as they approached Amos bade him, “Good day”. The old man stopped his scything, then placing both hands on the end of the wooden handle, he rested his chin. Drawing his lungs full of smoke from the white clay pipe he was smoking, he enquired, “Where ya headin’ mister?”
Amos responded,
“Oh just into town to buy some food to keep us going”, then almost as an after thought he continued,
“By the way, do you recognise my young companion here?”
“No mister, is she lost?” he replied.
“No, she’s not lost, but she’s lost her mother. It seems that she was taken away by some men. It may have been the law -perhaps for some wrong doing”.
The old man pondered awhile and then said,
“I canna say fer sure, but there was some talk about a woman mekin a nuisance o’ hersel’, a beggin”.
Amos thanked him and said,
“That’s very much what I was expecting”.
Ruth had remained quiet throughout and still didn’t speak when Amos said,
“Well, so now we know. We must go to Leeke to find out what’s happened to her”.
The few miles into Leeke were quiet, the both of them deep in thought and the only words spoken were greetings to passersby.
It was market day and although only mid morning it was getting busy. The drovers driving their sheep and cattle through the streets and their dogs running back and forth on command, keeping the animals on their course to the market square. Amos rode to the pens where they both dismounted and he tied Maggie to the rails. Immediately, people began to eye the animal in the belief that she too was for sale. Amos laughed and made it clear the horse wasn’t for sale.
“Are you hungry Ruth?” he asked.
She nodded her head enthusiastically, so he said,
“Right, Wait here and keep an eye on Maggie. Don’t let anyone walk off with her. I’ll be back in just a minute or so with some food”.
No sooner was he gone than he was back with two hot sandwiches of pork. They ate as they wandered amongst the pens, admiring the animals.
“Do you know, I only know your first name. Now, if I’m to find out where your mother is then I need to know her surname”, said Amos.
“I think it’s Fletcher – Sarah Fletcher. She told me she didn’t know who her parents were but she was brought up in an orphanage and all the papers said her name was Fletcher”, said Ruth.
“Right, well I’ve got to visit someone. I don’t know how long it will take but I want you to wait here and keep your eye on Maggie. Will you do that for me?” asked Amos, and Ruth nodded with a mouthful of food.
Whilst he had been to buy the food he took the opportunity to find out where the office of the clerk to the justices was located, and he headed in that direction. The main street was busy with people and with carriages – their iron tyres creating quite a din on the cobbled street. At last, there was the large, black painted door with the big polished brass knocker, just as described to him. He knocked and entered as he was bid. There was the tall, thin man with the hooked nose that he was looking to meet.
“Good morning to you sir. If my information is correct you are Mr. Simms, the clerk to the Justices of this town?” said Amos. “Indeed Sir, you are correct. What can I do for you?” Simms replied.
“I am here sir, to try to trace an unfortunate young woman who appeared before your court but a few days ago. Her name is Sarah Fletcher and from the information that I have she was arrested for begging”.
Simms adjusted his pince-nez on that peculiar nose, opened the large leather-bound ledger before him and flicked through the pages until he found what he was looking for.
“Might I inquire of your reasons for requiring this information; are you a relative?” he asked.
“No Mr. Simms, I’m not a relative of the lady, but I’m the guardian of her child and there are certain legal niceties that I must clarify”, replied Amos, trying to impress upon the clerk the need for his assistance.
“Then I can assist you sir. The lady you refer to did indeed appear before the Justices last week when she was convicted of the misdemeanour of begging to the annoyance of passengers and residents. As she was without means it was decided that she would be detained in the local gaol for fourteen days, and that is where she currently resides”, Simms replied closing his ledger. “It’s a rather unpleasant matter, but there are so many itinerants wandering the streets begging, they are becoming a nuisance and something has to be done to maintain order”, he continued as he again adjusted those spectacles. Amos thanked him profusely and left. The gaol was but a mile along the Stafford road. His face beamed as he approached Ruth and she knew instinctively that he had exciting news to tell.
Chapter 5.
A forbidding place to say the least, thought Amos as he approached the big wooden doors. A shudder went down his spine at the prospect of entering the place. He pulled down on the long iron handle that operated the bell which responded with quite a resonant clang. He looked around him but not a soul stirred. He turned his back to the doors and resigned himself to the wait. He looked back pensively to where Ruth waited with Maggie. After some short time he felt disposed to ring again but just at that moment he heard movement behind the doors, then slowly one door opened to reveal a rather portly fellow in a rather drab prison uniform.
“What’s your business?” he asked rather brusquely.
“Sir”, began Amos, - he had the sense to always address anyone in a position of perceived authority as ‘Sir’,
“I have but only a short time since, left Mr. Simms, the clerk to the Justices, and he has directed me here with regards to a prisoner who is in your custody. I would be grateful to see someone of authority who could confirm certain details”, trying to sound as business like as he could.
“Wait there”, said our portly guard, and without warning slammed the door shut again. Amos stood back and looked up at the building and tried to imagine what lay inside, beyond those dirty, inhospitable, sandstone walls. Ruth watched somewhat mystified by the delay. Some time passed and Amos occupied himself walking back and forth across the entrance. It seemed like an eternity but he thought that nothing was ever done in a hurry inside such a place.
Eventually the gate again swung open and the same portly guard bade him enter. The door was again slammed shut behind him. It was a strange unsettling feeling to be on the wrong side of those locked gates. He was led along a dingy corridor and into an office lit by a single oil lamp. The lamp needed a good clean and its wick trimmed, the neglect was causing it to smoke and the slightly acrid vapour filled the air. His throat caught on the smoke but he said nothing. The fumes from the lamp seemed to be fighting the smell of bad breath from the guard. Again he was told to wait and he sat on one of the two hard wooden chairs that faced a large desk.
The guard left the room and Amos was alone with his thoughts. He observed the cleanliness of the stone flagged floor which contrasted with the grubby state of the ceiling and said to himself, “That’s what comes of failing to trim your lamp”. Just then his thoughts were jolted back to the purpose
