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Property of the Criddle family, ~4pm Saturday May 4th, 1771


When Long Tom volunteered to guard the Devil Stone and went off with the Vicar, Sam felt the attention in the room shift, dissolving into rumours and wrangling over who amongst them - besides the increasingly annoyed Goodie Westcott - might be a witch. The thought of strong cider at the farm and a change of stockings had pulled his slightly fuddled mind in a definite direction, and by the time he remembered he might have other errands he was too far that way to remember.

Sacrifice. Burnt, Hanged and Drowned. A horse. The Wood. The stag. The images played through his head as he wandered, the edges of his mind dulled to the mortal world. Sunlight passed over him, then back to cloud. The farmyard behind the Criddle house - proudly whitewashed afresh last month and grand enough to have an upstairs on an old building, even if that was under the thatch - was quiet, the cows finally moved out to the far pasture and most of the hands that didn't take some of Saturday off engaged with hedging and ditching out on the land. Finding no-one in the barn but a particularly lazy cat rolled over in a sunbeam, Sam headed for the garden and the kitchen door, finally minded to get something to eat.

In the kitchen garden he was greeted as usual by the out-of-control rosemary bush pawing at his knees, the fussing of pigeons up in the dovecote and the hum of bees amongst the blossom at the edges. These things were normal, very normal, and Sam almost resented them, since today he had been in the Wyzenwood, and today he had held someone's skull. Nothing out here had changed, or even knew. He stepped up into the kitchen and there found Hugh going about like a tame bear amongst the maids, deftly helping to set up jugged cider in small crates for what would likely be a field supper for the hands tonight whilst the young women attended to preparations for the family's supper.

There was an air of giggly nervousness in the room, since Mrs. Criddle had clearly been distracted by goings-on before leaving any clear instructions and everyone was playing by ear. Likely the news of a murder had not reached them yet, still less the idea that the killer had walked near their house. Hugh paused in his fitting of the last jug into a crate and looked up at Sam's movement, grey-flecked brows coming together in a frown at the state of him.

"You all right, Samuel?" he asked, taking a step closer.


[[edit: belated formatting fix, language tweak to indicate grey strands stand out with Hugh's Welsh black hair rather than dominate the texture.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:09, Tue 10 May 2022.

Sam hadn't been able to shake the bad thoughts from his time in the Wyzenwood since he and Thomas had gone in after Master Fox. Everything with the stag, the skull, the sudden lust after he and Edwin had first seen the stag...

He tried his best to shake the thoughts out of his head, and approached Hugh.

"Master Hugh? It's Sam. There's something I'd like to talk to you about - about the situation with Polly. Would you be able to speak somewhere private?"

ooc: He's thinking somewhere private so rumors don't spread if someone overhears them.

"All right, Sam," Hugh said, recognising a lack of complete sobriety in the insistence. His amused smile faded with the rest of the request, especially in the context of his worker's ragged look. He shifted the crate to the floor under the big table with easy strength.

"Out in the yard. Tilly, set by some onions for the lads whilst you're about it, would you?" The maid in question waved to him with a knife, heading into the pantry. "My thanks. Come on, then."

Perhaps guessing that Sam hadn't eaten, Hugh scooped up an apple for them both from the current barrel on the way out, offering Sam's over as he caught up to the youth and steered him gently but firmly outside with a hand between the shoulder blades. He picked up a currently-idle crate for Sam and a bucket for himself and set them up to sit in the barn doorway with a good view of anyone who might head their way long before such a person could be in hearing distance. Settling down on the upturned bucket, he motioned Sam to sit.

"All right, so what d'ye have to say about the Durbin lass?" he asked softly, ready to hear bad news or a confession, whatever was coming his way.

Sam followed the older man to the barn, taking a seat across from the man. He bit into the apple with a loud CRUNCH, setting it down as he glanced around the room and outside, making certain the coast was clear before continuing.

"Say, Hugh, had you heard anything about the black stag in the wood? Or of anything with regards to Polly generally?" He took another bite before continuing, "No, I had nothing to do with the disappearance - but I think the black stag has something to do with it, though what specifically I know not."

Sam wants to see what Hugh already knows about the case, because if he hasn't heard anything about the stag... ho boy, there's a lot of explaining to do.

The cat had seemingly taken herself off to catch some mice as was her contract with man's kin, leaving nothing but the sunbeam and scraps of old bedstraw and chaff shifting on the threshing floor. Hugh spoke with confidence, content that any thief or stray lover hidden in the hayloft would be too far off to hear their low tones:

"I heard they've not found her, and that the innkeep was thinking to raise a search. What's this black stag? Is that what the Mistress went out to see this mornin? Sounds a rare beast, that." He took off the side of his apple at a bite, tasting as Sam did the sharp-sweet of the dying season carried through to this damp spring, the old waning threading through what waxed. He frowned at Sam's last comment.

"You think Mistress Durbin was gored through by a stag, Sam? I won't say it can't happen, but surely it's the wrong end of the year for that, with the does dropping fawns out in the thickets. If she's not run off to the city, next bet is for her taking a sight too much cider and falling in somewhere to drown, that's the usual tale with the young people."


[[Hugh's certainly confused! It's possible he encountered a mazy animal or so (though as Goodie Westcott pointed out, they seem to have gone away this afternoon) but he's been at work all day. ]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:12, Thu 12 May 2022.