Page 28 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
“We’d still like to try. Is there anything else you can tell us about him? Did he mention where he’d come from or where he was going? Or what his business was here in Morcombe?”
The publican picked up a cloth and wiped down the counter. “No. He kept to himself. Why would he go blurting out his business if he came here to poach on Kershaw land?”
“That’s if he was a poacher.”
The publican’s hand stilled. He glanced at me then past me, at a patron drinking alone in a booth. Harry followed his gaze, then angled himself so he could keep an eye on the patron. He leaned one elbow on the counter and nodded a greeting at the man.
The man nodded back. It was difficult to determine his age. He had few lines on his face, but the black beard obscured most of it, and a gray cap covered his head so I couldn’t tell if his hair was thinning or graying. “Sergeant says he was a poacher,” he said. “Lord Kershaw says he was, too. Are you saying something different, Miss…?”
“I’m keeping an open mind.”
I didn’t want to give him my name. Even though I’d not visited the village during my stay at Hambledon Hall, there was a chance my name had been bandied about in Morcombe as a guest of the Kershaws. I’d worn a simple outfit of navy blue skirt and jacket for today’s outing in the hope of fitting in.
“You’re wasting your time,” the man said, repeating the publican’s words.
“Even so, I’d like to at leasttryto find him,” I said.
“I mean, if you’re hoping his lordship will pay you for the time you spend investigating, he won’t. He won’t even thank you.”
Before I made an amateurish mistake and told him we didn’t expect payment, Harry cut in. “Why do you say that?”
The patron shrugged broad shoulders. “Blame the man no one can find and that’s the end of it. But don’t blame him, and the investigation will have to continue. That means Kershaw’s family and guests will suffer the indignity of having their business aired in public. Kershaw won’t want the attention.”
It was interesting that we weren’t the only ones to come to that conclusion already.
Harry took his tankard and approached the booth. “My name is Harry Armitage. May we?”
The man indicated we could sit opposite. “Martin Faine.”
Harry invited me to slide onto the bench seat first then he sat beside me. “Do you work nearby?”
Mr. Faine hesitated. “I work here and there, laboring, farm work, fixing things. Sometimes I’m a beater at the larger shooting parties up at Hambledon, but I wasn’t helping out on the weekend.”
“Have you lived in Morcombe a while?”
“All my life.”
“So you know the family up at Hambledon Hall well.”
Mr. Faine nodded in the direction of the publican. “I’m not the only one. Anyone who has lived here their whole life knows all about the Wentworth family.”
Harry signaled for the publican to pour another drink for Mr. Faine. “Is Kershaw a good man?”
“I used to think so, until he blocked the bridleway.” He tapped his finger on the table beside his empty tankard. “He’s got no right. Folk from ‘round here have been using it for centuries. Ask anyone. The deliverymen need it, the mailman…”
The publican deposited another tankard on the table. “The ramblers who come here from London for the day, too. I reckon that’s why Kershaw put a fence across it, to deter strangers, but he won’t admit it. I need those tourists in here, having a pie and a pint after their ramble. Lucky for us, Faine here is leading the fight to reopen it.”
Mr. Faine picked up the tankard. “Just protecting our rights. It’s the law that if a road or path has been used for years then it can’t be taken away by the landowner.” He tapped his finger on the table again. “That bridleway has been used since the day King Henry the Eighth came here to hunt.”
The publican scoffed as he walked back to the counter. “That’s just a story.”
Mr. Faine became indignant. “Atruestory.” He addressed Harry and me, once again tapping his finger on the table. “When King Henry stayed at the old Hall, he fell in love with one of the maids. She was a local Morcombe girl, and a real beauty. You may think a lowly maid should be pleased to attract the attention of a king, but this girl was in love with a groom from the neighboring estate, and the king was old and fat by that time. That didn’t slow him down. He was relentless in his pursuit of her. When the groom found out, he decided to whisk her away to safety in the middle of the night and hide her until after the king left. He used an old poacher’s track through the woods that crosses both properties. It was hard going on account of the track wasn’t used anymore after the Hambledon gamekeeper’s cottage was built close to it. The groom forged on, though, until he finally reached the house. He went into the servants’ quarters, where he saw the king entering his betrothed’s room. He knew if he laid a finger on the king, he’d be killed instantly if he was caught. So, he caused a commotion in the dark which startled the king. Old Henry abandoned his plan to seduce the maid. The groom then rescued his betrothed and together they fled back along the same track. The groom hid her in the stables of the neighboring estate for a night and a day until the king left. The lady of Hambledon Hall at that time—Kershaw’s ancestor—was so happy the honor of her maid was saved, she asked her husband to allow the locals to use the path whenever they wanted. So you see, the bridleway has significance to the area. It’s not just a path used for convenience. It represents the triumph of a lowly groom over a king. It's importance to the good folk of Morcombe can’t be overstated.”
The publican snorted. “Don’t listen to Faine. The story is bollocks.”
“It ain’t!”
“The king wouldn’t go to a maid’s room for a start. He’d have her brought to his own chambers. And if he was old and fat, as the story goes, he won’t be hunting beasts or maids.Andare you trying to say no one looked for the maid after she disappeared? The groom’s the first person they’d turn to.”
