Redmond’s brow wrinkled. “Who are the Tanfields? And why in the devil are they in a bottle?”
Thos grabbed a stool and scrabbled over to the cavernous fireplace to sit in front, tankard in hand. “Gather near and I shall tell thee all the tale of my Great-Great-Grampy Frickett.”
Stable lads and grooms dragged benches and stools to surround Thos, and even the ale-house keeper leaned over his counter.
The tale of the miserly Tanfields, Ernest had heard many a time, but never that of Grampy Frickett.
After a slug of ale, Thos gazed about his rapt assemblage. In the dim candlelight, his eyes appeared as ancient as Grampy Tom’s, the town’s memories forged deep in both their souls.
“And so it began, one winter’s eve in the year of Our Lord 17…sommit when Great-Great-Grampy Frickett were walking home after a few jugs at The Rampant Cat. It were one of those nights where the bitter wind blows through thine ears and shivers thine bones.”
Everyone nodded.
“He be staggering home a little worse for wear past the joiner’s old place, singing a merry tune, when he heard a mortal strange cackle and the rattle of wheels overhead. And when him looked up…”
Thos peered to the ceiling. So did everyone else.
“He were afeared to spy a ghostly carriage wending its way over the roofs of Burford. Fire were bursting from its wheels and who might be at the reins…”
Thos was good at this.
“Aye, it were the wicked lord himself.”
Gasps abounded and Redmond crossed himself. “Mary, Joseph and the rest of them.”
Their storyteller breathed deep. “My pa said those Tanfields were the scourge of Burford when alive, grinding folk to their knees with their greed, the evil lord’s missus worse than he.” Thos shook his head and glugged his ale. “So, there he were, my Great-Great-Grampy Frickett. What could he do?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“Well, he were clever and ran for the church where the devils couldn’t take him to hell, but as he stumbled through the graveyard, they swooped low in their carriage and cursed our Frickett name over and over.” The candle flickered casting Thos’s face to shadow. “And though himself were saved, ’tis said his hair turned white as fleece overnight.”
“Get to the good bit,” encouraged Daniel.
“Well, enough were enough for the townsfolk after tha, so with Bell, Book and Candle, it took seven vicars to drive those devils into a bottle before it be corked mortal quick and hurled beneath the first arch of Burford Bridge. There it sank deep with a frightful scream. But ’tis said tha if the river ever runs low at midnight…” He gazed around. “They’ll be back, so take heed, for it’s not rained in a while and the wicked lord and his missus are just biding their time. Even now, tha river could be a’bubbling and a’hissing…”
A coach rattled past the window on the Burford High Street and the clock chimed its quarter past the hour.
“I’ll not be crossing that bloody bridge,” avowed Redmond as all the lads slowly staggered to their feet, clapping hands to Thos’s back and peering out the window with furrowed brows.
“Quickest way home.”
“Not when our horses and carts are at The Bird in Hand at the top of the hill.”
Ernest’s head jerked up. Surely a groom had brought them down?
“Tha be the point, my lord,” assured Thos. “Now we make our way back up the hill. With one or two along the way to quench the thirst, of course.”
Ernest groaned and could only hope the river had indeed run low for the Tanfields to take him to hell first.
22
VENI, VIDI, VICI
The invitation card to the Bibury Races held a whiff of…
Hebe placed it beneath her nose once more – water mint, forest and hay.
“Dearest, stop sniffing the card. It’s a little odd.”
