Joseph Delaney - The Spook's Mistake

On reaching a stream — marked on the map as 'Church Beck' — we began to climb a steep track to the west, leaving behind the huddle of houses with their smoking chimneys. Above us loomed the formidable heights of the 'Old Man', but just when my legs were beginning to ache, Arkwright led us off the track into a small garden that fronted a tavern. The sign proclaimed it as:

Two old men were standing in the doorway, each holding a pot of ale. They stepped aside briskly to allow us through, the alarm on their faces probably not only caused by the sight of the two fearsome wolfhounds. They could tell our trade by our clothes and staffs.

Inside, the tavern was empty but the tabletops were clean and a welcoming fire blazed in the grate. Arkwright walked up to the bar and rapped loudly on the wooden counter. We heard someone coming up the steps and a rotund, jovial-looking man in a clean apron came through the open doorway to our right.

I saw him glance warily at the dogs and give Arkwright a quick up and down, but then his initial uneasy smile settled into the businesslike welcome of an experienced host. 'Good day to you, good sirs,' he said. 'What can I offer you? Accommodation, a meal or simply two tankards of my very best ale?'

'We'll take two rooms, landlord, and an evening meal — hotpot, if you have it. In the meantime we'll sit over there in the corner by the fire and start with a caudle.'

The landlord bowed and hurried away. I took my seat opposite Arkwright, wondering what was going on. On the very rare occasions Mr Gregory and I stayed in a tavern, we shared a room; he got the bed while I slept on the floor. Arkwright had ordered us a room each.

'What's a caudle?' I asked.

'It's something to cheer you up on a cold, damp late autumn evening. A hot, spicy mixture of wine and gruel. Just the thing to sharpen our appetites for the hotpot.'

I worried a bit when he said the word wine. The fight with the soldiers had shown me again how violent and angry Arkwright could become with wine inside him and I feared him when he was like that. I'd hoped that he had started to curb his drinking recently, but perhaps the episode with the pressgangers had given him a taste for it.

I tried to remain positive about the situation however and sleeping in the tavern was certainly better than spending the night under a hedge or in a draughty barn — though I knew there were often very good reasons for the things John Gregory did. For one thing he would have expected us to fast before facing the dark, and for another he didn't like people knowing his business. He would have approached one of the three potential lairs of Morwena without first passing through the village. In a small place such as this, gossip spread like wildfire. Now we had taken rooms for the night, soon everyone in Coniston would know that a spook and his apprentice were here. And sometimes witches had allies amongst the community — I'd learned that in Pendle. Even a malevolent water witch such as Morwena might have informants.

For a while I struggled with myself, torn between two options: say nothing to Arkwright and suffer the consequences; or tell him my fears and risk a beating or at least a tongue-lashing. My sense of duty finally won.

'Mr Arkwright,' I began, keeping my voice low in case the landlord returned and overheard us, 'do you think it's wise for us to sit here so publicly? Morwena might have supporters in the area.'

Arkwright smiled grimly. 'Stop your mothering, Master Ward. Do you see any spies about? Remember, when you're with me, you do things my way, and I need some rest and refreshment if I'm to face Morwena. Count yourself lucky that you'll have a full belly and a feather bed tonight. Mr Gregory never treats his apprentices so well.'

Perhaps Arkwright was right. There was no one about and we both deserved a good meal and rest after two nights camped out in the hermit's cave. I was sure Mr Gregory would have insisted we fast before facing Morwena but I decided not to argue with Arkwright any more — especially if he was soon to have some wine in him. I settled back in my seat, stopped worrying and enjoyed my caudle.

But soon the tavern began to fill, and by the time our steaming hotpots arrived, a group of farmers were downing mugs of ale, and most of the tables were full of lively, genial people, joking, laughing and filling their bellies. We got a few suspicious glances and I sensed that some people were talking about us. A few customers even turned back in the doorway on catching sight of us. Maybe they were just nervous of us or perhaps it was something more sinister.

Then things started to go wrong. Arkwright ordered a tankard of the landlord's strongest ale. He downed it in seconds and then bought another, and another. With each drink his voice became louder and his words more slurred. When he went up to the bar for his seventh pint, he stumbled against someone's table, spilling the drinks and earning himself some angry looks. I sat trying not to draw attention to myself, but Arkwright seemed to have no such thoughts. At the bar he was telling the story to anyone who'd listen of how he'd defeated the Coniston Ripper.

After a while he staggered back to our table, carrying his eighth pint. He drank it quickly, then burped loudly, drawing more glances.

'Mr Arkwright,' I said, 'do you think we ought to go to bed now? We've got a busy day tomorrow and it's getting late.'

'There he goes again,' said Arkwright loudly so that he soon had the audience he wanted. 'When will my apprentice learn that it's me who gives the orders, not the other way round. I'll go to bed when I'm good and ready, Master Ward, and not before,' he snarled.

Humiliated, I hung my head. What more could I say? I thought my new master was making a big mistake getting so drunk when we had to face Morwena in the morning, but like he said, I was only the apprentice and had to obey orders.

'Happen the boy's right, though,' said the landlord, coming over to clear our table. 'I don't like to turn away paying customers but you've had a few too many, Bill, and you'll need your wits about you if you're really going to hunt Morwena.'

I was shocked. I didn't realize my master had told the landlord what we were planning — who else had he told while he was at the bar?

Arkwright banged his fist loudly on the table. 'Are you telling me I can't handle my ale?' he shouted.

Suddenly the room was silent as everyone turned to look at us.

'No, Bill,' said the landlord amiably, clearly experienced in dealing with drunkards. 'How about you come back tomorrow night when you've sorted out Morwena and you can drink as much as you like — on the house.'

At the mention of Morwena, a low whispering started amongst the other customers.

'Right, you've got yourself a deal,' said Arkwright, to my relief. 'Master Ward, it's an early night for us.'

I led the way to our rooms with the dogs, and he stumbled behind us up the stairs. But as I entered my room, he stepped in too and closed the door, leaving the dogs outside. 'What do you think of your room?' he slurred.

I looked about me. The bed looked inviting and everything, including the curtains, looked clean and well cared for. The candle beside the bed was beeswax rather than smelly tallow.

'Looks comfortable,' I said. But then I noticed the large mirror on the dressing table to my left. 'Should I cover that up with a sheet?' I asked.

'No need. We're not dealing with your Pendle witches now,' Arkwright said, shaking his head. 'No, no, no,' he hiccupped, 'this is something different. Very different, mark my words. A water witch can't use a mirror to spy on folk. Not even Morwena can do that. Anyway, Master Ward, be grateful. Mr Gregory never booked me a room as comfortable as this — not in all the five years I was his apprentice. But don't get too snug now. Don't get yourself as snug as a little, little bug in a rug. Let us give ourselves a couple of hours' rest, but when the church clock chimes midnight, we're off a-hunting. A-hunting we will go! Go left from the door of your room and down the back steps. I'll meet you at the outer door. Softly, softly does it!'