So much for a quick ride to Camden Bight -a disgruntled Peggy Powler thought as she kept her eyes on the bumpy track ahead.
The dour unkempt mule broke wind again as it pulled the tallow-producer's cart towards its next customer and the ornery driver
sitting next to the sullen Witch seemed to be resistant to the animal's rancid vapours.
"Bad carrots" Alf Slater grunted and clucked his tongue to remind the begrimed half-donkey that its true purpose was to draft the
two-wheeled vehicle and not pollute the air with its poor digestion. Peggy remained quiet and sought a better mood by recalling
her farewell to the Gurnard family.
...................................................
The one thing that will always stay with the Last Witch of Underhill was the look that Samuel Gurnard gave Peggy as she climbed
aboard the battered old buggy supposedly heading back to Camden Bight. Peggy had given her thanks to each of the Gurnards
and even stopped herself from returning Jessie's kiss on her cheek when he'd innocently whispered his goodbye a few seconds
before his parents had come out from their cosy cottage.
Samuel had watched from the window and instead of him being the foremost -due to him being the first to meet the little Witch,
in showing his glumness for his new-found friend's leaving, he kept a distance that Peggy wondered about afterwards. The boy
had waved, that was true, but his features told of a loss far-more than a mere passing-through visit of someone who's company
she assumed he enjoyed.
Now as the jarring journey began, Peggy had looked back and offering another sign of her leaving, saw the dejection on his face
and with it, came the question. What was he thinking was going to happen to her?
The tallow-maker was a surly man who'd at first took the stance that he wasn't a carrier of folk and that his carriage was purely
for cargo. However, after Pa Gurnard had spoken quietly to the overweight unshaven Alf Slater, it seemed an accord had been
reached. Peggy took it that she'd made some impression on the giant in the patched-dungarees that had nothing to do with the
gold coin that the little sorceress had left on the mantle-piece next to his pipe.
"The' should know Ah've got te' drop off some of me-stock te' old-man Tuttle..." Slater had muttered as he twitched the reins of
the mule and steered his cart down a tree-shrouded track. "...We'll be back in Camden Bight just before supper" he added and
Peggy took it that nodding her consent would be a waste of energy. Slater's four-legged companion offered his opinion from its
rear and the comment smacked of a poor inability to break down high-fibre. "Bad carrots" the crotchety tallow-maker explained
and went back to wallowing in thoughts that the unschooled immerse themselves in.
...................................................
Alf Slater's last customer of the day was old and to the little woman bouncing over the overgrown ruts that formed the only route
to his home, the word didn't do him justice, Arthur Tuttle was ancient. Arriving at -what could favorably be called a shack, Peggy
surveyed the ramshackle home and thought back to her confusing first encounter with another old man who'd disappeared right
under her nose and fleetingly, hoped Tuttle wasn't one for wearing such little attire.
"How's it goin' me-Billie?..." Arthur asked as he slowly limped out of the damp-rot doorway decked out in spiders webs, "...Thee's
mekin' good good coin, Ah' hope?" he croaked as he approached the buggy. Peggy had always admired the beard of the famous
wizard called Myrddin, but old-man Tuttle's knee-long brush put the acclaimed thaumaturge's to shame.
Brown with tobacco and Herne-knows-what-else, the long hair was matted where it reached the holes in the remains of his pants
and the wide-eyed Witch forced herself to believe this might be due to unintentionally dipping his whiskers in the product he was
now seeking to purchase. "Ah' see yer' brought a beauty te' steal me-achin' heart" Tuttle quacked gaily and stretched his toothless
mouth into a version of a grin.
Alf Slater climbed down from his seat and said nothing as he lifted the last crate from the rear of his cart, the producer of rendered
fat remained silent until he bluntly thrusted the wooden box towards the doddering bumpkin smiling outside his decrepit home.
"Five frollis" Alf growled and gave his passenger a look of exasperation as Arthur almost collapsed with the sudden weight and
floundered backwards to his doorway.
"Jumpin' frogs, Billie, Lemmie' get mer' money outta' me-pocket!..." the shaggy fossil whined good-naturedly, "...Ah've not been
replaced yet!" That was when Peggy felt the temperature drop between the two men and at the same time, the horseshoe in her
pocked warmed the thigh it was resting on. Something had been spoken she was not supposed to hear.
Alighting from the buggy and making sure the pair of coarse clods didn't enjoy a glance of her bare flesh, the little Witch deliberately
gave the impression she was merely taking time out from being sat for so long. Peggy had felt the charm's notification of possible
danger and casually placing a hand beside the twine-wrapped metal, whispered a charm to ease its signal.
At the same time, Alf pushed the old man towards the shack's shadowy entrance and hissed something that the stretching woman
was unable to catch, but the threat that the tallow-maker used next was audible enough to Peggy as he followed the scuttling Tuttle
back into his dilapidated hovel. "Yer' keep yer' hairy-mouth shut about that and just pay me what yer' owe me, yer' old bastard" Slater
hissed and omitted to check to see if his passenger was still in her original position.
The Witch -with hat in hand, had moved quickly to an opening that those who enjoy being idealistic might call a window and keeping
crouched, listened for any other clue to what the old man had meant when he'd said 'replaced'. Accompanying a watchful lizard, Peggy
hunkered beside the rotting wooden walls and waited.
Handing over the couple of coins, Arthur bleated his apology to the bigger man and once again, let slip a trace that the secret listener
could mull over later. "Eh now Billie, Ah meant nowt' by it..." the smelly loner explained "...Ah' wuz' just jawin' fur' the company, is all".
Peggy stared absently at the reptile cautiously basking in the treeless clearing beside the abode and imagined Slater grabbing Tuttle
by the rag he'd swear was a shirt and glaring with those dull crass eyes he always displayed.
"If yer'wanna keep yer' place in the line, keep yer damned-gob shut and stop callin' me bloody Billy, me-name's Alf" the warning stated
and that was Peggy's cue. Snatching the little lizard from its sunning-spot, she kept low and scampered back towards the cart and the
odorous half-breed.
Seeing the burly tallow-maker appear from his customer's home, she held out the wriggling creature and offered a wide smile to the
bad-tempered man approaching his vehicle. "Look what Ah' found!" she chirped with all the glee she could muster and received a grunt
of apathetic acknowledgement for her theatrical showmanship.
"Yer' can eat 'em, but they taste like dung" Slater grumbled and placing the aggrieved gecko back into the rough grass, she copied the
driver of the cart and climbed on board. With the transaction complete, the mule turned for home and for its hat-wearing passenger, to a
mystery she still had to fathom.
The dour unkempt mule broke wind again as it pulled the tallow-producer's cart towards its next customer and the ornery driver
sitting next to the sullen Witch seemed to be resistant to the animal's rancid vapours.
"Bad carrots" Alf Slater grunted and clucked his tongue to remind the begrimed half-donkey that its true purpose was to draft the
two-wheeled vehicle and not pollute the air with its poor digestion. Peggy remained quiet and sought a better mood by recalling
her farewell to the Gurnard family.
...................................................
The one thing that will always stay with the Last Witch of Underhill was the look that Samuel Gurnard gave Peggy as she climbed
aboard the battered old buggy supposedly heading back to Camden Bight. Peggy had given her thanks to each of the Gurnards
and even stopped herself from returning Jessie's kiss on her cheek when he'd innocently whispered his goodbye a few seconds
before his parents had come out from their cosy cottage.
Samuel had watched from the window and instead of him being the foremost -due to him being the first to meet the little Witch,
in showing his glumness for his new-found friend's leaving, he kept a distance that Peggy wondered about afterwards. The boy
had waved, that was true, but his features told of a loss far-more than a mere passing-through visit of someone who's company
she assumed he enjoyed.
Now as the jarring journey began, Peggy had looked back and offering another sign of her leaving, saw the dejection on his face
and with it, came the question. What was he thinking was going to happen to her?
The tallow-maker was a surly man who'd at first took the stance that he wasn't a carrier of folk and that his carriage was purely
for cargo. However, after Pa Gurnard had spoken quietly to the overweight unshaven Alf Slater, it seemed an accord had been
reached. Peggy took it that she'd made some impression on the giant in the patched-dungarees that had nothing to do with the
gold coin that the little sorceress had left on the mantle-piece next to his pipe.
"The' should know Ah've got te' drop off some of me-stock te' old-man Tuttle..." Slater had muttered as he twitched the reins of
the mule and steered his cart down a tree-shrouded track. "...We'll be back in Camden Bight just before supper" he added and
Peggy took it that nodding her consent would be a waste of energy. Slater's four-legged companion offered his opinion from its
rear and the comment smacked of a poor inability to break down high-fibre. "Bad carrots" the crotchety tallow-maker explained
and went back to wallowing in thoughts that the unschooled immerse themselves in.
...................................................
Alf Slater's last customer of the day was old and to the little woman bouncing over the overgrown ruts that formed the only route
to his home, the word didn't do him justice, Arthur Tuttle was ancient. Arriving at -what could favorably be called a shack, Peggy
surveyed the ramshackle home and thought back to her confusing first encounter with another old man who'd disappeared right
under her nose and fleetingly, hoped Tuttle wasn't one for wearing such little attire.
"How's it goin' me-Billie?..." Arthur asked as he slowly limped out of the damp-rot doorway decked out in spiders webs, "...Thee's
mekin' good good coin, Ah' hope?" he croaked as he approached the buggy. Peggy had always admired the beard of the famous
wizard called Myrddin, but old-man Tuttle's knee-long brush put the acclaimed thaumaturge's to shame.
Brown with tobacco and Herne-knows-what-else, the long hair was matted where it reached the holes in the remains of his pants
and the wide-eyed Witch forced herself to believe this might be due to unintentionally dipping his whiskers in the product he was
now seeking to purchase. "Ah' see yer' brought a beauty te' steal me-achin' heart" Tuttle quacked gaily and stretched his toothless
mouth into a version of a grin.
Alf Slater climbed down from his seat and said nothing as he lifted the last crate from the rear of his cart, the producer of rendered
fat remained silent until he bluntly thrusted the wooden box towards the doddering bumpkin smiling outside his decrepit home.
"Five frollis" Alf growled and gave his passenger a look of exasperation as Arthur almost collapsed with the sudden weight and
floundered backwards to his doorway.
"Jumpin' frogs, Billie, Lemmie' get mer' money outta' me-pocket!..." the shaggy fossil whined good-naturedly, "...Ah've not been
replaced yet!" That was when Peggy felt the temperature drop between the two men and at the same time, the horseshoe in her
pocked warmed the thigh it was resting on. Something had been spoken she was not supposed to hear.
Alighting from the buggy and making sure the pair of coarse clods didn't enjoy a glance of her bare flesh, the little Witch deliberately
gave the impression she was merely taking time out from being sat for so long. Peggy had felt the charm's notification of possible
danger and casually placing a hand beside the twine-wrapped metal, whispered a charm to ease its signal.
At the same time, Alf pushed the old man towards the shack's shadowy entrance and hissed something that the stretching woman
was unable to catch, but the threat that the tallow-maker used next was audible enough to Peggy as he followed the scuttling Tuttle
back into his dilapidated hovel. "Yer' keep yer' hairy-mouth shut about that and just pay me what yer' owe me, yer' old bastard" Slater
hissed and omitted to check to see if his passenger was still in her original position.
The Witch -with hat in hand, had moved quickly to an opening that those who enjoy being idealistic might call a window and keeping
crouched, listened for any other clue to what the old man had meant when he'd said 'replaced'. Accompanying a watchful lizard, Peggy
hunkered beside the rotting wooden walls and waited.
Handing over the couple of coins, Arthur bleated his apology to the bigger man and once again, let slip a trace that the secret listener
could mull over later. "Eh now Billie, Ah meant nowt' by it..." the smelly loner explained "...Ah' wuz' just jawin' fur' the company, is all".
Peggy stared absently at the reptile cautiously basking in the treeless clearing beside the abode and imagined Slater grabbing Tuttle
by the rag he'd swear was a shirt and glaring with those dull crass eyes he always displayed.
"If yer'wanna keep yer' place in the line, keep yer damned-gob shut and stop callin' me bloody Billy, me-name's Alf" the warning stated
and that was Peggy's cue. Snatching the little lizard from its sunning-spot, she kept low and scampered back towards the cart and the
odorous half-breed.
Seeing the burly tallow-maker appear from his customer's home, she held out the wriggling creature and offered a wide smile to the
bad-tempered man approaching his vehicle. "Look what Ah' found!" she chirped with all the glee she could muster and received a grunt
of apathetic acknowledgement for her theatrical showmanship.
"Yer' can eat 'em, but they taste like dung" Slater grumbled and placing the aggrieved gecko back into the rough grass, she copied the
driver of the cart and climbed on board. With the transaction complete, the mule turned for home and for its hat-wearing passenger, to a
mystery she still had to fathom.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.