The Duke's Agent by Rebecca Jenkins Page A

box.
    Despite his formidable bulk the coachman proved surprisingly light on his feet. He descended rapidly from his perch, neatly shifting his feet in turn from footboard to step, to hub, to ground, in one smooth flowing action. He had the timing of the natural-born showman. He paused, gazing mournfully at the crowd, before he spoke.
    â€˜Crofter’s boy come down from moor all covered with blood,’ he announced with relish. ‘On Stainmoor, it happened. He’s but a speck of a lad but he’d run all the way. A murdering blackguard done in his da. A great tall fellow, a sailor.’
    â€˜What would a sailor be doing so far inland?’ questioned Jarrett.
    The coachman turned to look at the interrupter of his tale. Seeing it was a gentleman, he deigned to explain. ‘The boy said his hair were braided up with a tail behind. Dick and me, we told ’em it sounded to be such as sailors wear. Dick has a brother in the navy – that right, Dick?’ The guard nodded in studious agreement. ‘Justice in Brough told us to hand these about,’ continued the coachman, drawing some roughly printed handbills out and handing them to the innkeeper. ‘And I took it upon myself to agree. The Post Office may set great store by its timetables, I told him, but His Majesty’s Mail is honoured to be a purveyor of Justice’s fearsome Wrath.’
    Jarrett looked at the handbill being passed around the crowd. It was headed in bold type.
    TWENTY POUNDS REWARD – HORRID MURDER!!
    Whereas the dwelling house of Ruben Gates, Crofter of Stainmoor, was entered the morning of this Sunday last between the hours of four and six by a person unknown who did most foully murder the said Ruben Gates.
    A tall man, thought to be pock-marked about the face, wearing a blue frock coat torn at the left shoulder seam and having yellow hair, braided and worn in a queue behind, such as is the custom of sailors, was seen bending over the body of the murdered man by his lad who was woken from his sleep.
    The Churchwardens, Overseers and Trustees of the Parish of St Clements, Brough, do hereby offer a Reward of TWENTY POUNDS, for the Discovery and Apprehension of the Person, or Persons, who committed such Murder, to be paid on Conviction.
    The bill was signed by the vestry clerk and dated that morning, Monday, 29th July, 1811.
    â€˜Murder!’ exclaimed the innkeeper. ‘Why, this gentleman was just set upon on his way here from Woolbridge!’ In his excitement he grabbed Jarrett’s arm, causing him to wince as he stumbled on to his bad leg. ‘See – they hurt him, though he fought them off. Might have been the same crew as fled down from the moor.’
    â€˜But there were two who attacked me, and neither fitted the description given here,’ objected Jarrett, none too pleased at the attention he was receiving from the crowd.
    â€˜Well,’ said the coachman, his rubicund features managing to convey the impression that he suspected more than he was saying, ‘in your servant’s humble opinion the gentleman ought to report the event to the magistrate – and maybe he could give him a copy of this notice, too.’
    With these words of advice the coachman reascended to his high seat. He ceremoniously drained the cup of aleoffered up for his refreshment, returned it with a stately nod of thanks and collected up his whip. The guard leapt on to his box and blew a fine loud sequence on his horn. With a lightning flash, the coachman cracked the thong of his whip above his leaders’ heads. The horses sprang forward in their collars. The pole chains rattled as they took the strain. The black varnished wheels began to roll and the mail was off again.
    The crowd spread out as the mailcoach disappeared, reviewing and exclaiming over the news in knots.
    â€˜Will you see the magistrate, sir?’ the innkeeper asked the gentleman who stood gazing off down the road. Jarrett