POVERTY'S PRIDE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (Part Three)

                        CHAPTER FIFTEEN (Part Three)

In the last few hours Twm Beynon had turned away many a curious villager wanting a sight of the body, but when Ben Jowett dismounted before the cottage door Twm himself was curious.

     ‘What brings you to the village, Ben, and on horseback, too?’ he asked.

     Ben Jowett looked solemn. ‘I’ve a notion as to who the dead woman is,’ he said. ‘I want to make sure.’

     ‘She’s a stranger, Ben.’

     ‘To you maybe,’ Ben Jowett said. ‘But I think I know her name.’

     Twm shrugged and stood aside for Ben Jowett to enter the cottage. Being one of the oldest cottages in the village it had only one main room. A large kitchen table stood in the centre and on it, covered by a faded woollen blanket was the outline of a human form.

     As both men stood at the side if the table Twm uncovered the head. ‘She landed on her back so her face is mostly unmarked,’ Twm said with detachment.

Keenly watching the expression of his visitor he saw at once that Ben Jowett knew the woman.

‘Who the devil is she, Ben?’

Ben Jowett’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

‘What?’ Twm scowled. ‘Look here, Ben, I’m the watchman. I’m responsible for dealing with anything untoward that happens in the village. A crime might have been committed here.’

Ben looked undecided. ‘There’s been scandal enough at Cliff House,’ he said cautiously. ‘The master doesn’t want more gossip.’

‘So – she was a visitor up at the house then,’ Twm said eagerly. ‘You can tell me, Ben. I’m not a fool. I know when to hold my tongue.’

‘It’s Mr Cedric’s missing wife,’ Ben confided. ‘Her that ran away a couple of years ago. Her brother brought her back recently.’ He looked down at the inert form. ‘And now she’s dead.’

Twm put his finger and thumb to rub his chin thoughtfully.

‘Bad blood between her and Mr Cedric was there?’

‘No!’ Ben looked angry. ‘Mr Cedric welcomed her back, after all, she is – was the mother of his children.’ He moved towards the door. ‘I must now ride to Neath to tell him the bad news. It may be nightfall before we return. Be ready. Mr Cedric will want to see the body.’

Twm followed Ben outside. The boy who had discovered the body was standing on the door step.

‘What do you want?’ Twm asked him gruffly.

‘My Mam wants to know if there’s a reward for finding the lady’s body,’ the boy asked pertly. ‘She says it’s worth sixpence.’

‘Cheek!’ Twm flipped the boy across his head.

‘Ow! That hurt!’

‘Clear off or you’ll get more.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Ben said. ‘So this is the lad that found her. I’ll give you thru’pence, my lad, if you can answer a question.’

‘I’ll answer anything, mister, for thru’pence.’

‘Here! This is my job!’ Twm exclaimed. ‘I ask the questions.’

‘Well, why haven’t you then,’ Ben snapped curtly. ‘Now listen, lad, before you stumbled across the body did you see anyone on the cliff path above?’

The boy shook his head.

‘You’re sure? This is important.’

     ‘There was no one about,’ the boy insisted. ‘And if you don’t believe me ask the curate.’

     ‘Eh?’

     ‘Mr Tucker was out for his usual morning stroll,’ the boy said. ‘I’ll bet he didn’t see anyone either ‘cos there was no one to see.’

     ‘Here you are then.’ Ben handed him a thru’penny piece. ‘Stay out of trouble in future.’

     The boy scooted off with his treasure.

     ‘Thru’pence wasted,’ Twm commented.

     ‘Well now we know the curate was about,’ Ben said mounting his horse. ‘Ask him if he saw anyone.’

     Twm looked doubtful. ‘I usually stay out of the way of the clergy as much as possible,’ he said. ‘And Mr Tucker is not an easy man to deal with.’

     Ben looked down at him, a crooked smile on his weather-beaten face. ‘Well, you are the watchman,’ he said. ‘It’s your duty.’

     With that he kicked his heel into the horse’s side and it took off at a gallop.

Twm watched him go feeling morose. Being watchman wasn’t all beer and mutton as some folk thought. He was out of his depth dealing with the gentry and a clergyman was near as dammit to a gentleman.

He sighed. He would have to speak with Mr Tucker but in his own time and in his own way. He could not afford to upset anyone in authority.

As he was about to turn back into the cottage Daisy Bream walked by. He wasn’t surprised to see her. Where there was a chance for gossip there would also be Daisy Bream.

‘Mr Jowett seeing the body was he?’ she asked. ‘He knows a thing or two I’ll be bound.’

Twm noticed the avid curiosity in her eyes. ‘Maybe and maybe not.’

The look in Daisy’s eyes sharpened. ‘The poor lady was foully done in, wasn’t she?’

Twm sniffed and looked superior. ‘As the village watchman everything I deal with is confidential,’ he said, trying to sound officious. 

‘It was that footpad again, wasn’t it,’ Daisy persisted. ‘It was him that did this.’

Twm frowned, all at once feeling unsure. ‘What footpad?’

‘The one that tried to throw Rosalind Trevellian over the cliffs the other week.’

‘What?’

‘He would’ve too,’ Daisy nodded. ‘If it hadn’t been for Mr Brice Thomas of Middleton. Him and that footpad fought it out on the cliff path, so my Linda told me.’

Twm blinked in confusion at his own ignorance. ‘When was this? Why did no one tell me that there’s a murdering footpad on the loose? I should’ve been told.’

Daisy’s lip curled. ‘Everyone at Cliff House knew,’ she said. ‘Even Sir Leopold. But after all, the victim was a mere servant so it hardly mattered to him.’

Knowing her history with the master of Cliff House Twm understood the bitterness in her voice.

‘Well, it matters to me,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll have a word with this girl Rosalind.’ He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully again. ‘Although according to Mr Tucker she’s a girl of ill-repute. Can I believe anything she says?’

‘Then talk to Mr Brice Thomas,’ Daisy snapped. ‘He’s gentry and the gentry always tell the truth, so us lowly folk are supposed to believe.’

With a sniff of disdain and a dismissive lift of her shoulder Daisy Bream stalked off.

Twm went into his cottage in deep thought. Suppose this was a case of foul murder – could he handle such a desperate situation on his own? Catching poachers was one thing. Facing murdering footpads was another. He needed the advice and authority of a magistrate. The nearest one was in Scurlage and he had no horse to get there. Twm shook his head in gloom. The life of a village watchman was difficult indeed.