They Buried Her: Chapter 3

“Ms. Everly! What’re you doin’ out ‘ere? Storm comin’ an’ all?” He held the barn door open for me, pulling it shut as soon as I had run inside.

“I thought I could help you with Midnight. It’s been almost a fortnight since I’ve been in with her.” It’s been almost a fortnight since I’d spent anything other than nights here at all with Ada in her condition.

“Aw no Miss, it’ll be far too rough out here for you when the rain finally gets here. Leave her to me.  You can come an’ give her a brush tomorrow.”  Which I suppose I should have expected from him, kind as it was; however, I couldn’t stomach the idea of going back to the house.

“I completely understand, it was wrong of mother to have sent me out here.”  I turned toward the door, not bothering to take a step.

“Your mother, you said? Ah well, she does know best don’ she?” And there it was.  Because if there was one thing to depend on in Thomas it’s to mind one’s parents, as he’d say; Like it or not, the Lord said to honor thy mother and father, so go on to the Lord’s work. “I still have some things to gather up in the garden.  How’s about you just promise to come on back before it starts pourin’?” 

“Of course, thank you Thomas.”  Lying to him wasn’t quite like lying to my parents.  That his disappointment would be less to do with my violating his trust than me having broken a commandment however, did lessen the guilt some.

As soon as the barn door closed, I let myself fall into Midnight’s neck.  She huffed her surprise, shuffling her hooves.  Bringing my hands up to her neck, I scratch lightly through her hair, calming her with her favorite spots.  I feel her wet nose snuffling at my ear, laughing at the chill of it just to have it catch in my throat. It had been a long time since I had made such a sound.  I had tried for Ada in the end, she was still making jokes afterall.  Still trying so persistently to be herself through all of her pain.  But in the end she could barely even speak.  And worse still, how she suffered on my account—

“You will not be forgotten!” My promise was muffled in Midnight’s neck.  I heave her saddle on to her back, strapping her in like Thomas showed me. Ever anything should happen Miss, you should know how to get where you need to go. I’d lost my friend, and now I had somewhere I needed to get to.

It had only begun to drizzle when I led Midnight carefully from the far end of the barn, eyes darting back and forth across the field.  The few chickens that were near the door scampered away from her as they always did. As all the animals had always done.  Their disquiet was always a bit contagious too, Midnight tugging some against her reign.  

“Don’t pay them any mind, you know better than to be frightened of me.”  This settled her.

At the bottom of the hill, out of sight of any windows at the house, I swung my leg over her back, not bothering to ride sidesaddle. Oddly my mother insisted I learn English riding, a break from tradition I never quite understood, but with the chance to ride faster and more comfortably, I didn’t question it.

Whether it started to rain harder or if it was my new found speed I couldn’t tell, but my dress was soon soaked through.  The cold coated me in a numbness that carried me faster and faster into town.  It was Misses Yardley that had shown me the way through these particular side streets. Picking up supplies for her apothecary meant sometimes meeting more nefarious folk.  She was hesitant to bring me at first. My age and having been raised a lady made her think it was much too dangerous.  I couldn’t say what changed her mind.

So I knew when to take a right. When to ride slowly and cover my leather shoes with my cloak. The rain meant it was quiet. Meant I had less to worry about.  The cold water splashing over cobblestone, dripping heavily from roofs’ edges, sent all the shadowed figures indoors to whatever warmth they could find. 

I knew the building I was looking for. Knew this area better than I did the country roads where I Iived. It was the fear that did it. That I might one day find myself separated from Misses Yardley.  What would happen if I was stranded here all alone.  I would know exactly where I was and how to get back.  

The  chipped sign for the Weary Travler’s Inn creaked back and forth in the wind.  Just around the side, there was an entrance in from the alley that would have the service I needed.  Midnight gave me a skeptical look as I tied her to the post outside. I couldn’t blame her.  This was no place to be left alone.

The door must be the only thing on this side of town that doesn’t squeak. No need to draw attention to anyone coming in here.  The pawnbroker lifted his head all the same, keenly in tune with any sounds or shifts in the air of his shop.  Placing his book down on the counter, he looked expectantly at the door behind me.

“Where’s Misses Yardley?”  I was surprised that he recognized me, but however unassuming I may think myself to be, you have to have sharp eyes to run this sort of business.

“She’s not with me today.” Those eyes turn a bit cold. Suspicious even.

“No?  What d’you want then?”

“I’m here to sell some goods. To secure a loan.”

“Are you? And what d’you have for me?”

I knew exactly what I would offer him, heart racing at the idea of giving it away.  Of what it might feel like in someone else’s hands.  It didn’t come off right away. Tugged at my skin as I twisted it.  The look on my mother’s face when she saw it’s gone...  

I pulled harder, knowing I lost a layer of skin over my knuckle.  So when a brush of cold touched the skin of my neck, I thought the pain must be why.  He startled when I slammed the ring on his counter, unaware of my claim to victory.  

“This should be worth what I need.”  My voice was a little shaky, despite all the effort I was putting towards appearing confident.  Like I knew what I was doing at all.  Like how Misses Yardley did.  But my expression faltered at the look on his face.  

“I won’t be takin’ this Miss.”  He pushed it back towards me, shaking his head.  

“What?  It’s genuine, I swear.  I don’t have the original documents, but you can check it yourself.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Then why won’t you take it?”

“That’s a fine piece. Too fine.  Without your father or husband with you, I can’t take that.”

“I assure you that ring belongs to me.”

“I’m not doubtin’ the truth in that, but I won’t have them come around here, makin’ a fuss when they hear about you’re sellin’ it.”

“The ring belongs to me, what would they have to do with any of this?”

“You wear it Miss. That don’t mean it belongs to you.”  His tone wasn’t exactly apologetic.  Perhaps gentle.  It didn’t soften the blow.  It didn’t make me feel any less helpless.  This was too important.  It struck me-- he had looked for Misses Yardley when we came in.  He’d even met Ada before she’d gotten too ill for journeys like these.

“I think it would be best, sir,” Misses Yardley had always called him Uncle, everyone did, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to, and asking a man like him their name would only seem like I was asking for trouble, “if you knew what it is I need the money for.”

“That’s no business of--”

“It’s Ada.”  This quieted him, his eyes darkening.

“She gettin’ worse?”

“She passed four nights ago.  There was only enough money to bury her.  Her grave goes unmarked.”  The way he gives in-- his shoulders dropping, the lines in his face deepening-- leaves me with no sense of victory.

“Give it here.”  His hand was outstretched, ready to take the ring when, they heard the clattering of a carriage outside.  The wheels hd barely stopped rattling against the cobblestone before the door was thrown open.  Frosted wind swirls through the room, scattering the candle light across the newcomer's lithe, imposing figure.

“I need to speak with the innkeeper.”  His voice shook through the room, pitched deep, almost menacing.

“You’re speakin’ with him.”  The pawnbroker stepped around the counter, getting far enough into the room that he was between the stranger and me.

“A couple is staying here with you. They would have checked in late last night.  Perhaps even at dawn.”

“Couldn’t say.”  He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You can.  You know where they are and you will tell me.”

“I’ve given you my answer and if you don’t like it you’re free to go.”

“I will not--” the stranger started, but I had had enough.

“Sir,” stepping out from behind the pawnbroker, I moved between them, “the gentlemen and I are in the middle of a transaction.  If you have business with him, you will wait your turn like anyone of your standing has been raised to do.”  Because he was clearly a gentleman.  His clothes well tailored and his face clean of any stubble.  

“I have no interest in your backdoor dealings. You can finish trading your pearls for whatever dirty habit your husband’s picked up when I have the information I need.”

“I do apologize, sir, for having so misidentified you. Whatever wealth you may have been born with, you are no gentleman.”  I spat at him, my hands clenched into shaking fists at his words.

“And where is that polite society to be found here?  With the man buying your possessions at half their worth or the woman so desperate for god knows what that she’s willing to sell them to him?”

“You make such a claim, you best have the aim to support it!”  The pawnbroker growled, reaching into his jacket.  The stranger mimicked his movements, both about to draw their pistols when we heard a woman’s scream from upstairs. 

“Madeline!”  The stranger shouted, darting past us. I’m quick on his heels, the pawnbroker limping behind me. Another scream and the stranger was taking the steps two at a time.  Steadily the sounds became clearer. Not just a woman's cries, but a man’s too. And the thumps of what is unmistakably a body being thrown about.  

“You think you are too good for me?”  I could hear the man’s voice, high and strained, through the ceiling.

“No,” the woman is sobbing, “Mr. Walton, I’m sorry!  Please, I won’t leave!  I’ll never leave!”  

At this, the stranger snarled, veering right and speeding down the hall.  He was hunting them down and seemed to have the ear for it.  The last door on his left and he didn’t knock, didn’t even try the handle, just reared back and put his boot right over the lock.  It burst open, splinters of wood flying out in all directions.  The man and woman both let out surprised shouts.

“Mr. Farrow!”  The woman cried out, a man hunched over her sprawled frame, his hand raised like we had interrupted him mid strike.

“Walton you amoral, unprincipled excuse for a man!”  The stranger-- Mr. Farrow-- grabbed Mr. Walton by his collar and yanked him off of her, shaking him back and forth like trying to rid dirt from a particularly repugnant carpet.  I elbowed past them, pushing them to the wall so that I could get to the woman-- Madeline, he had said.

“Are you alright?”  She was prostrate on the floor, her back against the bed frame, trying to get up but clearly too hurt to do so on her own.  I noticed too, her belly jutting out, clearly swollen with child, overwhelming her small frame.

“Yes,” she brushed off my question, “please, Miss, you must get them to stop!”  Looking over my shoulder, I saw Mr. Farrow had thrown Mr. Walton to the ground, both of them getting hits in wherever they could.  The pawnbroker was likely still on the stairs, he’d fallen behind them quite quickly and they had come a long way up in a short time.  

I stood, trying to find an angle where either might be able to see me and inadvertently put myself right in the way of their brawl.  Mr. Walton heaved Mr. Farrow over into my legs, knocking me into the side of the nightstand.  There was a burst of pain as my head hit its wooden edge, light blaring behind my eyes.

“Miss!”  Madeline cried out, again trying to lift herself off the floor, her injuries keeping her in place.  My vision blurred some, and I felt something hot and wet drip down the side of my face. I didn't need to see it to know that it was blood.  Pushing myself off the floor, I righted myself, and without a single care for who my foot connected with, I gave a swift kick.  There was a deep-- and admittedly satisfying-- thump of my riding boot catching someone’s side.  

Mr. Farrow grunted, shocked, and whipped around for his attacker.  When he saw it was me, his jaw dropped.  Mr. Walton took advantage of the distraction, sucker punching Mr. Farrow in the gut.  Mr. Farrow rolled off of him, arms crossed over his stomach, gasping for air that wouldn’t come.  

When Mr. Walton moved to clamber over him, I grabbed at the exposed waist of his pants, dragging him backwards like an ill behaved dog.  He scrabbled at the floor in front of him, trying to get free and he was strong enough that I feared he just might manage it.  Thinking it the best way to keep him still, I planted my foot firmly in the square of his back, flattening him with my weight.

“Enough!” I shouted it as loud as I could, the effort making the room tilt and I grabbed for the wall.  “This woman,” I waved my free hand at Madeline, “needs a doctor!”  

Mr. Farrow, having now recovered from the blow to his diaphragm, rushed to crouch beside her.

“Are you alright?”  He was gentle as he patted his hands over her head, her side, and then her belly.  Clinical even.

“Yes, sir.”  She seemed embarrassed, unable to meet his eye.

“You can see for yourself she’s fine!  I didn’t touch her!”  Mr. Walton coughed out from underneath my weight.

“Walton, were there not women present, I would be sure that you would never touch her again.”  

“You think you can threaten me!?  The king of Hollow Hill deigns to come down from his castle all but once a year and you think you have the standing to reproach me!?”

“You think I give a damn about standing!?  When you’ve kidnapped and abused my housekeeper!?”

“And what proof does the hermit on the hill have of that!?”

“You seem to forget,” and the venom in my voice is thick enough to surprise even myself, my understanding of the situation driving my heel further into Mr. Walton’s back, “that there is another witness to your depraved behavior.  One with a fair reputation and standing enough that the authorities would take me for my word.”

“And who the hell are you?  What stake could you possibly have in the affairs of some servant girl?”  Mr. Walton chokes out.

“My name is Winnifred Everly, and I will not allow you to hold dominion over this woman.”  Whatever anger he had been reigning in, these words released it.  He heaved himself out from under me, his elbow coming up to meet my knee, sending me tumbling over into the doorway.  I could only think that I was quite tired of being tossed about like this.  

With him already on his feet and me still on my knees, I couldn’t do much more than grab at his coat.  Mr. Walton whipped around, red face twisted with anger and I saw too late the fist he had lifted over me.  There was a light rush of it moving through the air and then a stark thud of knuckles on my cheekbone.  The stinging tear of the skin beneath my eye.  Another explosion of light and pain.  My vision blurred again, and the last thing I saw was the enormous foot of the pawnbroker stepping over me and Mr. Walton being thrown to the ground.