The Vigilante

“It’s frightening, Jeremy, that’s what it is.” 

Aunt Anne has her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, suppressing the cold air that suddenly blew in overnight and is now seeping through the chinking of their walls. In spite of a robust fire in the nearby fireplace, she cannot get warm.

Jeremy Lister barely grunts an acknowledgement of his sister’s concern. He is more enthralled with what’s being stated in the local paper. More and more theories are popping up about the recent deaths in the area, and journalists are seizing every opportunity to spread false reports to get a headline.

Anne walks into the room about the time of Aunt Anne’s comment. “What’s frightening, Aunt?” She drops her small notebook and pencil next to her tea cup and plops down in her seat, then sets about filling her cup and spreading jam on a piece of toast as her aunt explains.

“All the violence. Things going on in the area. Mysterious things. And I’m worried about you. You go out at all hours, stay out for who knows how long without telling us where you are, and I worry something might happen to you. First Christopher Rawson-“

“That was an accident,” says Anne, biting into her toast.

“That’s not what I heard,” says Jeremy, taking a brief respite from reading the news.

Anne frowns. Her father has a habit of withholding information from Anne, just so he can look important and inthe know. More important than her, anyway. “And what, exactly, have you heard?”

“That the constable intends to launch a broader investigation. It seems they found some evidence of some sort that points to foul play.” Jeremy resumes his reading by bringing the paper fully in front of his face, blocking Anne’s view of him.

Anne sighs frustratedly, drops her toast on her plate and rubs her fingers together to rid them of crumbs. She dabs her napkin to her lips and places it back in her lap, then sits back in her chair. “Who’s told you that, father?” Anne doesn’t trust her father’s sources.

“The constable himself. I was down in Halifax yesterday doing some business and bumped into him at a pub. After a pint, he seemed very willing to share some of the details.”

Anne waits a few seconds for him to continue, but only grows more frustrated with him when he doesn’t say anything more.

“And?” she drawls.

Jeremy folds up the paper and drops it on the table in a huff. “It appears there were some dirty hand marks on the wheel spindles of the carriage, as if someone was physically rocking the carriage back and forth to ensure it stayed in a specific spot. It’s level land inside the barn, so it’s unlikely that the carriage rolled over Christopher’s chest on its own. There were also some muddy footprints in the Rawson’s barn that don’t match Christopher’s, his brothers, or any of the workers on their staff. And the stable boy said the barn was clean before he went to bed. So those footprints appeared overnight.”

Anne thought for a moment, then became combative. “Well, those are all easily explainable. The dirt on the spindles could have easily been placed there the last time the carriage was maintained, or even the last time the carriage was parked. Sometimes the footmen have to adjust the position of the carriage, and to do that they always grab the wheels. I’ve had to do it myself. And the footprints in the barn…they could have easily been left there by any number of people, even after hours. They might as well try to match the footprint of every person in Halifax, for goodness sake.  What nonsense! I don’t think this constable knows what he’s doing!” 

Anne chomps down on her toast in frustration and sits back in her chair with force as Aunt Anne looks at her and sheepishly continues from her earlier comment.

“…and then there’s Sam Sowden.”

Anne flinches at the name. “Sam Sowden?  What are you talking about?”

Both elders look at one another, each hoping the other will drop the news. Anne looks at them, back and forth, growing more frustrated by the second. “Somebody please say something!”

Aunt Anne continues in a low voice. “He was found this morning…up on the long road leading to his farm. Dead as dead can be.”  

Jeremy joins in. “Looked like his body had been picked at by some wildlife, apparently. And his neck was broken. Don’t know what killed him.”

Anne looks between her aunt and father in disbelief. “Well…who found him?”

Jeremy shakes his head and shrugs. 

“Has anyone told his family?”

“Mr. Washington. He rode up there this morning, soon after he delivered the news here. But there’s summat else. Someone reported seeing someone cutting across the fields near Upper Carr farm, then disappearing into the woods.”

Anne swallows hard. 

“Weren’t you up that way yesterday?” asks Aunt Anne.

“Well…yes…but only because it was a shortcut to get where I was going.” 

“Did you see anyone suspicious?”

“No…I didn’t. But why would I? That farm is empty, nobody has any business being up there.”

“Exactly.” Jeremy lets his comment hang in the air for Anne to consider. “How does someone break their neck in the middle of an open road, out in the middle of nowhere, all by themselves?”

Anne bypasses the question with one of her own. “Did they provide a description of this mysterious person?”

Jeremy shakes his head. “It was dusk, apparently they couldn’t really see. All they said was this person was dressed in dark clothes and a field hat.”

Anne rolls her eyes. “Well, once again…that could be anyone.”

“Hmmm.” Jeremy picks up his paper and sits back in his chair, signaling the end of the conversation.

“See what I mean…” says Aunt Anne. “Strange and terrible things are happening. Right here in Shibden Valley. It’s frightening. All these…unexplained deaths.”

Anne looks at her aunt and says nothing. She abruptly stands up and pushes in her chair. “I’m going out.”

Her aunt starts in. “Anne, please-“

Anne gently holds up a hand to quieten the elder woman. “I promise, Aunt…I’ll take a pistol with me. I’ll be careful. And I’ll be home in time for tea. You have my word.” She walks over and places a kiss against her aunt’s forehead, then turns on her heels and walks out of the dining room, shouting “Hold down the fort!” behind her.  

Jeremy looks at his sister, questioningly. “What did she say?”

Aunt Anne has a worried look on her face, her shoulders tense.

“I wish she wouldn’t go off like that.”

“Mmmm. You know how she is. Can’t tie her to a fence post. Always on the go. Hmph! Best leave her to it.”

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

It’s a brisk 38 degrees Fahrenheit outside, according to Anne’s prized possession: her 42-inch long, mahogany thermometer with mother-of-pearl inlay. Winter has been kind to Halifax up until now. The clouds are grey and billowing, setting an ominous feeling in the air.

Eliza Priestly asked her weeks ago to pay a social call the next time she’s in the area, so Anne has decided to take advantage of the invitation and see whether Eliza has any information about the spate of violence in the area.

She tucks her long ponytail up under her wide-brimmed field hat, and sets off in her wool coat, wool trousers and thick muddy boots. And since she promised her aunt, she tucks a loaded pistol into the wide belt around her waistcoat. For extra warmth, she throws a wool blanket across her shoulders and brings a portion of the cloth up and over her hat. She’s barely recognizable in the outfit. No matter…it’s doubtful she’ll run into anyone of importance. Not on the backwoods path she’s taking.

Anne takes a lot of walks these days. The exercise helps to clear her mind of all the negative memories that have accumulated over the years. Disappointing relationships, heartbreaking abandonment, being shunned for her appearance…and so much more. These experiences are all well documented in a secret code in her journals, now locked up and tucked away in the dusty trunk at the foot of her bed. She doesn’t have to take them out and read them to remember…those memories are forever emblazoned in the frontal cortex of her brain.

She’d like to find love again, but the prospects in Halifax are slim to none. Going beyond the city walls doesn’t seem to work well, either. Things went horribly wrong with Vere Hobart while living in Hastings, and the on-again, off-again relationship with Mariana Lawton over the years has not been kind. Four years into their love affair, in order to satisfy the conventions of the day and to enjoy the material comforts of wealth, Mariana accepted a proposal of marriage from Charles Bourne Lawton and moved to Cheshire. Anne was absolutely devastated. She has allowed herself to be sucked back into Mariana’s arms, even years after the marriage, but it’s nothing short of adultery, and Anne doesn’t like it. She wants her own wife.

She trudges through the woods at breakneck speed, the leaves on the ground swirling behind her in a tail wind, much like her thoughts. Before long, she’s standing on Eliza’s front steps checking her watch…a personal best.

Anne enjoys Eliza’s company, in spite of her being a busybody know-all. She finds her entertaining…certainly more interesting than the vast majority of ladies in Halifax. She counts on Eliza to have the best gossip of anyone from Halifax to Huddersfield. Eliza’s information often finds its way to Anne’s ears before the daily newspaper.

Anne and Eliza are comfortably ensconced in Eliza’s parlor, a warm fire burning nearby, snacking on fresh fruit and figs. Eliza is in the middle of a long tale of gossip and expressing her own concerns about what’s gone on.

“I mean everyone is on pins and needles, wondering who’s next!”

“Oh Eliza!  Surely the death of Christopher Rawson was an accident. And Sam Sowden…well…who knows.”

“Yes, but here you have two deaths ranging from the highest of society down to the lowest of servants, and almost back-to-back!  And with suspicious circumstances surrounding both. Isn’t that uncanny?”

“Well, possibly, but I’m sure-“

“And he leases one of your farms!  Aren’t you worried for the rest of your tenants?”

“I really don’t think there’s anything-“

“Anne…this is Halifax. People talk! There’s something going on, something unnatural. And everyone but you, apparently, senses it.”

Anne licks her fingers of fig residue and considers Eliza’s comments.

“I just worry about what this person might do next. What if he starts targeting vulnerable people?” Eliza has an advanced degree in speculation.

“Vulnerable? Vulnerable how? Who, for example?”

“Well…people who can’t really fend for themselves. Invalids, for example.  Take Miss Walker over at Crow Nest, she-“

“Miss Walker? An invalid?  She’s, what, 30? How is that possible?”

“Well,” Eliza continues. “She hasn’t been…,” she silently mouths the word ‘well’.

Anne helps her out. “Well. Okay. How?”

“Oh. Well. She has this problem…this weakness - in her spine. I think it’s menstrual. And she gets anxious. And frets. About the oddest things. She always seems to think people are after her money. Even people in her own family. And she has this habit of alienating people. People who care about her. And well…she’s naïve. What if this person gets their hands on Ann Walker and hurts her? Blackmails her? Takes her for all she’s worth! They could have a field day with this poor girl!”

“Eliza, i don’t think that’s what’s going on. I think this is all just circum-“

“What she really needs is a husband. Or a good friend. Someone who can protect her. Watch over her, without her feeling that us old folk are constantly interfering.”

“Has anyone asked Ann Walker what she wants?”

Eliza stares at Anne in disbelief. “The poor girl can barely take care of herself.  She has no idea what she wants. No, she needs someone to take control.”

Eliza takes a moment to take a sip of tea, then continues with a smile. “That Reverend Ainsworth has been calling on Miss Walker as of late. Do you know him?”

Anne shakes her head.

“I quite like him. Very respectable. Very kind. Perhaps missing a little bit in the gravitas department, but… The poor man.  His wife died not long ago in a carriage accident. She was thrown from the carriage. Awful incident. He was lost without her. Shortly after it happened he proposed to Miss Walker, but sadly, it was a no. She refused him. We are looking for other suitors, but Miss Walker doesn’t seem interested.”

Anne takes in what Eliza has been saying and not saying, in her spiel about Ann Walker.

The last time she saw Ann Walker was about 10 years ago, after her parents died. Anne visited the Walker estate to pay her respects to Ann and her older sister, Elizabeth. She recalls Ann as being a gangly teenager who couldn’t stop talking. She seemed thoroughly impressed with Anne, though. They walked in the garden a few times, talked of adventures beyond the confines of Halifax, and Anne promised to meet up with her again soon for a walk in the woods. That never happened, and Anne soon forgot her promise to the young heiress. 

She somehow doubts Ann Walker is so feeble-minded that she shouldn’t have a say in how she lives her life, but then again, it’s been years since she last saw her. She’ll just have to take Eliza’s word for it….at least for now.

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

Ann Walker’s pony, Nero, has been misbehaving all afternoon. She pulls on the reigns to turn right, and he turns left, goes straight, or stops completely. She pulls back on the reigns to stop, and he trots faster. She had hoped to have an enjoyable, quiet ride down the backwoods path to Halifax, but it’s looking like Nero has other ideas.

Ann dismounts with a huff and walks beside the horse rather than continue to fight the ornery beast. It’s getting late in the afternoon and what little light peeks through from the ominous-looking skies is beginning to fade. 

She’s lost in reverie and doesn’t hear the footsteps fast approaching from behind. The wind blowing the leaves around masks the noise, as well. The shove is a complete surprise, and forceful enough to send her sprawling on the ground. 

“Nero!” shouts Ann. Now she’s really angry. This damnable horse has the nerve to bump her and knock her off-balance. She moves to shift her body to being on all fours. There’s heavy pressure on her back and she is shoved flat to the ground. It’s then she realizes something is stopping her from getting up.

“Nero!  Get…ugh!…off of me, you stupid horse!” She thrashes about a bit, then turns her head to the right…Nero is nowhere within her field of vision.

“I’m not a horse.” The voice is low and hushed.

Ann tries to wriggle free from the hold this man has on her. “Get…OFF of….ugh…me!”

“Shut up, you stupid bitch!” The man presses his weight down on top of her even harder. Ann can feel him reaching up under her petticoat and roughly tearing the fabric away. She squirms harder. Her body’s heightened alarm has her instantly sweating.

“No!  Please!” He grips her slight wrists with one hand and traps them behind Ann’s back. She’s fights desperately, but what little strength she has is starting to wane.

“I’m going to take what’s mine! Don’t even try to deny me!” The man sits up, straddling Ann’s hips. She can feel his bulge against her ass. He attempts to unbutton his trousers, but fumbles with just the one free hand. He lets go for one brief second. Ann seizes the moment and pushes up, just enough to slide a leg up. Her newly acquired leverage is enough to put the man off-balance, and soon she is able to get both legs out from underneath him and turn over. 

She kicks wildly and scrambles across the ground as fast as she can. He lunges after her, trying to grab her ankles, but she’s too fast. She manages to land a strong kick to his face. She can hear the crunch of bone as he screams out. He falters, places a hand over his left eye and groans. He stands up, sways as he attempts to gain his balance, then turns and stumbles away, all the while his hand over his face.

It’s the first time Ann gets a good look at him. It’s dusk, so she can’t make out his face, but she can see his field hat, his heavy, dark wool coat wrapped around him, and his muddy boots. Nothing of any uniqueness stands out. Not even his voice. 

With the adrenaline starting to wear off, she starts to get a grip on her situation. She’s in the middle of the dark woods, completely alone. It’s getting darker and the temperature is dropping, a few snow flakes flittering by. The tears come hard and fast. The shock and realization of almost being taken in the woods by a stranger…of being held against her will…of being raped.

It’s then she feels the pain in her left ankle. It feels like white heat shooting up her shin and over her knee. She screams out and reaches down to feel the bone, her foot already swollen to almost double its size. She writhes in pain for several minutes, rolling back and forth in the leaves. She’s real and truly injured, can’t put any weight on her foot. She can’t even stand up to get on her horse.

She decides to improvise, provided Nero is willing to help. After several minutes of her begging the massive beast to take a few steps in her direction, he snorts and closes the distance. She grabs hold of his bit and uses the horse to pull her up to standing position. She limps a few steps and cries out again. In frustration, Ann screams out at the top of her lungs.

“SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP MEEEEEE!!!!”

“Hello?”

Ann turns around to see a man walking up the path wearing a dark, wool coat, muddy boots, and a field hat. Ann’s chest heaves with fear. “Oh my God!” she whispers. “He’s come back!” She unknowingly puts her full weight on her left foot to run away, but instead stumbles and falls back to the ground. She sees the muddy boots run toward her just as the pain shoots through her body and her world goes dark.