Chapter 5: The Countryside Bandits

Chapter 5: The Countryside Bandits

 

The sun rose over the hills of the countryside, giving rise to a new day as the butcher’s lad strode down the dirt road swinging a pail from his hand. In exchange for free milk, eggs and vegetables it was his job to milk the cow, weed the garden and feed the animals while the Hughes were taking care of a sick relative for a of couple days. He came up the path and paused a moment, noticing something in the brush. It appeared to be three suitcases hidden away. He shrugged, tousled his mousy brown hair out of habit and headed through the archway and up the path. He headed around the house to the barn but paused by the henhouse. The chickens all stared at him, like they usually did in the morning before they had been fed, but none of them made a peep, just stared. Goosebumps prickled his arms but again he shrugged and headed for the barn. He milked the cow, weeded the garden and fed the chickens, though he opted to throw the feed through the fence instead of actually entering the henhouse. In all his observations he somehow did not notice the missing axe, the missing chicken or the blood splattered across the barn wall and feathers throughout the hay.

     Whistling merrily the butcher’s lad went to the back door, pulled out a large key and turned the lock, a little surprised to find it already unlocked but he shrugged assuming he had simply forgotten to lock it yesterday. Opening the door he entered into the back room. This was the time of day where he would usually sneak in to steal a treat from the pantry before returning home.

     Charles was sound asleep in the plush red chair by the fire. Jasmine was draped over the arm of the couch, her face mushed into the floor and Theresa had her book over her face in the rocking chair. The fire had died out hours ago but the floor lay littered with four bottles of homemade red wine and a bottle of scotch.

     Charles awoke to the sound of a light gasp and slowly lifted the tip of his hat to peer out from under it. Sunlight was streaming through the open curtains lighting up the dust that drifted about the room. Charles first took in his sisters, passed out in their various positions. Then his eyes came to rest upon the small boy with ratty brown hair and a face like a mouse, his eyes wide with fear.

     “Damnation.” Charles said, rising quickly from his chair, losing his balance and collapsing awkwardly to the floor as the room around him tilted onto its side. His head span and his stomach lurched. The sound of his fall awoke his sisters but they were too slow coming too and the boy was already sprinting out the door so Charles forced himself to his feet and gave chase.

     It was no use. Charles was dreadfully unused to exercise except in the form of throwing darts at the pub and that mixed with his excruciating hangover meant the boy quickly outdistanced him and was disappearing down the road.

     Charles bent over double, attempting to catch his breath, his top hat falling to the ground. He scooped it up and headed back to the house.

     “I suppose we better get going.” Theresa said, joining him outside. Jasmine came shuffling reluctantly behind, licking butter off a spoon. The siblings picked up their overladen suitcases and stumbled down the dry dirt road.

     The cottage was still in sight when the thunder of hooves sounded loudly from in front and the siblings hurried to get off the road and up into the trees. They hid behind a massive oak and watched as three men in uniform galloped past.

     “That’s what we need.” Charles whispered as they disappeared, “Horses. Our travels would be much more enjoyable if we had horses.”

     “We can’t afford horses Charles.”

Charles flashed them a devilish grin, “I have a plan.”

     They brought their suitcases with them this time, the sisters clutching at their weapons nervously as Charles led them through the woods back towards the cottage. The horses were tethered to the fence but the men who rode them were all either in the cottage or searching through the farm behind it.

     “Quick now,” Charles said, “And quiet as a mouse.”

Charles and Theresa helped lift Jasmine up onto the horse, pushing at her lumpy bottom. Once she was up into the saddle they passed up her suitcase. Charles helped Theresa up before hopping onto his own brown steed. They were just out of sight of the cottage when they heard the first yells erupt and the siblings stirred their horses into a trot.

     The Godhold siblings were city folk and more accustomed to sitting in jolting carriages than plopping up and down on the back of a horse and within a short while their legs were sore and their backs were aching. A short way down the road, Charles in front, then Jasmine and Theresa taking up the rear, Theresa watched as Jasmine attempted to shift her enormous suitcase to the center of the horse. The suitcase was so large that, as she balanced it in front of her, she could only just peer overtop of it. Slowly, with each step of the horse, Jasmine began to slide to the right. Jasmine began to make a whimpering sound as she slid further and further to the right but made no attempt to pull herself back up. When she was almost completely horizontal to the horse she let go of both suitcase and reins and fell with a thunk to the hard packed road.

     Theresa dropped to the ground and rushed to her sister’s side, stifling her laughter. They managed to get Jasmine, with fat tears spilling down her face, back up into the saddle but Theresa didn’t know if they would be able to a third time. She was sweating and panting from the effort as she clambered back up into her own saddle.

     “We need a carriage.” She stated, though both siblings were already walking ahead and no one was listening.

 As they neared the town Charles led them into the woods and around it. The way was slow as the horses stepped over roots and rocks and they dared not trot lest they cause the horse to trip. The woods were a cool respite from the sun on the road and it smelled pleasantly of damp moss and rotting wood. They cut across a field and back onto the dusty road for a few hours before giving in to their rumbling stomachs and stopping at a small stream off the side of the road.

     They stayed near two hours at the brook, their initial search for berries or another apple tree resulting in sunken hopes. Instead they lazed around resting and napping, none of them particularly motivated to be the first to get the others moving. The rhythmic creak of wheels brought the slothful siblings out of their daydreams. They could see through the trees a pair of farmers plodding down the road carrying a cart loaded with what appeared to be jugs of milk. With stomachs still rumbling Theresa rushed towards Jasmine, grabbed the dirt-stained train of her gown and ripped three strips from it. Jasmine started to yell but Charles, sensing what Theresa was on about, jumped on top of his sister and covered her mouth with his hand.

     The farmers were still a few minutes off and Theresa, overcome by hunger, stress and grief set to work cutting eyeholes in the dark blue fabric with Charles’ pocketknife before tying it around her face. Charles followed suit but Jasmine sat, arms crossed and face glowing red with anger. Theresa found her fire poker and handed Jasmine her frying pan.

     “Aren’t you hungry?”

Jasmine nodded and sulkily took her frying pan and tied the fabric over her face.

     The siblings waited in the brush by the side of the road, looking ridiculous in their blue satin facemasks. Just as the farmers were about to pass them the siblings jumped out, yelling fierce battle cries.

     The farmers were startled for only a moment while they took in the highway bandits. Then they began to chuckle at the sight before them. Theresa glowered at them, stepping forward she thudded the end of the fire poker into the chest of the closest man. The farmer grunted in surprise and took an involuntary step backwards. Theresa did not mean to actually harm the men, just scare them enough to steal some food but Jasmine, not knowing Theresa’s intentions took it one step too far. Stepping up beside Theresa, she swung her frying pan full force, which for Jasmine was about half the force of anyone else, and struck the second farmer across the side of the face. He collapsed like an empty sack onto the ground. The first farmer took advantage of the siblings surprise as they stared at what Jasmine had done, Jasmine looking on in triumph while Theresa and Charles froze, flabbergasted.

     The farmer reached into his cart and pulled out his pitchfork, pulling the siblings back to the present danger. Swinging the pitchfork he contacted the fire poker and Theresa jumped back. He held it up defensively in front of him and stepped forward, jabbing slightly at the air in warning. Theresa stepped backwards and lifted the fire poker up into a fencing position but the fire poker was heavy and it drooped slightly.

     “You best be going now, I don’t want to hurt you.”

This, for some reason, enraged Theresa and she leapt forward. Fire poker met pitchfork and the clamour of metal on metal rang through the forest. Charles and Jasmine quickly scrambled out of the way. He stabbed forward and Theresa dodged to the side. The farmer began a fierce assault and slowly backed Theresa farther and farther to the edge of the road. Finally she found her footing and launched her own attacks. The farmer held his own and Theresa began to swing with more and more desperation. Finally she swung downwards as hard as she could, the farmer gripped the wooden handle of his pitchfork in both hands and raised it up like a staff. Theresa struck between his hands and with a loud crack the handle broke in half; the fire poker kept falling downwards and thunked solidly against the farmer’s forehead. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he sunk to the ground on top of his friend.

     “Remind me never to anger you again.” Charles said, halfway through the bagged lunch as he leaned against the cart, having watched the whole fight unfold without bothering to lift a finger in defense of his sisters. Neither Jasmine nor Theresa knew which one Charles was talking to but they were both too hungry to care.

     Theresa doubled over and ripped off her mask. She was sweating and gasping for breath. Charles approached and nudged her, offering her a jug of cow’s milk. Theresa took a long drink from the milk bottle, a white moustache coating the hairs of her upper lip when she finished. When she finally got to the food there was only an apple left and she glared angrily at her siblings.

     With the meal done they pulled the cart off into the trees and dragged the farmers as well, grunting with the effort of dragging the big men along the dirt road and through the brush. They left them in as comfortable a position as they could well hidden from the road. Their work done they shrugged nervously and headed back to the brook to ready the horses. The siblings carried on, not a word said between them.

     Through the trees, the going was slow but the road was far too dangerous for them now and they stopped often to push deeper into the trees whenever travelers journeyed past. At some point, off in the distance, they could hear the ringing of bells as the nearest village authorities were finally alerted about the milk thieves. 

     Unfortunately even with horses their clever idea of staying off the road meant they travelled far slower than normal and as night came they were not insight of town nor inn and were forced to make their way even further off the road. Charles spotted another babbling brook, though much smaller than the first and they watered their horses. They slept that night curled up together on a bed made of their assortment of clothing and Jasmine sniffled all night at the thought of the dirt and bugs that would be all over her beautiful gowns by morning. Still it was a warm night and for the first night since they left no rain fell and they managed to wander off into a fairly satisfying sleep.

 

Monsieur Charbonne touched his swollen nose. It was bent and broken but healing well enough. He seethed with anger as the image of Charles crept into his mind, eyes closed and fist raised. Upon coming to consciousness Charbonne and his bullies had scoured the townhouse for the siblings.  They were gone, as were most of their clothes, though Charbonne wondered after such lengthy debt if they had really owned much to begin with. From the looks of the place, the empty pantry, the lack of dishes, and mess everywhere, the general emptiness of the house, no doubt they had been selling their belongings for many weeks in order to pay bills and keep food in their bellies. Charbonne had searched through every inch of Cedric Godhold’s home office for some sort of clue but it wasn’t until later that he heard of a robbery at the Hill Manor on the south side of town that he put the puzzle pieces together. Racing back to Godhold Place he searched the papers again. There were records from several years ago of dealings with a Mr. Hill. The address matched the one in the paper. The second part of the puzzle was why they were fleeing south. Charbonne figured that out as well. In an attempt to make back his fortune he had found the deed to Godhold Place as well the deed to a cottage on the south shore. No doubt the siblings were fleeing to the only other home available to them with their current lack of funds. Rounding up his debt collectors Charbonne rode out of London the very next morning.

 

They woke stiff and sore with a chill in the air and dull grey clouds coating the sky.

     “Most like it will drizzle most of the day.” Charles said, rising and staring up at the clouds, his hand clutching the brim of his top hat to secure it to his head.

     Theresa stood and un-wrinkled her dress by smoothing it with her hands, in the end her dress was just as wrinkled as it had been the past few days but she seemed satisfied and moved on to packing up the clothes. Jasmine was still laying on the ground, snoring lightly and curled up in a puffy red gown, a visible rip down the side where she had unknowingly burst it in her sleep. Charles drank right from the stream and washed the sleep from his eyes, “My god that’s cold,” He declared as it splashed upon his face, “Well dearest sister, you studied the map. How much longer must we be on this outlandish adventure?”

     Theresa scowled at him as she nudged Jasmine roughly with her foot, “Up!” She squawked. Jasmine startled awake and looked around. As she awkwardly got to her feet and looked down at her beautiful dresses she began to wail but Theresa clamped one of her rather large hands down over Jasmine’s mouth.

     “Enough! We’re outlaws now Jasmine. The Hill Manor was one thing, stealing horses from the village authorities and robbing a couple poor farmers is something else entirely. They will be searching for us no doubt.” Slowly, keeping an eye on Jasmine, Theresa removed her hand. Jasmine’s jaw clenched as she sobbed as quietly as she could; leaves stuck in her disarray of dirty blond hair.

     “In answer to your question, dear brother, if we continue on at the rate we’re going we’ll be lucky to make it there by winter. Now come, let us get a move on.”

     They gathered up Jasmine’s dresses and folded them back into the enormous suitcase but not before Theresa thought of an idea. Taking one of the gowns she tied an end around the handle of the suitcase and then tied the other end around the handle of her own and Charles’ suitcase. Jasmine didn’t dare speak against and together Charles and Theresa set the gown across the saddle of the horse so that the suitcases sat on either side in the form of makeshift saddlebags.

     “Perfect. Now Jasmine, you can ride with Charles.”

They both protested but Theresa was already swinging up into her saddle, holding the reins of the packhorse in her hand, and walking off into the woods. She left Charles and Jasmine to figure out the rest on their own.

     When they finally caught up with her Charles was red in the face and scowling ferociously as Jasmine sat behind him, facing backwards, arms crossed and pouting. Despite their looks of displeasure Theresa thought the horse looked the most miserable as it loped along under the weight of the two.

     Again they lasted only until noon before hunger overtook them and they stopped. They made a valiant effort of searching the area, and searched a full five minutes longer than the day before but in the end came up empty and so sat down to drink from the stream.

“I must say Theresa, your rash is definitely starting to look better. Why, a few more days and it will be as if it never happened.” Charles said cheerily. Theresa looked at her reflection in the small pond. It was true. Most of the blisters had grown smaller but her face was still red and splotchy. Her hair was in disarray and her gown was stained with dirt and sweat.

“This will never do. We must find a decent shelter tonight and clean the dust and grime of travel from ourselves. We look like a band of beggars.” Theresa said, gently scrubbing her face and gazing around at Charles and Jasmine who were in no better condition. There was perhaps even more holes in Charles’ suit and blood still stained his white dress shirt. Jasmine had lines of dirt that collected in the folds of fat under her chin and on her arms. Her dresses were stained as well though she had brought so many that she was at least able to change into a new dress each day. Theresa had been wearing the same dress since the ball at the Balston Manor and it was now stained with dirt and sweat. Thinking of that night at the ball it felt as if it had happened long ago when she was younger and more carefree, not three days past.

 

By midafternoon they had seen no officers patrolling so they dared to journey along the road at a faster pace. Their faster pace was quickly upset however by the clouds rumbling and looming overhead and it was unanimously decided to seek the first shelter they stumbled upon.

The small country manor was two stories made from grey brick with a red roof that sloped steeply. Encircled with hedges it sat alone in a small field surrounded by forest with a lone dirt road meandering to its front gate.

With a warm bed and a warm meal stuck in their minds they started up the path. Almost within the safety of the house the heavens decided to open up and unleash a torrent of fat, cold raindrops onto them. Theresa and Charles kicked their horses forward and trotted the rest of the ride, almost dislodging Jasmine from her precarious position. Once at the manor they passed the reins to Jasmine who was still mounted backwards on the horse as they ran to the front door. After several minutes of banging and hollering they could hear through a pause in the thunder the sound of locks unlatching, one after another after another. The door opened a crack and a big white eye peered through.

“What do you want?” The voice crackled, high and defiant.

“Please, uh, ma’am?,” Charles couldn’t tell if the eye and the voice was male or female, “It’s pouring rain out and we’re weary travelers seeking shelter from the storm.” Lightening lit the sky and the dark clouds blotted the sun out completely. Thunder boomed again and already the siblings were soaked to the bone. In the background Jasmine was attempting to get off her horse, her squeals drowned out by the thundering rain on the roof. The drive had already been churned into mud and the horses were shifting and whickering uneasily. As Jasmine tried to dismount her horse reared slightly, it’s legs coming only a hand width of the ground but it was enough to send Jasmine falling to the ground. She landed with a splatter; face first in the mud. It coated the front of her dress thickly and she screamed and spat mud out onto the ground. Charles and Theresa hoped their sister’s pitiful state would further their cause but the door swiftly slammed shut.

“Hell fire!” Charles cursed, earning him a swat upside the head from Theresa.

“Watch your tongue,” She commanded, “We’ll just have to find somewhere else. Perhaps there’s a barn out back.”

Behind them Jasmine was trying to wipe the mud from her face but with her mud soaked hands she was having a tough time of it and only seemed to be adding more, if that was at all possible.

There was the sound of a chain being unlatched and the door opened, bringing Charles and Theresa’s attention to the front door, the house behind it dark. An old woman stood in front of them. Her dress was grey; her hair was black with streaks of silver, all mats and tangles. Her skin was a sickly white and the flesh was stretched taught over her bones. Her eyes bulged from her skull and her lips were far too big and looked swollen. She had a wild, deranged look about her and the comforts of food and bed were quickly forgotten as both Charles and Theresa shuddered and stepped backwards in unison.

     “Hurry up now, come get out of the cold.” Neither of them moved. It was Jasmine, caked in mud, who came running into the house having tied the horses to the fence. She pushed roughly past her older siblings, leaving handprints of mud on them, and entered into the darkness of the house. With a look of concern and anxiety the two followed her into the gloom.

The carriage rocked back and forth violently, the creak and squeak of the wheels filled the evening air and Baldric and Bernard Balston sat in stone cold silence. Dressed in crisp suits of black with white dress shirts and tall black top hats they jostled around on the velvet pillows that lined the benches. Baldric set the paper down, it having gotten far too dark to read, and puffed gently on his pipe. The smoke he exhaled through his thin red lips drifted out the window. Bernard leaned backwards, also setting his book aside and struck a match against the wood. It blazed to life and he put it to the end of the cigar, twisting and puffing.

     “Really Baldric, I had such plans for the following weeks and you know I wanted to leave for France by the end of the month. It’s been too long since I’ve had a proper glass of wine, ever since you used the last of it on your silly supper.”

     “That silly supper, little brother, was an important board of directors meeting as you well know. Really Bernard, father left all of us equal shares in the company and it is because of that that we are able to enjoy such exotic luxuries as summers in Paris.”

     Bernard sighed loudly, “Yes, yes. I know. I just don’t understand why we are rushing off to see Benjamin? He is so… abstract. And he hates the way father ran the company. He hasn’t been to a single meeting since he came into a third of the inheritance.”

     “That is precisely why we are visiting him. We will put up with his little charades for a week or so and then put our foot down. I will purchase the shares from him for a fair price, give him the villa he loves so much, and then agree to leave him alone to live the life he wants. With Benjamin’s shares in the company I will own the majority and we won’t have to have any more of those ‘silly suppers’, as you like to call them.”

     Bernard smiled mischievously at his brother before poking his head out the window to yell at the driver,

“Oi! Stop at the next inn! It’s time for a warm meal, a warm bed and a warm woman.”

     Pulling out a bottle of scotch and two tumblers the brother’s toasted to their own good health and fortune.

 

“Well Dart, what is it?” The man sitting across from Inspector Wallace Wingham had appropriately been given the nickname Dart for his side wisps of bright yellow hair and pointy figure. He was leaning forward, nursing his third ale and talking in a whisper so low Wingham could scarce hear him over the din of the pub.

     “I just thought you’d like to know is all.”

“Know what?” Wingham was quickly losing patience. The young lad found him not a day past and urged him to meet with important information about the robbery at the Hill Manor but Wingham was strongly beginning to suspect that the lad had simply conned his way into a few free ale.

     “Well, there was a robbery a few days ago. Town south o’ here. People was outta town but some kid found the robbers right in the house. Says one o’ them was the size o’ a small whale, the other was some sort o’ red splotchy monster and the third was covered in blood, though whose no one knows.”

     “Really?” Wingham leaned heavily on his hand, his eyes glazing over with exhaustion as he fought to stay awake and hear what the kid had to say.

     “Yeah, really. It gets worse. When the kid got to the town and told the police they rode out to see and the bloody robbers stole their horses while they were searching the house.”

     “What makes you so sure it was the same people as the Hill Manor?”

“Well, cause I have a buddy, see. And he, don’t ask me how, but he came into possession o’ some o’ the stuff left behind at the place. And I was just remembering hearing you say how them Hill robbers, how alls they took was cigars and scotch and stuff.”

     Wingham specifically did not remember ever mentioning it to Dart but he did tend to talk a little too loudly at the pub after a pint or two so he stayed silent, “Go on.” He encouraged, his interest peaked slightly he raised himself off his chubby hand and sat upright.

     “Well. See, some o’ the things that my friend gave me from the house was an empty bottle o’ scotch and a couple cigars, one smoked all the way down to the butt. Far too rich a brand for your average person if you catch my drift. Anyways, so I gots to thinkin and I figured that maybe, just maybe, if these was the same people what robbed the Hill place, well I bet the police might pay handsomely for some genuinely helpful information like that.”

     “Thank you Dart. I’ll need you to bring what you have to the station tomorrow. Drinks are on me.” Wingham paid the waitress personally and headed to the station. Grumbling at the thought of travel but also knowing it was not something he was going to be able to avoid.

    

Her name was Mrs. Ratchett; a widow who lived in solitude and a collector of pewter spoons. She served the siblings cold tea and stale biscuits too hard to chew all the while she took them on a tour of her cabinets upon cabinets of pewter spoons and the stories behind how she had obtained each one.

     Jasmine had changed out of her mud caked dress and was now wearing her favourite baby blue, the other having been promptly deemed unworthy of mending and thrown away. Charles had been given a new dress shirt, belonging to the deceased Mr. Ratchett, which was a size too big for him but better than the blood soaked one he had been wearing since the cottage outside of Horsham. The siblings all deemed not to find it strange that Mrs. Ratchett asked no questions and showed no suspicions towards their appearance.

     The Ratchett house had been grand at one point, probably fifty years earlier, the green carpets that covered the long halls were frayed and coated in dust; everything was coated in dust. The long curtains that hung from the floor to ceiling windows had been eaten away by moths and were nothing more than dangling tatters. Strange paintings hung from the walls, gruesome scenes painted straight from biblical passages, full of blood and gore and torture. The siblings shivered in unison upon gazing at them. It was cold and dank inside and even when Charles offered to build a fire it seemed only to chase the sorrow from a small portion of the room, leaving the rest of the house to bear down upon them as if they sat in the clammy stomach of some great beast that had swallowed them whole. The storm outside raged and shook the house with every boom of thunder. It wasn’t long before Mrs. Ratchett retired to the upstairs to sleep the storm away.

     The siblings, having quite gotten used to the idea of pilfering and sneaking, naturally began to make their way throughout the rooms of the house. In the kitchen they found a pantry full of fresh garden vegetables, bakery sweets and cured meats. With a fire burning brightly in the kitchen it seemed the driest, warmest place of the house and they sat and feasted merrily. Water was warmed and they washed the weariness of the road from their faces. In a den of red velvet armchairs and bookcases Charles found a three quarters empty bottle of gin but it was enough to warm the last of the chill from their bones as they passed the bottle around, Jasmine giggling wildly at the absurdity of not using tumblers and Theresa pursing her lips into a scowl for no apparent reason other than to enjoy the fact that it made her look as though she had just swallowed a lemon, or so Charles happily pointed out.

     The storm raged on into the night and the siblings happily sat near the kitchen fire, watching water stream down the windows and white lightening fork across the sky. When it was finally time for sleep they each drifted off to the upstairs, curled up beneath cold covers and slept peacefully.