The Vigilante

The two-horse gig races up the hill far too fast for its driver to control the large animals. He accidentally cuts corners, scrapes against stone walls, and narrowly misses a few passersby; he's just not strong enough to reign the beasts in. The gig is new and he’s not used to the feel of the wheel base or the sway of the vehicle. He's all over the place. The cobblestone road leads onto a narrow dirt path, barely wide enough for the gig, let alone any other carriages or farm equipment, but he thinks this will be a good road on which to test drive the vehicle.

The horses are working hard, breathing heavily, slobber spilling from their mouths as they pound their hooves into the dirt and fly forward. The driver, a middle-aged, wealthy snob of a man, cracks the whip harder, determined to test the gig at the highest speed possible. His eyes are glassy from the copious amount of madeira he consumed at a business lunch, his balance and judgement both off-kilter.

Traveling further up the road is the Hardcastle family, slowing moving along in their heavily-laden horse-drawn cart, overloaded with all their worldly possessions. They are excited about the journey they are on. They are headed to a new farm…well, new to them. The last farm they’d leased had been from a cantankerous land owner, someone who charged unfair prices and forced them to farm unprofitable crops. Fortune smiled on the family when William Hardcastle, the head of the household, came across Samuel Washington, the land warden for the Lister and Walker families. He mentioned a Lister-owned farm that had recently been vacated, and before William could say 'ey up', the family was headed to the beautiful Shibden Valley. Their faces are all smiles, as they are hopeful for what the future will bring.

William is completely unaware of the fast-moving gig rapidly approaching from behind. The driver of the gig urges his two horses faster in the hopes of overtaking the Hardcastle’s cart before they reach a narrow bridge. Otherwise, he’ll have to bring his horses to a halt, and that would just be such an inconvenience. While the man driving the gig is familiar with Halifax’s roads, William is not and doesn’t realize the road ahead narrows to a single lane.

Little Henry Hardcastle, the eldest son riding on the back of the cart, screams out to his father about the gig, but his father doesn’t hear him due to their belongings being stacked up high between them, acting as a sound barrier. The gig driver draws the whip again, the horses now straining at maximum speed.

At the last second, William hears his son’s cries and pulls his cart to the left, allowing the speeding gig to pass by, but not without it knocking against the Hardcastle’s cart, sending the vehicle and its passengers flying helter-skelter, toppling over and down the sloping grass. Henry suffers the brunt of the impact. He is sent careening over a small bridge, smacking into trees and rocks below the road. His right leg snaps when he lands on a large boulder at the base of the slope; the sound of the bone tearing through his skin is particularly nauseating.

After a few brief moments, and the shock of the accident starting to wear off, William takes stock of his family and accounts for everyone on the cart…everyone except Henry. It’s then he hears the sounds of his son’s painful screams. He leans over the bridge and sees his son lying roughly 20 feet below, his leg bent in an unnatural way and blood spilling from the wound. He can see the bone protruding through Henry's trousers, and his breath leaves his chest.

“I’m coming, Henry!  Hang on!”  Williams scurries down the side of the slope and carefully picks up his son. He can see from the injury that he needs to get help for Henry, and fast. He sees Shibden Hall in the distance and silently prays someone there will help him. Cradling his precious boy, he takes off in the direction of the Hall.

“I’m going to get help for Henry!” screams William to his family.

After 15 long minutes, William reaches the Hall. Henry’s complexion has gone ghostly white and his moans are subsiding…not a good sign and William instinctively knows it.

As he approaches the Hall, he sees a woman in a black pelisse, white shirt and waistcoat stroking the nose of a horse.

“Please! Help me!”

The woman turns toward him, takes in the scene and immediately escorts him into the nearby barn. 

“In here!  Marian!  Send for Dr. Kinney or Dr. Jubb!”

This woman doesn’t mess about. She’s very much in charge and William is thankful for it. 

William gently lays Henry down on a nearby table. The woman immediately grabs a leather strap from the side of a wall in the tack room and wraps it around Henry’s leg, pulling it tight and cutting off the blood flow. She grabs some nearby clean cloths and presses down on the wound as gently as she can. Henry howls in response.

“What’s your son’s name, sir?”

“Hen…Henry,” stammers William. “Henry. He’s my eldest son. He’s my boy.” He hangs his head and allows a single sob to escape.

“Steady on. Your son needs you right now, you can’t fall apart. What’s your name?”

“Wi…William Hardcastle.”

The woman’s head snaps up. “You’re my new tenants.”

The man looks at her, confused. “Yo…you’re Miss Lister?”

“Yes,” says Anne. “I was going to ride up to the farm tomorrow to welcome you and your family…and to go over the terms of your lease. I’m so sorry this happened.”

Anne and William stay with Henry until Dr. Kenny arrives. It takes the jittery doctor only a few seconds to assess Little Henry’s condition and make the call. 

“We have to remove the leg. The bone is crushed and it won’t be able to heal. I’ll need some place to operate.”

Anne makes arrangements for a room to be set up in the Hall. A plethora of candles are brought in to increase the light, and Anne makes her surgical knives available to the doctor. She gently “offers” to assist in the procedure, and Dr. Kenny reluctantly agrees. If he’s being perfectly honest, he needs help, and Anne proves herself to be well qualified. The operation proceeds without a hitch.

Later that evening, with Little Henry asleep in another room, Anne sits with William in the kitchen, having a cup of tea. William tells her what he can remember from the accident and how things ended up going so horribly wrong.

“Who forced you off the road, Mr. Hardcastle?  Did you see the driver of the gig?”

William is still in a state of shock, his family’s new adventure having gone so far off the rails.

“I don’t know, ma’am, I didn’t see him. I only know it was a man…he was the only passenger.”

“Can you describe the gig?”

“Well…it seemed…posh. I’ve never seen anything like it ‘round where I lived.”

Anne contemplates this for a few seconds. “If it was as posh as you say, not too many people in Halifax could afford something like that, so that narrows the field of possible suspects.”

William slumps in his chair, staring off into the distance, not really focused on what Miss Lister is saying. 

“It just came out of nowhere. Henry, he…he tried to warn me, but…” William drops his head and sobs. Anne reaches across and clasps her hand around William’s forearm and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll figure this out, William. I give you my word.”

William looks up at Anne, his cheeks moist from his tears. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he whispers. 

Anne’s face turns angry. “He should be strung up!”

//////////////////////

Bad news travels fast, and soon the tale of Little Henry Hardcastle’s severed leg is the talk of Halifax.  On the face of things, the constable launches an inquiry into the incident, but little effort is put into finding out the driver of the gig and bringing him to justice.  Anne takes it upon herself to investigate the matter through her own back door channels.

It doesn’t take long before she is able to make a mental list of the wealthy people in Halifax who have recently purchased a high-end gig.  In fact, the list is comprised of one: Christopher Rawson, the owner of Rawson’s Bank, a court magistrate and prominent figure in the town of Halifax. 

After a few subtle and whispered conversations with people in the know, Anne is able to uncover that Christopher's new gig was recently sent back to the manufacturer...with a large scrape down the left side.

//////////////////////

Two weeks after the accident, more bad luck. Anne sits down at the breakfast table with her Aunt Anne, her father, Jeremy, and her sister, Marian. Jeremy sets aside the local paper he’s been reading and looks at his eldest daughter.

“You’re up late, “ comments Jeremy, acknowledging Anne’s later-than-usual arrival to the breakfast table.

Anne glares at her father, “Yes. I had a rough night. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Have you heard the news?” her father asks.

Anne huffs with annoyance. “I’ve only just sat down, father. No, what news?”

“Christopher Rawson is dead. He was found early this morning in his barn...underneath a carriage. Apparently the wheel of the thing was sitting on his chest.  Crushed him to death.”

Aunt Anne and Marian gasp, while Anne looks on stoically. 

“What happened?” asks Anne.

“Nobody knows for certain. It looks like the carriage may have rolled backward over him. Very odd.”

“Oh my heavens!” exclaims Aunt Anne. “What a horrible way to go!”

“So it was an accident?” asks Anne.

Marian looks over at her sister and frowns. “Why wouldn’t it be an accident? Surely this wasn’t intentional. What an odd question!”

Anne glares at Marian. “I’m only asking, Marian, I’m just covering all the bases.” Anne directs her attention back to her father. “How did you hear about this, father?”

“Samuel Washington stopped by this morning and told me about it. He dropped off the signed lease agreement from the Hardcastles.  Mr. Rawson’s death is the talk of the town.”

Anne looks off into the distance and hums.  “Yes, I would imagine so. Poor Christopher.”

The family members redirect their focus on their meal and resume eating. Nobody catches the slight smile on Anne’s face.