The Crash

'I grow tired of needlework, sister; will you walk with me?'

A winters' afternoon, and the two young women had been kept indoors for three days owing to the inclement weather conditions; cold winds from the north bearing sleet, which stung the eyes and chilled the bones even of these cold-hardened people. On this day, however, the wind had abated a little, and one of the young women had become bored with her incarceration, and with her embroidery.

'To where would you walk on such a day as this?'

These two had emerged from their mothers' womb into this cold world within moments of one another, and yet they were as dissimilar in looks as they were in temperament, the one having the straight, jet-black hair and dark, somber eyes of their mother, the other having perhaps inherited her golden curls and grey-blue eye colour from a more distant and ancient relative.

'Oh, I don't know; perhaps through the woods to the middle village; the wind may not be so hard there.'

'Nevertheless we must wear our fur capes; the day is biting cold.'

They set down their needlework, informed the maidservant of their intention and headed out into the forest which surrounded the Manor House in each direction, the only easy way through being the cart-track along which would in years to come be driven the carriages of the nobility, and the carts of the trades-people. Otherwise there was only the quite narrow pedestrian and bridle path which linked the house with the few dwellings in which lived some of the employees of the Manor. These were good times; their father had made his fortune in wool, meat and other commodities which he did not discuss with his daughters, and the country was for the most part at peace, at least for now. There was talk of plague once again in London, the trades-people would once again leave their goods at the gates of the Manor House, but these two young women at least felt safe, so long as they did not venture far afield, and did not go to the city.

'It is such a tiresome thing, is it not?'

'What is?'

'To be cooped-up here, when there is so much happening.'

'If what we are told is true, then everyone is leaving the city bar the poor wretches who have no choice but to stay there and take their chances. We must hope that it is false rumour, and must in any case count ourselves fortunate to live in such circumstances, must we not?'

'My dear sister; ever you make the best of any situation and see the better side, and you are right, of course, but at our age we should be abroad in society seeking husbands, should we not? Others of our age are already married.'

'We are barely sixteen; be patient; our father will make us both good matches when he feels the time is right.'

'Well I feel the time is right now; Beth is but a little older than we are, and she is with child, and Jane Mary is heavy with her second.'

'Jane Mary is nine years our senior, and you should rejoice in our brothers' offspring; be content. He has enough troubles without your making it worse by your envy of his wife, does he not? Would you change places with him, and be cast out by our father as he has been?'

'No, I would not, and you know it. I would though that we did not have to meet with him in secret, and otherwise hear news of him through others. I do not like our sister in law overmuch, I never have; she has a sweet countenance, it is true, but seems unwholesome and secretive by nature.'

'So you have said before many times, but you must keep such thoughts to yourself; remember that without her our brother would ... well, you know well enough, and she has reason enough to be secretive, does she not?'

They walked in silence for a few moments, each lost to their own thoughts and to bearing the cold wind which penetrated even so deep into the forest. For one of the young women, however, the train of thought had not yet ended. She had become restless of spirit of late, and was keen to learn news of the world beyond the Manor House, and impatient to become a part of it. It was also the case that her young body had begun to crave satisfaction of a quite different kind, but these thoughts also she would keep to herself, and she steered the conversation into safer waters.

'Do you think the queen will ever visit us here?'

'Perhaps; I don't know. Father was a good friend to King Henry, of course, during his later years, and it is he that we have to thank for our position. But Queen Elizabeth ... She has her favourites, I suppose. I have heard it said that father was fortunate indeed to keep his estate through the reign of the last queen'

'Even so father is less often at court these days; never in fact, as far as we know. I would have liked to have met him.'

'Who; King Henry ...? He was a difficult man by all accounts; a tyrant around whom one could never truly feel safe, and at least now we have peace.'

'But do you think ... do you think the Catholics will win in the end? There are ever rumours of uprisings, the Spanish and French conspire against us, and that would be the ruin of us, would it not?'

'Shush, dear sister, so many questions! It is not for us to consider such weighty matters; be content that we are who we are, Mary is dead and we have a Protestant queen; she is strong woman and many will ever remain faithful to her. Here; we have reached the smithy, and I for one will be glad when we are on the return journey; it grows ever colder and the dark is not long away. I wish I had not allowed you to talk me into such a walk.'

'You agreed without hesitation as I recall. I am thirsty, though; let us see if the smith has ale or boiled water.'

'Cannot you wait until we get home?'

'No, I cannot.'

The young lady knocked at the door of the blacksmith, this workshop being the first building encountered at the end of the track; the brazier, which was situated outside but undercover was cooling now after its' days' work. A young man answered the door.

'Good day to you.'

'Oh ... umm, good ... good day your ladyships ... My father is abroad about his business. How may we ...'

'Is your mother not at home?'

'My mother ... my mother is passed away.'

'I see, we are so sorry to ...'

'My sister and I are thirsty from our walk; do you have refreshment for us?'

'We umm, we only have ale, I believe.'

'Then ale will suffice, if you would be so good.'

'Yes; yes of course; please come in, if you will.'

The two young women entered the blacksmiths house, one somewhat more reluctantly than the other, and which in truth consisted only of his living area, which was also a store-room, and a raised sleeping platform for himself and his son, which was reached via steep timber steps. The place was dirty, but it felt warm and comforting after the cold of the outside; there was a smell of straw and hot metal. The young women exchanged looks, one enquiring of the other, the other merely smiling in a knowing fashion. The young man was at pains to know how to behave in such company. He had seen the sisters about the place whilst assisting his father with his business, but had never had occasion to speak with them; it would not be his place to do so. And he was a young man, and here were two beautiful young women; daughters to his lordship. He was quite at a loss.

'Umm ... here, please drink your fill ...'

The two young women drank their draught of ale, which was of good flavour, whilst the young man made himself busy about the workshop; he really had no wish to engage in conversation; he simply would not know what to say. They would know nothing of the working of metal or the shoeing of horses, after all, and their world was a place of which he had little knowledge, save that which was talked about amongst the trades-people and the servants of the Manor House. He was relieved, therefore, when it became clear that the encounter would be a brief one.

'We thank you; we are quite refreshed now, and bid you good day.'

'Indeed, and good day to you, too, your umm ... your ladyships.'

The two young women wrapped their fur capes about them as they once again stepped out into the cold, late afternoon wind; there was a light fall of snow in the air as they passed by the well which served the smithy and surrounding houses, and which warranted only a passing glance.

'What on earth were you thinking?'

'What do you mean 'your ladyship'? He was so funny, was he not? The poor young man clearly did not know where to put himself, or how to address us.'

'Father would be angry if he knew we had been drinking ale with the blacksmiths boy.'

'Then let him not find out. He is a fine looking boy though, is he not? What is his name?'

'Sarah, for heavens' sake, what are you saying?'

'Nothing, my dear Anne; nothing at all; merely that in these times of confinement we should take our pleasure where we can, should we not?'

'I cannot believe that you are speaking in this way!'

'My dear sister; you may be willing to wait upon our father before you have knowledge of a man, but I grow ever more impatient.'

'It must be the cold that makes you think and speak thus; we will say no more on such matters, you know well enough that your husband will expect your virtue to be intact; you must think no more in this way; you are clearly not yourself.'

'Oh very well ...'

'His name is Seth, I believe.'

'There, you see! You berate me for my naughty thoughts, and yet it is you who know his name ...'

'That is mere coincidence; I must have heard it spoken somewhere.'

'And yet you remembered it.'

'I have a good memory for names as well you know.'

'A memory which doubtless serves you well in high society, but to remember the name of the blacksmiths boy....'

'You tease me too strongly; be quiet now; we must make home before nightfall, and it already grows dark.'

'And there is talk of wolves in the forest; I know; so let us speak of this no more then, at least for now.'

The young woman called Sarah drew her hood more tightly around her head, and smiled to herself, despite the cold. Once again she would keep her further thoughts to herself, at least for now.

* * *

'Hello William; hello Emily dear, what do you think of my well?'

A balmy summers' evening, and this evening finds Daphne sitting outside on her terrace, drinking tea and perusing a gardening magazine. Will and Emily are walking past, on their way to a loosely arranged meeting at the Dog and Bottle public house.

'Hello Mrs P; it looks lovely.'

Daphne had planted her variegated ivy which was already making upward and lateral progress across the ornamental stone wall surrounding the well, which Keith had built in the depths of the previous winter. His working brief had been to try to create a sense of instant antiquity; to use random coursing and not to be too particular about the pointing; a brief which he had followed with his dexterous sensitivity and working knowledge of stonework. Around the base of the wall Daphne had planted white Potentilla and carefully coordinated annual summer bedding plants, and was feeling rather pleased with the overall effect.

'I must say I'm rather pleased with the overall effect.'

'Yeah' said Will 'it kind of looks like it's been there forever.'

During the century subsequent to Anne and her slightly younger sister Sarah visiting and taking ale at the blacksmiths' cottage, the building had over slow course of time fallen into decay and been demolished and rebuilt elsewhere, and upon part of the same foundations had been built a stable to serve the shire horses, these worthy and hard-working beasts having eventually and in their turn become obsolete in the wake of the invention and mass-production of the internal combustion engine. Eventually the forest surrounding the Manor House had by degrees been cleared to make way for agricultural land, the village and its' surroundings had become sufficiently populous to warrant the stable being converted into a Public House, which since its' inception had been known as the Dog and Bottle; testament to the good hunting which had in its' day defined this part of rural England, and today the venue for the meeting of the four people. Emily in particular had been relieved beyond expression at the safe return of Percival, Keith and Meadow; a brief synopsis of events had been imparted, and a meeting had been agreed; this needed to be talked about, and it needed beer. Many questions had respectively made their presence felt in the minds of the four people, the question currently sharing common ascendency amongst them being a simple one, but one for which there could be no definitive answer; where the hell was Percival? But first, more detail, please. They took their seats around one of the wooden tables at the front of the establishment, Keith bought beer, and juice for Meadow, and so to the inquisition.

'So, I mean who was it who made the noise then?'

'Who knows, really' said Keith 'and it wasn't a noise, well it was, of course, but it was more than that; I've never heard anything like it, it was amazing. One thing which seems clear is that whoever was responsible knew exactly what they were doing, and exactly what effect it would have.'

'So do you think it was like, witchcraft? Said Will

'I suppose one could call it that.' Said Meadow 'At least, as Keith said, it was perfect in its' delivery; it was simply the most beautiful and yet chilling sound I can imagine.'

'So were you scared?' Said Emily 'I mean of course it was a totally scary situation, but of the noise itself?'

'No, not really' said Meadow 'and that's the oddest thing, in a way. The people wearing the gowns and hoods were quite clearly terrified, but Keith and I have of course discussed it since, and neither of us was really afraid at that point. We just in a way became lost in the sound, but it was not a frightening thing; very, very sad, but not frightening.'

'So maybe' said Will 'it was intended to be reacted to depending on your intent, so to speak. If you come with a good heart then you're okay, but come with a bad heart and look out, here comes doom.'

'Yes Will' said Meadow 'that's exactly what we have decided, or speculated upon anyway, and therein lay the art if we are right in our speculation. In any case it is quite clearly what saved Percival from certain death.'

'And then Rebecca appeared and nearly killed this Philippe character.' Said Will

'And would have done' said Keith 'had it not been for Meadow, who kind of talked her out of it.'

'Man, this takes some sorting out,' said Will 'and then Rebecca made off into the night with the witches or whoever, and that was the last anyone saw of her.'

'Exactly,' said Keith 'and where on earth she is now and what she is doing is something else that we have no idea about.'

'So what do you think Meadow?' Said Emily

'I really don't know' said Meadow 'but it seems clear enough now that Rebecca was behind events; she knew what she was doing, and had come with the intent of killing Philippe. Perhaps that was the whole purpose of everything that happened.'

'So you think she knew that Percival wasn't going to die?' Said Emily

'It's possible,' said Meadow 'again it's just speculation, and she cannot surely have been certain of the outcome. Had things not occurred exactly as they had, then the consequences could have been very different.'

'And Percival would have been killed.' Said Emily

'It was bloody close.' Said Keith 'The guy with the sword was just about to strike; he would have had time. I know this isn't a good thing to say but I don't really get why he didn't just finish the job, to be honest.'

'The effect was instantaneous; that was the point,' said Meadow 'whatever that unearthly sound was, it froze everybody in their tracks; it was truly remarkable, whatever and whoever was behind it.'

'Yeah, well, maybe.' Said Keith 'Anyway what has to concern us now is why Percival disappeared almost as soon as he came back.'

'Perhaps he's in the west-country with his new girlfriend.' Said Emily

'That's the most likely scenario' said Keith 'but it doesn't ring true; even Percival would have thought to tell somebody where he was going; we really have no idea when he left; he just kind of shut himself away and then at some unspecified point made off without telling a soul.'

'You don't think the chicken-stranglers came back for him, do you?' Said Will 'I mean if the two guys I met at the temple are a representative sample then these are mean bastards, who must be feeling pretty pissed right now.'

'I think that's very unlikely,' said Keith 'it was different this time; the cottage was locked up and he's taken Lulu with him. This looks like a deliberate and voluntary departure, but something isn't right.'

'I worry that he may have gone into shock.' Said Meadow 'He was abducted, drugged, tied to a post and very nearly killed; nobody, not even Percival, could have taken that in their stride. That kind of thing can't just be brushed off.'