“Good that’s good news! You may be able to help me now. Could I trouble you for information about the area you lived in?” Garty asked politely. The young man wiped his hands on his trousers again and licked his lips furtively. He must be thirsty, Garty reckoned, or uneasy.
“Would you like to come into my quarters and take a drink?” He asked.
The young man shook his head vigorously.
“Not allowed Sir,” he says determinedly. His eyes shift from left to right as if searching for someone or something?
Garty observes that this young man is desperately trying to behave according to rules set by his employer. Or, maybe something else is wrong, he wondered, like a threat?
“Well, that’s all right, Ted,” Garty says. “I would never consider upsetting you. But, I was wondering if you can help me for a moment?” He holds the charcoal map aloft for Ted to see clearly. “This little map with the X. Can you say if it may be a map of the area or is it something else?”
Ted turned the piece of paper three hundred and sixty degrees.
“It’s upside down, Sir. If you look at it this way, you can see the hills and the winding road. It is a map of this region, that’s clear to me! That’s just a few miles from here, over yon way,” he pointed in the direction of the long road that Garty had traversed a few days ago.
“Hunty’s Dale,” he says recalling the name of the specific area. Garty takes note in his mind.
“There is a sign like an X somewhere up there, on the cusp of the corner. It may be overgrown now,” he adds, for clarity. “It’s been a while since I traveled that way. The rolling hills are just along the way.”
Garty detects a lull in his voice, and he waits a moment to comment.
“Can you show me the best way to get there for someone new to the area?” Garty asks as if he might be a tourist visiting, which in fact was almost correct.
“I can! If one follows Hunty’s Dale for around four miles, you should come to a clearing near a wood. You see the little strokes here, that’s the wood.” He hands the map back to Garty.
“I hadn't noticed the strokes! That is very enlightening. I appreciate your help.” He crosses Ted’s palm with a coin, and Ted beams. He clearly was not expecting that, Garty notes.
“Any time, Sir. I’ll tell you anything you need to know.” He moves away and continues sweeping vigorously. “I need to get on with this job before sunset,” he explains, raising his eyes briefly underneath the shade of his baggy cap.
“Certainly,” Garty replies. “Carry on!” Garty turned towards where Brill was waiting to see his master.
“I will see my horse for a few moments, if you permit?”
“Yes, indeed! I am finished doing his stall. Lovely beast, your horse,” he adds, happily sweeping away from Garty, ensuring no dust particles irritated his eyes. Garty appreciated his kindness.
Garty patted his horse who nuzzled into his hand gently. He was happy but Garty could sense that he needed a long fast run to keep his muscular frame in tip top shape. Riding together for years Garty felt his mood through a touch of his hand on his faithful friend’s muzzle.
“Tomorrow, dear friend, we will ride!” Garty says, gazing as the sun sank lowly and the long shadows came hurriedly across the town, bringing in nightfall.
Garty produced his surprise, a round, pink and golden apple, wiping it on his sleeve, holding it in his palm. Brill had no hesitation in picking up the apple with his big mouth open and his teeth flashing. Garty rubbed the saliva of his horse on its neck, patting him as he did so. The horse grunted with joy. “Now, it’s time for me to eat. We shall meet again tomorrow, dear friend.”
Garty left and followed the aroma of sweet and savoury flavours. He sniffed deeply and said lowly, “What has Mrs Bouchée cooked up for supper?” He hurried to the dining room to get the answer and dine in style as usual.
Early the next day, Garty was laying on his bed when he heard a loud knock. He groaned. More people must have turned up for a reward. He still had not waded through all the scribbled pieces of information he had gained from thirty or so persons in the past day. Now it was on again. He rued the day he had placed the word “reward” in the local newspaper once more. Ignoring his feelings, he called out, “Hold on, I’m coming.”
He has already partly dressed and was laying with his chest bare. Quickly he pulls on his only shirt. It was a dismal yellow from age, having lost its fresh newness long ago. Holes and small tears had formed on weakest areas such as under the arms and near its cuffs. Garty made a promise to give it a wash in his bathtub tonight, and try to repair it with a needle and thread, but now he had a lot of work to do, presumably.
He opened his door and there was Mrs Bouchée herself, carrying a tray of fresh bread, coffee in her favourite silver pot, and a large jug of her freshest apple juice.
“I see you are up already, like the birds,” she adds.
She likes early risers, Garty noticed.
“You are an astonishing woman,” Garty replies, feeling special that she had come personally to bring him this sustenance. “Yes, I did wake up early. It is a beautiful morning, fresh and inviting,” he says thoughtfully.
“They are already waiting in the dining room and a few outside. So, you had better get on your horse and ride, Mr Garty,” she adds with a smile he noticed was permanently on her face for the last few days. “Contrary to my beliefs, these folk are honest and more than willing to spend their reward on my establishment, so I am happy to refresh their bodies as their needs arise.” She pauses, and then continued. “But, for how long I can keep up with this noise and frantic process, God only knows, for I am sure to be wearing out shortly?”
“Mrs Bouchée, I am so happy that you have been more than gracious to me and the townsfolk. I have this idea…” Garty paused and took the tray from Mrs Bouchée’s lagging arms. He placed it atop the cupboard with the lamp and turned back to the figure standing in the doorway.
“I concocted a sign to be placed in the front of your establishment.”
He picked up a piece of yellow parchment that he had found in the room. It said:
“To Patrons: Please note, there will be no more rewards for information necessary from 12:00 noon today! Thank you for your co-operation! Signed: Garty Musdo!”
Mrs Bouchée takes a deep breath. She is bobbing her head, so Garty feels optimistic as he waits for her utterance.
“Yes, I think that is a fine message for everyone. We can all relax after that, with a nice jug of apple juice. I have this new recipe including cinnamon on my agenda.”
“I can’t wait to try your cocktail creation,” Garty says, bowing as Mrs Bouchée turned and Garty closed the door behind her.
“I shall post this at the front…” his words echoed behind her skirt folds and fine leather shoes as she hurries back to her reception post.
Shortly after his breakfast was consumed, Garty posted the message in front of the inn. Those waiting became quite agitated and scorned at him. Some read the words aloud for those who could not read.
“Look, it says there will be no reward for information from twelve midday! What does this mean? Is our word not good enough?”
One woman with long brown hair and sharp features shouts loudly. “Yesterday, they was paid for words and information. Now, we shall get nought…!” She seemed to be gathering support as the people nearby nodded their heads and murmured against this notice.
This is not going to go down smoothly, Garty thought as he felt the surge of people around him with vexed-faced! His heart beats inside him like a Grandfather clock pendulum and he could not stand any more of these comments. It had seemed like a good idea to stop the crowds forming and so many turning up to gain a gold or silver coin, of which he had nearly 'zilch' remaining.
He turns to the little group waiting outside reading the poster.
“Good day friends, I’m Garty Musdo,” he says to the group who stared into his eyes with mean expressions, as if to say, “Who do you think you are denying us fair payment?”
Garty detected their inner mood and wished to change that promptly before things became nasty.
“You are, of course, exempt as you were not advised, and have been waiting already…” he says graciously, swinging his cape behind him and bowing, with eyes locked on the group so they did not move a hair. His forehead feels as if a tight bandana strangles his thoughts. He feels trickles of perspiration on his temple hairline. That settled them down momentarily and their conversations buzz with a happier tone. He relaxes for a moment and sighs as he beckons the first person waiting in the queue to come and give their information. He has his little bag of coins in his pocket, so that nobody dare steal anything without his being acutely aware of it.
By mid morning, he had finished speaking to the final informer, Jobe, a farmer who gave him information about a baby crying in bygone times. Garty resists the urge to dismiss the man entirely. The idea of a baby crying in the distance was something that occurred everywhere around here with many children coming into the world continually. There was always the possibility that this cry was from a baby princess. Even though he persuaded himself that this may be so, he also doubts the whole story.
“Thank you for taking the trouble and time to inform me of this instance.” Garty placed a silver coin in his palm and closed his ledger.
He rises and shakes the man’s hand, who swiftly puts the coin in his purse and says goodbye with a flourish.
Garty feels the meagre contents of his velvet bag now being in stark demise. He has perhaps five or six coins remaining, which would not suffice for his bill for accommodation, let alone all the food he has been plied with by Mrs Bouchée. He knows that she shall be subtly demanding in receiving her dues. He groans and reminds himself to visit the bank and to seek an overdraft for he was surely becoming bereft of cold hard cash.
Having taken his notes to his room and placing them in a stern box with a key lock, he hides the box in what he deems to be a safe place. Then he slicks his hair, washes his face and is ready to visit the bank manager, minus an appointment. He already knows this will cause some delay, but nevertheless, he has to do this, he decides. And the quicker the better, he reprimands his procrastination.
Walking along the cobbled pathway towards the bank, Garty stares at the ground. Now deep in thought and wondering if this may prove a vain exercise? What shall he do if the Bank Manager refuses his request? He hears a few, “Good Days” and tips his hat, although he had no interest in any conversations right now. His pocket was getting so long now that he is rummaging on the bottom of the bag, finding balls of fabric under his nails. His heart pumps speedily and he wishes he had not taken on this project five years ago. He is simply a king’s fool! Before he knows it, he almost walks into the sign hanging outside the bank.
Crafted in glorious mahogany wood and Gold, a fitting sign for a place to keep ones’ precious treasures swings with the words Scatt Bank, and no 'closed' sign. He sighs and takes a deep breath. He pushes open the heavy dark mahogany door with its brass lock. He read another sign with the words, 'Open’ on its door in parchment held by a chain, hook and door stopper.