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Make Your Report...
1 -- Morval House -- seat of the Podrugans who own most of Looe, its harbour & its coastline -:
2 -- St. Wenna's Church -- kept by the Reverend Penhell -- lying close by Wenna's Brook, which follows the road to the coast where it empties into Millendreath Cove -:
3 -- The main road to the east & London -- passing through Torpoint and its inns before reaching Plymouth harbour -:
4 -- Millendreath Cove -- owned by the Podrugans, with Millendreath Lodge -- where Chester lived -- almost standing on the sand -- high cliffs surrounding with only one road (the cliff road) in or out -:
5 --The Cliff Road -- passing between Millendreath & Looe -- very few walk it after dark for Fear of falling -- none when the weather is Blowing -:
6 -- St. Martins Warren -- Margaret Thomas' parents keep the Rabbits here for Fur & Meat -:
7 -- The Jolly Sailor -- the largest Inn in East Looe -:
8 -- The Giant's Circle at Duloe -- a Ruin of Stones -- many folk shan't Walk there for the Spirits -:
9 -- The hamlet of Shutta -- above Looe, bordering Wenna -:
10 -- St. Wennas Well -- a place of Womanish superstitions hidden someplace in the Gullies of the Brook -:
Speak up! I always tell Penhell: in a room like this, you need to at least pretend to have something worthwhile to say! Now, who are you schwatzing on about?... Chestnut? What?... Chess Set? Who is…? Chester…? that Chester. The little one, from London.... The dead one. Yah, I heard. That is precisely why I took a whole year’s rent from him. Up front. Dead men… tend to… eh… how do you say? They tend… Uh...
Anyway, I’ve always thought men like that should be in a… ... what’s the word? A, a… yes! A cage. Well-watered, of course. A meal a day but… I just wanted to look at him. Wasn’t he a curious exhibit? Not quite a servant - he came in through the front door, after all - but he still couldn’t… eh… couldn’t quite meet my eye, when he came in. Bowed a little too deeply. It must be exhausting, not knowing where you stand in this world. I’ve always thought that of Penhell, you know. My husband invited him for supper once - he was my husband’s creature, really - and I swear I saw him try and bite one of the dessert spoons. He was… what’s the word in Eng-? Mm… y-yes… curious exhibits… curious exhibits…
I see more and more of these… these middling sorts, every year. Low born, stumbling about the country, in furs and velvet that just makes them sweat… always at their little deals. They are obsessed with… with money. Chester stood right where you are, in that ridiculous white cloak of his, like a dog in a ballgown - and within two moments he was talking to me about renting a house… and mentioning actual figures! Penhell hated the man, but it was too funny. I couldn’t even be angry when he sat in my husband’s chair! In the end I gave him… oh, which one was it? The rectory at Tredinnick? Or the shooting lodge at Sandplace? We have so many I… Penhell was not happy, though, I remember that! Curious exhibit!
And then, as soon as we had concluded that business, he started asking about the harbour down in East Looe. How much of the frontage do the Podrugans own, he said? We’ve been here since the Flood, I told him. ‘Own’ is not the right word. He asked me again and again if I would consider selling it to him… ugh… talking about his bank in London… and then, not a week ago, he comes again and tells me that he no longer wants the harbour! That he plans to leave soon, and cannot take on more assets! The delicious cheek of him! As if I was a barmaid, come to take his order!
I suppose I should send something to his wife. It was my house he died in, after all. What do you send the wife of a dead merchant? And of course I won’t send her the bill. For the damage. ... They’re all wrong, of course. I know how they’re all talking, down in the town. The girl didn’t do it. A maid, slaying her master? It might make a good… what’s the word? A good novel, but…
What was it she was supposed to have taken? His wife’s necklace? That I can believe. Make no mistake, and live by it: servants serve the house, not us. Like woodworm. They are there for the furnishings, and nothing else. I see them sometimes, stopping on the stairs, looking up at the paintings and imagining their pockmarked little ancestors hanging there… looking at the silverware, and imagine putting it to their lips. Looking at husbands, and imagining putting them… If you let them - if you keep them too long - they start to burrow into the walls. You’ll never get rid of them. My husband once found that a footman had moved his entire family - three generations - into one of the linen cupboards in the east wing. Made a sort of nest. It took two days to hook them all out of there.
And the grub in her belly… I can believe that too. They can’t help it, the lower sorts. It’s one of God’s little jokes, that the great families of this country seem to struggle to produce a single heir, while most fishwives only seem to need to sneeze and a child falls out of them. Maybe it is Chester’s child. Why not? A man like him, keeping a maid… already an unnatural state of affairs. Like a bull being pulled by a mule. Who’s to say they didn’t fall in love? They’re not so different, after all. Now there’s your novel! The maid, trying to breed her way up in the world!
Now, I think that will be all. Lanyon will show you the way out. And tell her that I will take my…my… breakfast? Dinner? Whatever comes next...LANYON! Where is that girl? Forty servants in this house, and never… Maybe she’s looking for my husband’s ghost… trying to get herself written into the will!
That foolish blagannie! What mess has she flown herself into this time? I can’t... I can’t fathom it. Oh, but God that look on her face this morn... when they took her to the magistrate’s... I don’t think I’ve e’er seen Margaret Thomas look scared afore. No, no it weren’t fear... ‘stonishment, that’s what it were. Like she couldn’t believe that summin might not go rightly for ‘er. For once.
I don’t unnerstan’... they only let me at the cell for a moment, but she wouldn’t say nought to me then. Can’t shut her up, elsewise... E’er since we were girls we’ve tol’ each other everything, things we’d not e’en tell God hisself... Why didn’t she tell me about the baby? It can’t be real, she’d have... And why didn’t she hide the lo- No, Melly. No. “long legs, loose lugs, locked lips”.
It’s my fault. All of it. If I hadn’t got ‘er that job with Robert Chester, none of this... When she asked me to put in a word for ‘er, I laughed I tell you. I’ve been a maid since I were ‘leven years. I was with the Podrugans first, up at Morval House, for two years... it were two years and six days. Dr. Carthew took me on after that... a good house to work fer. Close to us, up the hill in Shutta. But Margaret... she’s ne’er shown no interest in it... I doubt she’d empty a chamber pot with a smile on ‘er face! A good maid, see... a good maid’s got to always be busy, but ne’er noticed... like a fire cracklin’ away in a grate. And you can’t not notice Margaret Thomas. She’s... well, she’s Margaret. Still, I put in the word. Maybe she was sick of skinning rabbits all day for her Father.
Look... I can’t say else, but everyone must trust that Margaret did not do this. There’s plenty who would, though, round ‘ere. If I were the constable, I’d be talking with Jesse Couch first of all. I’ve known ‘im since he was a boy... the way he’s at the beck and call of that witch Katherine Renshaw... always after a few more coins, where he can get ‘em. And Chester had money in that house. And that’s not all - Jesse has been soft on Margaret since we were all out of swaddling. And he’s never liked to share ‘er... stop it, Melly! You promised! “Long legs, loose lugs, locked lips”. “Long legs, loose lugs, locked lips”!
In honesty, I’d look to almost anyone in Looe, first, afore Margaret. There was a lot of folk wondering what busyness a man from London was making ‘ere, so far from ‘ome... and from his wife. I ‘member Father saying, “see ‘ere if that man don’t buy up half the harbour, and rent it back to us, brick by brick!” A greedy little worm, God forgive me... and plenty ‘round ‘ere who hated ‘im for it.
It’s cold today. She must be shiverin’ in that cell. We always said the wind was the worst thing about living ‘ere... apart from the men (laughs) I ‘member when we were girls, and I’d just started maiding, we’d get my broom down and try and sweep the wind right back out under the door. ... What was it that we used to sing?
Bring us breezes warm and dry,
Carry us off into the sky.
Carry me quickly, carry me far,
Carry me off to America!
We always said we’d go together, one day. Walk to Plymouth, and then a boat, over the sea. “Just us, Melly”, she used to say. Then she’d pretend to throw me out the door, an all... she’d pick me up like I was her pet... they was our best times, in truth. Afore we got older, and the men started to... notice ‘er. ‘S like I said, you can’t not notice ‘er. And she liked to be noticed. And she were never good at paying notice herself, to more’n one folk at a time... Why doesn’t she just tell them the truth? It would be better than this. I could tell them. She’s clear not told me everything. So I could... and they’d, they’d have to then... NO, MELLY! “Locked lips!” We always said. We’d keep each other’s secrets. She... she kept mine, and I’ll keep ‘ers. Until she tells me otherwise.
But what if she ne’er tells me? If she ne’er says anything, she’ll hang. And what then? What will I do? I can’t... I can’t go without ‘er. I just wish I knew what happened! I was only at ‘er cell door for a second, and she said nought... I can’t make sense of it. I heard someone say she was packing her things, when they ‘rested ‘er... were you coming to get me? Were we finally gonna do it?
Just us, Margaret. Not him. Just us.
Go on. Out with it. I can see it all coiled up in yer. I’m not afraid of people tattling. You wear a new pair of shoes in this place, and people will... Go on. Are they saying that I made her do it? Or that she entranced me, and bade me murder Mr. Chester for ‘er? What are they saying I killed him with? An axe? A boat-hook?
I bet it was Melly Solomon, what told you. Ever since we were all little, she’s ne’er liked me. It won’t matter what I say against it. It won’t matter that I was drinking with John Meverell that night - that’s right, John Meverell the constable, ask him yourself! But tattlings like a dog after a hare: once it’s loosed, it’s hard to bring it back to heel.
Ayes, Mags and I were going on together, for a while. I’m not ashamed of it. I may have a few years on her, but… she’s beautiful. In her manner. But it’s no lie that she has scarce glanced at me for near two month! I’ve bare seen her. I’d say she’d found another lad, but.... Ayes, I shouldn’t be surprised, though… she’s always been itching, that one… aiming to course off, somewhere. Up country, or over the sea… and I ne’er had the coin to keep ‘er here. Always liked to be treated, that maid - and a jug of beer at the Jolly weren’t ever going to be enough.
Look, Mags never killed nobody. For all their tattling, folks don’t think. If she cut Mr. Chester up, with that thumping great knife they found, what did she do with the body? And why’s there no blood nowhere in that house? John Meverell told me hisself… not a drop! Course, I’ve seen her skin hundreds of rabbits with that knife, up at her father’s farm. And a rabbit bleeds as red as a man does…
I’ll tell you what I think. No tattling. It weren’t Mags, and it weren’t a robbin’, neither. Who kills a man to rob him, and then leaves most of the booty behind? John said there was leather books, fine cloths, silverware that weren’t touched… only a candlestick, a few rings, a cloak or coat gone, I think. And that Markenham fool… he’s too much of a dolt to have anything to do with it. I mean, who comes halfway across England to look at some old stones in a field? Doesn’t he have stones in Ockford, or wherever he said he was from?
No, I don’t think Chester’s dead. I think he’s still here. In Looe. You see, that house he were renting, at Millendreath Cove… right by the water, high cliffs, dark as caulk, even when the moon’s up… if you walk that cliff road any night, you’ll see men up and down that beach. Barrels and boxes under their arms. Gin. Brandy. Smoking-weed. It comes across from France, onto Looe Island, and then they bring it ashore when it’s dark. And where do you think they put it, before they move it up-country? That house has got girt cellars ‘neath it… doors open right onto the sand. Melly and Mags and me used to play in ‘em, when we were children.
Maybe Chester found out. He seemed a righteous sort. Tried to put a stop to it. And maybe… I think they’ve got him locked in some loft, right here in town. No-folk would say. Only thing they won’t tattle about. It could’ve been any of them. Melly’s daddy’s in on it, and the Mayor turns his eye away… even that old drunk of a priest up at St. Wenna’s knows more than he lets on. All this talk of the Devil walking the cliffs at night banging and whistling… he’s trying to stop people nosing about. ‘Specially outsiders. They were already suspecting of Chester. Wanted to know what he was doing ‘ere. What his busy-ness was.
He stopped by my workshop once. Mr. Chester. I liked him. Little fella, looked younger than his years. Dressed up all in black, but for this white cloak, cut down to ‘ere. Solid sort. Didn’t talk to me like he was ordering a dog about. Talked to me about boats. He asked me all sorts: ‘bout what it was like to cross an ocean. ‘bout what the best type of boat was, for the open sea. The best phase of the moon to sail on. I told him I didn’t know, that I’d only e’er sailed in little boats, close to shore. Goodly man though. Trying to be goodly, at least. And now he’s gone, and an innocent girl is going to hang for it.
She could be a vain thing, Mags, but she’s a goodly girl. I’d have married her, if she’d let me. They’s talking about a baby in her belly. It’s not mine! Maybe there isn’t one at all. Kate would have helped her with it, and she was always careful. I think she’s just scared. You’d say anything, wouldn’t you, if you were scared?
I’d say there are two… no, no, three things you need, to do what I do. To be a woman of… wisdom. People seem to think that just any soul can wear a special ‘at, light a few candles, put on an airy voice and they’ll have folk lining up to ‘ave their futures told. They think you can just… make it all up as you go about it. But there’s reason why folk will come from Liskeard - as far as Liskeard, mark you - to pay for the skills of Mistress Orion of Fish Street.
The first thing you need… well, truth be told you do need a special ‘at. Folk won’t take you serious, with no hat. Don’t ask me why. Mine’s got ten stars sewn into it. Lovely piece. Trimmed here… look, rabbit fur, that is.
And well, the second thing… you’ve got to do a bit of everything. No good these days setting up as just a hand- reader, or just a potion-maker. What with the wars and the harvests, times is too tough to be so weamish. So… you name it, Mistress Orion ‘ere does it. This morning I had a lost cow to find, and then a girl that wanted to see her future husband’s face in a scratched mirror… and after mi croust I’ll be knitting up a new scarf for old Tom Polmear. I tell him that I’ve knotted up all the next season’s storms into it… and if ‘e wears that each time he sails, e’ll have calm seas until Easter.
You’ve got take what you can get. Thas’ the only way to survive. Take that young duffer what was staying with Robert Chester, over at Millendreath Cove. Markenham. The one with the Adam’s Apple you could cut a loaf with. As soon as I ‘erd he was one of them poem makers, mooning over tumbledown churches and piles of old stones, I sent Jesse straight off to pick him up. Oh, Jesse hated him. And Jesse hates most folks. But he likes the money more than ‘e hates the man, so he played the country fool, all bowing and scraping, just like I said.
Offered to show that boy the sights… the old abbey at Lammana, and the Giant’s Hedge… anything with a whiff of fairies or ghosts about it. Really got the lad poared up! And then… well, it’s an old trick. An easy one. Jesse slips a bit of old cloth into the boy’s coat, and then tells ‘im it’s the mark of some ghost or goblin or other - that e’s been touched by the spirit world, and that he’s got to come and see me, to have the curse lifted. I tell you, by the time Jesse got ‘im to my door, he was half-addled with fear.
On goes my ‘at, little sprig of rosemary burning, a dab of Old Cornish - ‘dew boz geno, eze muna thewh’ - and ‘e was spending coin quicker than thinkin’. Sold ‘im all manner of things - a spell to cure his spots, and a curse against his father, written on a crab shell - I e’en sold ‘im a bottle with a stone in it… told ‘im that it’ll keep ‘im safe from any spectre that should cross his path… So it should, for ten crowns! And, just for good measure, I told him it’d help him meet his true love. All boys his age are looking for their true love, trust me. I tol’ ‘im that she’d come in a form he wouldn’t recognise: but that ‘er name was written inside that stone, inside that bottle, and then when she met ‘is gaze, ‘e would know.
It don’t always work, though… that Robert Chester, he wouldn’t have looked twice at me. Godly sort. Very sure of himselfs. E’s weren’t bad to look at, though. Short, and he’ll be fat in ten year, but now… hmm. No, you’d never have caught him coming up Fish Street. Men like that… reputation is everything, eh, Mr. Eavesdrop?
Now, where…? Oh ayes! The third thing. Third thing is… you’ve got to really know folk. ‘Specially the ones you’ve ne’er met before. You’ve got to watch them, listen, remember everything… until you know their busyness better than they know it themselves. You can’t tell someone something they already know, and expect them to cross your palm for it.
I’ve lived ‘ere in Looe my life long, and e’en as a bearn, I watched folk about me… talking, shouting, boasting… and I started to notice queer things. I noticed that Mark Solomon always has food on the table, e’en though he hasn’t fished a day in the year. I noticed how nobody ever seems to catch smugglers on the Podrugan’s land, e’en though this coast’s swarming with gov’ment men elsewise. I noticed how that little Melly Solomon followed Margaret Thomas about, mooning over ‘er more than any man would… and Margaret… well, I noticed a lot ‘bout Margaret Thomas. I know ‘er family well. They sell me meat, furs… sold me Mr. Eavesdrop, too, when he was too tough and too threadbare to sell elsewise. I know Margaret Thomas’ busyness. And I tell you she didn’t hurt nobody. Not e’en if she wanted to. Not in ‘er state.
She were always wanting more for herself. Couldn’t read, couldn’t write, lazy as a housecat but she wanted, alright. Always coming to me for little tokens for good fortune. E’en more, these last few months. All sorts of charms… for kept secrets. For safe travels. For love. Then, a month ago she came, asking me to take ‘er to Wenna’s Well. I’m the only one who knows where it is. And there’s only one thing a young girl wants with the waters of that well… a very certain kind of luck. Well, looks like she got what she wanted. Jesse says the baby ain’t his, but who’s else could it be?
Oh! Ayes, I forgot! There is a fourth thing. I know what old Rector Penhell says about me every Sunday… to an empty church. I know ‘e says I’m a swindling wench, that’s it’s all tricks… but you do have to have a bit of the cunning about you. Just a sliver of it. With me, see, it’s the dreams. Every single night. I can’t stop ‘em. Only last night they were… like a whirlpool, round and round… white sheets flapping on the sands. Tall ships on stormy seas. Dogs slavering after rabbits. Iron teeth snapping shut. A sign above a door, banging in a gale. And a man… the ghost of a man. All in white cloth… tapping at a table. Tapping… tapping… waiting…
At least you can sell them, six for a sixpence!
Nay… I said nay! I shall not speak to one more… fiend from this soggy, benighted little province. As soon as the coach to Exeter appears on that road, I will be aboard it, and back into Christendom!
Ugh… when Pater said it was still too dangerous to travel to France - “your Tour shall have to wait, boy” - I thought he just didn’t want to pay for it. When I told him that George Poffley had been to Athens not a year ago, and was having his first book of verse published out of it, not a year finished at Eton… Pater got that look in his eyes. “There’s much to inspire in Cornwall, boy”, he said. And what else was it? Yes… “It’s not even really part of England, besides”. Well, he was right about that! I’m very far from King and country here!
Frankly, it’s been an utter disaster since Oxford. First the infernal coach throws a wheel, in the rain, and I’m crushed under some fat shopkeeper’s wife for half a day while a spare is found… we completely missed Avebury and Stonehenge… and when I finally get here, I learn that Lady Podrugan… that… that old rattle! Not only will she not have me as a guest at Morval House, she won’t even see me. ME! The heir of Charlbury! She acts like I’m not worth the oil on the hinges, just because she’s a marchioness…You know, they’re not even English, the Podrugans. I remember my grandfather told me… new money, come over from Germany, to build little machines for the mines. Their real name is… Pudergoss!
In the end, her creature, Penhell or whatever he answered to, took me down to that little shack by the water… to stay with one of her tenants! You know, I could tell there was something queer about the place… odd smells, damp sheets and… noises, coming up through the floorboards at night. Penhell told me to stay indoors after dark, but I wouldn’t have stepped outside for the Prince of Wales! The whole place has this… awful sense about it. I’ve heard things, you know. Strange music, echoing off the water. Green lights flickering in and out on the cliffs… there are shades of the dead here, and no mistake… and not noble Greek shades, philosophers and poets and warriors… grubby little Cornish ones.
And then… Ugh! Trying to find somebody with both a working brain and pair of legs to help me with my itinerary… in the end I managed to recruit this… specimen who could barely bring himself to address his betters properly… Well, he may have been uncouth, but we did tour some excellent sites. The ancient barrow at Rillaton, and that utterly grotesque church at Lammana… in complete ruins. Yes… yes, I enjoyed that. Got a few good couplets out of that.
But then, at the stone circle in Duloe, he stops me dead - a hand on my arm, dare he! - and he shows me… caught in the hem of my coat, a dirty piece of white cloth, and he splutters, “My Lord, ‘ave you been touched by the White Ghoul of Duloe! There, look, a piece of ‘is ghostly cloak! Oh, but ‘tis an omen! We must go to the wise woman, for she shall sure wish to speak with ye!” Of course, at first I was ready to strike the man, but he was quite insistent and... so I let him take me… to her… to Mistress Orion… hmm…
Nay, enough! If you must, I will tell you what I told that oaf of a constable: it was a frightful business, but I saw and heard almost nothing. At dusk I dined with Mr. Chester, as I had done every night. I can’t recall what we spoke of: we didn’t have much to talk about, in honesty. Face like a gravestone, when I read him my poetry. That… girl served us at table, with all the attentiveness of a horse that’s got into the wine cellar - she seemed a thousand miles away. Got soup on my cuff! I suppose I got off lightly, all things considered…
I retired to my chamber to write, when Mr. Chester said that he would read a little. Some time later I hear an almighty crashing-about, as if furniture was being toppled, and glass smashed… Mr. Chester screaming… Of course I thought nothing of myself, but rushed to the door to find that I had been locked within! I saw nothing until the morning when the constable found me… nothing…
There! Is that it? The coach - finally! I shall be in Torpoint by nightfall. I don’t care what Pater says: he’ll have to write to the Rashleighs and tell them I’m not crawling any further into this godforsaken county! No more scuttle-browed savages, no more ghosts, no more witches, no more murders… and no more ocean. Ugh! The smell of it! That stinking rot all along the shoreline. And how cluttered they keep that dingy little harbour! Boats strewn here and there like toys… why can’t they be a bit more tidy? If we can manage to keep the boating lake at Charlbury neat… oh, to be landlocked again! I cannot wait.
Wait, is that… is that… a rabbit, just there, going into that hedge? Didn’t you see it? It looked straight at me! I could have sworn… Mistress! Mistress Orion! Is that you? Oh where did I put that blasted thing… Mistress!
I know Margaret Thomas. It were these two hands what baptised her. I’ve had the crowns of most of the girls of this parish in my palms… but I do remember her. Slippery. ‘Er whole face crimped up and brushed brown, like a pie crust. Monstrous size for a maid, e’en then. Always crying hungry…
Every folk’s so blowed by what that Jezebel’s done. If only they’d pried their eyes open. They’d have seen it all coming, sure as a sunset. “I do not permit a woman to exercise authority… she is to remain quiet.” So spake the apostle: but come you here, Saul, and listen to these maids of Looe screeching like stuck gulls! Heads uncovered, eyes raised in defiance, drinking liquids… my pews empty most Sundays… I ain’t christened a child since All Saint’s Day last. The Devil walks atween ‘em, these maids: I see that forked tail whippin’ under every skirt! They’ve beckoned in Hell and its legions to Looe, no mistake! At night I hear the hooting of demons on the air!
I’ve heard some folk say that she’s lying, about the babe in her belly… but you can tell by the heft of her. Another child lost from God. More swollen bellies in Looe than there are weddings, that’s certain. ‘Course, it matters not, to these maids. All they need do is waddle over to Mistress Orion, buy a draught of poison, cheap as a glass of beer, and… Mistress Orion… you may hide behind your heathen tricks… but I know you, Katherine Renshaw. With these two hands I baptised you too! And how you cried… I should have dashed you against the font!
No, some sin was always coming, on the breeze. It could have been any of them… when any woman gets notions, she gets greedy. She turn vicious. But that Thomas girl… you could always see it, in her eye… starving for anything she could swallow. When Mr. Chester took her as his maid, into that house… you’d see her, oozing about the market, at his chores, with his coin in her hand… fingering the fine cloth, the best cuts of meat… as if she were the lady of the house!
Well, seems she got hungry enough, at last… every folk is wonderin’ what happened that night, inside those walls… none was there to see, apart from that… trickle of a boy from up-country. Maybe she did try to make herself the lady of the house… to stray Chester from his wife, and scarce liked the answer a strong, Christian man gave her? Maybe he found her with that locket she took, and in her shame she fell upon him…
None saw… because none went looking. I’m the only one who e’er thinks to look. I was about that night, at my… well, my rounds, in the parish; keeping a watch, o- on the cliff path, then down by Millendreath Cove, coming close to that house; and I heard those ungodly noises… the smashing, the splintering, and a cry, from a man’s lips, I’d stake my soul upon it… And then I saw... Margaret Thomas. Stooping out the back door, sifting herself into the night… but I saw it! I saw it there… a smile, proud on that brushed-brown face! The smile of a murderess! Painted there by the Devil!
Poor Lady Podrugan… she leased that house to Robert Chester, in her charity. I was against it from the start… an outsider, a mere merchant, in the house of a… a marchess… she forgets sometimes, since Lord Podrugan left us… she does not… she is too kind for this world. And now… now the Devil is her lodger. Now he’s got another nest for his imps and spirits to whistle their foul tunes. No… no, I counsel no good Christian man to walk that place… especial after dark. His soul shall be forfeit! I shall keep lookout. By these eyes, these hands… I hold the soul of this place, as thin as a babe’s crown… What is it Isaiah says? No rest for the righteous…
I shall trust this Meets you at your Lodging in West Looe; a Note to Thank you and your Esteem'd Master for your help in this Matter; I have had no Report of Looe's Constable him-Self as the Man seems Inconstant Enough; so I shall Crave some Report of your Thoughts.
I promised to give you some Account of what I know, which is Little; Robert had written me in September to meet him on the fourth of October at Torpoint in some coachhouse; and for us to stay there two Nights on our way to Looe and his Lodgings; but a Week later did Write again & told me not to Come - & that he would Write once More - yet now I am writing to you in his Stead.
In May, just after he had Arrived in Cornwall, Robert wrote to tell me he felt some of the townsfolk had meant Menace to him; & did give me the names of Mssrs. Solomon, Penhell & Drewson; though he would not Write Further on it. My husband was a man of Christian Scruple & made few Friends amongst Men with-out them; & in my Heart I cannot think that this wretched Girl did the Deed; & that if she did she was put to it by Others for their Purpose; for Greed or Venging Spite.
P.S. When you have finished with it I should be further Endebted that you send on the Locket to me in London; it was Rare to have an Indulgense of Robert aside from his very Fine Words.
Fie Parnassus High! Foul Rome! Within your Streets Lanes
No Heroes Remus living, no Deeds Fair-Lain,
Only Hordes of wan young Swains
Erode your Glory, Thieve your Fame!
None of Europe yet Surfices
For a Man so worthy of the Brand,
There are Lands closer yet whose Prizes
Seam more Fantastic yet than SarmarSamakand's!
England does Ceaze past Bristol Town,
Few Coaches brave those Tempest'ous Rides,
At Plymouth sail benighted Crowds
Seeking some more Civil Clime!
Yet there I went in Search of Reason Truth
In Antick Pits, Adder-wracked
I saw the Mark of Arthur Smooth'd
And all the Dragons he Attack'd
My tales of Seas as high as Steeples
In London, Reader, will you Doubt;
Of Noble, Savage Races Peopl'd
And Rul'd by a Pulchritude Sorceress Who Flouts
The Laws of God, in Voice most Sweet,
As pure as any Siren's RaspKeen
Before her my Resolve Depletes
And I fell I for this Dark Asp Aethene
Awoke I to a Land Mad Unsane,
Full of Demons, Boggarts Roaming
In Fields Hare stand like Men Profane
Dancing 'neath my Privy Window Moaning
I 'member the Night that Murder Wrought,
Now I journey back to Father Reason,
As I heard the Screams fall Short
The Night took on Peculiar Season
In the Yard outside my Room
As I went to Chester'smy Host's Aid
A crawling Ghoast, a Spiriting Doom
White in Cloths went 'cross the Glade!
Just as the Sorceress had Spake,
Should I meet the Dead that Night
And there I won my last Keepsake;
She was right! She was right! She was right! She was right!
I found this beneath the Dreser in the quarters of Master Markenham at the Millendreath Lodge -- on the Rear it is Markenhams Hand but I know nott the Words nor the Hand on the Front - nor what the Drawing means -:
This paper was alongside some other Items I cannot send ahead of Me -:
It does seem Master Markenham wishd to be Away from Cornwal in some Haste -:
Some sauntry Reading taken from 'The Strand Intelligencer', for the Coach down Country -- it seems Chester already had a Reputation as a Pious bore in London -- wary of any Vice about Him -:
His Wife tells me the Drawing is quite unkind to Life -- but that the White Coat they have quite Faithfull-- he wears it Everywhere she Says -:
This was found in the midden pit behind Millendreath Lodge -- I have ask't Chester's Wife of this Mr. Warren -- but she says that they know no Soul by this Name -:
My thanks for these Pages you sent me for the Coach from London -- & that you did not bid me take all Three Volumes -:
I share this Defoe fellow's Estimation of this Place -- and is it Little changed in the two Score years since he Writ this-:
The Testimonie of John Meverell -- Constable at East Looe Gaol & the first to come to the Lodge on the night of the Murder-:
I have heard it said that Meverell was very Drunk on the Night he Subscribes here -- he scarce seem'd better Sober when I spoke with Him. Could not Keep his Hands still & made many Foul Jokes about his fellows -- Ms. Renshaw & Mr. Couch especial -:
Forgive me the State of the Page - we met in the Jolly Sailor & I had nought to rest upon but my Knee -:
This sampler was found Laid out upon the ropes beneath Mr. Chesters Mattress -- many of the Marks I do not Recogknise -- but it Seems that somebody stitched in some Breed of Spell -:
A good Likeness of the Knife found in the dresser in Margaret Thomas' room -:
This was found beneath Margaret Thomas' windowsill (naild there from the Outside) -:
A likeness of the Locket stolen by the Accused -- very Fine work in Silver Intended for Mr. Chesters Wife upon his Return to London -:
Found beneath Robert Chester's bed, along with the Sampler -- a rabbit skull tied with Feathers (a duck's I believe) -- & old Coins in the eyes set with Glue -:
A Curius object Found Hid in some Bushes near to Mr. Chester's Lodgings -- note that only Jesse Couch (the boat builder & a sweet-Heart of Margaret Thomas) has any skill with Wood like to this in the whole Town -:
This lantern was Found in the Cellars beneath Millendreath Lodge -- where Robert Chester took his Lodgings -- the Constable spoke that it was of no Consequence but note the Greenish paper to cast a Glow of a very Particuklar Sort -:
I return to London on Tuesday by way of Plymouth on the First Coach where I shall Report with you Direcktly - but I send this Letter ahead of me knowing of the Haste recuired by Mrs. Chester -:
I have made a Encuiry of this Crime by all the Evidense sent with this Note - & I shall Explain my Reasoning when I arrive with you - but it is my Estimation that it was that did the Deed -:
Your Humble Servant,
2. Sign your name here ✎