The eight-man search-party had scoured the surrounding woods of Mornington for two days and apart from a the strange
marks left near where Stanley Tundy and his missing son had been working, the group and the rest of the villagers were
at a loss to what might have happened to Gideon.
Some suggested it was a passing family of Gypsies who grabbed the lad for nefarious reasons and others had reminded
those willing to listen that the weird sightings of shadowy shapes in the night may have something to do with the boy's
disappearance. Peggy Powler kept away from the gossip and cleaved to what she knew best, on-the-ground investigation.
It was a couple of hours before sunset and the melee to find the boy had quietened down to mere theorising over dinner
tables. Mary Tundy would be still be in the stage of frozen hope and confusion, for her son, whilst her numbed husband
continued his day-to-day chores forcing his limited imagination to stay in its box.
This family funk demanded that all of the Tundys stayed close to their farmhouse and the hunt for their boy resorted to
being left to an odd-looking stranger who some of the search-party had said was an eminent Witch. Religious beliefs
were beyond Stanley Tundy's simple understanding, but his wife had commented over a nibbled-at supper that this
bare-footed woman belonged to the old ways and to the mother of two other children, it was a mental cordage that
gave her some faith that Gideon would be found.
In the well-trodden clearing where the vanishing had occurred, a small figure in a large hat ambled about with the sporadic
act of squatting as the late-summer sun began its decent behind Mornington's counterfeit hill. The mud in the area where
the Tundys had been hauling out trees was not due to a natural poor drainage situation, merely a result of the toil when
disturbing a settled place.
Peggy sighed to herself as she surveyed the ruined scene. Those looking for the fifteen-year-old had ran hither and thither
about the clearing and the small solitary woman crouching beside a rope thanked Herne for some small mercies that the
two egg-shaped footprints of the unknown suspect had been kept away from. The two marks were something, but Peggy
knew they hadn't just appeared on their own, somewhere was another track... a trail in and out of the man-made glade.
What daylight still resided there offered little to assist the Last Witch of Underhill's investigation and pondering on what
the residents of Mornington had said, a bright flame appeared on the end of Peggy's thumb to help her look for clues.
On the first day of the rudimentary search, the bantam-sized woman in the grubby poncho had overheard some the
bewildered throng that had scampered aimlessly about the area discussing contacting the part-time constabulary over
in Ravenstang. It was deduced that those from a large town would have the means to study the scene of the assumed
crime and maybe deliver a better outcome than the few bumpkins out here in the sticks. Peggy deliberated for a few
moments on this information and then wrote the word 'bollocks' on the roof of her mouth with her tongue.
Gently touching the oval-formed indentations in the dark earth, Peggy wondered again how the child-stealer had arrived
and left without Stanley noticing, a flick-of-a-lamb's-tail was how the distraught farmer had put it. A magpie warned the
creatures of the woods that they weren't alone and standing to her full height, a young voice asked a question.
"How do you do that, Ma'am?"
.................................................................
"Yer a peeper, me-lad..." Peggy said affably as she accepted back her canteen and wiped the neck of the flask, but her
light banter caught her flat as she noticed the change in the boy's features. Wishing to keep the atmosphere between
them positive, she quickly added "...Aye, tis' a fine footstep yer' carry there" and glugged down a mouthful of water.
Jasper Forster stared around the clearing and wondered what this strange woman was doing out here. By the look of
the place, it had been well picked over by the villagers and the farmer's son was still missing. He might have only seen
ten summers, but Jasper believed Gideon Tundy's disappearance had nothing to do with this part of the woods.
His present company wore no shoes and didn't even belong in Mornington and apart from her reluctance to explain the
little flame on her thumb, Jasper's mild pique came from his main quandary that he'd be hesitant to explain. The woods
at this time of the evening was his, nobody came out here after a hard day's work and his hobby of watching Rosalie's
house -even though he deemed it harmless, wasn't something he'd like to blurt out to this stranger.
The shadows became more corporeal as the pair absently peered around and occasionally checked each other for
what they might be thinking. Jasper wondered if Peggy would ask what he was doing out in the woods at this hour
and Peggy was wondering if Jasper was going to tell her why he wanted her to go away. Flinty eyes pretending to
be idle observance.
A half moon peeked over the tree-tops and a wisp of cloud as the last of the day gave up the ghost, sighing to herself
once more, Peggy spoke again at the closemouthed kid standing somewhere he shouldn't be. "Whey, Ah'll be on me-way
and Ah expect yer' Ma will be wonderin' where yer' at, care to accompany me?" Jasper eventually fell in beside the little
woman and assuming they'd part where the trail met the village, his young confidence hindered his vigilance.
He simply failed to see his bare-footed chaperon wiggling her little finger.
.................................................................
Jasper Forster held the answer to this latest mystery and even though he didn't understand what he'd witnessed, the
mesmerised boy had released a private secret and one he'd felt nobody would really believe. Peggy had seen men
dressed in armour for warfare and the sports some of the la-di-da enjoyed that involved jousting. What the stupefied
lad had reported was entirely different, a being who walked like a man, but totally sheathed in metal and breathed
from where his ears should be.
marks left near where Stanley Tundy and his missing son had been working, the group and the rest of the villagers were
at a loss to what might have happened to Gideon.
Some suggested it was a passing family of Gypsies who grabbed the lad for nefarious reasons and others had reminded
those willing to listen that the weird sightings of shadowy shapes in the night may have something to do with the boy's
disappearance. Peggy Powler kept away from the gossip and cleaved to what she knew best, on-the-ground investigation.
It was a couple of hours before sunset and the melee to find the boy had quietened down to mere theorising over dinner
tables. Mary Tundy would be still be in the stage of frozen hope and confusion, for her son, whilst her numbed husband
continued his day-to-day chores forcing his limited imagination to stay in its box.
This family funk demanded that all of the Tundys stayed close to their farmhouse and the hunt for their boy resorted to
being left to an odd-looking stranger who some of the search-party had said was an eminent Witch. Religious beliefs
were beyond Stanley Tundy's simple understanding, but his wife had commented over a nibbled-at supper that this
bare-footed woman belonged to the old ways and to the mother of two other children, it was a mental cordage that
gave her some faith that Gideon would be found.
In the well-trodden clearing where the vanishing had occurred, a small figure in a large hat ambled about with the sporadic
act of squatting as the late-summer sun began its decent behind Mornington's counterfeit hill. The mud in the area where
the Tundys had been hauling out trees was not due to a natural poor drainage situation, merely a result of the toil when
disturbing a settled place.
Peggy sighed to herself as she surveyed the ruined scene. Those looking for the fifteen-year-old had ran hither and thither
about the clearing and the small solitary woman crouching beside a rope thanked Herne for some small mercies that the
two egg-shaped footprints of the unknown suspect had been kept away from. The two marks were something, but Peggy
knew they hadn't just appeared on their own, somewhere was another track... a trail in and out of the man-made glade.
What daylight still resided there offered little to assist the Last Witch of Underhill's investigation and pondering on what
the residents of Mornington had said, a bright flame appeared on the end of Peggy's thumb to help her look for clues.
On the first day of the rudimentary search, the bantam-sized woman in the grubby poncho had overheard some the
bewildered throng that had scampered aimlessly about the area discussing contacting the part-time constabulary over
in Ravenstang. It was deduced that those from a large town would have the means to study the scene of the assumed
crime and maybe deliver a better outcome than the few bumpkins out here in the sticks. Peggy deliberated for a few
moments on this information and then wrote the word 'bollocks' on the roof of her mouth with her tongue.
Gently touching the oval-formed indentations in the dark earth, Peggy wondered again how the child-stealer had arrived
and left without Stanley noticing, a flick-of-a-lamb's-tail was how the distraught farmer had put it. A magpie warned the
creatures of the woods that they weren't alone and standing to her full height, a young voice asked a question.
"How do you do that, Ma'am?"
.................................................................
"Yer a peeper, me-lad..." Peggy said affably as she accepted back her canteen and wiped the neck of the flask, but her
light banter caught her flat as she noticed the change in the boy's features. Wishing to keep the atmosphere between
them positive, she quickly added "...Aye, tis' a fine footstep yer' carry there" and glugged down a mouthful of water.
Jasper Forster stared around the clearing and wondered what this strange woman was doing out here. By the look of
the place, it had been well picked over by the villagers and the farmer's son was still missing. He might have only seen
ten summers, but Jasper believed Gideon Tundy's disappearance had nothing to do with this part of the woods.
His present company wore no shoes and didn't even belong in Mornington and apart from her reluctance to explain the
little flame on her thumb, Jasper's mild pique came from his main quandary that he'd be hesitant to explain. The woods
at this time of the evening was his, nobody came out here after a hard day's work and his hobby of watching Rosalie's
house -even though he deemed it harmless, wasn't something he'd like to blurt out to this stranger.
The shadows became more corporeal as the pair absently peered around and occasionally checked each other for
what they might be thinking. Jasper wondered if Peggy would ask what he was doing out in the woods at this hour
and Peggy was wondering if Jasper was going to tell her why he wanted her to go away. Flinty eyes pretending to
be idle observance.
A half moon peeked over the tree-tops and a wisp of cloud as the last of the day gave up the ghost, sighing to herself
once more, Peggy spoke again at the closemouthed kid standing somewhere he shouldn't be. "Whey, Ah'll be on me-way
and Ah expect yer' Ma will be wonderin' where yer' at, care to accompany me?" Jasper eventually fell in beside the little
woman and assuming they'd part where the trail met the village, his young confidence hindered his vigilance.
He simply failed to see his bare-footed chaperon wiggling her little finger.
.................................................................
Jasper Forster held the answer to this latest mystery and even though he didn't understand what he'd witnessed, the
mesmerised boy had released a private secret and one he'd felt nobody would really believe. Peggy had seen men
dressed in armour for warfare and the sports some of the la-di-da enjoyed that involved jousting. What the stupefied
lad had reported was entirely different, a being who walked like a man, but totally sheathed in metal and breathed
from where his ears should be.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.