Chapter 10

Aunt Ruth had held onto Mrs. Tishell until her husband Clive came to get her, then she and Clive escorted the madwoman to hospital in the Tishell's car.

I made a quick examination of our son and he looked healthy. I didn't; think that Mrs. Tishell would harm him; at least not on purpose.

James fell asleep immediately when Louisa belted him into his car seat, then she peeped over the top of the car at me.

"What?" I asked.

She tossed her head. "Now… what… uhm, do we do?"

"What do you mean?"

Penhale came trotting up just then. "Found it!" he exclaimed happily, brandishing his radio which had gone missing at The Castle.

I groaned as our inept policeman came near us.

Penhale went on, "It's fine! All good, but I think the battery case is cracked, and the antenna's gone adrift and lost; couldn't find it." He grinned the way he did. "It can be repaired."

Louisa nodded at him. "Glad to hear it."

"How's James Henry?" he asked us.

"Appears to be well enough," I grunted.

Joe nodded. "Good. Grand. That's swell. I hate to think…" he gulped and shook his head. 'Poor little guy I was worried what with her blabbin' on about feelin' free. Thought she might have total bonkers back there."

"She was," I told him. "But I didn't think she would do herself or anyone else any harm. Not in her nature, even during psychosis."

Louisa changed the subject. "I'm sure Martin will check him over Joe," Louisa said. "Won't you?" that directed at me.

"Yes."

Joe hooked his thumbs over his belt and smiled at us. "You got your baby back and Mrs. Tishell will get sorted, I hope."

"Once the drugs have cleared her system and she gets anti-psychotic treatment she ought to be fine," Martin pronounced.

"Still maybe I ought to handcuff her? No?" Joe nodded. "All's well then, but, what about you two?"

Louisa's head whipped around to face me. "We'll…"

"I mean," Joe interrupted, "You moved out; been living in two houses; all that."

I looked at her gently and saw her start to chew her lip. "You should come home, if you want to," I told her.

She smiled. "I… I will today. That what you want?"

"I do."

"Sure?"

Joe held up his hands in embarrassment. "You two don't mind me, but I would appreciate a ride back to the village."

"In the back, then," I prompted.

Joe did as directed and mercifully kept his mouth shut on the ride home, other than making cooing noises to James. "Like a little lamb he is; so – precious."

Louisa turned her head and smiled at me.

"You said it Joe," she whispered. "Precious."

Joe leaned forward, his voice now filled with concern. "You're sure he's okay? Wasn't hurt by that – mad woman?"

"He appears to be perfectly fine, Penhale," I answered.

Louisa glanced at James nervously. "Ninety-nine percent sure, Joe."

"And you two?" he said. "You guys okay now? None of my business, but…"

"Joe," I barked, "shush."

Heading towards God knew what in that dark wood I thought of the way she had looked into the rear seat at our son and then at me, as she snaked her arm across the car and touched my elbow.

It was reinforced when I heard Louisa say ninety-nine percent. "OH?"

"Yeah, and a fox and farmer means a farm house. Which means a telephone," she said next.

"Ninety-nine percent sure?" I repeated to her. "Not entirely conclusive is it?" My arm was still stinging from the tap she gave me on the wrist, but I followed her up the slippery slope anyway.

"Right."

"Louisa."

She stopped and look back at me. "Yes?"

"I… look, whatever happens…"

"Whatever wot?"

"Let's just stay calm, make a call and get home. And if you wished to take a honeymoon…"

Her angry eyes whirled away.

"I mean, if you wish a repeat, not of this ghastly trip of course, but…" I swallowed hard. "I will do whatever it takes to make you happy."

"Wot's that mean, Martin?" she said glowering at me. "Happy to me might not be happy to you."

"There is that," I muttered.

If she wanted to spend time on a beach somewhere risking melanoma, an increased risk of cataracts, and being tumbled about in the surf and injuring herself who was I to protest? This was the problem, well, one of my problems; I not only evaluated the most horrible risk and made that a probability, not a possibility.

"Look, Martin, I'm freezing, so can we continue this chat later?"

I glanced around the dark wood. "Yes, travel planning seems daft at the moment."

"Martin, you're not daft. A bit dense sometimes," she giggled and tapped my forehead. "But never daft."

I cleared my throat. "Thank you for the testimonial."

I got the briefest of smiles for that. "Come on."

We didn't hear any more yelling or barking from whomever or whatever, but we did see a faint glow ahead in the fog. The ground was thick with ferns, and brush, half of it fallen braches so we had quite a hike in a wavering line.

Finally I got a glimpse of our goal for there were dim lights on a sagging structure and signs. Signs which read 'Keep Out' and 'Private.' 'No Trespassing – This Means YOU!' was the least polite.

"Louisa I don't think this farmer will be very welcoming. But at least he can spell."

"They'll help us, Martin, don't worry."

"Louisa, we're miles from anywhere, who knows if the road is even close. And you can bet the denizens of that," I pointed at the decrepit caravan squatting ahead of us in the fog. "Lives here for a reason."

"Well, right. Not a farmhouse then," she said when we saw the patched-together hovel in the dark wood. She took the light from me and walked ahead. "Hm." She waved the light over the signs. "Doesn't exactly welcome visitors either." She moved closer to me as I stood behind a large tree.

"We're here now. Come on," I told her and took a few steps when a giant dog began to bark, and close at hand, which set Louisa to screaming.

I waved at the dog. "Shoo! Go on, get…" Suddenly I went over backwards and fell on my backside, landing in a tangle of sticks and netting. From the pungent smell I knew I was lying in chicken offal. "God!" A hen or two went squawking and fluttering past my face. "Oh, no."

The chicken noises were accented by that dog while Louisa made cooing noises to me. "Martin? You alright?"

"Uhm, yes," I managed to stand but felt my pants covered in muck. I got upright when a gruff voice yelled at us.

"What are you doin' out here?" The man was old, white haired and wild-eyed. Any notions we had about his not being friendly was emphasized by the over-under shotgun he wielded.

000

I cowered behind Martin, trying not to wet myself.

"Who are you?" the man barked. He leveled his gun at Martin's middle.

"We… were just looking for some help," Martin said softly, much as he spoken to Jonathan when he was threatening us. "Would you mind lowering your gun?"

"I don't like people pokin' around here!" the man said gruffly.

"We're not poking around here – we just wanted to use your telephone."

"Haven't got a phone."

Martin sighed meanly. "Of course you don't."

The old man came closer. "Wot's with the fancy clothes?"

My chance to speak past a dry tongue. "It's our wedding day and this… is the honeymoon." My knees were shaking and I'm afraid my voice betrayed my terror. I didn't like guns, not before, and not now.

The man replied snarkily, "Congratulations."

Martin tried to sidle away backwards and that set the farmer off. "EASY Tiger! No – sudden – moves," the man snarled.

We froze in place, me clinging to Martin's back. I'd made fun of him for getting spooked by a wayward horse, but here he was face-to-face with a madman bearing a gun, and he didn't back down. So he was afraid of horses but not deranged hermits pointing a loaded gun at him. Strange; very – yet so Martin. When it counted he had what it took. Now he was protecting me or so I felt so. Martin – my Martin – was a man of, not quite steel. But he had backbone when it was needed.

"That thing loaded?" Martin asked the man.

"Of course it's loaded."

"Well why don't you put it down before someone gets hurt? Yourself included." Martin cleared his throat. "And if you can't help us with the telephone… we'll just be on our way."

I was only too ready to leave this place and never see it again. Keeping ahold of Martin's jacket I didn't need any urging to back up.

"Oh, no, no, no," the farmer told us. "You're not goin' anywhere."

Martin froze but said to him. "I beg your pardon."

Martin was not the best with people – that was my department - and now I feared he'd get into a shouting match with this mad old bugger. "Martin… just…"

"There are foxes out here," the man told us as he scanned the dark woods. "EDNA!" he yelled and that made me jump.

Martin chose that moment to go into doctor mode. "Are you taking any sort of medication? Do you know what the date is?"

The man snickered. "Course I do. So should you, it bein' your weddin' day and all," he whispered. Then he screamed "EDNA!"

"Is that your wife?" Martin asked him.

"My dog." A grey and white mutt came over and sat down by him. "She's a good judge a' character."

I looked at the old man, and maybe he wasn't that old, just a bit shabby, his clothes weren't ragged, just a little worn, and if he smelled bad I couldn't get a whiff from the smell of the chicken poo all over Martin's backside.

"So, what happens now?" Martin asked.

The man's blue eyes flicked to the tangle of netting. "You start mending my chicken coop."

I peered at it around Martin's shoulder. It was a mess. "I'm sure it looks worse than it is. Probably just," I started to pick up the pieces, "stand it back up."

I glanced at Martin for help and came to me. "Just take a few minutes."

"Needs to be done properly," the old man grumbled. "You broke it," he said, much the way a child might. Then he turned mean. "You FIX it."

Martin coughed. "How about I give you some money and you can get it patched up?"

Money was a good idea. He'd likely jump at it I hoped.

He tossed his head. "Tools are over there."

Him telling that to my husband was not likely to work out well, for Martin, though a skilled doctor, and good with his clocks, I'd never seen do anything else of a handyman nature. I'd have to help. I dropped the broken stakes I was holding and went towards where the man waved the muzzle of the gun.

Martin took up a sledge leaning against the caravan. "Louisa I'll set this right and you start to collect chickens, uhm, if you can."

I rolled my eyes. "Right. Just what I wanted to do on my honeymoon trip."

"Louisa," Martin whispered, "Just do it. Then we can get away from here."

"And then what? We'll still be stuck out in no-man's-land."

He sighed. "At least we'll be away from this bodmin fellow."

I nearly giggled as Martin had used a local term. "Sorry."

"Hey!" the old man bellowed. "Wot you two natterin' on about over there?"

A hen strutted past my feet. "There's one," Martin directed as he hefted the sledge hammer.

I followed the chicken around the back of the house past a huge pile of boards, barrels, and sorted refuse. "God. I hope there's no other nighttime visitors buried out here."

When I snagged the bird, Martin was trying to drive the post he'd dislodged back into place. He was using his right hand and arm to swing the sledge barely holding the post with his injured left. Even I could see he was doing a poor job of it. "Here's one," I said brightly.

"That's good, fer running around they're just feed for foxes," the old man said approvingly but his attention turned to Martin. "Oh for God's sake! My dog Edna could do a better job!"

That set Martin off. "Well why don't you do it yourself then?"

He smirked. "No. I'd rather see a moron like make a good job of it. Ha, ha, ha."

"Excuse me," I butted in for this was too much. "Yes we broke you're chicken coop. But you pointed a loaded gun at us. Practically held us hostage and now you're insulting my husband!"

"Louisa," Martin whispered. "Don't…"

"No Martin! Good manners cost nothing!"

The man lowered the gun and approached Martin. "I think you're missus is a little bit doolally."

"Oh do you?" Martin bristled. "Look, I've banged your post in. Now just tell us where that telephone is and we'll be on our way."

The man reversed his firearm and nudged the post with the butt of it. It wiggled and nearly fell over and he was none too pleased. "Oh for God's sake. I'll bash it in!" He put the gun down. "Here! I'll bash it in and you hold it!"

That was my chance. I snatched up his gun and turned it towards him. "Apologize!" I yelled as I got my finger on the trigger.

"Louisa!" Martin squealed.

I swung the gun his way and he ducked. "Alright Martin." The gun went back to the farmer who held the sledge ready for a swing at the coop corner post. "Now, apologize to my husband!" Cold, wet, tired and hungry, I had to pee, and I wasn't going to take abuse of my new husband lightly! He was the only one I had and took me long enough to get him.

The farmer stared at me with a puzzled look so I poked him in the shoulder with the gun. "Go on!"

He rolled his eyes but said to Martin, "Sorry."

"Now, fix your post," I commanded and he swung at the pole. Unfortunately Martin had just let go of it and his swing went wild hitting the ground.

"Louisa, give me that gun," Martin said as he tried to take it from me and as I pulled the gun away from Martin's grasp, I heard a cry.

"Owww!" the old man screamed and I heard a pop and crunch as well. The farmer was bent over clutching his shoulder mewling.

"Martin?" I said.

Martin went to him. "Let me see. I think you've dislocated your shoulder."

"Me? You mean you have! Wot's wrong with you people comin' round here in the middle of the night?" the man snarled. "Demanding things! Breaking things!"

Martin tried to take his arm. "Let me see it."

"No, you're NOT touching me!"

"He's a doctor!" I told him. "Stop whining and let him have a look."

Martin pushed his hand inside the man's worn denim jacket. "Yes. Dislocated. The humeral head's come out of its socket."

Little did I know that every disaster and misstep so far this night was nothing to what was about to happen. Martin was trying to wheedle the man into accepting help and the farmer was protesting.

I sighed and squeezed the cold steel of the shotgun tightly. Maybe I should just shoot them both and go home.