Melissa’s Message Part 2

Could a herd of sheep really be the thing to help Giles crack the case?

THE ploughman swung the gate shut and turned to Giles enquiringly. “Can I help you?” “I am investigating the Jacob Butler case. I understand you found his missing tools.”

“Aye, in Four Acre. Tes a wonder we dinna come across them when we were getting the hay off the field.

“I were fixing a bearing rein on the ’oss and noticed the satchel poking outta the hedge bottom.”

“What happened next? “I took ’em to Jacob’s that evening. Right pleased, he were, to get them back.”

“Did he check they were all present?” Giles asked.

“Aye. The spade were missing and a trimming knife that had been his da’s. Apparently the spade were found near the dead man’s body.”

But not the knife. Had the police searched for it? Giles would do so himself.

“You didn’t see anyone on the road when you discovered the tools?”

“Not as I remember.” The man shook his head. “’Twere just me and the ’oss.”

“You have no idea who might have taken them?”

“Nay. It could have been anyone,” the ploughman replied.

“If you should think of anything else, would you contact either myself at my lodgings at the Cotton Arms, or Mistress Lee at Wren House?”

“I shall, by Jove! Jacob’s a fine man. He’d never commit a crime like that.”

This seemed the general opinion about the suspect.

Giles caught sight of the red markings on the sheep dotted across the field.

“I’d like to see the shepherd. Does he live near?”

“Aye, a bothy along the track. Rough sorta place since his missus passed on.

“Joseph Tewkes, his name is. There’s a son, Samuel.”

“My thanks for your help, ploughman.”

“Glad to oblige,” the ploughman said, and went on his way.

Giles made for the shepherd’s cottage.

He found father and son taking a mid-morning brew in the ramshackle houseplace and was invited to sit and join them.

Shepherd Tewkes poured the tea, black and strong, into a battered tin mug that was stained with age and infrequent washing.

The room was cluttered with shepherding equipment, rolls of netting, coils of rope and penning hurdles against a wall.

Dust lay thickly on every surface. Giles had seen barns in a better kept state.

He began his interrogation.

“Can either of you tell me anything about the night of the twenty-fifth, when the man is believed to have met his end?”

“We were at the haysel feast,” Shepherd Tewkes replied. “Samuel took his girl, inna that right, Samuel?”

“Aye,” the son replied. “What time did you leave?”

Shepherd Tewkes looked wry.

“Not until morning. Well, the ale flowed. We slept off the effect and arrived back around cock-crow.”

“And Samuel’s sweetheart? Where was she all this time?”

“Florrie went home with her sisters,” Samuel replied. “I stayed on, like Da said.”

“Did neither of you leave the premises all night, then?”

“I might have gone outside for a draw on my pipe,” Shepherd Tewkes admitted.

“Samuel were drinking with some lads. Inna that right, Samuel?”

“Aye.”

Giles felt he was getting nowhere.

“The red paint you use to identify the sheep – would it be possible to write with it?”

Both looked blank. “Write?” Shepherd Tewkes queried.

“Yes, as you would with ink.”

“I reckon so. Aye, tes possible.”

“Have you ever given any paint to anyone?”

“Nah. Why should I? It can be got easy enough at the suppliers.”

There seemed no more to be said, so Giles drained his tea and took his leave.

He headed for the hollow tree on Long Meadow where Jacob left his tools overnight.

Finding nothing of interest there, he continued to the Four Acre, where the tools had materialised.

The thick hawthorn hedge had clearly been searched by the authorities and left damaged in places, requiring some skilled attention.

All the more reason to prove Jacob Butler’s innocence, Giles thought ruefully.

Next he made for where the man’s body was found, and scoured the bushes for the missing trimming knife, to no avail.

By now, the sun was high and his stomach growled as he took the road to Broxton.

At the Egerton Arms, Giles feasted on crusty bread and cheese, washed down with ale.

He then set about hiring a horse.

Whilst in the stables he took a look at the dead man’s horse, which was stabled in an end stall.

It was a well-bred, bright bay with a distinctive white blaze on its face: the sort of horse owned by a person of means who required a reliable mount for journeying.

Giles found that a shoe had recently been refitted on the animal’s near-fore.

“Your ’oss is ready, sir,” the stable lad called from the yard.

Giles went back outside into the heat of the afternoon.

He tossed the lad a coin for his trouble, mounted up and stabbed a guess at which direction to take.

Could the traveller have been coming from Chester when he was attacked? It seemed likely.

He sent the horse clattering out of the yard, his mind on making an enquiry at every hostelry for an overnight guest with the initials A.D.

He’d also try the smithies for a traveller needing a loose shoe refitting on his horse.

There would be no stone left unturned.

Evening had come and Melissa was having a word with Wilf Maddox.

“Wilf, do you know anything about Jacob Butler’s missing tools?

“He’d stored them overnight in a hollow tree and next morning they were gone. The truth, now.” Wilf shrugged.

“Might do. Might not.” “Then I shall ask you again. Did you have anything to do with the theft of those tools?” Melissa repeated.

“It wunna thieving. The lads were playing a prank. I tried to stop them.

“Jacob inna a bad sort. I did jobs for him,” Wilf added. “The lads wunna listen.”

“They hid the tools in the hedge at Four Acre?”

“Nah. On Long Meadow. Jacob would have found

’em easy enough if he’d looked. It were a bit of fun. They dinna mean no harm.”

Melissa’s mind churned.

So how did the satchel of tools come to be found several fields away? Who put them there and why?

“Did anyone see you meddling with Jacob’s tools?” she asked.

“Dunno. They could have. The lane to the farm runs by Long Meadow and goes on to Marbury. Me da were a Marbury man.”

“Was he?” Melissa said kindly. “Ah, well, that will be all for now.”

The dew was falling, soaking the hem of Melissa’s skirts as she walked through the orchard towards the house.

Noah the donkey lumbered up to nose her pockets for titbits.

She fed him a crust, wondering where Giles had got to.

He could be anywhere, following a lead of his own.

Giles was in Nantwich. Having had no success on the highway to Chester, he had deduced the man had come from the opposite direction.

This meant doubling back to investigate the road to the salt towns and extending his enquiries to villagers and passers-by.

At first, nothing. Nobody had seen a well-dressed gentleman on a bay horse with a blaze on the face.

But then, not far from where the man’s body was found, a housewife at a cottage gate recalled a rider of that description heading north as dusk was drawing down.

“Gentlemanly, he were. Raised his hat to me.”

Encouraged, Giles continued the trail.

None of the halts he made produced further evidence, but a smith at Acton remembered replacing a loose shoe on a bay horse.

Blacksmith’s forges were notorious gossip spots and Giles’s heart leaped.

“Did the rider offer any information about himself?” he asked the smith.

“Aye.” The man nodded. “He’d been visiting relatives near Stafford and was returning home. He’d put up overnight at Nantwich.” “Did he say where?”

“Nay. Try the Cheshire Cat or the Crown.”

Giles had no luck at the first, and rode on to the Crown. It was late and he and his mount were in need of food and rest.

He handed the horse to the stable lad and entered

“I am investigating a case of robbery and murder”

the inn.

“Come far, have you, sir?” the landlord enquired.

He seemed inclined to talk, so Giles seized the moment.

“In a sense, yes.” Giles made his tone confidential.

“I am investigating a case of robbery and murder.

Has anyone stayed here with the initials A.D.?”

The man ran his finger along the list of names in the visitors’ book.

“There’s an ‘A.D.’ registered. No full name, though.” He looked up, clearly distressed.

“The gentleman has met his end? Merciful heavens!”

“Could you describe him?”

“Well, we see many faces here over a week. Not young, I’m thinking.

“He wore a good suit of clothes,” the man added. “Did you see his horse?” “No, sir, I fear not.”

That was unfortunate. But the initials tallied and the guest did meet the description Melissa was given by the police.

“My thanks, landlord,” Giles said.

After an excellent meal he took himself off to the taproom and sat in a corner with a tankard of ale.

Close by, a pair of ostlers were conversing over their drinks.

“Nice ’oss, it were. A good sound bay with a white blaze,” one said.

Giles pricked up his ears. “Aye, I remember.

The rider were well

turned out. Gold pin in his cravat, gold watch chain. Risky for a man of means to be travelling alone.”

The speaker rose to replenish their tankards and Giles took the opportunity to approach the other.

“Beg pardon, sir. I couldn’t help overhearing.

“You may have been speaking of an unfortunate person whose death I am investigating.

“Well-dressed gentleman on a bright bay gelding?”

“Oh, aye?” The ostler’s interest was engaged.

“Did you speak with him?”

“Briefly. He asked directions north. Place called Keswick.

“I sent him along the main highway towards Chester, but to branch off for Winsford.

“Tad late in the day to be setting out on a journey, I thought.”

“Did you happen to get his name?”

“Aye, I did. Adam Davenport. ‘Adam Davenport thanks you kindly,’ he said. “Affable, like.”

Giles could have cheered. Tomorrow he would return to Norbury and pool information with Melissa.

At Wren House, a yellowish light streamed in through the parlour window. It had gone very close.

“So we have a comfortably off gent in late middle-age by the name of Adam Davenport, returning from visiting relatives near Stafford to his home in Keswick.

“Incidentally, I told the police all I have gleaned when I returned the horse to the Egerton Arms. They will find the man’s address and inform his folks.”

Giles took a sip of Rhenish. Sweat sheened his forehead.

“Not an easy task,” Melissa replied sadly. “I have made a list of customers who purchased a parchment fan.

“Two of the Chubb girls are on it. Florrie, Samuel

Tewkes’s sweetheart, and her sister, May.

“As I said, there were fans on sale at the Merridays Fayre. Anybody could have purchased one.” “True.”

“At least we know who took the tools and where they were left. The mystery is how did they turn up in a hedge a distance away?” Giles considered.

“Have you spoken to Wilf’s mother?”

“No. Should I have done?” Melissa replied.

“It might be as well. Wilf seemed to think a lot of Jacob. There might be a hidden reason there.

“Shall we pay a visit?”

“I’ll harness the pony and trap,” Melissa said.

Nesta Maddox lived in a cottage off Wrenbury Green and eked out a living selling eggs and homegrown produce at the gate.

She was in the garden, digging, but straightened at the approaching clamour of a vehicle.

Melissa called a greeting. “Could we have a few words? I can see you are busy, so we shall make it brief.”

“Best you come inside,” Nesta invited them.

They tied the pony to the gatepost and followed the woman into the house. There was no sign of Wilf.

Melissa plunged straight into her enquiry.

“We have come about Jacob Butler.”

“I dunna know nothing,” Nesta declared.

Nesta would have been pretty once, but a life of hardship was etched on her face, and her faded blonde hair was tucked untidily into an unflattering sun bonnet.

“Did you attend the Snab Farm haysel on the twentyfifth?”

“’Course not. That’s for Snab Farm workers and their folks.”

“Have you visited Marbury recently?”

“Me? Why should I?”

“To tend your late husband’s grave?” Melissa explained. “He was from there, I understand. Isn’t that where he rests?”

Nesta just shrugged, so Melissa tried another tack.

“Nesta, do you know anything about a fan that was pushed under my door. It had writing on it.”

“Fans? How would I be knowing about fans? Them’s for folks of substance, not struggling widder-women like me!”

At Melissa’s side, Giles took a breath to speak.

“We have hindered you long enough, mistress, and from those black clouds the weather looks about to break.

“We shall leave you now,” he said kindly.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as they headed back to Wren House.

Giles turned to Melissa. “Methinks Mistress Maddox was sparing with the truth. Did you see her hands?”

“Soiled from the garden?” “Paint under the nails. Red paint. I also happened to note a hint of a blush at Jacob Butler’s name.

“Could they have been close at one time?” he asked.

“Tansy would know. Nothing escapes her notice. She could name everyone at the haysel feast, right down to all eight Chubb girls.

“She spotted Florrie and the shepherd’s lad kissing in the wood when she was returning home.”

Giles stiffened.

“Are you sure of that? When I spoke to the Tewkeses I was given the impression that Samuel did not leave the barn all night.

“Drive on, Melissa. Let us check with Mistress Daws.”

A sudden crack of lightning made the pony start in fright, jerking the trap.

Melissa fielded the reins and Dinah carried on gamely, passing Wren House and the safety of her stable, drawing up eventually at the cottage.

“We’ll not linger,” Melissa called to her friend, who had come to the door. “Tansy, could you help with some information?”

Tansy nodded, curious. “Aye, if I can.”

“On the night of the haysel feast, are you sure it was Shepherd Tewkes’s son and Florrie Chubb you saw in the wood?”

“Quite sure. Sam Tewkes were taking Florrie home and they stopped to kiss. Florrie’s sisters went on ahead. They were giggling.

“We’d reached home by then. I thought Sam might walk Florrie to her door at Wrenbury and drop off to see Nesta on the way back.”

Giles gave a sharp intake of breath.

“Nesta Maddox? Wilf’s mama?”

“Aye, that’s right. Her and Sam Tewkes are kin. Her mam and Sam’s were sisters.”

“Is that so?” Melissa was intrigued. “Do you know if Nesta was friendly with Jacob Butler at all?”

“Bless you, yes! I thought everyone knew. They were sweethearts once.

“Then Ralph Maddox came along, and him so handsome and such a charmer, Nesta wed him and Jacob lost his girl.

“Jacob looked out for her, though, after Ralph passed on. Took her cuttings from his garden to get her started with her produce trade.

“He were good to Wilf an’ all. Took him under his wing, like. Give him jobs to do.”

“That is all we need to know,” Giles told the woman. “Melissa, we have to return to Wrenbury at once!”

A sudden darkness had been cast over the sky. Heavy drops of rain spattered as they retraced their steps to Nesta’s home.

This time Wilf was there, putting away the garden tools with a sack over his head against the threatening downpour.

“Wilf, there’s a silver sixpence for you if you put Dinah and the trap into the barn and stay with her.

“Ready, Melissa?” Giles said.

Inside the cottage, Nesta was running a smoothing iron over some threadbare clothing, and looked mutinous at the interruption.

“I told you, I dunna know

nothing!”

“I think you do,” Giles said softly.

“Nesta, Jacob’s life could depend on what you say. You wouldn’t want him to go to the gallows, would you?” Melissa added.

All at once Nesta’s face crumpled.

She slammed aside the smoothing iron and words started tumbling from her lips, her voice raised against the rain that was now pelting at the window.

“I cunna help what I said before.

“It dunna seem right to inform on my own kin, but, well . . . it were Cousin Sam what did it – he always were a bad’n!

“I’d been to my man’s resting place in Marbury churchyard. It were his anniversary, and I took him a tussy-mussy o’ herbs.

“Jacob were digging his garden when I headed back, but he dinna see me.

“I took a short cut across the fields. That’s when I noted Cousin Sam. It were getting dark, but I could still see.

“What he were doing looked a bit furtive, so I hid in the hedge and watched. He were going through Jacob’s bag of tools.

“Then he slung it on his back and tramped off towards the crossroads.”

She paused, but Giles said nothing. It was his policy to let people speak no matter how long the silence stretched.

Nesta swallowed.

“It were me sent the fan. I’d got it on a Merridays stall in June.

“I dinna have any writing equipment so I dipped my finger in paint I’d got from the Tewkes’s when I were there cleaning, and wrote with that.”

“So you delivered the fan trusting that we would help. Were the eggs payment in kind?” Melissa asked.

“Tes all I had. I knew Jacob wunna guilty of murder. It were Sam. Him and Florrie had plans, see.

“Fresh starts in a different place. Happen he were thinking to sell the tools to fund it.”

“Go on with what you saying about the attack,” Giles prompted her.

“I heard a horse on the road. Sam stopped to see who was coming. The rider dismounted to get summat from his saddlebag.

“I saw Sam creep up behind him with the spade. I cunna watch no more and ran home.”

“So you did not see what happened,” Giles said. “That is of no consequence. We have it figured out.

“Having seen his sweetheart home, Sam came across the tools on the way back.

“Things then progressed as you told us.

“At the crossroads Samuel struck the rider with the spade and robbed him,” Giles continued.

“Then he panicked, threw the spade into the bushes and fled with the loot and satchel of tools.

“He must have got rid of the tools on his way home.” Nesta shook her head. “He kept the trimming knife. He was using it when I was passing earlier. Jacob were fond of that knife. I’d recognise it anywhere,” she explained.

“That will be vital evidence. I think we have nailed our culprit.”

“Shall I have to speak out?” Nesta looked scared.

“You will be required to make a statement.

“Since you were not approached by the authorities in the first place, there should be no case for with-holding information,” Giles told her.

“We shall leave you. The rest is up to the police.”

The brief summer storm was over.

As Melissa and Giles made their way to Broxton to relate their findings to the police, the sun appeared, raindrops glistening on every bough.

“Methinks Jacob will walk out of that place a free man before nightfall,” Giles said.

“And he and Jock will be reunited,” Melissa agreed.

“What joy if the same were to happen between Jacob and Nesta.”

“You are a romantic at heart, Melissa.”

“It is the nature of my trade,” she replied, conscious of how good it would be to get back to making her fans instead of solving mysteries.

On the heels of that realisation came a sting of regret. Regret that soon Giles would be gone.

Until next time, of course . . .

The End.