Head held high, her expression carefully neutral, Maggie strides up the aisle toward the altar. She stops at the front pew, handily lowering Bart to a seat. She gives him a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

Then, she seeks Doctor, going to whisper her news to him.

Cecil opens his mouth to speak with Maggie, only to watch her walk off before he can say a word. "Well," he says to Bart, "perhaps you can explain what's happened to the Widow Sexton and I. Or recommend someone who knows more. Who was it that attacked the Squire? "

Thomas moved closer to the door in that he might have a view to the outside. He brought Lucy with him as well as he looked for any stragglers that might need assistance.


-

Looking through the sturdy narthex, Tom can see Miles Millard hesitantly entering the light thrown by the lanterns hung there, a Babcock twin that's probably Pip at his side. Since he'd last seen Miles heading for the village cell as his young brother-in-law was marched there, it seemed he'd likely been sent - witnessed - to find out what was going on.

"Hares about," he mentions to Tom, coming in. Before Pip can join him and start peppering Tom with questions, however, Tom sees a lantern way out in the lane, a flickering light between the trees and shrubbery leant against that side of the churchyard wall. It is heading for the lych-gate and the path to the church door, however: someone has come from the other side of the village, quite possibly Criddle Farm, and either feels in need of holy ground or has been attracted by the activity there.

[[edit: geographical clarity.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:51, Mon 24 Apr 2023.

In reply to Reverend Palmer (msg # 6):

Bart favours the Vicar with half a smile. "Maggie goes where she will. Got to be specific with Yendales, perhaps the boy more than the girls, though I note he's off, belike to see Jim Stone at the cell. It was him - that Jim - went for the Squire, as far as I have it, and it's Master Sexton saw the deed, sack masked and all. Such is the extent of my knowledge, though y'might ask the Squire himself, and why he was having our Mistress Yendale cried for a witch." He drums his fingers pensively on the back of the pew.

"Could be his blood she brought in to show Polzeath afore the inn went to Bedlam," he allows, "-so that might be a second answer. What's the case with your hand there?" He nods at the kerchief about Cecil's left palm, ever sharp.

Cecil leans forward and murmurs to Bart. "'Tis a warning not to handle cold-iron ash buckets with your bare hands if you've shoveled a warlock's bits and pieces into one." He straightens and gives the man a wink.

The veteran smells something like a bar-room floor, close to, and a little of damp straw and horses. Bart looks up as Cecil draws away and gives the Vicar the kind of squint that says he's not entirely sure if what was vouchsafed was wildly serious or a curious euphemism, but accepts the information either way.

"Well, sure that's your buisness, Vicar," he responds evenly.

Widow Sexton makes her return from a brief trip to confer with the Hare & Sheaf's landlady, who'd come up with her youngest son to intercept her eldest daughter. "...the Collinses say the kitchen floor was covered over when they left, but Nancy wasn't sure if there was more stuff or it was spread out flat-like. Seemed to be 'feeling about' outside a ways like something at fault. Their man Kit volunteered to stay with the horses."

In reply to Margaret Yendale (msg # 5):

Polzeath lowers his voice to match Maggie's, though still struggling with speech at all, English aside. What he says is no more than a dull burr to anyone further than the man and woman right beside him.
 The servant shudders and holds the cut hand out to show the others - and himself - that the long fingers move normally now, even if every crease is something of a mess of blood.

Watching the group about the Doctor with mild irritation and seemingly not much minded to be moved to the fore of the church without his direct word, Master Fox calls over: "Mistress Yendale, do I take it you have some reason besides the notion of wicked supernatural powers to believe you should remain at liberty, or do I put fresh heart into the willing men of Scorch Norton and have you thrown in for a cold night with young Master Stone?"

His glance is sharp and very close to amber in the golden ambient light. His form is tense from pain and taking charge of the recent emergency, but there's a slight resting edge of danger to it, like a wild thing crouched down in a trap.

Sam limps his way into the church after the fall from the window. While his hand had slipped and he had dropped Liz, maybe Nancy would see this injury as some sort of recompense for accidentally dropping Liz. He kept his eyes open for anyone who had been at the inn earlier, while silently praying that this... thing, whatever it was, would leave them be.

Thomas hurries from the church vestibule to offer a arm or shoulder to Sam and help him in and onto one of the pews.


-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:31, Wed 26 Apr 2023.

Cecil starts toward the far end of the nave, raising his voice before anyone can act on Nathan's words. "Supernatural powers are exactly what's afoot, Master Fox, unless you have a better explanation for why someone bearing a close family resemblance to you murdered my housekeeper and threatened my life." He stands alongside Maggie, hand on his hip. "I saw that exact same expression on his face as he bared his teeth at me... teeth made bloody by the ripping-out of poor Elsie Sawyer's throat. 'Tis by Providence alone that I stand here now before you after facing that devil."

In reply to Reverend Palmer (msg # 16):

Sam presents his token to the group, showing it plainly as he hobbles towards the vicar. Reverend Palmer is right, Master Fox. It... whatever it was, it was a doppelganger of some kind - or at least it had that ability. I know not what we are dealing with, but I have no reason to believe Maggie was involved in it."

Thomas follows Samuel in and then turns to Master Fox, "Can we see you token good Sir ?"

-

The Squire blanches briefly at the terrible description, a good part of the crowd falling quiet about the group at once, the hush spreading in a soft wave to the church's corners. A pin-drop hush descends in the candlelight.

Master Fox clears his throat into the silence, fishing a whole and clear token of church lead from his coat pocket to hold up between two fingers as he speaks, little as it means to most of the villagers. "Well...if old Edmond is out of the Wood again by some dint of witchcraft, the parish had best look to their daughters. We shall organise a hunt for the devil on the morrow and avenge Mistress Durbin's and Widow Sawyer both."

There is a dark murmur of agreement from many men and a scatter of the women present. The blood gradually climbs back into Master Fox's  cheeks as he continues: "As for Mistress Yendale, whether this summoning was between her and Mercy Westcott or not, and whether they meant to replace me by said means or no - for Jim Stone would have come at me alone on the road and crept away disguised, but for my going witnessed and Master Sexton's warning, and were one witness killed, I might be put in the ditch and the other Fox set down groaning in an act for the other's return with the Doctor...witch-plots to take the parish in their hands aside, she did importune me on the road to steal my blood and or sundry particles of personal substance."

"I did not ask her to make proof of my solidity in the manner of Our Lord's suggestion unto Thomas the Apostle, but nonetheless once such liberty was taken she ran into the inn, whence followed screams, disorder, and what I understand to be some surging of the Wood's power that caused distraction enough for her to escape untaken. I shall not insist on acting in my father's place as magistrate, and certainly do not plan to eat her, but I think her account of herself is the very least I am owed." The wounded Squire looks from his Vicar to the wild young woman he has no claim over save his class, smouldering with struck pride and courage both.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:39, Wed 26 Apr 2023.

Maggie stands still and calm as all eyes turn to her. She reaches her shawl up over her bedraggled locks. Head bowed, she approaches to within a long pace of Nathan Fox and kneels with unlocked-for grace. Without raising her eyes, yet in a clear strong voice, she says, "I do humbly beg your pardon, Squire, for any harm done to your person or your honour.

“I did seek to smear my hands with your blood. I had tell of you or your fetch having been seen abroad. Having found some mazy men nearby that Doctor and Vicar examined and found to bleed black ichor, it was my whole intention to see the colour of the blood from your wound.

“The blood was a true red colour. But I regret to say there is a Wyzenwood taint to it. Tiny black wormish critters wriggling about. ‘Twas then the black water seept up in the inn.

“I swear that all I say is true in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

She raises a stony gaze to Fox’s face.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:53, Thu 27 Apr 2023.

Master Fox takes the token in his left hand, leans and reaches out to the figure knelt before him as though to stroke down the old track of desperate tears. He cannot quite reach, however, or else hesitates, his fingers curling back beneath his right hand. "Men? You might have waited until I was at the inn and borne away some cloth from the Doctor's ministrations."

His chiding tone is softened by the show of supplication, wanting to believe her, even as she had wanted to believe his hands unstained. His brow furrows deeply at the idea of being full of worms, his shoulders automatically tensing in a kind of flinch before fractionally relaxing with a short laugh. "As for 'black worms' - Master Hartman, would you spit on your hand as delicately as you might, and give a good scrub at the back of your neck with the result?"

"Anyone that wishes may inspect my poor coat in a moment, once the Doctor has set to cleaning this up," he adds, and meets Maggie's eyes, all trace of entertainment at rural leaps of superstition gone: "What else did you do with that blood, Mistress Yendale? Even supposing I were full of flukes as a dying cow from grazing about the Wyzenwood's mere, simply taking them out of my sight should not cause wild agitation. Did anyone see?"

He looks enquiringly to Thomas, supposing that he might, and at Mrs. Collins and Hessie, the latter of whom shrinks away from the attention. Polzeath tenses, still pale and his colour not improving as he realises what may come next.


[[The Doctor has had due notice, but seems to be awa' for the nonce - if he's not back tonight I'll shift him a little to keep his plot function before sending him to the land of Over There Somewhere.]]

Maggie doesn't flinch away from the extended fingers, though her lips compress and she swallows visibly.

"I did naught with the blood smeared on my hands once I saw what wriggled within it, save to wash it away with vinegar. As to who else saw and what they may have witnessed, let them speak forth, if they will. I cannot bear witness for them."

”What I saw when in the kitchen was that Mistress Yendale was quite desperate to wash the blood away,” Andrew said, clearing his throat before speaking up, ”She sought to keep it away from others, so that none would be harmed. She then helped those in the kitchen escape when the dark water appeared.”

Master Fox gives an irritated huff at the blockheadedness of peasants, though he reasons with Maggie with what patience he can draw up, watching her face. Saturday morning seems an age ago. "You took a viscous, I daresay scabbing liquid and pulled it across dirty hands: your 'worms' are mud and skin, nothing more. Sam, or any field worker can show you much the same."

"Floated in a little fresher blood and viewed by candlelight, of course they seem to writhe before the vision. You've scared yourself, that's all. Were these 'men' full of worms?" Seeing he's making little headway, the Squire sighs and looks to the Doctor. People are talking again, a keen current of speculations washing back and forth around the church and around the two by the end of the back pew.

"Doctor, do you believe you are in danger? She must have done something to tempt the Wood..."

Martin masks any reservations by locating who has brought his bag and fishing about in it, coming over to set it heavily on the pew beside his patient. He sets his jacket aside and gives a tense smile to both Maggie and Master Fox, rolling his sleeves, pulling on his gloves and dabbing them over with scented vinegar. "No more danger than usual, I should hope. Someone bring me a light up close, would you?"

"...and take a moment's thought upon the evidence, Master Fox: when co-incidence pushes events close together we might take correlation for causation, might we not? Like a simple sailor who finds the wet air of dropped pressure tickles his instincts to whistle and believes he has summoned a gale."

Master Fox frowns up at Dr. Lovelace a moment, then turns and sets to getting his clothing out of the way, a sharp breath taken as he tugs some scabbed-in thread from the wound. "She hurt me," he complains, though not loudly.

"Mm, and she asked for your forgiveness over it," the Doctor remarks, reaching for the bared skin. "Will you give it to her?"

"...perhaps, soon. She can stay free," the noble allows grudgingly, perforce addressing his seat. Hessie and her mother have currently sidestepped the situation quite literally, each helping Bart - or keeping him from sprint-crawling across the floor with deep lack of decorum - to reach where Arnie has folded down into a pew at the news of Widow Sawyer's death.

As Fox surrenders himself to the doctor’s ministrations, Maggie rises in a supple motion. She steps aside but does not leave the Squire’s field of vision, standing quietly a yard or two away, not engaging anyone. Her expression determinedly neutral, she watches what Doctor is about with a sidelong gaze.

The physician may not be conscious of danger but she fears Nathan Fox and the malignity he carries.

Sam does as he is told and shows Maggie the kind of fine wormlike stuff that can be scrubbed up out of honest dirt, nodding to Master Fox.

[[GM edit: clarifying action.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:45, Fri 28 Apr 2023.

Cecil quietly asks whether Martin needs anything before circulating amongst his parishioners to comfort those in need and lead them individually and collectively in prayer.

[[04:12, Today: Reverend Palmer rolled 44 using 1d100.  Art: Practical Religion 70.]]
This message was last edited by the player at 08:41, Fri 28 Apr 2023.

Once a lantern is provided to work by and Polzeath has recovered from the brief bout of panic-crying he'd excused himself for (standing very straight and letting his master know he felt it coming) the Doctor is not in need of anything save clean water. Despite Maggie taking his seemingly blithe and rational intervention as utter fearlessness rather than steering the conversation away from making a Jonas of Polzeath, he works with more than usual caution, quietly obtaining samples as he goes.


[[Keeper post for Martin, who I keenly hope comes back.

edit: Rolls, not (superstitiously) in the morning, but with a little optional-rule-applied-to-NPCs-bending anyway, because I'm not getting into the massive consequences from the implication of Martin abandoning class solidarity and the Hippocratic Oath without player consent.

13:25, Today: The Keeper, on behalf of Martin Lovelace, rolled 100 using 1d100.  Medicine (75)
13:27, Today: The Keeper, on behalf of Martin Lovelace, rolled 63 using 1d100.  allowing a Push, because that's not Martin's fault.

13:29, Today: The Keeper, on behalf of Martin Lovelace, rolled 4 using 1d3+2.  Healing!]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:36, Fri 28 Apr 2023.

The Reverend goes on his round about the people and feels the fear in the flock, the panic barely held back in them that the ground, the water and the trees perhaps might turn enemy. He senses the desire to run in them, the terror of a predator scented but not seen, spilt blood. He goes about and amongst them, a figure of white-touched black among all their colours, speaking a little here, a little there, sometimes reaching out to touch, until the desperation lessens in those voices that call out to him. People settle, uncertain and concerned but less a danger to themselves or anyone made out as a centre to the trouble.

Dr. Lovelace does his work upon the flesh with Polzeath helping as he might, keeping his glove-fingers just damp with vinegar. As he is finishing there comes a surge of movement amongst those stood about nearer the door and Janet Criddle pushes through, the crowd parting in her wake to let her mother by.

Master Fox looks up at his beloved, reading something between her look and that of her mother that turns him at least as pale as the news of Elsie Sawyer's murder. "Oh, God," he murmurs, and lets his shirt fall to something nearer modesty before reaching out to Janet to take her hand and gently bring it to his lips.