Mercy Westcott's eyebrows raised once she'd sidled nearer at Master Sexton's beckoning, then drew down to a bemused frown. "It's to show how to...attend travail: what mustn't break and such, if the worst comes to it an' the midwife has to shift things about. Anyone needed me, they'd come for me, even the Good Neighbours. Why d'ye ask that, though?" The last question came a little sharp with intuition that he might know things he ought not to know, ready to come down after his sources like blight down a vine.

The midwife clearly shook her head, straightening. "Without someone as knows what she's doing to teach, 'tis just as much as old sacking, a sock and the preserved privy parts of a cow."

That got some general snickering, at least from parties not directly under Goodie Westcott's attention. "-no doubt some lads are at mischief with it, seems some young men can't see the like an' not think it's for them. They poked about in my rafters, though - not a treasure nor a diversion to be had up there. Disturbin' the peace, that's what it is. Do I come a-breakin' in their homes?"

Some murmurs seemed uncertain, since who knew if the midwife wasn't sometimes a bat or house-martin, to crawl under their eaves, or a cat to slip under a cabinet, but they stilled quickly when her glance swept nigh. "I do not. I've helped a lot of you with a many's the thing, an' I don't hold with this buisness that my effects should be upended by idiots. I'll upend themselves, when I gets up with them, I tell ye that!"

Eli leaned over and gave the slightly unsteady Sam a poke. "Here, brother mine," he said with maybe a little flourish, "-d'you want me to go over to the Wortheys and tell 'em you're not dead before they hear you are?"

"No I saw not a soul on the road between there and my cart and everyone was present at the stables when I left going about their business."


-

In reply to Elijah Hartman (msg # 98):

Sam shook his head at his little brother, but offered the lad a warm smile. "No, brother - I will tell them what happened. Just... let me rest for a bit first."

Maggie pats Robin's shoulder and gives him a smile. "Indeed, I know ye're a good lad, Rob. But sometimes even good lads get led astray by shiftless ne'er-do-wells. I'm glad you wasn't." She has a pretty good notion who it was disturbed Mercy's home. She plans to stand with her friend when she upends the miscreants.

Andrew flushed, embarrassed from having asked further about such a delicate matter. ”I’m sorry, Mistress Westcott. I know little about the help you provide.”

“I had wondered if it might be something used to assist with childbirth, and wondered if any might have taken it because there was a birth they wished to keep secret.”

“I haven’t heard of such, mind. I had just thought it a possibility. It seems an odd thing to steal.”

Suddenly craving a drink, Andrew moved to the bar and requested an ale from John Collins. Looking back to the midwife, he asked, ”Misttess Westcott, do you know where this tree lies in the Wyzenwood? Is it deep within it, or closer to its borders?”

"May ye never have need of less innocence, Master Sexton," Goodie Westcott replied, and might have been about to query the Doctor's interest in fake horses again save for Andrew's next question:

"I've heard it's at the middle, though She does what She likes with directions in there, and the thorns make for hard going - if you could walk on the treetops as the crow flies over it'd surely be no more than an hour across most ways, but between the uneven ground, Herself and the tangles, it's a lucky man can get what should be ten minutes in and not spend two hours at the least coming out. If he's there past sunset, he plain doesn't."

"All right. You know your best friend would run into the Wyzenwood for you, if he only heard you'd gone. Then Mrs. Worthey would be left with the baby." Eli took the opportunity of being close to check that Sam had no obvious injuries, then got distracted hearing Maggie's words to Robin and threw in:

"Hey, Jim Stone was heading back up to the estate - for his home or the stables or where I don't know, but covered the half of him in mud. It was whilst I was coming down: maybe he was caught up with bad company. He looked angry, y'know, and we don't see him angry."

"It probably takes him a week to know he's been had," Beth Collins put in from the corner.

"It mightn't! He knows some things fast...and he'd tell you if you asked him," Robin added in defence of his friend, who was indeed easily led into anything not clearly harmful at first. "He won't speak if he's sworn quiet, but he can't lie."

He reached up to touch Maggie's shoulder for attention, dropping his voice. "...um. For being led astray, or, or staying out, I mean...will you ask Master Sexton if I can be excused to go up and tell Kate you're well? If you're staying down again tonight like usual, it being Saturday. She gets worried. Lucy's got her brother and I'm not likely to get much carpenting done today by now, so I could go," he offered.

"Poor Jim had a bit of a fright in th' bog-hole indeed. He slipped an' felt like a hand gripped his foot an' tried t'drag him under. We pulled him free. I don't see what he'd be angry for."

Maggie nods agreement to Robin's request and moves closer to where Andrew stands at the bar.

"Andrew," she says in a confidential tone, "Would ye assent to my sendin' Rob here to my sister at th' farm t'say I am well, but like t'be some time yet in village. That is, if he c'n be spared from his duties until th' morrow."

”Yes, most certainly Mistress Yendale,” Andrew replied. With an amused smile, he added, ”I don’t believe we will be doing much work in the shop today.”

“But please reassure him that he can always bring such questions to me. He need not be afraid to. He’s a good lad, Mistress Yendale. He works hard and follows instruction well. He’s always been respectful and honest with me. I’m proud to have him.”

He sipped his ale, another thought regarding the cursed forest swimming into his mind. ”Mistress Westcott, I know you said that there had been no murders in recent years tied to the Wyzenwood. But, have you heard any tales about anyone seeking the witch’s favor? Petitioning her power for some selfish purpose?”

Master Sexton recieved a narrow look. "Old tales, for sure, but it's not as though them as decide to take up the Dark Arts all drop by to tell me so."

Eli's eyes went wide at the description of the accident, but Maggie moved off before he could ask details. He shrugged, the gesture exaggerated on his growing frame. "If they said they were going to find Polly, 'e might've thought everyone was lying when she weren't to be found," he cast over to Robin, who made as though to speak, halted himself and looked troubled.

Eli shrugged again and headed out the back to the stables. Robin let himself drift nearer the middle of the room, waiting for some gesture from Maggie or his master to say that he might head off.

Noticing that Robin was waiting for some sign to give him permission to depart, Andrew gave his apprentice a smile and nod, motioning toward the tavern’s door.

”Oh, no, Mistress Westcott. All who know you should be aware that you have no involvement in such matters,” Andrew replied to the midwife, his tone apologetic, ”It is just that you are knowledgeable of the history of Somerset, more so than any who I am acquainted with. I had hoped you knew of an account that might be of help or guidance.”

The vicar had listened and quietly taken a sip of his beverage now and then, but decided now might be a good time to speak up.

"Goodie Westcott, I have spent hours today to read up about the local history and legends. But it is all,... well mostly, not all, but often they are accounts of stories retold and recorded by third parties, based on exagerations and embellishments. Barely a local's perspective or insights. I feel that you might just be able to help me to connect a few dots. Turn a choir of questionmarks into an orchestra of exclamation points, if you'll allow a musical analogy."

About to make an answer to the carpenter, Goodie Westcott looked a little confused by the Vicar's query. "Well I can try to help you best I knows how, Reverend, but I'm not so old that I was there to witness Druids nor Saxons nor even the great hunt for witches when fool King James was throwing his weight around. What question choirs d'ye got?"


Robin bobbed gratefully and headed for the front door towards the road, saying "I'll give Runt and he baby your love, Maggie," just loud enough for his sister to catch in passing, fully in earnest even if it was unlikely cat or Jamie would understand secondhand regards.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:19, Wed 27 Apr 2022.

Hastily, the vicar retreated some of his words.
"I didn't mean to imply more years than you have, Goodie Westcott, I was merely suggesting that you have heard many stories, legends, and tales carried down over the ages from one generation to the next."

He kneaded his fingers, trying to find the words.

"I feel like I have found a lot of threads in my library, various tales and hints. But they are as of now just like a heap of yarn, not woven into one coherent fabric.
When I was reviewing my notes, something you had said occurred to me.

I was looking into the history of the Wyzenwood and the larger area here. There was mention of a Bishop Aelfgar, I had read about him before, how he was removing, as the chronicles called them, large stones. The villagers fought him and his men, quite literally, but their fortunes turned, when the bishop was killed by Cwenhild."
He paused for a moment, leaving off Cwenhild's epitaph.

"There was speculation that Cwenhild poisoned the well the bishop and his men used to do this deed. I found more tales related to this, but it all seemed to come back to the stones that were removed by the bishop which were seemingly considered holy by Cwenhild and her followers. These stones are likely to have been used for human sacrifices", he took a moment to cross himself, "but sacrificed for what or to whom I cannot say for sure."

He paused again.
"And then it came to me that you had said something about a pagan crone who finished what the bishop started. Do you have more stories about this, Goodie Westcott?"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:52, Thu 28 Apr 2022.

Maggie tries hard to keep up with all the crosstalk, the various threads woven by the several speakers, but she keeps wondering what Eli meant, saying to Robin that Jim Stone maybe thought everyone was lying when Polly wasn't found though they'd said they were going to find her and that had angered him.


Margaret Yendale rolled 18 for Insight 45.

The midwife grinned just a little at having flustered the Vicar, but her expression grew more intent and troubled as the tale went on. Still frowning, she grabbed a chair and pulled it closer to the middle of the taproom to hold court in the general hush. "Is that how the Church tells it? No, I did mean what I said earlier, that the old witch wasn't the source of all that happened: that Bishop was a landowner and kept armed men, as they were wont to back then. New faith is stark faith, it's like a fire, and his converts just wanted all trace of the old ways gone for the sake of forgettin' 'em, so they called for him and his soldiers. I wouldn't say anyone was making blood sacrifice on the stones then any more'n they do now - flowers, yes, on May Eve and Saint Martin's, but not fowl or woman or whatnot."

"The villagers as weren't fired up in fervour for hasslin' their neighbours into salvation didn't want him uprooting the stones, 'cause they knew they kept Her where she ought to be and not extendin' over the countryside. Hauling them up was like as it was a bung taken out of a basin, pulling something of lives or souls down into wherever they did go, and folk started getting mazy and dying. I don't know what the Bishop tried to set that right, if it was anything at all, but I know it was when she did for him, a-strangled on his stola, that things got calmer. I hear they burned the Bishop's Sheriff in his house, too, and the rich farmer whose idea it was went missing, but there was trouble enough from the aftermath that Cwenhild got blamed, as you say, for poisoning, since she couldn't cure it."

Goodie Wescott worked at something stuck in a back tooth some moments, pensive. "I think she meant to be hanged to the Wizen Tree," she said eventually. "Popular or not, she was canny enough by all accounts to have scared the locals off if she wanted. If they laid hands on 'er and not her doing it her own self, I think she let 'em. Tried to do something to Herself, the thing in there, for to stop the people's pain. Maybe she became a tree and that helped, or maybe she just failed. She had a horse's jawbone with her when she went, either way, I remember more'n one tale say that."

She gave a tired and querying look to John Collins, who drew her up a half-pint of good cider and sent it across via a slightly nervy Polzeath. "Thank ye. If there was sacrifices made by the stones - if the Bishop was one, I mean - it would be to stuff him in the hole he made, like the Dutchman with the dam. Sacrifices made to the Wood...well, folk skim a little of the power that gets left, bouncing off the stones as it were, and no harm in it. Luck to concieve or luck for things to grow. Surely you could bargain with the Wyzenwood for the raw stuff - raw power, I mean, but you'd probably have to give it your own begotten child or something as good."

"I've heard that someone in my grandma's time went to the edge and offered ripe wheat and a little of her blood for a child, and got one, only it had a twin and they kept that poor thing locked away for it was like a mass of snakes or somesuch, a monster. They say it never spoke but right into people's heads. Puritans did for it when someone let on to 'em, right enough, and belike burned such body as it 'ad."

Maggie blesses herself and makes whatever warding signs she knows, her eyes wide, her mouth troubled. Her hands then press her abdomen.

The tales Mistress Westcott shared made Andrew’s blood run cold, especially the talk of a monster being birthed. Even so, it seemed to bring them no closer to learning what became of Mistress Durbin, or if there might be any way for the young woman to still be saved. Perhaps they had to resign themselves to her fate forever remaining an unsettling mystery.

His thoughts moving to other matters of concern, Andrew took another drink of his ale and approached Martin Lovelace. ”Your pardon, Doctor,” he said in greeting, ”I wonder if I could speak to you about the problems with some of the animals about the village? It seems, at least to one of limited learning like myself, that they’re diseased. Have you any thought about what should be done about them, sir? I’m certain most here will want to keep their livestock from becoming beset with…whatever the affliction is.”

"Has anyone seen any of these animals this afternoon, savin' the stag?" Mercy's voice cut across the baffled quiet.

"The ones I trapped aren't gone, ma'am, but I've seen no more," Polzeath volunteered. There was a general perplexed round of negatives.

"Mm, and I knew it was men, not deer, first thing I looked into my house. Something changed when you lads went into the Wood, I wot," Goodie Westcott pronounced. "I'd wonder if it's not a spell rather'n a disease, or a substance set on that can be taken off again."

Ahh, a practical problem. He was nearly relieved when Sexton spoke to him, as he had been ruminating on odd subjects that he would rather not ponder, such as Westcott's "device."

"I thank you for returning my attention to that subject. The wildlife in the local area seem to be diseased, in a manner that is causing them to behave unpredictably in a way that may cause danger to us. Additionally, it seems that there may be some need of communicating to people that any animal so diseased is not to be eaten. My suggestion is that we establish a burn site not far from town so that we may burn the diseased remains of any afflicted animal so that it should not spread its illness to us through any miasma," he said.

"I have captured a few such animals in my home. Do you think we could gather any interested parties and begin putting these poor creatures out of their misery?"

”I will certainly be willing to help. And I will see if I can find others to assist us,” Andrew said with a nod.

”Do you think it best that we see to it this afternoon, or should we gather in the morning?”

The vicar had been quiet during Westcott's tale, only nodding a few times, half to keep her going, half to hide his dismay at the details.

raw power, I mean, but you'd probably have to give it your own begotten child or something as good.

He cleared his throat and addressed the room:
"Please, let us not forget that these dark tales are from times long ago, and they cannot harm us. A strong belief in these pagan myths, however, can lead souls astray. It seems clear that someone's mind has dwelt too much and too long on these stories and is now trying to invoke old spells and rituals for their own."

He nodded, reassuringly. "The Lord shall guide us through this darkness and He shall lift our spirits and hearts in His glory."

Then he turned to Mercy Westcott. "Goodie Westcott, thank you. While we don't have our culprit just yet, I believe I know what has happened. Polly could still be alive, but not for long. We shall have to find the location of the ancient stones and see to disrupt the foul ritual that is planned to take place there."

The innkeep spoke strongly over mutterings of alarm, glancing from Maggie to those assembled: "I'm inclined to take Maggie's word for her being dead, unless you can put another victim to the rope Master Sexton saw," he said carefully.

"If you think there are witches here who're concerned with the stones, we can set a watch on those that're standing - if I understand you right, Goodie Westcott, those are the ones that have power?"

"Those stones be the last of the barrier 'twixt us and the Wood, yes. Don't go rooting 'em up, Vicar, I know you're thinking it. Ye know no better than the old Bishop."

"Right. In that case we'll need to alert those houses nearest the Crop Stone and Binding Stone to be on their guard and that such folk may need fed, and no-one goes alone. Do I have volunteers?"

"Vicar, do you want someone stationed in the church, or will you lock it and keep the key yourself?" Collins was all attention now, likely thinking of other girls that might be taken, or how to keep track of his guests through the night.