Chapter Twenty-Six
Supper at Hartfield was successfully passed. Emma had struck the delicate balance between not being too subdued to stir her father's anxiety and not too animated to rouse Miss Taylor's suspicion when she excused herself from the dining-room under the pretence of being fatigued wishing to retire early.
Two pillows were placed under a mound of blankets, and the ruffles of her nightcap were carefully left uncovered on her pillow to give the impression that the owner of the cap was deep in her slumbers. Though the disguise beneath the covers lacked the hypnotic rhythm of her quiet breathings, with the curtains drawn making the chamber pitch dark, it was impossible for anyone to notice that the fourteen-year-old was not in her bed.
As agreed upon, the Anderton children were waiting on Willow's Lane outside the Thompson Farm at dusk. As soon as they saw Emma approaching, the whole clan bounded in excitement.
Agnes exclaimed when Emma arrived, most surprisingly, "I cannot believe Mr. Woodhouse indeed let you come!"
No words came from Emma, but her unhappy stares had enlightened her friend.
"Oh..." Agnes realized that she had made a mistake, "You sneaked out from the side door by the kitchen, did not you?" she asked hesitantly, all her excitement had vanished.
With a deep frown and a heart full of guilt the fourteen-year-old nodded.
"Did not go well with your papa, huh?" Agnes asked sympathetically.
"No..." Emma let out a quiet reply, "I shall like it if we do not speak of it..."
Agnes shrugged and obliged.
"I am glad you are coming with us, Emma!" tugging at her elbow, little Nicolas looked up at Emma with a big innocent smile.
"Me too!" Tess chimed in animatedly, sharing every bit of her younger brother's sentiment.
Emma bent and gave Nicolas and Tess the kindest, though strained, smile, and she said sincerely to them both, "Thank you Nicolas, thank you Tess, I am glad to have come as well!"
The four of them, Agnes, Emma, Tess and Nicolas, jaunted down broad lanes and narrow paths, passed by quiet streams and rushing rivers, tripped through rustling woods and harvested fields, breathing in the autumn's crisp night air, bathing in the luminous inviting moon glow. Nothing, not even nettle stings and thorn bush pricks, could dampen the jubilant spirits of this motley gang – they laughed, they sang, they skipped, they chanted throughout their journey all the way to the edge of town. It was when they were approaching their most anticipated destination that Agnes began to speak in a low and mysterious voice.
"It happened in the small hours of the night... just like..." she paused, then whispered, "...tonight!"
The rest of the gang went completely silent; their jaunty pace suddenly slowed down to a crawl.
"What... what... happened?" Tess asked, chills creeping down her spine.
"The vats in the brewery began to burst!" Three pairs of big round eyes stared at the storyteller. "The beer had been fermenting for months in the large wooden vats, but the metal loops round the vats snapped, and hundreds and hundreds of gallons of beer came gushing out!"
The audiences gasped.
"The family of four who owned the brewery inhabited the basement at night were sleeping and snoring soundly when the flash flood of beer came rushing in the small space!"
"Oh no!" Tess and Nicolas cried out together.
"Did they drown?" asked Tess.
Agnes gave a solemn nod.
"But that is untrue!" Emma interjected, noting the inaccuracies and exaggerations in Agnes's tale in her mind, she added, "Mr. Knightley said nobody was hurt in the incidence!"
The storyteller hastily hushed the spoiler of her tale, "Sure they did!" She quickly dismissed the interruption and turned to Nicolas, "Did you know the name of the family's five-year-old boy?"
Little Nicolas shook his head with bewildered eyes.
"Nicky – his name was Nicky!" Agnes's grey eyes looked sharply into Nicolas's.
Poor Nicolas froze.
"And" now the storyteller aimed her frightening stare at her sister, "did you know the name of their eleven-year-old daughter?"
Tess gulped and stammered, "Ah... could... could it be... T-Tess?"
"Tessa!" Agnes revealed wickedly, "Her name was Tessa!"
The eleven-year-old shrank.
"That night" the storyteller continued, "with beer reaching up to their chins, Nicky and Tessa cried out, '...help... help, could someone help us... pray... help us...'"
By now, Tess and Nicolas had clung to each other like shipwrecked seamen clutching to their sinking ship. In spite of fears spilling from their eyes and ears, they would not stop beckoning the storyteller, "What... what happened? Did someone help them?"
Agnes shook her head mournfully. "They kept crying and crying, their voices got weaker and weaker..." the storyteller's voice grew weaker with her tale, "...and eventually... there came no more sound from them..."
Right when tears were welling up the two children's eyes...
"BOOM!" in a thunderous voice the storyteller suddenly bellowed, and the children shook. "More vats exploded and the entire brewery, basement and all, was flooding with ale; the whole family, mama, papa, Tessa and Nicky all died that night... BUT..." the storyteller suspended.
"What... what, Agnes?" the two trembling children begged.
"No – one –" the storyteller drawled, "found – their – bodies!"
GASPED! Tess and Nicolas heaved aloud – only that Emma was unmoved, her eyes narrowed.
"Rumour has it" Agnes went on, "that the family loved their brewery so much that their spirits could not part with the place. It was said that the spirits buried their own dead bodies somewhere in the ground, but no one knows where! Since then many villagers have seen ghosts roaming round the brewery at night looking for trespassers like – YOU!"
Tess and Nicolas staggered.
"What..." Tess's very small voice squeaked, "What... would the ghosts do to the trespassers, Agnes?"
Agnes lifted the lantern next to her head deliberately pulling a monstrous face, and said morbidly, "They SLIT their throats and HANG their bodies on the gallows trees!"
The two children trembled visibly!
The storyteller suddenly looked up and pointed at the tree tops, "LOOK! Can you see dead bodies on the gallows?"
Tess and Nicolas looked up frantically searching for dead bodies.
"LOOK DOWN!" Agnes shouted, "They are COMING out of the ground – reaching for your FEET!"
Tess and Nicolas immediately shifted their fearful eyes to their feet, yelping and jumping off the ground like they were stepping on burning coal in bare feet; the poor children were running round screaming like mad while Agnes launched into hysterical laughter, throwing herself forth and back, before falling into a small coughing fit.
"Stop, Agnes!" Emma demanded hurriedly, "You are frightening them!"
Emma quickly ran to gather Tess and Nicolas in her arms, rubbing their shoulders and faces tenderly, reassuring them with a soothing voice, "Mr. Knightley said nobody was hurt in the flood! The family had little money to repair the ruined brewery, they moved away to stay with their relatives outside of Highbury and never moved back. That was all, pray do not be frightened!"
Recovering from her coughing fit, Agnes interposed, "But, Emma!" doing little to suppress her amusement, "Tess and Nicolas love being scared!" turning to her siblings, she asked with lingering laughter, "Do the two of you love being frightened by scary tales?"
The two children nodded and grinned with unsurpassed enthusiasm!
"Do not you understand, Emma?" Agnes turned back to ask her friend, "Getting scared is the best part of a ghost-hunt; it is the whole point of the adventure! Have not you ever been to a ghost-hunt before?"
Emma looked at Agnes ruefully – she shook her head.
"Huh..." The truth had just dawned on the peasant girl. Agnes's amused face turned sheepish, "Ah... sorry... I... I forgot that your papa would not let you..."
"But there is first time to everything!" Emma declared mischievously. It sure did not take long for the young Hartfield Mistress to rid her rueful face and turned it into a big rascally grin. She let go of the two children from her embrace and eagerly began her own mysterious antics.
"Two years after the beer flood," she said lowly, "a man named Captain Billy came to Highbury, he had lived on a ship most of his life, but lost his left hand to the sea and was casted off by his shipmates. Captain Billy had not a single shilling in his pocket, but only a hook as his hand; though he begged for lodging, no one would take him in... He wandered and wandered the whole night until he reached the edge of town – the ruined brewery, on a night when the moon was full and the air biting into his skin... just like... tonight..."
The two children, Tess and Nicolas, began to clutch to each other and shrink, but their timorous stares never left the storyteller's spine-tingling narrowed-eyes.
"And when he came close to the ruined brewery, in this very same spot, the spirits, who had been guarding their sacred dwelling – SEIZED – him from below, grabbing his feet and pulling him into the ground!"
Right at the very moment, Emma's culprit Agnes grabbed the ankles of Tess and Nicolas tight, causing the two children to scream from their lungs and struggle to loosen her holds.
"Captain Billy" Emma cried out wickedly, "became one of the spirits and began to guard the place like his own from trespassers like – YOU!"
"TESS!" Emma shouted, "Captain Billy is BEHIND you! NICOLAS, he is at your back with his HOOK! Run, children, RUN!"
While Tess and Nicolas were screaming from their lungs and running for their lives, Agnes, who had been chasing the children with a fallen tree branch scaring the lives and wild giggles out of the two, was laughing so hard that she could barely breath, and Emma, the crowned new adventurer in Highbury, was watching on the side with tears of joy running down her rosy cheeks, hugging her stomach tightly to herself, for she feared that her uncontrollable laughter was about to burst open her stomach before the night's end!
Hours before dusk set in, when the troops of villagers congregated together, cheering for the last harvest load coming from the furthest field. Women and children, adorned with cowslips and boughs of leaves, were placed on the load, horses were urged forward, and the procession came full gallop to the front of the Harvest Home, the Donwell farm-house, where the before happy party, composed of the men, women and children of the reapers' families, neighbours and friends, and the Master of Donwell, his bailiff, his Abbey's staffs, who had laboured for days preparing for the most joyful occasion of the year, were waiting to welcome home that last load.
And when the last harvest load arrived, the reaper with the loudest and clearest voice shouted:
We have ploughed, we have sowed,
We have reaped, we have mowed,
We have brought home every load,
Hip, hip, hip, Harvest home!
The whole assembly cheered, "Huzzah! Huzzah! HUZZAH!"
The hour of the event had arrived, the men had put on their clean white frocks and boys greased their shoes to look smart, the women and girls were in their richest garments. They had all come to Donwell Abbey to partake the Harvest Supper, the tradition of Donwell for generations, where the Master of Donwell bestowed upon his toiling labourers and their families a lavish meal of hot cake, roast beef, syllabub, gooseberry wine, plum pudding, and all the ale the crowd wished to devour.
The grand feast was out of doors, long tables were spread across the extensive Abbey ground, foaming nappy ale was accompanied by the lily taper tube and weed of India growth, with mirth and jollity abound. And when the juices of the barrel had exhilarated the spirits, the torches were lit, the fiddlers fiddled, a dance was struck up, the stiffness of age and rheumatic pangs forgotten, and those who had passed the grand climacteric, upon their 'light fantastic toes' felt in the midst of their teens!
And when the party were scarcely capable of keeping on their seat by the operation of the ale, the ceremony of drinking health to the master began, in glee or catch, the party hailed:
Here's a health unto our master,
He is the finder of the feast;
God bless his endeavours,
And send him increase,
And send him increase, boys,
All in another year!
Although some landowners found the feast a tiresome duty, and others would only be subjected to a perfunctory appearance at the event, Mr. Knightley heartily appreciated all who toiled for Donwell and he took pride for being amongst those in the lower ranking class. The Donwell Master had sat at every table, hobnobbed with the young, the old and the middling, he gladly sipped wine and ale when bidden, but graciously declined all requests to sing and dance with the crowd.
The splendid hours at the Supper were thoroughly taken pleasure of by the Donwell Abbey Master, the only exception was that he had forgotten that Emma was not on the terrace enjoying the scenery of the crowd singing and dancing, and the ceremony of drinking health; several times he had lifted his eyes searching for the sight of her only to be reminded that she did not come, leaving him wondering what had kept his young friend from the occasion that she had in the past enjoyed so much.
And now, the glow of the torches were fierce, the men and boys formed a circle by taking hold of hands, and one of the party standing in the center, placing a jug of ale near him on the ground, with a horn or tin sort of trumpet in his hand, made a signal, and "Halloo! Lar-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ge-ess" was given as loud and as long as their lungs would allow, at the same time elevating their hands as high as they could, and still keeping hold – the Hallooing-Largess ritual had begun.
But when the largess was hallooed the second time, Mr. Knightley looked up and saw his constable and an unfamiliar figure trotting onto the Donwell Abbey ground. The Donwell Master slowly, and ponderously, rose from his seat at the table, watching the two horsemen approaching; within half a minute, the constable and the stranger dismounted a small distance away from the crowd. From the rim of his tankard, Joseph, Mr. Knightley's groom, caught sight of the two men riding onto the Abbey ground; he laid down his tankard immediately running over to take the bridles from the two men's hands.
"Good evening, Mr. Knightley," the Donwell constable took off his hat, greeting the magistrate.
"Good evening, Hills," the magistrate returned the greeting, alarmed – judging by the serious expression on the two latecomers, Mr. Knightley knew that the pair had not come for the celebration.
"I am sorry for interrupting your Harvest Supper, Mr. Knightley, but Mr. Oxley, the constable from Epsom, had arrived at my doorsteps an hour ago, wishing to see you," imparted the local constable.
"Good evening, Mr. Knightley," the Epsom constable lifted his hat and bowed respectfully to the magistrate.
"Good evening, Mr. Oxley. I believe most of Epsom is celebrating harvest tonight as well, something unusual must have brought you to Donwell?" asked Mr. Knightley, straight to the point.
"Indeed, sir!" replied Mr. Oxley, "Our magistrate had charged me to bring an urgent letter to you." The Epsom constable handed a sealed letter to Mr. Knightley.
Breaking the seal and unfolding the letter, Mr. Knightley asked, "I trust that Mr. Suter is well?"
"Yes, sir," replied Oxley.
The magistrate felt into silence as he read the missive. Once he finished, carefully folding the letter and placing it in his coat pocket, he looked up – the expression on his face was now as serious as the constables'.
Addressing to the Epsom constable, Mr. Knightley asked, "Is Mr. Suter certain that the two French prisoners had escaped to Highbury? Was there any eye witnesses?"
"No, sir! We had searched throughout Epsom for two full days, could not unearth the two prisoners. Notices were posted all over town rewarding anyone who could produce the whereabouts of the escapees. A farmer had discovered two sets of prisoner uniform, one of them with blood stain on it, in his farm-house earlier today and brought forth the garments to our magistrate. The farm-house was located at the outskirt of Epsom, merely several miles from Highbury, which is why our magistrate believes that the prisoners must have fled to your town, Mr. Knightley!"
"And on our way to Donwell Abbey," Hills interposed, "we had stopped and inquired if anyone had seen strangers since yesterday."
"What did you find out?" the magistrate asked his constable.
"We knocked on the doors of most of the cottages, but almost all households were celebrating at their master's harvest feast!"
"But there ought to be someone still at their home," said Mr. Knightley.
"Yes, we did find several families still at their homes!" Hills replied, "And couple of them said that though they had not seen strangers, they saw smouldering coming out of some distance from their cottages late last night!"
"What buildings or possible hiding places are within the vicinity of those families?" Mr. Knightley pressed.
"There are several ruined old barns to the South of the cottages, and an old farm house and the abandoned brewery are on the North side, sir," supplied Hills.
"Humph," Mr. Knightley considered the intelligence, "as Epsom is to the North of Highbury... we shall begin the search round the areas of the farm house and the abandoned brewery as soon as possible," stated Mr. Knightley.
The Hallooing-Largess ritual just ended, the noise of the crowd eased; the words 'abandoned brewery' coming from his master had caught the attention of Mr. Anderton, who, before the arrival of the constables, was sitting with Mr. Knightley at the table exchanging words pertaining to the ongoing drainage work at the Donwell home-farm.
He stood up abruptly and interjected, "Did you say abandoned brewery, Mr. Knightley? Is something wrong at the place?" Mr. Anderton's anxiety was noticed instantly by the magistrate and the constables.
"Two French prisoners have escaped from Epsom; its magistrate believes they have fled to Highbury. And it is possible that they are hiding in or somewhere close to the abandoned brewery," Mr. Knightley explained.
"No! Oh no! My children!" Mr. Anderton cried.
"What happened to your children, Anderton?" asked Mr. Knightley, his eyes began searching for the sight of the Anderton children in the crowd, "Are they not at the Supper tonight?"
"No, Mr. Knightley, they did not come tonight!" Mr. Anderton replied anxiously, "Agnes promised to take the two younger ones for a ghost-hunt adventure at the abandoned brewery instead!"
Mr. Knightley's heart beats thickened, his mind immediately reckoned - what if the Anderton children ran into the escaped prisoners? Then a sudden notion struck him like a lightning bolt – the image of his dear young friend flashed in his mind, he shuddered at himself thinking: This was why Emma would not come tonight, she must have gone with the Anderton children! What if the prisoners took hold of the children... took hold of her?
"Mr. Knightley, are you well?" watching the magistrate's face turned white, the local constable asked hurriedly.
"Yes... I am... fine..." collecting himself in two seconds, Mr. Knightley replied. He turned to Oxley, "Did you say there was blood stain on the prisoner uniforms?"
"Yes, sir, there was blood stain on one set of the uniforms. We believe at least one of the prisoners was wounded during the escape, as fresh blood stain was discovered by the opening they used for the escape."
"Hills," turning to the local constable, Mr. Knightley ordered, "we must begin our search immediately, and take the Donwell hounds for the search."
"Mr. Oxley, do you have something of the prisoners that our hounds could sniff?" the magistrate asked.
"Yes, sir, scraps of their garments are in my satchel!" the Epsom constable replied.
"Where is Simon?" Mr. Knightley turned to William Larkins, who saw the gathering of the constables and his master and came over to discover what it was about. He heard the entire exchange.
"He was hallooing largess only minutes ago, sir, still amongst the crowd, I shall go fetch him," said the bailiff.
"Have him bring the hounds out immediately," ordered Mr. Knightley.
"Yes, sir." William Larkins swiftly took off.
"And Larkins," Mr. Knightley's calling halted the bailiff, "Once you find Simon, please stay behind to look after the Supper."
"Certainly, Mr. Knightley!" replied William Larkins, disappearing in the crowd.
"Joseph," after handing the bridles back to the two constables, the Donwell Master's groom had come to stand by his master's side awaiting instruction, Mr. Knightley said to him, "saddle Lady Dupree and bring her to the abandoned brewery."
"Ah... what about General, sir?" asked Joseph.
"I shall saddle General myself, there is no time to lose; we must set off as soon as possible!"
Once said, Mr. Knightley turned on his heels running for the stable.
"Mr. Knightley," Mr. Anderton called out with anxiety, "I must come with you!"
Mr. Knightley stopped; he turned round and said, "Yes, of course, Anderton, you must find your children!"
"May I come?" another voice interjected from the side. Both Mr. Knightley and Mr. Anderton shifted to see the owner of the voice.
It was Old Hackman. Ever since the day Mr. Knightley confronted his stealing from Abbey Mill Farm, the man had been keeping his promise to his master – not a drop of alcohol had touched his lips, his feet had not gone near any gaming house. On a night like this, when surrounded by ale and wine abound, Hackman kept himself by his master's side, staying clear of the massive temptation. He had been successful all evening long. He had also cleared Mr. Anderton's name by admitting to those whom he had lied to about Anderton's stealing from Abbey Mill Farm. Though a certain amount of awkwardness still existed between the current and former Donwell spademen and hedgers, both of them served their Donwell Master faithfully side by side at the Donwell home-farm.
"I know the area round the brewery like the back of my hand, I want to help!" Hackman offered sincerely.
Mr. Knightley nodded.
"Take the Donwell farm horses," addressing Anderton and Hackman the same time, Mr. Knightley said decisively, "they will be slower, but try to keep up!"
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! :-)