery, just because the Flash Cockerney is coming in his fine gig later on to take ’um up to Brummagem with him. It aren’t fair!’
She thrust the platter into his hands and flounced away.
Why would Vincent Sorenty be taking Amy and Maisie to Birmingham on a Sabbath morning? Tom wondered. I wouldn’t think it would be to hear a preacher?…
‘Sir!’ George Maffey shouted.
Tom turned to see Maffey peering through the opened hatch of Jared Styler’s cell.
‘What is it, Corporal?’
‘This bugger looks like he might be needing a bit of attention. It could be that I might have booted him a bit harder than I intended.’
‘I’m in fuckin’ agony, you Redcoat bastard! You’se busted all the front o’ me face! I needs a doctor! I’m bleeding to death, so I am!’ The hoarse cries of Jared Styler sounded from the cell.
Tom closed and barred the front door and went to the cell to peer through the hatch.
Styler was sitting hunched on the edge of the raised slab, his grotesquely swollen face and clothing seemingly plastered in blood, which was also liberally splashed upon the bedding and floor.
Tom felt no twinges of guilt or remorse – his pity was only for Styler’s victims.
‘Of course I’ll have a doctor brought here to see you, Styler. Just as soon as you tell me where you’ve buried Carrie Perks.’
‘Dear God, save me!’ Styler howled like a wounded dog. ‘How many times must I tell you? I aren’t killed Carrie Perks! I left her alive in that fuckin’ cottage! Her was skreeking and blarting at me, but her was living! I aren’t killed nobody at all! Never in me life has I killed anybody! Not man, nor woman, nor fuckin’ child … Neverrrrr! Neverrrrr! Neverrrrr!’
Those final words were long-drawn-out bellows of utter desperation.
Tom closed the hatch and stepped back from the door, and as he did questions abruptly forced their way to the forefront of his thoughts.
If he believed that where he buried the two babies would never be discovered, why didn’t he bury Carrie Perks in that same place? Why would he risk transporting her corpse for perhaps a distance of miles when so nearby he already had what he believed to be a safe burial area?
A flicker of doubt flashed through his mind. Could it really be possible that Jared Styler was telling the truth? Could Carrie Perks still be alive?
‘Can I speak plain about what’s in me mind, Sir?’ George Maffey requested.
‘Of course, Corporal. You are always free to give voice to whatever’s in your mind.’ Tom was relieved for this distraction from what were becoming somewhat troubling thoughts.
‘Well, Sir, I’ve seen many a tougher bastard than him broken when I was soldiering. And I reckon he’s getting very near to breaking point now. We should just leave the evil bugger to stew in his cell, with no word from us, nor food nor drink. I reckon that by tomorrow morning he’ll be ready to tell us what we wants to know.’
Tom pondered briefly, then nodded. ‘I suppose it’s worth a try, Corporal. Now let’s have our breakfasts.’
‘And after you’ve ate, Sir, why don’t you go and visit a friend and make merry for a while? It’ll do you a power o’ good,’ Maffey suggested.
Tom grimaced ruefully. ‘After I’ve breakfasted I need to go and see Judas Benton and tell him I’ll be needing to take a written statement from him in due course.
‘There’s also a necessity to arrange a Christian burial for those two little mites. So none of these things are conducive to any light-hearted entertainment, and truth to tell, Corporal, I’m not in the mood for merrymaking anyway. But when I come back you must take a few hours’ leave and perhaps share a bottle or two with Mother Readman. I’m sure she’ll have plenty of interesting gossip to share.’
Maffey grinned broadly. ‘Thank you, Sir. I’ll enjoy doing just that. Me and Mother Readman am become very good comrades. So much so, that I’m giving up the wandering life, and we’re going to get wed. I’m settling down here in Redditch with her for the rest o’ me days.’
‘Well, I’m very glad to hear so, Corporal, and many congratulations to both of you. Mother Readman is a fine
and decent lady, and I’m sure that you’ll both be very happy together,’ Tom sincerely told him. And at the same time was sincerely hoping, ‘And may you have better fortune in your wedded life than I’ve had, Corporal Maffey.’
When Tom rapped the shop door with the crowned head of his staff, Judas Benton almost instantly opened it and, scowling, demanded, ‘What’s took you so bloody long in coming? Now how much is the reward? Has you brought it with you?’
‘Reward?’ Tom was momentarily taken aback. ‘What reward?’
Benton’s rat-like fangs bared threateningly. Belching loudly, he drunkenly stumbled forward and the reek of gin filled Tom’s nostrils.
‘Ohhh, I see! That’s your game, is it, Potts? Going to try and cheat me out of what’s rightfully mine, are you? Well, youm barking up the wrong tree, my Bucko! I aren’t some thick-yedded slum rat. I’m a man who’s got a sharp brain and some schooling to go with it. I’ve give you the Devil’s Monk, and now I wants the reward money, and until I gets it you won’t get no bloody written statement from me. Does you understand me, Potts?’
With an effort Tom suppressed the angry retort which instantly rose to his lips. Then, slowly shaking his head, said quietly, ‘As of yet there’s been no reward offered, Master Benton, so I’ll not trouble you any further at this time.’
He turned and walked away up the hill.
Benton blinked hard and stood as if stupefied for some moments, then stepped out from the doorway and followed Tom, shouting, ‘Hold on a second, Potts! What’s you playing at?’
Tom slowed his pace, turned his head to look back at the other man and shouted, ‘Go back home, Master Benton.’ Then continued slowly on up the hill.
‘What the fuckin’ hell’s the matter wi’ you, Potts? Just you hold there! I wants my money!’ Benton bawled furiously and broke into a shambling trot.
When Tom reached the central crossroads he saw a small group of respectably dressed men and women talking together outside the chapel gate. None of their faces were familiar to Tom, but he assumed they had attended the earlier chapel service.