---

At the Hare & Sheaf, ~11am Saturday May 4th, 1771


John Collins moved back behind the bar and parked his son on a stool with the ease of a swan returning to water. Those coming in were met with the familiar mingling of woodsmoke and old drink, traces of tobacco and the strong savoury scent of stewed meat, warm grain and curry spices. Nancy Collins looked up at their massed entrance with curiousity, leaning on the house end of the bar, and a somewhat dishevelled Master Fox rolled himself back on his elbow to salute the company with a pint of what was hopefully small beer.

"What ho! Do I see gentlemen - and a lady or so, and a seraph of the highe-!" he ducked Nancy's well-forewarned swipe at the back of his head as Hessie cringed up small at that address. He cleared his throat, tucking an errant lock of hair back behind his ear. " *Ahem* -and a Hester, perhaps in need of beverages?"

"There's food to be 'ad," Nancy announced with rather less flourish, in case anyone present had need of it.

Thomas followed the others off of the green and was glad to be inside and somewhat more remote from what had happened. He took his usual tankard of ale and took his favourite seat to the right of the fire but still able to see who was entering the pub through the window or the door.

He took a sip as he looked at the faces of those gathered.



-

Andrew found an empty chair, lowering himself into it more gingerly than usual. He looked about, heartened to see that several had heeded John Collins’ invitation. Even despite his recent injory, Andrew couldn’t shake a nagging urgency about Polly. He hoped that a search for her could be made soon, fearful that the longer they waited, the more dreadful the outcome. For now, however, he held to hope. Hope that she could be located and returned safely to her home.

”A small beer, perhaps?” he asked, hopeful that a drink might help numb the ache in his side.

"What ho what ho what ho!" he said, sidling up to the bar with the plan to request a pint of something. He might have requested something more in the way of the ardent spirits if the hour was later than it was or the place less crowded, but he feared his services might be called upon if the current spate of either mad or bedeviled animals persisted and wanted to keep his wits about him.

The landlord drew off a pewter pint of small beer from the back corner barrel and passed it down the bar to Nancy to take over. He passed the doctor's order to George whilst Master Fox laughed amusedly at the doctor's effusiveness: "A pint of something for the doctor, Georgie."

Little George Collins' eyes scanned the barrels he could see and then went wide, worried by an order he didn't have by heart. "Do we 'av Something? We...we got Peculiar..."

"Give the doctor something you think he'd like," his father clarified, and steadied the child as his fuzz-crowned head dropped from view with an expression of great concentration. There came some sounds of small wandering feet and eventually some glugging, then more pattering again.

"It appears there's a great number of folk in here," Master Fox observed, looking about and letting Nancy keep tabs on his tab. "Have I missed something? It is before noon, isn't it, John?"

"Just about." John took a tankard handed up to him, absolutely deadpan, and slid it across to Dr. Lovelace. It fizzed slightly and had a lump of rock sugar rattling around the bottom.  "There've been strange things going on-"

He paused and looked over at his next eldest daughter, who'd just come out of the door to the kitchens. "-yes, Beth?"

"It's back, Dad," Beth said, pointing, then belatedly curtsied at the full room and the squire right there, looking put out.

His favorite drink it was, a pint of Something, with a good amount of sweetness to fill him with the energy he needed and just a bit of alcohol to liven things up a bit without leaving him dysfunctional.

"We have come here, Master Fox, to discuss matters of some importance. The location of lost individuals and the hunting of bedeviled animals. Why, Mister Sexton here not long ago was attacked by a mad stag not long ago. If you can believe it, there was a laughing hare in my home this very morning. The world has gone mad, and we're hoping to put the collective wisdom of Scorch Norton, such as it is, to use in setting things to rights."

Master Fox gave a small, confused snort. "I'm not sure what a 'laughing hare' is, but I'm sure you or the- hmm, the 'collected knowledge of Scorch Norton' can find some kind of unguent for it..."

He twisted to observe Andrew and instantly looked more concerned, his pause leaving John's advice to "-see if you and Hessie can catch it and bring it out here," to sound louder than the general murmurs of people trying to make sense of events.

"oh. -and missing persons, you say? There hasn't been anyone else vanished, has there?" he licked the side of his lip with a quick, nervous motion and contemplated his beer, then those around.

"Not that we know of, but I mean to make a concerted, witnessed search for Mistress Durbin, starting from the meadow across the river and circling the village. After that we can think about further out."

"Someone's heading this way at a fair clip," Bart announced, looking out of the window to confirm what he'd heard.

The Reverend quietly asked for a pint of what Martin was having and took a sip of it before speaking.

"Will we have enough men for this search for Mistress Durbin?" he asked.

"Come evening, yes - but with the handful here now and those women that can be spared, that's enough to make a start," the landlord replied, watching the vicar partake with mild curiosity.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:24, Fri 03 Sept 2021.

"Yes that will be enough, to many and we might miss something..... I can take my cart for those who have a mind to help." He took a sip of the beer.



-

John nodded, helping George back up to his stool and leaning forward on the bar. "If there's elders wanting to come, that might save a walk," he agreed, saying nothing of bodies.  Behind and beside him, Hessie and Beth reappeared, the latter holding a cock pheasant that seemed somewhat stunned.

"Ah, you got him! Show-"

The outside door flew open at this juncture and disgorged a stumbling muddle of agitated young men. "She's not there!" Sam Smith declared.

"There was a hare took off from her garden!" William Ragge added, dragging his breathless-bent brother upright - this one was Henry from the small ways the Ragge males could be told apart, slightly shorter and squarer than Will and clearly collected on the way. Both were florid from running.

In the kitchen:

Maggie leads Mercy to the kitchen door, that being her usual mode of entry at the inn from long custom as she's a friend of the family and a casual worker.

"Mornin' Miz Collins!" she sings out, "Big doings t'day, eh? Would be convenient for me t'get my breakfast now? I did the rooms upstairs this morning." The crust of yesterday's bread she'd had earlier and the small mouthful of beer with it was quite used up with her exertions.

"Oh, and here's Goody Westcott I've brought along with me."


[[GM edit: clarity/continuity.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:01, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

Nancy filled a readied bowl with mutton curry and rice and stuck a generous slice of buttered bread in the stew side, handing it over before replying. "That's as well, Maggie."

"Mercy, there's a mad pheasant Beth and Hessie took out to the taproom just now - you might want to give the men a notion on what's wrong with that. Unless someone's taken sick here?"

"Hares have been known to be in gardens and stranger places," he said, taking a sip of the sweet concoction he was sipping on presently. He certainly didn't want to encourage any flights of fancy, more than those which were necessary.

"Well then where's Goodie Westcott?" Sam demanded, "-or Meg Yendale who said she'd go there and vanished, too?"

Henry Ragge puffed, straightened and went over to Andrew. "Here, Mouse, let's see the hole in you, then," he said, reaching over to try and prod at the bandage to see where the carpenter jumped. "Is it big? That'll be one to tell the girls about, eh, won't it?"

Andrew set down his cup and shook his head at Henry with a rueful smile. ”I think the only thing I’m going to gain from it will be an ugly scar. I doubt it will help my already poor chances with the girls. Once they hear the story, I’m afraid they will more likely to conclude that I’m foolish, rather than brave.”

Sighing at the truth of the realization, he turned his attention to John Collins. ”Mister Collins, does anyone have an idea of where Miss Durbin was last seen? Any sense of what business she was about on that day?”

"Ar, that's all in the telling - you says you were fighting it off, right? Grabbed it by the antlers, saving some child, or women," Henry mimed such a grab, which was a bit more believeable from a ploughman who worked with heavy horses, and mimed wrenching a beast enthusiastically to the side. "No need to tell 'em you've got sawdust for brains then, eh?"

Mrs. Criddle proved herself still present by stepping in to answer: "It's her parents would've seen her last, unless someone saw her out on the road that morning. Ask them if they beat her, I say, then look about ditches to find if she died of a bleed."

Beth came behind the bar and placed the pheasant on it between the doctor and the vicar. Master Fox leaned to see, astonished to observe it truly was still alive.

11:37, Today: Andrew Sexton rolled 78 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden.


Andrew winced at the “sawdust for brains” comment, secretly certain that there were several at the tavern who likely considered Henry’s appraisal accurate. He blinked when Mrs. Criddle spoke up, unsure at first how to respond to her suggestion.

Managing a smile, he told Henry, ”I’m a bit doubtful that any here in Scorch Norton would believe that I was actually that heroic.”

Clearing his throat, he added, ”But speaking with Polly’s parents is a sound idea. If they haven’t done as Mrs. Criddle suggested, it might be that they would remember something of import from the last time that they saw her.”

"Well, how should I know? Probably unhexing someone's cattle, and not in leporine form, to what I'm sure is everyone's great disappointment." He didn't agree with Westcott's approach to problem solving, as it were, but he was no more of a fan of spurious claims about her transforming into a hare.



"Reverend Palmer, I believe we have ourselves a pheasant. Is this the best place to exorcise it of evil spirits before we have someone prepare it for a feast, or should we perhaps take it out back?" he asked dryly.

"It smells strange, sir," Beth said, and very slowly and carefully let the pheasant go. The bird stayed sat on the counter for a full two seconds, then slowly stood up, giving a quiet *tuk*tuk* in his throat.  George, delighted, leant and patted the bar in an attempt to get the strangely tame gamebird to come over.

"Excorsise it? Surely the thing's stunned itself on a window, distracted by the glass," Master Fox said, indicating the pheasant with his beer.

"Well, there's some plot afoot," Sam muttered, at present defeated by the light of Science.

Henry prodded Andrew in the shoulder, having clearly decided that the latter was seeking his advice in matters of his evident expertise. "Then you tells the coach ladies, right? See, being proper is your problem. Some of those fancy ma'ams would hop right on at the mere scent of ye, shown willing, but don't ask don't get, am I right, Will?"

"Aye that. Might get your face slapped twice, but it's worth it if the next one slaps your ar-"

John Collins set a tankard down rather forcefully and frowned at the Ragge brothers present. "If we could get back to the matter in hand?"

Henry dropped his voice to Andrew, respecting the landlord's authority if not in the least bit ashamed of himself. "See, Mizzus Criddle thinks they'd strap 'er something fierce 'cause I had it from our Sal that that Polly was off from the May Revels with a boy. May night? It's more than kissing, that."

John let the murmuring lapse. "Would you do that yourself, then, Master Sexton? It would be more restful than the field search, as I'm sure Doctor Lovelace would agree."

"Shall we make a time to meet to begin the search. We have a rough idea where she was last seen so shall we begin there ?" Thomas gives a glance in the direction of Hester Collins, but nothing more then that as he is eager to start the search.



-

Maggie comes through from the kitchen, carrying her dish of curry and sits at the first empty table she comes to.

"Georgie, will ye fetch a tankard o' small?" She smiles at the sight of the pheasant on the bar, then drops her eyes and utters a short blessing on her food. Looking up again, she says, "Mercy Westcott's in kitchen with Mrs Collins. I fetched her."

Then she began to eat.

"Indeed, that is a rather foul stench. I would not consider this bird fit for a feast."

Upon Maggie's declaration gave a very particular look to William Ragge and Sam as well.

OOC:

16:24, Today: Martin Lovelace rolled 51 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden (60).

"How'd you fetch her?" the blacksmith asked Maggie, nothing if not dogged. "We didn't see you going, nor coming back."

The trip to the table was both slow and tantalising, since when Nancy Collins meant to feed someone, she surely fed them; Maggie's bowl was piled full and smelled delicious. Hessie slipped in near the bar to collect the order from her littlest brother and brought it over when Maggie had folded herself onto a chair.

The pheasant took a couple of uncertain steps along the bar, then paused. Although not known for intelligence in the first place, this one seemed passive as a puppet despite the presence of several humans nearby.

"I was thinking four for the main sweep, since most would be done with what's urgent by then," John Collins said, answering Tom's query. "Though it's true that with those here we could work west from her house and swing around north if all agree to that."

"Mm, that comes close up by the Wyzenwood, doesn't it," Master Fox observed with a nervous twitch of a smile, all attention now. "I'll come along on this first foray myself and leave word that my house staff should join the later search, in the event we have no luck."

"Thank you, Master Fox. As for where she was last seen, I doubt you'll get into her house or her room. The Reverend might be able to take a look, or the doctor, given reason, but not all of us, that's for sure, whatever there is to be learned there."

The reverend leaned in and took a whiff of the odor coming off the pheasant.

09:43, Today: Reverend Palmer rolled 68 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden (25)

He wrinkled his nose. "Oh, that is dastardly."

He pinched his nose with his fingers and retreated a few steps. "Maybe a beast died in one of the ponds and its rotting carcass is poisoning the water the animals drink from? It would explain the smell, wouldn't it, Doctor?"

Andrew nodded. ”I will gladly speak to Polly’s parents, Mister Collins, though I can’t guess what they might be willing to tell me. I don’t know either of them well.”

“However, I would also like to take part in the search. Doctor Lovelace and Mister Phippen have set me right with regard to my injury. I might be a bit slower than the rest, but I think I’m up to it.”

"Wellll..." Maggie drawls between swallows, "I reckon we coulda flew on broomsticks... but we just used the woods path, ye looby!" She chuckles as she sops her bowl with the last of her bread.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:05, Sun 12 Sept 2021.

"Yes, some exposure to water or another substance with this smell would be sufficient to impart said odor onto this poor fowl, without said rot needing to emanate from this very creature. That might prove a sound explanation." The various conversations occurring simultaneously left him a bit distracted on all fronts, especially as he heard his name mentioned a few times.

"I can make an attempt, perhaps, accompanied by the Reverend, of an inquiry into the contents of her room - if there were something that might shed light on anything."

"Now...what's this here now...something seems a little off here!" Quietly, and slowly, he moved a hand nearer the bird to see if it would flinch.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:25, Mon 13 Sept 2021.

The pheasant ignored the doctor's reaching until he was quite close, then obediently stepped forward, placing his hand around its throat. *tuk.*

Thomas was not one for superstition, witchcraft or truth be told religion but this was all something very different. He watched the bird like everyone else from the relative "safety" of his table as he took another sip.

He dropped his tankard a little hard to the wood when the bird placed it neck in the Doctor's hand. Thomas also said something under his breath as a small wave of beer slopped on the table.


-

He kept his hand in place in the event that he should have some need to seize the thing by the throat, but refrained from doing so at the moment. He took his other hand and attempted to swipe the droplet of the very dark, slightly greenish substance he had noticed at the corner of the pheasant's beak and its eye.

"No, it does not appear this bird is well at all. Clearly some type of malady is at foot, though not one I'm familiar with. At least not one that I've witnessed in people."

"I didn't mean to make an obligation, Master Sexton - there isn't so much need if the doctor and vicar mean to go by anyway. I just thought you might be doing less work this noontide with the injury and that Mrs. Durbin thinks well of you, no more than that. More searchers will make faster work of-"

At this point he was interrupted by a little "oh no!" from Georgie, who'd put his hands over his eyes in anticipation of the doctor ending their interaction with the pretty bird the way adults ended interactions with most fowl brought indoors.

"Miss Yendale, if you don't mind, I'd like your opinion on something," he called over to the woman. Now that she was done regaling a few dumbfounded oafs with tales of a more mundane nature than they had hoped for. With her, he was polite.

"You two as well, please," he said to the Ragge brothers, still polite, though a bit more firmly.

He pointed out the strange thing he had observed - a very dark, slightly greenish substance at the corner of the pheasant's beak and its eye.

"Have either of you witnessed any sort of similar phenomenon when it comes to animals? My primary domain is in the human realm, and my limited experience with beasts betrays me a bit here, but I'm not inherently familiar with any such condition that would cause a secretion of this nature, or the accompanying odor."

The vicar, although not being able to offer any expertise, still stepped closer, out of curiosity if nothing else.

"What do you make of it, Vicar? In a metaphysical sense, I mean. Is this the Devil in a herd of pigs or somesuch?" Master Fox asked as Cecil leant in front of his leaning.

Will Ragge nudged his brother, who gave Martin a look like 'oh, now you want my opinion' and pulled at Maggie's elbow to get her up like they were playing the chain game.

"C'mon, Maggie, not like you to keep a fancy man waitin, him cock in hand," he said, grinning.

Will bulled in close, setting a hand on the doctor's shoulder to keep steady as the others crowded in with a general smell of sweated skin and byre. "Let's see, then...no, not like that on a bird. Would say he's infected, though. Don't really seem animal exactly, that smell, more like an old pond."

"Rotten turnips," Henry suggested.

Maggie stands but wrenches her elbow out of Will's grasp, thumping him on the chest, not gently.

Approaching the doctor, she bobs a curtsey, coloring a bit at Will's innuendo and at being in such proximity to a proper gentleman.

"An it please yer honour, sir, I can-not say I have ever seen a bird nor beast behave just so, though they'll get a bit mazy when a body stuns 'em with rock or stick and don't struggle much when ye take ‘em up." She leans in to have a good sniff at the pheasant.

"It don't--doesn't smell a-rotted like as if it had a wound gone sour. Smell's more like it's been a-roostin' 'mongst some wet bracken or such." She bobs again and steps back, "Thank ye, sir."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:04, Wed 15 Sept 2021.

Thomas breaks his stare from the bird, "Break its neck and have a look inside. Seems that what it wants..." He waves an arm towards the bird.


-

”I promise, I’ll endeavor not slow the party down too greatly,” Andrew told the tavern keeper, “Though it might be helpful to have someone a bit further back, looking for sign that others might have missed.”

His attention moved to the pheasant, momentarily transfixed by its odd behavior. ”I know it isn’t much help, Doctor, but I’ve never seen any of the animals in the woods near the Fox Estate afflicted in such a way, ” he said.

”Perhaps it came out of the Wyzenwood?”

The reverend shook his head.
"The Lord acts in mysterious ways, but the Adversary... not so much. If he himself is involved, it would already be raining fire and brimstone. No", he vigorously shook his head, "But it could be a servant of him. Someone who made a deal if not with the Devil himself, then a spawn of Hell, perhaps. A demon, a lesser one, I think. I don't think a Duke of Hell would come here when he could cause more mayham in London."

He remembered the stories he had read about the Great Fire of London in 1666.

At the unexpected physical contact, he tensed up slightly, and had to take a moment to suppress his fight or flight response. His free hand gripped the mug of ale, perhaps a bit more tightly than was necessary and he took a drink from it as if to cover up what otherwise might be happening.

"I thank you for your opinion, Miss Yendale. On this subject, it is more informed than my own, and confirms some suspicions I've had. And you lads as well - you see, you've observed something and made a conclusion. It's much better than wild speculation. Also, when engaging in crude banter around the pub owner's daughter, best to keep your voices down a bit. I think you've made the young thing blush." He lowered his voice at the end, just for the few of them gathered closest in examining the bird.

He then raised it again as he discussed the bird.

"Between the strange behavior, the unusual secretions, and the odor, I'd be willing to wager that - of course, barring demonic possession of a pheasant - there is some type of malady at play that we're not familiar with. That said," he turned to address those who had brought the bird.

"Please take this out back, put it out of its misery, and burn it. I'd advise we do the same to any we find, lest some pestilence pass from animal to man."

If Margaret Yendale felt slighted that Doctor Lovelace would defend Hessie’s virtue and sensibilities from the likes of the Ragges yet not her own, she didn’t show it. She had long since given up the hope that anyone in the village would stand up for her or take her part. She figured she was big enough to fight her own battles that needed fighting.

"We've observed plenty before, we have," Will said, not quite following, though he looked concerned to have helped fluster Hessie, who only flushed the more when he leant back to see her. "Oh." He clearly considered some comment about hearing it all before from Maggie, but a glance at the landlord's proximity hushed that thought.

"Ar, 'twas all in fun," Henry said, not entirely repentant, but likewise reminded of the maidens' presence.

"She thumped me, not you, an' all-" Will mock-complained, and reached to take the pheasant seeing young Beth's hesitation after the doctor's pronouncement. "All right, Beth, I'll take the bird and go out to the green. Won't scare the horses any. Georgie, you want to say goodbye to Master Pheasant?"

George, who had been peeking through his finger shield, bit his lip then leant to pet the bird now groggily kicking in William's grip. "'bye fezzunt," he said.

"One of you get a log and the other kindling," Will nodded to his brother and Maggie, automatically taking charge as the eldest present. He took a short swipe at Henry with his free hand as they stepped away from the bar.

"Ow! What-?"

"Just passin that on, is all," Will said cheerfully, and wandered out with the pheasant dangling.

In reply to Reverend Palmer (msg # 41):

"Mmm...well, I bow to your expertise on that matter. Do you think it's connected to Mistress Durbin's disappearance?" Master Fox asked, watching goings-on with the pheasant with some curiousity.

"...and this demon, do you think it's perhaps the one that resides in the Wyzenwood?"



"Familiar with my gamefowl, are you, Master Sexton?" Master Fox asked, grinning. "A disease out of the Wyzenwood...well, it's possible, but what beast would go in to drink there? This...stag? was it, that you were talking about? Did it have this affliction, too? -or the hare, Doctor. Was that dumb and willing for the axe?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:44, Thu 16 Sept 2021.

"Um...if they're possessed, should we be doing what they want?" Hessie asked. "It would be what the witch or the Devil would want, surely?"

Maggie follows the brothers to the door.

"Not yer servant, not yer mammy, not yer wife (thanks be given). Ye'll tote yer own kindling, Will Ragge, or do without." She turns about and marches back into the taproom.

Maggie's vexed turning round proved irresistible to Will in a slapping humour and with one hand free; Henry gave her a brief lamped rabbit look of genuine terror as the sting of a passing slap swept up from her backside. He ducked out of the door he'd been holding at least as hastily as his elder brother.

[[attack of opportunity!]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:00, Fri 17 Sept 2021.

Even as he flushed slightly with embarrassment at Fox’s good natured comment, Andrew couldn’t help briefly wondering what it was to be a man in his position, to be well thought of by many, to be educated, well read and well spoken.

“The stag…it didn’t seem as if it was eager to die. Not at all. But it carried that same scent that the bird has. The smell of the marsh and brackish water,” he replied.

Hessie’s comment brought a frown to the carpenter’s face. A verse from Peter’s first letter entered his mind, unbidden. ”Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.”

He swallowed, then spoke again. “Perhaps Miss Collins is right. I’m certain I have an old crate about, or could fashion a enclosed pen in a short time. We could keep the bird in it safely. See if its condition worsens, or if it recovers. I’m sure we could spare some bread to keep it fed.”

Maggie arches away from the slap, eyes round with outrage. She quells her instinct to reciprocate, thinking I'll pay you back for that Will Ragge, see if I don't. Wouldn't do to start brawling in the taproom with gentry about and it not yet noon.

Goodie Westcott came into the room amongst the general 'ooo's and supressed alarm or snickering, unaware of what they were about.

"Master Bees, if I might see you a moment in the kitchen," she asked, Nancy behind her and Kit Meaker by her side, both looking concerned at where the fuss was.

The vicar, who had evaded the questions posed directly at him about how to go about a possessed animal, by carefully tilting his head and turning about, as if deeply lost in thought, brightened at this new distraction.

"The kitchen? What is now?"

"Just need a more private word with 'im than out here, Vicar," Goodie Westcott replied, "-though you're welcome to stand witness if you will."

"That might be handy indeed. My man Polzeath trapped a rabbit and three partridge alive under a box in the scullery, all also behaving peculiarly. You could have those if you want to, kept somewhere for observation, though perhaps a bit away. That said, if four animals made their way into my home, I'm sure I'm not alone there. Anyone else here have an incident with local animals in their homes?" he asked.

"Arnie and Widow Sawyer were banging about chasing a thrush this morning, though I thought little enough on't," Bart spoke up. "It's Arnie's superstitious about such things, not me."

"The coveys never got in our house, though they tried some," Mrs. Criddle added.

Sam hesitated, but ventured to share: "Hedgehog. The wife an' I thought it was tryin to keep warm on the coals, curled up in the ashes, but it could've been easy roasted alive."

Various present gave accounts of birds, rabbits, and in one case a panful of frogs; it seemed the phenomenon was general. Master Fox drank his beer with bemusement.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 23:01, Mon 20 Sept 2021.

"How about you, Mister Fox? Did any weasels try to sneak up your chimney or some such?"

The young noble in question raised his tankard as though in toast. "I'm afraid I haven't yet been home to check, Doctor. Last night rather got away from me."

Thomas stood up from his seat and approached Goodie Westcott. He went outside or wherever she wanted to have a word, somewhat suspecting what this is about.


-

The reverend followed the invitation to "stand witness" as Goodie Westcott had put it, nodding at the rest of the group, deep in thought.


[[GM edit: I am always touched when people anachronise the 1960s title 'Ms' into historical works as though Anglophone women ever got to be described without their marital status first, but alas, this is 1771; the indeterminate (widow? spinster? estranged?) elderly title for an independent woman is 'Goodwife', commonly rendered 'Goodie' in England.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:03, Wed 22 Sept 2021.

Kit Meaker from the stables stayed by the bar as Goodie Wescott led the small party through the passage into the kitchen. Seeing Maggie standing looking put out, he leant beside Master Fox at a respectful space and called over: "You in need of ale over there, Maggie?"

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:41, Thu 23 Sept 2021.

Even muffled through the pannelling there comes the sound of an angry Nancy.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:45, Thu 23 Sept 2021.

Andrew nodded. ”I could come fetch them before supper if you like, Doctor,” Andrew said, ”I could set them out behind my shop. Look in on them often.”

In reply to The Keeper (msg # 60):

Still peeved, Maggie waves off the suggestion.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:56, Thu 23 Sept 2021.

Kit dropped his voice and inquired of Master Fox, perplexed: "Who gave her the onion?"

"William Ragge slapped her on the arse," Master Fox tipped his head back to stage whisper (there was an "Oh!" from Georgie, who hadn't realised, then some ill-concealed laughter behind his hands that anyone had said 'arse' at all).

"That's a bit steep behind twelve in the morning," Kit replied, frowning. "Why, if I see 'im, I'll catch him one the same: he won't see that coming an' all. Sir-" he addressed the landlord, "I heard y'was setting up for searchin' and wanted to volunteer myself to the effort."

John Collins leant back, hands on the bar, calculating. "Hm. It's half pay the time you're off, but we can manage that. Good man."

"Thank you, sir. If I w-"

A voice from the back cut into his thoughts: "Kit! Could you come back by here and bring Mistress Hester with you?"

Kit shrugged and beckoned Hessie, who looked worried. Master Fox turned his attention to Doctor Lovelace, distractions being somewhat less: "So, do those reports give you some inkling of where this poison or miasma arose?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:15, Fri 24 Sept 2021.

Maggie blows out a big breath. She approaches the bar.

"I'll go lookin' with you, John Collins," she announces, "If she's found alive, you'll want a woman along to calm her, I'll wager. And my eyes are good as anybody's in Scorch Norton."

"These are all generally speaking, woodland creatures so it stands to reason that the root cause might be in the forest nearby. Migratory birds might have brought with them some animal disease from parts foreign that brought low some beast, which proceeded to expire in some pond or pool of stagnant water passing on to other animals that drank from there."

He shrugged.

"Only a theory. I'm not sure what's to be done about that specifically but we do need to make sure the infection doesn't spread to other domesticated beasts and people in the village, though. If we are to keep a few for study, all well and good, but a fire for the rest of them. Start a fire, put them near, and I think they should do the job themselves."

"Hmm...well, given the Ragge brothers were set to burn the thing on the green, perhaps we should stay in here until the smoke's dispersed." He made to sip, found his tankard empty and pushed it across the bar. "-and keep an eye on William and Henry Ragge, at that."

John nodded to Maggie, though frowning distractedly as his daughter being called into the kitchen after Long Tom, his stablehand and the vicar. "More eyes are what we need." He looked at her with more focus as the words sank in. "You have some idea of what's happened to her, Mistress Yendale? Some road man?" There was a sudden steel under the gentle sliding Scouse of his voice.

"Nay, Mr Collins," Maggie shakes her head,"I've no more knowing of what's become of Polly than any of us in Scorch Norton. Indeed I have not."

In reply to Andrew Sexton (msg # 64):

"Yes, I think that would be a sound idea, Mister Sexton. We could keep some for observation. Feed them scraps. See what becomes of the situation. Of course, rather out of the way I think.

And I agree, Mister Fox. It seems prudent to wait until the fire has run its course."

He looked generally at John Collins and the others who had gathered round.

"That said, I think at present a search is probably a more timely intervention than anything else. We have a number of handy individuals who have volunteered, and I myself think I would like to join as well. Is there an objection to setting a time and proceeding accordingly?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:23, Mon 04 Oct 2021.

"No time like the present for our few here, providing all are well enough fed for the work, and Master Bees and the Reverend have concluded their business in the kitchen," the landlord said, relaxing some way at Maggie's words. "If you did mean to go by the Durbin household with the vicar, you might walk along with us there and catch us up when finished - we mean to sweep over along the fields and up the wooded bank to the edge of the Wyzenwood. Should we find nothing, I've had Nancy put about that we'll start a sweep from old Tiddler's ground on the other side of the village at half past four, see how far we get."

Suddenly, Maggie sprang a clear two feet off the floor for no reason she could name, coming down amongst startled cries with an urge to dance as inescapable as a need to sneeze or let out held breath, an all-over, unbearable need. The will was both hers and outside herself; she did not give in, for there was no resistance to start with, as though her feet moved before her thoughts could catch up.

It lasted about thirty seconds, in which time Maggie capered in a small circle with furious, flawless skill, stomped at Sam Smith, charged at Master Fox, and leapt, twice, higher than she'd known she could, like a brief taste of flying. The patrons were silent as much in shocked awe as confusion. The dance was perfect, and came out of her like it had been deep and vital, like blood. For all the energy, she ended barely out of breath.

"What was that about?" John Collins asked, perplexed.

Maggie’s face shows mingled joy and surprise as she realizes no one heard the wild music but herself.

“Can’t a body limber up her joints before traipsin’ up hill and down dale, John Collins?” she asks with a wide grin, “If we’re goin’ t’get th’ ground covered, we’d best be about it, don’t ye think, gentlemen?”

Andrew nodded in response to the suggestion. ”Yes. Quite so.” He stood, pleased to find the soreness in his side easily tolerable. He imagined his mother might have words for him about venturing out after such an injury, but he couldn’t conscience being idle while others went searching for Polly Durbin. He needed to do his part.

”Perhaps I can fetch the animals once we’ve returned, Doctor?” he asked Lovelace.

Martin seemed for a moment removed from what was happening in the present, his eyes a bit glassy.

"What was that?" he asked Andrew. "Oh yes, later for the animals." He glanced in the direction that the Vicar and Tom Bees had gone for a moment curiously then returned himself more fully to the present.

"...the merrier. Be careful, though, and mindful of any instructions given.", the vicar says to Hessie, who follows a few steps behind him.

He spotted Martin and raised his eyebrows quizzically, but didn't inquire about his friend's state.

((Also: Rolling!
20:07, Today: Reverend Palmer rolled 21 using 1d100.  History.  vs. 65
20:08, Today: Reverend Palmer rolled 44 using 1d100.  Folklore. vs. 30))

"Oh, I will, sir, I'll stay by Dad and not get underfoot any, thank you," Hessie responded, then looked a little alarmed that Master Fox had to step aside for her, having jumped back when Maggie ran at him in her brief manic dance.

He gestured her past and looked curiously at Kit Meaker, seeing no-one behind the barn-built lad. "Did Nancy wring Master Bees' neck for something, then?" he asked.

"No, he stormed off on his own account: whatever Goodie Westcott said to 'im, he didn't like it much. What his quarrel was with Nancy I can't say - I think he called Mistress Hester a liar, and that's never been true."

Hester flushed slightly and smiled. Bart Phippin gestured her over as she drifted to that side of the room and quietly conversed a moment.

"Well if she did lie, and she was good at it, how would you know?" Beth put in, just to make trouble. Her father gave her a little frown to warn her off. Georgie was still staring rapt at Maggie, who was clearly now his hero in terms of mighty jumping power.

"Oh, I'm no kind of philosopher, Beth," Kit said, trying to work that one out.

"Enough with the idle chatter! What was said in the kitchen will stay in the kitchen and is of no concern to anyone here!
Doctor Lovelace", he abruptly turned about, "when will the search party depart?"

Maggie steps quickly to Hester, plucking at her sleeve.

Who exactly does Reverend Mister Palmer think he is?

Drawing Hessie into a corner, she whispers, "What went on in there, Hessie? What doesn't he want us to know?"

Before the vicar's forceful pronouncement, he hadn't really given much thought to what might have been going on in the kitchens, but now that it had been suggested that they shouldn't know what that might be, it suddenly seemed very worthy of knowing.

"Mr. Collins has suggested that we depart presently, I believe."

"Very good, I think some haste would be good."

He stepped closer to the doctor and leaned in, quietly whispering a few word to him.

"Very good," he said, finishing what he had. He stood up promptly, and made to accompany the Reverend.

"The Reverend and I will call on the family, and as soon as able, will join the rest of you."