The Wanderers of the Water-Realm (35 page)

As she entered the bedroom, the wisewoman caught sight of Mrs Megan Oldshaw propped up in a high backed chair. The woman was almost completely covered by a heavy rug, and Hetty was able to see little more than her pale face and her thin white hands. She realized, at once, that the woman was suffering from some chronic lung infection, probably a common form of consumption, and had not long to live.

‘Perhaps only a few months.’ she thought, and she fought back an urge to offer the woman her skills, in a desperate effort to slow down the inevitable outcome of the disease. Hetty had immediate felt sympathy for the young mistress of the house, who could have been no more than thirty years of age, and who would never experience the pain and pleasure of motherhood and would soon be dead.

Despite her best efforts, the witch had been able to define nothing of a particularly unusual nature within the confines of the master-suite, or indeed in the remainder of the main house, and she was forced to conclude that if anything of a sinister nature existed within the walls of Westdyke Grange, then it unquestionably lay within the forbidden east wing; and she knew that she must somehow secure an entry.

Even so, her intuition told her that something might be gained by learning more about Mrs Oldshaw and her relationship with her husband. The wisewoman therefore carefully questioned the maid on the next occasion that she visited the kitchen, and whilst the cook was absent upon some other duty.

“What ails your mistress, lass?” Hetty enquired, as she poured out two cups of tea.

“She has consumption.” The maid confirmed. “The master has engaged all of the best physicians, but to no avail and I don’t think that she is long for this world!”

Hetty noticed tears welling up in the girl’s eyes.

“Have you been long in your mistress’s service?” She enquired.

“Aye, ever since I was a child.” May replied. “I come to Manchester with the mistress when she married Mr Oldshaw. Folks said that he wed her for her father’s money, for the master was but a mill manager at the time and it was said that he needed funds to start his own business. But they are wrong, for never did I see a young couple so much in love!” The girl sighed. “Then she contracted her disease and we moved here to Westdyke Grange, so that she could enjoy the cleaner air of the hills.”

Tears where now running down the maids face, but she continued her explanation.

“The master changed after he came here. He’s still considerate to the mistress, aye, and to a fault, but he went cold inside and he’s a different man to the pleasant gentleman who courted my mistress. All this prize-fighting and the like … he would never have countenanced it then!”

May pulled herself together and look of unease entered her eyes, for she probably realized that she had spoken too much for her own good.

She brushed away her tears and stood up. “Well, I mustn’t stay here gossipin’about things that concern neither of us.”She said, and quickly leaving the kitchen without even waiting to finish her tea.

Hetty and the remainder of the staff of Westdyke Grange enjoyed another three weeks of leisurely employment, before Silas Oldshaw completed his business in Manchester and returned to Westdyke Grange, upon a dark and windy Friday evening.

Suddenly, the pace of work in the kitchen increased. On Saturday morning, the wisewoman found herself helping the cook to prepare a mass of light sponge cakes, refreshments for the master’s invited guests to enjoy with their tea, when they arrived at the Grange, directly after the chapel services on the following morning.

Piggins also drove a light horse-van into Stalybridge and returned with two saddles of freshly killed lamb, together with a selection of sausages, kidneys and other offal’s, which the two women set about preparing for the next day’s midday meal.

The wisewoman and Mrs O’Day rose before five o’clock on the following morning, and worked without respite until one in the afternoon, when the main meal of the day was ready to be served to Silas Oldshaw and his guests. Afull hour of complete bedlam then followed, as servants bore away the fruits of the women’s labours to the hungry guests in the dining room.

Afterwards, the staff arrived for their own meal, and the clock on the wall had turned three before the two kitchen hands were able to relax with a pot of tea. It was during this well earned break that Hetty happened to glance out of the kitchen window and view Mr Silas Oldshaw for the first time.

Three men were examining a horse in the cobbled yard at the back of the Grange. One of the men was a short and massively shouldered individual with battered features and a shaven scalp. He held the horse’s head whilst the other two men ran their hands over the creature’s body. One of these men wore a tweed coat and leggings, having the appearance of a country gentleman or perhaps a local veterinary surgeon; however, Hetty knew instinctively that the third man was Silas Oldshaw, the industrialist and master of the household.

Oldshaw was much younger than the wisewoman had imagined and was certainly a year or two short of turning forty. He was tall and stood over six feet four inches and his lean build displayed the fine cut of his black church-going suit to perfection. She also noted his blonde hair and his handsome aquiline features showing few of the marks of oncoming middle age. Yet a cold chill ran down her spine, for her inner-eye instantly warned her that she was viewing a man who was completely steeped in evil.

The cook noticed Hetty’s interest in the man and smiled. “Yes lass, that’s the master right enough, he’s out there with yon vet from Stalybridge, seems that his favourite coach-horse is in trouble again.”

“God bless the master!” She said, and then frowned.

“I’ll give you some good advice; lass. You see that broken faced man holding the horses head; make sure that you keep well clear of him. He’s a bad lot. More than one house-maid has finished upon her back with her skirt over her head, whether she wished it to happen or no. His name’s Bill Travis and likes to call himself ‘Bill the Boar.’ He’s Mr Oldshaw’s pet prize-fighter and he drives the master’s coach when he’s not fightin’ or training for a fight.”

Mrs O’Day pointed towards a black four-wheeled coach that stood parked at the far side of the yard.

“Master’s been known to come up from Manchester in yonder coach, sometimes without a single change of horses, it’s no wonder that he often lames his animals like that poor creature over there!”

The stout cook shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, that’s the master’s business. Now I think that you’d best begin washing up the utensils, whilst I start carvin’up the remainder of the meat, for teatime will be upon us before we can blink an eye and everything must be prepared!”

The entire staff at the Grange were kept fully on their toes in coping with the needs of Silas Oldshaw’s friends and business acquaintances who came visiting him at his home.

Hetty, however, only came face to face with the master on one occasion.

She had been sent, by the cook, to collect a net of carrots from the vegetable store that was situated close to the long range of glass-houses that Piggins normally tended.

She was hurrying from the store with the heavy net of carrots underneath her arm, when she rounded the corner of one of the conservatories and almost ran into the master who was admiring his collection of palms trees through the panes of translucent glass.

He steadied her with his hand.

“Those vegetables are far too heavy for you to carry, my woman!” He said, in a smooth and cultured voice. “Drop them on the path and tell Piggins to bear them to the kitchen for you. Now back to your other duties at once!”

Hetty bowed and did as she was bidden, quickly hurrying back to the refuge of the kitchen. Indeed, she was glad to do so, for her questing inner-eye had clearly defined a bottomless well of malevolence within the master’s being, and this had touched her deeply; she now knew the man to be extremely dangerous, and realized that she could expect no mercy from Oldshaw, should he suspect the true nature of her mission to Westdyke Grange.

Hetty penned a report for Inspector Smith that very same evening and early on the following morning she visited her ‘brother’ in the conservatories with the envelope hidden in the bodice of her dress. Piggins accepted the letter with considerable trepidation, the wisewoman noticed the gardener was much more nervous than usual, possibly due to the fact that the master was in residence. Even so, he promised to post the letter in Stalybridge that same evening.

Hetty returned to her round of kitchen duties and was physically tired out when she finally sought the comfort of her bed. Sleep came hard for the wisewoman, for her inner-eye constantly impinged upon her consciousness. As she dozed, she often found herself looking into the handsome face of Silas Oldshaw. Sometimes, the battered features of Bill Travis also drifted across her minds inner vision. In the end, she rose from her bed with the firm intention of taking a drug that would induce untroubled sleep, but as her feet touched the floor, she heard the distant rumble of a horse-drawn vehicle approaching from the direction of the gate-house.

The wisewoman looked out from her window and was surprised to see the master’s four-wheeled coach pulling into the moonlit courtyard. The vehicle slowed down to a walking pace, disappearing into the cul-de-sac leading to the main door of the old eastern wing of the house.

Hetty’s curiosity was aroused. She quickly donned a black working dress then slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen. She tip-toed over to the outside door, drew the bolts and stepped out into the darkened courtyard.

The wisewoman quietly flitted through the numerous shadows cast by the high walls of the house, until she reached the corner of the eastern wing; she then fell upon her knees and cautiously peered around the corner.

The cul-de-sac, that gave access to the eastern wing, was illuminated by a direct shaft of moonlight and Hetty had no difficulty in recognizing the coach that was now halted outside the open door of the building.

Two men stood alongside the coach as Travis climbed down from the driving seat and prepared to open the door of the vehicle. One of the men was Crowther; Hetty had no difficulty in identifying his gaunt features in the moonlight, but his powerfully built companion was a complete stranger to her.

Travis opened the door of the coach and a heavily veiled woman stepped lightly from the vehicle and accompanied the two men into the eastern wing.

The wisewoman would dearly have wished to continue her observation, but she was compelled to regain the shelter of the kitchen, with all haste, for the coachman suddenly took the head of the lead-horse and began manoeuvring the empty vehicle around in the cul-de-sac with the probable intention of parking it in the main portion of the open courtyard. Indeed, the wisewoman realized that she was extremely fortunate in avoiding detection.