The Vigilante

The sound of pickaxes on stone pings and echos around the field where Anne and her men are working to plant more saplings for Anne’s parkland scheme. She’s had this dream for years…to make her property into more of a luxurious parkland. Her family thinks its a wasted effort, but not Anne. She is constantly reminding her family that Shibden Hall is the oldest house in Halifax. It dates back to the reign of Henry V and Agincourt, and it’s where the first manorial courts in Halifax were held. It saddens her deeply to think that people may not see Shibden as the magnificent jewel it is, hence her desire for so many improvements. No, this is Shibden Hall, the ancestral home of the Listers, and in her mind, it should always reflect the quiet dignity of their ancient lineage. And so it shall! She’s definitely not short on ideas on how to improve her land. The only problem is her purse can’t keep up. 

Sweat drips down her temples and her back as she swings an axe again and again, working hard to cut a hole into a particularly hard spot in the ground. She’s grubby with toil and has been at it for hours, desperate to occupy herself and remove the temptation to think about…Ann. 

John Booth and his team of men work quietly alongside her, everyone lost in their own thoughts as they labor to get the holes dug and the trees planted. John stands up, arches his stiff back and looks around at his men. “Me and the lads generally stop for our dinner ‘bout now, Miss Lister. If that’s all right.”

Anne keeps digging hard. “Yes, of course it is.”

“Jamie lad! Edward! Dinner time!” John holds up the knapsack to signal his men that it’s time to eat. They all set down their tools to take a break, except Anne…she keeps on digging like her life depends on it.

John sits down on a nearby stone wall, takes out his bread, cheese and a paring knife, and prepares to eat, all the while watching Anne dig. Iwonderwhat’sgoingonwithher, thinks John.

He holds up his flask toward Anne. “You should have a drop of beer, Miss Lister. You’ve been digging like the devil.”

Anne stops digging to catch her breath. She looks at the flask and decides she is thirstier than she realized. What was meant to be a small sip turns into a guzzle, her body desperate for fluids.

“Would you care for some bread and cheese, ma’am?” John holds out his small serving to Miss Lister. She smiles back at him, appreciative of the fact that, even though he has so little, he’s still willing to share.

“That’s very kind of you, John, but no thank you. You enjoy.” 

Anne decides to take a real break and sits down on the wall next to John. Her legs spread wide, she leans over and rests her elbows on her thighs, staring at the grass, lost in her own thoughts. 

John can tell Anne isn’t her usual, happy go-lucky self, that’s evident. She looks sad and withdrawn. He knows Miss Walker has left the Hall and that it wasn’t under the happiest of circumstances. Surely that has something to do with her lack of vitality and sorrowful appearance. John’s not very good at small talk, but he does his best. 

“Are you excited about the wedding, ma’am?”

“Hmm?” Anne is brought back to the present.

“The wedding…Thomas and Suzannah.”

“Oh. Yes. I’m very happy for them both. Good choice. Both of them.” She sits up straight and takes another sip of beer.

John cheerily goes about cutting more bread and cheese. “Young love…it’s so refreshing to see. I think Thomas is very lucky…to be marrying a step above. He’s a good lad.”

Anne looks over at him. “Yes, he is very lucky. Suzannah is a clever girl.”

“I can’t imagine Mr. and Mrs. Washington being very excited about their daughter marrying a pig farmer and a laborer, but everyone can see it…Thomas is head over ears in love with her. And she looks like she cares for him…somewhat, at least. Well…it’s often the way. When you feel like that about someone, isn’t it? It’s very rare both parties feel exactly t’ same about each other.”

Anne considers this and thinks about how she feels about Miss Walker. It appears she was more “in for it” than Ann ever was, given her apparent lack of trust and confidence in Anne. It makes her all the sadder. “I don’t know. I think…sometimes a thing can start like that, but then…”

John watches as her thoughts pull her to someplace else…someplace sad.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

Anne shakes her head slightly, then looks up as she hears the noise of an approaching cart. 

William Hardcastle pulls his horse to a stop and jumps down from the seat. He flips open the back of the cart, making it accessible for the workers to load the stone that will be transported to another area of the property where they are building a bridge. Hardcastle sees John and Anne on the wall and decides to pay his respects. He approaches slowly, wiping his hands on the back of his pants, then taking off his hat.

“Miss Lister…Mr. Booth.”

“Mr. Hardcastle. How are you?  Have a seat. How’s little Henry?” Anne really seems to care about his little boy, and this surprises William. It’s not often a landlord takes such an interest in their tenants.

William gingerly takes a seat on the wall near Anne.

“Doctor says he’ll be reight. But it’s more... in himself. He’s not really spoken since it happened, ma’am. We’re a bit worried ‘bout ‘im.”

“Hmmm.” Anne takes this in, wishing she could do more to bring the gig driver to justice for the Hardcastle family, especially poor Henry.

“I’ve been thinking more about the accident, Hardcastle. Are you sure you don’t remember anybody else being on the path that day? Either before or after the accident?”

William is silent for a few moments as he tries to recall the details of that fateful day.

“Well…I didn’t think much about it at the time…but there was one fella who passed us by. Don’t know ‘im.  He was riding this pony…feisty little devil. Didn’t want nowt to do with the man. Looked like he was having problems gettin’ pony to obey. I think he called it…‘Nero’. Odd name for a horse.”

Anne stills. WhowouldberidingAnn’shorse?

“What did he look like?”

“Oh, gosh…tall fella…late 20s maybe? Light brown hair, I think. Hard t’say with the hat bein’ on.”

“What was he wearing?”

“Oh, t’usual. Field hat, wool coat…kind of worn lookin’…his boots were nice, though, I ‘member that.”

Anne can feel her heart begin to pound. “Did you speak with him at all?”

William shakes his head. “Not really…only as we were drivin’ past. I said summat like ‘I don’t think your horse likes ya very much,’ just trying to be friendly ‘n such, bein’ new t’area. And he said summat like, ‘it’s my missus’ horse and I’m ‘bout to shoot it’. He didn’t sound very happy.”

“And I’m assuming this was before the accident?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How long before the accident?”

William thinks hard. “A few minutes, maybe…10? 15? I don’t have a time piece.”

“So it’s possible he may have seen the driver of the gig…after he saw you, but before the accident.”

William’s eyebrows flex up in surprise. “Maybe. I never thought ‘bout that. Never ‘curred to me. But yeah…”

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

Anne walks up to the back of the barn at Shibden and drops off her tools. She’s a sweaty, dirty mess, and she is tired. As if the physical exertion wasn’t enough, the sadness coursing through her body has every muscle and tendon aching beyond belief. She desperately wants a bath, then bed.

She walks slowly past Argus, the loafing dog, who barely lifts his head. Anne stops and looks down at him. “You’ve got quite a life going there, Argus. Don’t let me disturb you.”

She passes the buttery as she walks in and sees Cordingley and George. She decides to do the decent thing and inform the servants she won’t be dining with the rest of the family. If she doesn’t, she’ll be certain to hear about it from Marian later on.

“Mrs. Cordingley…I’m…pretty tired. I won’t be joining the family for dinner.” Cordingley nods, a caring frown on her face. Anne turns to leave, but George interrupts her.

“Miss Lister? Ma’am?”

She turns back around, “Yes?”

George takes a deep breath, he knows she won’t be happy about this.

“The constable is here again, ma’am.  He’s in the sitting room with your father and aunt.”

Anne looks up at the ceiling, takes a deep breath and sets her mouth in a thin line. Whatfreshhellisthis, she wonders.

She nods at George and leaves the buttery. She takes her cravat off as she walks slowly to the sitting room, using it to wipe at her neck and hands, trying to make herself look at least somewhat respectable. 

The constable is seated on a love seat, legs spread wide, his elbows resting on his thighs, leaning in and chatting with her father and aunt. He stands when Anne enters the room.

“Miss Lister.” He puts his hand out to shake her hand. She reciprocates.

“Mr. Maxwell. What brings you to Shibden? Here to accuse me of another murder?”

The constable takes a deep breath and chuckles embarrassingly. “Just doing my job, Miss Lister.”

“Hmm.”  Anne drops the cravat on a side table. “So why are you here?”

“Well…we’ve found something. It may not be related to the murder of Reverend Ainsworth at all, but we need to do our due diligence.”  

He digs into the pocket of his trousers and pulls out a piece of jewelry. “Do you recognize this, Miss Lister?”

Anne takes the piece of jewelry out of his hand and examines it. It’s a gold, ornate cross with a small ruby in the middle. “I’ve never seen it before. Father? Aunt?”

They both shake their head. She hands it back to the constable. “Where did you find it?”

“It was in the barn where the reverend was killed. It’s possible it could have been there before his murder, but we still need to check it out. So there’s nobody you’re aware of that may have been the owner of this piece of jewelry?” 

“No. Sorry.” Anne shrugs.

“Right. Well…I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for your time. I’ll bid you adieu. Mr. Lister…Mrs. Lister…Miss Lister.” The constable nods to each of them and follows George to the front door.

“You’ve been out all day.” Aunt Anne’s comment is directed toward Anne.

Anne walks over to a side table and pours herself a glass of madeira. “Yes, I have. We’ve been putting in the new saplings down near the Lower Brook Ing.”

“From the looks of you I’d say you planted them all yourself.”

“Not entirely, no.”

“Well, dinner will be ready soon, you’d better go get cleaned up.”

“I won’t be eating dinner, Aunt. I’ve already told Cordingley. I’m going up for a bath, then straight to bed. So I will bid you all a bon nuit.” She knocks the madeira back and places the glass on the table. “Sleep well, both of you.”

Anne leaves the room, her elders watching her go. Her aunt is obviously very concerned.

“I guess it’s all off with Miss Walker, then.” The fire in the fireplaces cracks and hisses. “Such a shame. They’re good for one another.”

“Hmmm.” Jeremy can’t keep track of his daughter’s comings and goings. He wasn’t even aware Anne and Miss Walker were an item. He could have guessed from all the noise coming from the bedroom, but how is he supposed to know. “I didn’t know it was on.”

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

Ann counts each stroke of her brush through her blonde locks. She remembers Elizabeth telling her long ago, “100 strokes every day and night, Annie, and your hair will shine like the stars”. She’s been doing it almost every night since. She recalls how Anne would do it for her, sitting on her bed at Shibden.

Ann’s brush strokes begin to slow as her mind replays the images of Anne massaging her foot, then brushing her hair, then planting kisses down her neck. After that, they abandoned all pretense of an innocent brushing and got down to the important matters.

Ann’s hand with the brush falls to her lap as her head tilts back, her eyes close, and the images of Anne Lister making love to her rush right back. She moans lightly when her memory of Anne touches her rightthere. 

She jolts out of her daydream when she hears the bell ring. Every time she hears it her only hope is, PleaseletitbeAnne. 

James ushers Mr. Maxwell into the foyer with his usual professional manner, then notifies Ann of the constable’s wish to see her for a few minutes. He knocks gently on Ann’s bedroom door.

“Miss Walker, ma’am?”

“Come in, James.” Ann turns in her chair to face the door.

“Ma’am, the Sheriff of Yorkshire is downstairs and would like to see you for a few minutes.”

Ann sighs heavily. “Of course. Please show him into the sitting room. I’ll be right down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ann picks at her fingertips. “What does he want?” she mumbles to herself. The last interaction with him resulted in a horrible fight with Anne. She checks her appearance one last time in the mirror, then decides it’s best to get on with it. Ann saunters on her way to the sitting room.

“Mr. Maxwell…how are you?” Ann and the constable politely shake hands.

“Miss Walker, please forgive the intrusion.”

“Oh, it’s no intrusion at all. How can I help you? Please, have a seat.”

“Ah, thank you.”

After taking a seat on the sofa, Mr. Maxwell launches in.

“We found something in the barn near where Mr. Ainsworth’s body was found. We’re not certain if it was there before or after his death, but we need to check with everyone, just to be certain.” 

He extends his hand to Ann and places the ornate cross in her palm.

“Miss Walker, do you recognize this?”

Ann looks at the cross for several long seconds. It looks familiar to her, but she just can’t place it. She frowns as she tries to remember, turning the cross over in her hand, inspecting every possible angle. 

“Miss Walker?”

“It…for some reason…” Ann shakes her head, sighs and gives up, handing the cross back to the constable. 

“I can’t place it, Mr. Maxwell, I’m sorry. It might just look like a piece of jewelry I’ve seen in a shop before, or something like that.”

“Are you certain? This one is fairly unique. The small ruby in the center is unusual.”

“Yes, I noticed that. It’s lovely. It looks familiar, but really…I just can’t place it.”

Mr. Maxwell sighs, then smiles at Ann. “Well…I had to try. If you do happen to remember anything later on, please contact me, would you?”

“Of course, Mr. Maxwell. If that will be all, I’ll have James show you out.”

Without ringing the bell, James appears at the door, startling Ann. “Oh, James. Please show Mr. Maxwell out. Thank you.”

Ann and the constable share a pleasant goodbye, then Ann is left alone in the sitting room, the shape and design of the cross rattling through her memory. She tries again to place it, but no luck. “Oh well.”

James is suddenly there again, like a ghost. “James!  Good heavens, I need to put a bell around your neck! You startled me!” Ann says this in good humor, James chuckling through his apology.

“I was just curious, ma’am, about the constable. With everything going on around Halifax and beyond, rumors are flying and nobody knows what’s happening with the investigations.”

“Oh, that.” Ann waves her hand dismissively. “Apparently they’ve found a piece of jewelry in the barn where the Reverend Ainsworth was found and they’re just making the rounds to see if anyone recognizes it.”

“A piece of jewelry, ma’am?”

“Yes, a gold, ornate cross with a little red ruby in the middle. It’s very pretty, but I’ve never seen it.”

“Ah, well. I hope they’re able to find the owner. Should I ask Mrs. Fenton to bring you some fresh tea, ma’am?”

“No, thank you, James, that will be all.”

“Ma’am.”

James quietly leaves the room and shuts the sitting room door, his hand going to his neck and feeling the absence of his mother’s family heirloom.