In the sitting room across the hall, horribly cold now hours after the teatime fire had begun to die down, Jessie the cowman’s wife was perched on the edge of a chair hugging her arms and trembling slightly either from fright or from chill.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ I said, guilt washing over me. ‘Oh my poor dear girl.’
Mr Tait was at that moment taking possession of a blanket and a steaming cup of something which a maid had brought to the room. He handed the cup to Jessie and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders with the tender dexterity the father of an orphaned daughter might be expected to show. She lifted the cup to her chin, breathing in the steam, and slowly her shivering began to ease. She was no more than twenty-five, at a guess, getting careworn – the wife of a farm worker has no easy time of it – but still young enough for the sweet steam from a teacup to turn her face instantly bonny and pink.
‘Now, my dear,’ said Mr Tait, with infinite patience in his tone. ‘You must tell Mrs Gilver everything. She’s here to help.’
‘It was jist like they said,’ said Jessie after another stiff swig of her drink. ‘A dark stranger.’
‘Start from the beginning,’ I told her. ‘You and Mrs Hemingborough left Lorna and me at the gate, and then what?’
‘We kept on up tae the corner,’ said Jessie, ‘and turnt into the farm road. My wee hoose is halfway along and the farmhoose is at the end, so I got hame first and Mrs Hemingborough carried on. I should have gone straicht in, but… I dinna ken, maybe because it was such a lovely nicht with the moon and a’ that… anyway I jist stood at my gate a while.’
‘You weren’t frightened?’ I said.
‘I was not,’ said Jessie. ‘I didna believe in this stranger, to be honest. Pardon me, Mr Tait, but it’s the truth.’ Mr Tait inclined his head graciously. ‘I always thocht that believin’ in all-what-have-you was for them as had a big wage and a wee family and no’ the other way on. I’ve been that proud and that sure o’ myself.’ She began to look white again and gently I tried to urge her back to the story.
‘What happened then? While you were standing at your gate.’
‘I saw somethin’ in the field,’ Jessie said. ‘It was movin’ richt fast, running across towards the lane, and before I got a chance to shout oot, I saw it lowp over the dyke and I heard Mrs Hemingborough.’
‘Mrs Hemingborough?’ I echoed. ‘It wasn’t coming for you?’
‘Oh no,’ said Jessie. ‘Thank the Dear. It made a beeline for Mrs Hemingborough and I ran to see could I help.’
‘Terribly brave of you,’ I said, thinking that there was a lot more iron in the soul of this girl than I could be sure of having in mine.
‘No’ really, madam,’ said Jessie. ‘More like I jist didna think. I never even thocht to go in and get John. I jist took off along the lane towards them. He had gone for her jist in the shade o’ a wee bush but I could still see them, quite clear I could see them in the moon we’ve got the nicht. They were strugglin’. Mrs Hemingborough and a man all in black. And Mrs Hemingborough was shoutin’ at him so I shouted too: “Get away fae her. Get away, you filthy so-and-so.” And when he heard me, he let go of Mrs Hemingborough and he was back over that dyke and away across the fields afore you could snap your fingers at him. And Mrs Hemingborough was standin’ there, wi’ her hat torn off and her hair all hingin’ doon and those blessed feathers burst oot o’ her sack and swirlin’ aboot.’ Jessie, finally, gave a sob and then took another draught from her cup.
‘And where is she now?’ I said. ‘At home? Have your husbands gone after him?’
‘Well, this is the thing,’ said Jessie, and her face puckered with concern. ‘Mr Tait, I jist don’t know what to think. I got to her side and I asked her if she was a’richt and she telt me of course she was, she jist tripped and drapped her bundle and look at the feathers! And she was laughin’ – tryin’ to anyway.’
‘Laughing?’ said Mr Tait, sounding more severe than I had ever heard him.
‘I hardly kent what to say,’ said Jessie. ‘What aboot him? I asked her. Did he hurt you? And she drew hersel’ up and said she didna know what I was talkin’ aboot and she didna want to hear any nonsense fae me. Well, I know my place and nobody can tell me I don’t but my dander come up at that. I saw him, I telt her. I jist saw the whole thing plain with my own two eyes, and then I telt her that I was goin’ to get her husband and mine and send them away after him. But there was no shiftin’ her. She said she didna know what I was talkin’ aboot and she was “disappointit”. She said she had never thocht I was the kind o’ lassie who would start up wi’ a load o’ silly nonsense. She said that her husband needed a good cowman and a good cowman needed a good steady wife and I should think on that afore I started tattlin’.’
‘Whatever did she mean?’ I said.
‘A threat,’ said Mr Tait. ‘Quite obviously a threat to give John Holland the sack.’
‘And we’re in a tied hoose, madam, with three bairns,’ said Jessie, growing visibly upset again. ‘If I lost John his place, and the lot o’ us ended up putten out on the road I would jist never forgive myself. So I never went and telt Mr Hemingborough and I willna tell John either or anyone else. Only I had tae tell somebody, so I came roond to Mr Tait.’
‘And you’re absolutely sure of what you saw?’ I asked her, looking very closely into her face. She nodded vigorously.
‘As sure as I’m sittin’ here,’ she said. ‘And I ken it’s no’ richt to let him get away wi’ it, no matter whit Mrs Hemingborough says. I dinna ken what’s wrong wi’ her.’
‘No more do I,’ I said, ‘but I’m going to try to find out.’
‘No, madam, please,’ said Jessie, looking quite stricken with anguish. ‘Oh Mr Tait,’ she wailed. ‘Please. If Mrs Hemingborough finds oot I’ve telt-’
‘I’ll keep your name out of it, Jessie, I assure you,’ I told her. I had no clear idea how I should manage this, but I trusted to think of something. ‘Now,’ I went on, ‘this is very important. Tell me everything you can remember about this fellow. Tell me everything you could see.’
Jessie shuddered but spoke up gamely. ‘He was a’ dressed in black, I ken that for sure.’
‘Tall, short? Thin, fat?’ I said. ‘Could you tell if he was a young man or was he stiff and elderly in the way he moved?’
‘Oh no,’ said Jessie. ‘He was anythin’ but that. No’ very tall, I dinna think. He wasna loomin’ over Mrs Hemingborough and she’s no’ much taller than me. And no’ fat. He was… snaky.’ She seemed almost as startled to have said this as Mr Tait and I were to have heard it, but after blinking she nodded. ‘Aye, that’s it. He was snaky. The way he moved, you ken? He wasna like a man in heavy boots moves, he was jist snaky. The way he come over the dyke and the way he was all over Mrs Hemingborough.’ She shuddered again. ‘It was horrible.’
‘It sounds it,’ I said. ‘Now come along. I’m going to run you home.’
When I stopped the motor car at the Hollands’ cottage gate and stepped down to let Jessie out, she pointed to the great mess of feathers lying on the lane and caught in the bare branches of a hawthorn bush a little way along. In the moonlight, they were as plain as day and I could see no possibility for Jessie to have imagined the scene she had described to me. The sound of the engine brought a young man to the cottage door – John, I guessed – and since he frowned in puzzlement, I called to him.
‘We ran on late at the Rural, Mr Holland. I’m delivering Jessie home.’