Peggy Powler looked over at the man who was now urging the flames of his dying fire to bring warmth to the shadowy
room and wondered if he'd go for her idea. She knew these religious-types tended to rebuke any hint of using the old
ways, yet she was at a loss to come up with a plan to locate something that has no home.
"This Barguest..." she said softly as Father Jacobs stood up and rubbed his creaking knees, "...Ah' have a way of findin'
him, but Ah' think yer'll say no te' me-notion" the little Witch finished from her position near an ornate cabinet. Caressing
the wooden scrolls along the edges of the Sacristy's top, Peggy waited for the verdict from the preacher who's uniform
was stored there.
Mathew Jacobs watched the woman in the dirt-smudge poncho with flinty eyes, was this a temptation? he pondered
and then corrected himself when he recalled his guest was more practical than he ever been this night. The fire was
beginning to blast out its heat now and standing close to it, he waited to see if the wily-Witch would pepper her unsaid
proposal with more words of beguile.
It was a whole minute before Jacobs surrendered and asked what the detached diviner's design may be.
...................................................
With all her strength, Lady Ophelia Barque hurled her sensible shoe at the crouching monstrosity that was snarling at
her Butler. She'd originally thought of throwing her husband's shillelagh at the thing, but she caught herself and realised
it would leave her defenceless.
"Get off my pro..." Ophelia had began as she neared the kennels and saw the shape across from where Carstairs was
cowering, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim light coming off the dropped lantern, the courtly pedigree became aware
that the misshapen ogre with the strange tube poking out of its mouth was no simple poacher.
Glancing towards the cage where the dogs were housed, she saw that the hound called Mitch was laid on its side and
panting like it'd been in a race with a hare and Vidor was nowhere to be seen. Maybe the open gate had something to
do with it.
Carstairs waved his hand at Lady Barque and hissed " get back Ma'am, get back and get Sir's shotgun". The wide-eyed
man-servant was against the wall of the storage building and reluctant to make a run for it. The fragile lady of his concern
evaluated the situation and allowing her rage to be unharnessed, tossed her footwear at the creature with the ugly face.
"YOU... YOU PIECE OF SHIT, GET OFF MY LAND!" Lady Ophelia screamed towards the beast and even as Carstairs'
eyes widened to rival the moon above, the Barguest scampered away into the darkness. For a moment, there was no
sound except for the two people exhaling with relief, then the woman's shocked subordinate whimpered "M'lady!" and
went to retrieve his employer's pump.
...................................................
The morning found Peggy Powler snoring softly in the corner of the vestry and inside her satchel. She had refused the
Priest's invite of using his cot in the other room and assured him soft feathers were no good for her ailing back.
Jacobs had risen early and deliberated on his guest's proposal as he fried two eggs and two slices of bread in goose fat.
The last of his coffee was brewing nicely on the stove that Benedict Coombs had installed last year and where the rascal
had acquired it was still a mystery.
Which brought up another bind, Coombs would have to be kept out of the Witch's plan, but he'll no doubt be hanging
around again this morning -Father Jacobs thought and carefully placed the food onto two rarely-used plates. The Witch's
idea was beyond his comprehension and certainly beyond his teachings, to evoke a wood-devil to answer our plight was
to certainly go against doctrine, but as Peggy had countered, the bigger-picture was righteous.
Maybe it would all fail and Robin Goodfellow would remain where the clergyman always believed he existed, in a children's
nursery-rhyme.
"Mornin' Preacher" Peggy yawned and pointed to the out-house to show why she was opening the chapel's back door.
Hiding his bashfulness, Mathew Jacobs nodded and went to set the table.
...................................................
"Carstairs, I need you to go to the village to fetch Reverend Jacobs..." Lady Barque said as she picked at her breakfast
and stared daggers at her oblivious newspaper-reading husband. "...The rapscallion last night must be held to account
and one would be prudent to utilise the good vicar's guidance" she supplemented and looked to see if her weary Butler
had heard her command.
Hiding his lack of sleep and tucking the serving-salver under his arm, Carstairs whispered "Yes M'Lady" and shuffled off
to refill the teapot.
room and wondered if he'd go for her idea. She knew these religious-types tended to rebuke any hint of using the old
ways, yet she was at a loss to come up with a plan to locate something that has no home.
"This Barguest..." she said softly as Father Jacobs stood up and rubbed his creaking knees, "...Ah' have a way of findin'
him, but Ah' think yer'll say no te' me-notion" the little Witch finished from her position near an ornate cabinet. Caressing
the wooden scrolls along the edges of the Sacristy's top, Peggy waited for the verdict from the preacher who's uniform
was stored there.
Mathew Jacobs watched the woman in the dirt-smudge poncho with flinty eyes, was this a temptation? he pondered
and then corrected himself when he recalled his guest was more practical than he ever been this night. The fire was
beginning to blast out its heat now and standing close to it, he waited to see if the wily-Witch would pepper her unsaid
proposal with more words of beguile.
It was a whole minute before Jacobs surrendered and asked what the detached diviner's design may be.
...................................................
With all her strength, Lady Ophelia Barque hurled her sensible shoe at the crouching monstrosity that was snarling at
her Butler. She'd originally thought of throwing her husband's shillelagh at the thing, but she caught herself and realised
it would leave her defenceless.
"Get off my pro..." Ophelia had began as she neared the kennels and saw the shape across from where Carstairs was
cowering, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim light coming off the dropped lantern, the courtly pedigree became aware
that the misshapen ogre with the strange tube poking out of its mouth was no simple poacher.
Glancing towards the cage where the dogs were housed, she saw that the hound called Mitch was laid on its side and
panting like it'd been in a race with a hare and Vidor was nowhere to be seen. Maybe the open gate had something to
do with it.
Carstairs waved his hand at Lady Barque and hissed " get back Ma'am, get back and get Sir's shotgun". The wide-eyed
man-servant was against the wall of the storage building and reluctant to make a run for it. The fragile lady of his concern
evaluated the situation and allowing her rage to be unharnessed, tossed her footwear at the creature with the ugly face.
"YOU... YOU PIECE OF SHIT, GET OFF MY LAND!" Lady Ophelia screamed towards the beast and even as Carstairs'
eyes widened to rival the moon above, the Barguest scampered away into the darkness. For a moment, there was no
sound except for the two people exhaling with relief, then the woman's shocked subordinate whimpered "M'lady!" and
went to retrieve his employer's pump.
...................................................
The morning found Peggy Powler snoring softly in the corner of the vestry and inside her satchel. She had refused the
Priest's invite of using his cot in the other room and assured him soft feathers were no good for her ailing back.
Jacobs had risen early and deliberated on his guest's proposal as he fried two eggs and two slices of bread in goose fat.
The last of his coffee was brewing nicely on the stove that Benedict Coombs had installed last year and where the rascal
had acquired it was still a mystery.
Which brought up another bind, Coombs would have to be kept out of the Witch's plan, but he'll no doubt be hanging
around again this morning -Father Jacobs thought and carefully placed the food onto two rarely-used plates. The Witch's
idea was beyond his comprehension and certainly beyond his teachings, to evoke a wood-devil to answer our plight was
to certainly go against doctrine, but as Peggy had countered, the bigger-picture was righteous.
Maybe it would all fail and Robin Goodfellow would remain where the clergyman always believed he existed, in a children's
nursery-rhyme.
"Mornin' Preacher" Peggy yawned and pointed to the out-house to show why she was opening the chapel's back door.
Hiding his bashfulness, Mathew Jacobs nodded and went to set the table.
...................................................
"Carstairs, I need you to go to the village to fetch Reverend Jacobs..." Lady Barque said as she picked at her breakfast
and stared daggers at her oblivious newspaper-reading husband. "...The rapscallion last night must be held to account
and one would be prudent to utilise the good vicar's guidance" she supplemented and looked to see if her weary Butler
had heard her command.
Hiding his lack of sleep and tucking the serving-salver under his arm, Carstairs whispered "Yes M'Lady" and shuffled off
to refill the teapot.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.