The Straw Halter (11 page)

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I happen to know somebody who was born and bred in this place. He is an old man now but he used to work for me. He will certainly know of all the young people in the village. Would you like to talk to him? He may be able to tell you where to find the lad you are seeking.’

Her smile set his blood racing. ‘I would, Sir Richard. You are most kind.’

‘Not at all, it will be a pleasure.’

Walking with her he led the horse and together they went down the village street until they came to Lilac Cottage. Sir Richard tethered the horse to a post.

‘This way,’ he said as he walked along the narrow path to the front door. The old man who let them in was bent and his face wrinkled and weather-beaten. Richard introduced him as Sam.

‘Sam worked at Chasebury for many years but he was born here in this village and knows everyone, eh Sam? This lady is looking for a young boy – how old did you say he was, Mistress Forrester?’

‘About ten I think.’ She was grateful not to be asked why she wanted him. It would be difficult to explain.

‘There are one or two lads around that age here. ’Tis not a big place,’ Sam said. ‘What does he look like, this boy?’

Betsy decided to be totally honest. ‘I only caught a glimpse of him,’ she said, ‘when he delivered a message to our farm. I didn’t take much notice of his features really, but I do not think he was very tall …’ she glanced towards Sir Richard, who smiled encouragingly at her.

‘Can you recall whether he was dark or fair or had anything outstanding about him – maybe a limp, or an accent – that would possibly help.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t. Oh, he didn’t limp because he ran quite fast.’

Sam said, ‘Well, there’s only about three or four that fit, unless you count young Zac. He’s a bit simple, though. Where is your farm?’

‘It’s three miles from here. I’m not certain that the boy lives here,’ she added truthfully, addressing Sam. She knew she was on a bit of a wild-goose chase because the more she thought about it, the more sure she became that Tom had brought the lad with him, maybe from his last employment. It was the most likely explanation.

‘Well, he must live somewhere,’ Richard said, ‘unless he
roughs it in the woods.’ He wanted to ask her what the message was about, to find some clue as to why she needed to find this boy. Why had she and not her husband come on this quest, why was she on foot instead of in the trap? Not wishing to embarrass her in front of Sam, he said quietly to him, ‘If you could tell us where they all live perhaps we shall find him.’

Sam gave directions to each of the cottages and farms where the boys could be located; there were five of them, two were brothers, ‘and Zac – he’s about twelve now I think, but he’s not big and could be mistaken for younger. He does roam about a bit – strange boy. The others used to mock him when he was younger because he’s not all there y’know. Not his fault, but he shies away from people and I wouldn’t think he’d be delivering messages. Goes around on his own, usually clutching an old tin. I asked him once what was in it and he looked wild then and rushed off rattling it as he went. Sounded like a lot of stones in there.’

As she left to try the places Sam suggested, Richard came to the door with her. ‘I shall be here for thirty minutes or so,’ he said, ‘if you should need any assistance.’

She thanked him, and set off down the village street. The first two cottages were close together but neither of the boys living there had delivered a message anywhere recently. The next place was a small farm and this was where the brothers lived with their parents. It took longer to find anyone there, but she did eventually come across the farmer’s wife who assured her that both boys were busy on the farm every spare moment they had and certainly hadn’t been out of the village since last
fair-day
.

That only left the one called Zac, and the lad who came to their kitchen door that fateful day had not seemed simple. He
had talked quickly and rushed away, but in her memory now he was just a blur; her mind had been full of Daniel lying injured in the hayloft. If only she had asked his name or – no, she told herself, he didn’t come from here, it didn’t make sense. Much more likely that Tom Shooter had picked him up on his travels and somehow got the lad to do his dirty work for him.

She reached the cottage which was at the far end of the village – the very last one in fact, for after that were open fields. At first there was no reply to her knock, but as she was turning away she heard a movement. Suddenly the boy appeared from round the back and raced in a strangely lolloping fashion straight past her and across the fields. He was going very fast and she knew he was the same boy she had seen yesterday.

In the far distance she could see a man; she presumed him to be his father, and as the lad’s figure grew smaller she knew she would never catch him. But she knew now where he lived, she even knew his name, Zac, and … but would he own up? He was simple, Sam had said. A figure of fun, maybe no one would believe him if he did tell the truth: that Thomas Shooter had forced him to give that lying message to them both so he could trick them and have his revenge.

With a deep sigh she made her way back down the village street. Sir Richard was waiting for her at Sam’s gate.

‘Did you find him?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure. I think it was the one called Zac, but he ran off across the fields before I had a chance to speak to him.’

‘Is it very important that you speak to him?’ Sir Richard’s voice was quiet and gentle and almost had her in tears because he was bothering.

‘No, no I suppose not,’ she said. ‘I must go now. Thank you for your help, Sir Richard.’

He reached as though to take hold of her hands, then, not wishing to compromise her, he knew well enough how many people would be watching from their windows, he let his hands fall to his side as he said, ‘Richard please, and may I call you Betsy? I know it is your name.’

‘Yes, please do.’

‘If only I had brought the carriage instead of a horse today I could have taken you home. It is a goodly walk.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘but I shall enjoy the walk. Good-day.’ She hesitated for a second before adding, ‘Richard.’

‘Good-day, Betsy. My regards to your husband.’ He watched until she was out of sight, then mounted his horse for the ride back to Chasebury.

Daniel came into the farmhouse kitchen late in the afternoon. There was no sign of Betsy and no evidence of a meal cooking. Looking round he realized the whole place seemed silent and empty. He went into the other downstairs rooms but although everything was neat and tidy she wasn’t there. Alarmed now he raced upstairs, almost tripping over Dumbo who was lying down outside the bedroom door. He burst in but there was nobody there. It was the same all over the house. Each time he opened a door he was afraid he might find her lying collapsed on the floor.

‘Dumbo, Dumbo, where is she? Where’s your mistress?’ he asked of the bemused cat. As he hurried across the yard to the stable panic struck him.
Surely not, she won’t be there.
He rushed up the steps, the memory of the last time overwhelming him for a few seconds. The hayloft was empty too. He searched the fields, the lane, then in despair returned to the house.

He took the straw halter from the nail and stared at it as if that could conjure up his beloved wife. He knew she hated it,
yet it was his assurance that she was his, that she would stay, that legally she belonged to him.

‘I’ll burn it,’ he muttered. ‘Just let her come back safe, that’s all that matters.’ He hung it back on the hook and went to the kitchen. What now – where else could he look? Had she gone off with Tom? He wanted so much to believe her, he
did
believe her, yet how was it that she had been there in the hayloft and Thomas Shooter was there too, naked?

In his mind’s eye he saw again the rumpled bed, Betsy looking distraught and bewildered, and then, just a second later, that lad appearing, naked. Tom’s words returned and began hammering into his mind:
You said he would be away all day
… He could hear them, smell the desire emanating from him.

Betsy had looked devastated, but only now did he stop to think about why. He had presumed it was because they had been caught, but was it because she was stunned? Remembering her passionate denials now, Daniel let common sense creep into the emotion he felt. Had they been taken in by the lad? Was it a trick to get them both to the hayloft on a false errand. Who was the boy who had dashed up to him and told him that someone was trying to get into the hayloft? That the missus was there?

Betsy had denied any wrongdoing. Said she had not known Thomas Shooter was here, that it was a trick. He must find her, where was she? He loved her so much. He walked back into the hall, took the halter from its hook once more and knew he could never use it again. He had been mad last night when he
threatened
her with that; angry and hurt, and her sudden apology confused him, but never could he make her stand in the
marketplace
to be sold. Even if what he had believed was true, and now he doubted that too.

At that moment he saw her. She looked through the window straight at him, standing there with the halter in his hand. Quickly he hung it back on the nail and rushed outside to greet her.

Betsy saw Daniel through the window and he had the straw halter in his hand. So he meant it, he was planning to take her to the fair. Deep in her heart she still hoped he loved and believed in her. Tired from her trudge to the village and back and the lack of success in finding and bringing the boy with her, tears were not far away. Blinking several times she took a deep breath, drew in her stomach muscles, held her head high and walked indoors. They almost collided but Betsy stepped quickly to one side.

‘I couldn’t find you. Where have you been?’ Daniel said, relief making his voice sound harsher than usual.

‘I went to find the boy who lied.’

He looked startled, then reached for her hand. ‘Did you find him? How did you know where to look?’

‘I found him but he ran away. He lives in the village. I must go and tidy myself and get the meal ready.’ Daniel let go of her hand and watched her slowly mount the stairs.

Later that evening, after a fairly silent meal Daniel went into his office saying he had some work to do. Betsy sat in the armchair with the sewing-basket on her lap and Dumbo at her feet. Every so often she reached down and felt his soft fur. She wished she could let him know she loved him and would miss him, but how could you tell a dumb animal such things and make them understand.

Tears welled in her eyes and she knew she needed to rest because her mind was made up. She would not stay and be
taken to the fair and sold again. That Daniel could even think of it appalled her and she shut her mind to it. She needed all her wits about her now to avoid this awful thing. There would be plenty of time for tears and memories later, just now she had to be strong and she knew she could only be so if she refused to think about anything except escape and sleep.

When she looked through the open door of the little room where Daniel did his accounts he was sitting at his desk. He wasn’t doing anything, simply sitting there looking miserable and it was all she could do not to run in and throw her arms round him.

‘Goodnight, Daniel,’ she said, then turned and went up the stairs to their bedroom. She would not beg him to try again with their marriage, but she also had no intention of being taken to the fair. Anything but that. Every bone in her body and every feeling in her heart and mind seemed to ache and she knew she needed to rest now so she could prepare herself tomorrow, because the day after that the fair began.

B
etsy was up early the following morning. Daniel sat down for his breakfast with scarcely a word and even Dumbo slunk outside much earlier than usual. Poor cat, she thought, this terrible atmosphere is even affecting him.

As soon as he finished eating Daniel pushed his chair back and went out, briefly touching her shoulder as he passed her chair. ‘Got to get on, a lot to do today,’ he said. She sat for a moment finishing her drink and trying not to think of what the future held for either of them. Then she rose and went outside to wash the dishes. Back indoors she swept the kitchen before going upstairs to the bedroom. She put clean sheets on the bed and bundled the others into the tub along with towels and clothes. She wanted to leave everything as up to the minute as possible.

Downstairs again she worked in the dairy until noon then prepared the table with bread, cheese and pickle. She watched Daniel and Jim eating heartily but had little appetite herself. When they had returned to work she began preparing the evening meal for herself and Daniel. When all was ready to cook she went upstairs again and packed her bag.

She took nothing except what she had arrived with, the gold
locket Daniel had bought her, and what she had left of the housekeeping money to tide her over until she found a job. She could turn her hand to most things and there would be potential employers at the fair. She might even end up as a scullery-maid again, but only as a last resort, she thought. There were better jobs than that for someone who could read and write.

If only her special lady, Mrs Wallasey was still alive. For the first time that day she smiled to herself. If Mrs Wallasey
had
been alive this situation would never have arisen. But then she would not have known Daniel and in spite of the dreadful happenings of these last few days she would not wish to go back to a time when she didn’t know and love her husband.

The halter was back on the hook but she couldn’t forget that Daniel had had it in his hands when she returned. His words from the other evening haunted her:
It’s over. When the fair comes you’ll be there
.…

In bed that night when he had suddenly rolled over to comfort her, she had tried to explain but even in her misery she could see how hard it was for him to believe. She hated Thomas Shooter and he seemed to be winning. For a few hours she had thought the boy Zac would be able to put things right between herself and Daniel. That she had found him was a miracle but there her luck had run out. She did at least know where he was now, but with such a strange boy as he obviously was there was no guarantee that he would tell the truth about what happened.

In her own mind she was clear that Tom had planned this. He must have bribed that boy to bring the messages but, confronted with the scene as they both were, Daniel could not be expected to believe that nothing was going on, she thought. Her amazement returned afresh as, for the first time since it had happened, she pictured herself rushing in and looking round
for her husband, then his voice calling her and his distraught expression, and Thomas Shooter’s naked appearance, all within a few seconds. It still seemed impossible that their lives could be turned inside out so fast and frighteningly.

The only clear thought in her head was that she would not be sold again. She would rather starve. She hesitated over taking money with her, then reasoned that she would need it to survive until she found work. Whenever she had anything left from the housekeeping Daniel gave her each week she had kept it in the corner of the drawer where her underwear was. It wasn’t a lot but she had been saving it to buy Daniel a present. Now she took it out and tied it into her handkerchief. Her need was the greater now and she was thankful she had it.

That night they lay side by side but not touching in the big double bed. She felt Daniel stir every so often and once he gave a great sigh. She waited for him to turn to her, but instead he turned the other way and soon appeared to be asleep. She lay still beside him, remembering, in spite of herself, that first night when he had been out for hours helping his neighbour with the calving. They had lain together then and she had been grateful that he wanted nothing more. Now she longed for him suddenly to take her in his arms and make love to her. The
realistic
side of her knew that was no longer likely to happen and she closed her eyes in the hope that sleep would come to block out her memories for a while.

Betsy rose a little after four o’clock, she had slept fitfully. She crept about and when she was ready to leave she went to the kitchen and set the crockery out for Daniel’s breakfast. She took some bread and cheese for herself, put on her cloak, took up her bundle and slipped quietly out of the house.

She did not take the main road, which she knew Daniel
would use later, but instead went across the fields once she was clear of the farmhouse. As long as she headed in the right
direction
she would stand less chance of being apprehended. She knew she needed to return to the track at some point, but by then Daniel would be a long way in front of her in the horse and cart.

She did not expect to reach the fair until tomorrow, and she might even find work somewhere on the way and not need to go there at all. She went at a reasonable pace, while not rushing too much, and every hour or so she sat down to rest. She saw no one but a shepherd in the distance until she climbed a stile and found herself in a lane. About twenty minutes later a farm-cart came alongside her.

‘You be making for the fair?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Hoist yerself up then, I be going there.’

The speaker was clad in a buff-coloured smock and as soon as she was in the cart he set off again. Two hours later they reached the fair.

Betsy jumped from the cart and thanked the farmer for the ride. ‘I’m looking for work,’ she said. ‘Do you know of any hereabouts?’

‘Can’t say as I do.’ He looked at her speculatively, ‘Hmm, shouldn’t think you’ll have much trouble, a comely wench like you.’

Betsy made for the marshal’s office, and settled herself in the shadows to watch, fascinated as the fair came to life. Some folk had arrived overnight and were busy setting out their stalls. Almost everything anyone could want was available here. It wasn’t a hiring-fair, but a general one, although hiring did go on. The only area she wanted to avoid was the wife-selling – but
she was watching with the crowd when the marshal made his opening proclamation. She was fairly certain that Daniel would not have arrived so soon, but just in case she stood behind a man of large proportions so that she was well hidden from the view of anyone standing opposite or nearby.

The marshal was a giant of a man, resplendent in velvet. His voice carried across the vast heath as he declared that they must all ‘keep the peace, that no manner of victual you sell be other than good and wholesome, that no manner of persons may buy or sell but with true weights and measures sealed according to statute. That any person who is injured or wronged by any other person at the fair must come with complaint before the steward.’ In conclusion he said, ‘Therefore now begin in God’s name and the King’s and God send every man luck and this fair a good continuance.’

Betsy had the bread and cheese she had brought from home, and because she had not had to walk most of the way, as she had expected, she did not feel tired. If she could find work here for the week at the fair, it would give her enough money to travel further if she was unsuccessful in finding something permanent in this area.

She needed a job where she was not on show because Daniel would almost certainly be coming and he mustn’t know she was here. But the fair was large enough to lose herself in and she would be watching for him. She did not think she would have difficulty in avoiding a meeting. It was the only way to avoid the fate she dreaded.

When she saw the cattle being herded into place she sought out the man in charge and he took her on. Half-way through the morning one of the women who was also helping offered her some food.

‘Thank you, but I have some here.’ Betsy opened her bag and brought out some bread.

‘We have a caravan over there. You can come there for a while with me to get a bit of peace and quiet if you like,’ said the woman. ‘My name’s Rosalie, but everyone calls me Rosa.’

She was much older than Betsy; her dark-grey hair was neatly braided and her brown eyes seemed to draw Betsy into their warm depths. She wore a simple grey dress but used a bright scarf around her neck almost as a collar.

‘Thank you, I should like that,’ Betsy said.

Rosa took her to a corner of the field where their caravan was. The woman and her husband travelled to fairs around the country; they were not gypsies, she told Betsy, but they enjoyed the roving life. Both of them were knowledgeable about herbs and flowers, about animals and wild life, but could only read by recognizing words and committing them to memory.

‘Words like fair, market, and all the things we need,’ Rosa said. ‘We can write our name and prices for when we have a stall.’ She picked up a bundle of tickets and Betsy saw that the woman’s writing was strong. ‘I can write most things if I see them in front of me, but lots of people cannot read and we tell them how much.’

‘They bargain with us,’ Bill said, a smile creasing his
weather-beaten
face. ‘But Rosa is good at the writing and she likes doing it.’

Betsy looked at her new friend. ‘How did you learn, Rosa?’

‘I watched and listened.’

‘And asked folk,’ Bill said, throwing his arm round Rosa’s shoulder.

‘No one minds if you really want to know,’ Rosa said, ‘and sometimes I could help them in return.’ Noticing Betsy’s
questioning
look she said, ‘I sensed
your
unhappiness and knew you had troubles.’

Betsy began to feel better as Rosa’s soft voice told her about their travelling life. ‘It suits us,’ she said. ‘We are happy roaming the country together. Now, have you somewhere to stay tonight?’

Betsy admitted she had not. ‘I shall curl up under a hedge,’ she said, but Rosa raised her hands in horror at the idea.

‘There is room for you here, eh, Bill?’

‘Of course there is. Now if we all want to keep our
employment
we ought to get back to work I think.’

As they set off Rosa laid her hands on Betsy’s shoulders. ‘I cannot see the future,’ she said, ‘but I can often feel it. It is pushing at me right now and there is much happiness in yours. The colours are dim when seen close to, but in the distance they are shining bright.’

Betsy felt awkward. No one had ever talked to her in this way before. Seeing her embarrassment Rosa laughed softly, ‘You can tell me I’m talking nonsense if you like, but remember this when everything is bad for you, Betsy. Now we must hurry.’ She led the way, weaving in and out of the crowds until they reached the cattle-stalls. Later Betsy went back for another meal with them and stayed the night in the caravan.

She managed all week by helping with the cattle and making herself as useful as possible, and at the end of each day she was paid. By the end of the week, however, she was still without employment. None of the gentry would take her on, even as the most menial servant. One loud-mouthed bristling ‘gentleman’ said within her hearing, ‘That’s the one for me away from the house, just ripe for the picking.…’

She had her own back for that when he approached her later. She was washing some of the cattle and threw the bucket of
water over him, pretending to the others it had been an
accident
. He was furious, but by acting simple and demure she had the satisfaction of seeing him the laughing-stock among his cronies.

It was the laughter that drew Daniel over. She saw him approaching and dodged out of sight. Touching the locket, hidden beneath the high neckline of her dress, she wove in and out of the people until she reached Rosa’s caravan which was near a hedge. Neither Rosa nor Bill were there and she lingered for a while, hiding alongside it. From there she could see if anyone approached and be ready to dive into the bushes. She was certain Daniel hadn’t seen her, and although the sight of him had set her heart racing she was not going to be caught and sold. Never, never, never.

After a short time she returned to the cattle-market. She felt sure that Daniel would have moved away by now and relief flooded through her when she saw she was right. There was no sign of him.

There was a young girl washing the cattle, a girl who had not been there before. As she went forward Betsy was stopped short when the hirer saw her. ‘I’ve got somebody else,’ he said. ‘Someone who won’t turn the place into a rowdy music hall. You keep away from here.’

For once she did not argue. Knowing Daniel was here
somewhere
she did not wish to draw more attention to herself. Dejectedly she walked away.

Head down and desperately wondering where to try next for work, she almost bumped into Sir Richard Choicely.

‘Betsy,’ he said, beaming at her. ‘How fortunate. I have just been speaking to your husband and he is looking everywhere for you.’

Wildly she glanced round but there was no sign of Daniel. ‘Thank you, sir – thank you, Richard, I will go and find him,’ she said, and to his astonishment she ran quickly through the crowds away from him.