It had been almost a month before the snowstorm and Father Martin's church debate, when the eminent ex-magistrate
Benjamin Stoddard found the stale remains of Joshua Cutler. A mild winter's day and a hopefully milder walk through
his leafless orchard with his dog Banjo had been his morning agenda preceding a hearty breakfast and then an quiet
afternoon of writing his memoirs.
Alas, the former Judge -who'd moved to Willowsgate from Gaynestown five summers ago, would discover a different
type of authority that performs its own style of chastisement for unsaid transgressions. After vomiting up last night's
supper onto the frost-kissed grass of his fruit grove, the aged adjudicator had realised through a kaleidoscope of tears
that the torn-up offspring of Miles Cutler must have sought escape from his attacker by attempting to climb one of the
apple trees.
With ribs and spine exposed within the ice-sprinkled dried gore, Ben Stoddard could see that the unknown assailant had
reached its victim before such an ascent had occurred. Wiping his mouth and forcing his heaving to ease, Ben recalled
what he knew about the dead body on his property.
Joshua Cutler had been an impatient lad, enjoyed the trappings of his father's wealth and was known for being one for the
ladies when he went messing around in the fishing village of Durridge. Judge Stoddard had seen the rebellious teenager
several times there when he and his wife enjoyed a few days on the coast at his sister's place. A large manor set away
from the boorish inhabitants and an ideal overlook of the quaint littoral.
Calling Banjo to heel, the eighty year-old hurried back to his home to alert his fellow Willowsgate neighbours. Maybe this
time they'd listen to him and form a committee to generate some sort of official enforcement of law. However, during his
rushed mission beneath the undraped branches of the Druidic legend, he bridled his wish to delight in dark thoughts that
faintly called to the usually well-principled side of his brain.
Young Cutler's habit of spooning with uncultured damsels of the quayside had been in a manner not promotive with his
mother's part-time vocation. Margot Cutler was the sexton of their newly-constructed church and breathed religion like air.
Now, her once-boastful and libertine son was just an excavated tatterdemalion scarecrow alone in an orchard without fruit.
Was this the outcome of delinquent reprehensible behaviour and an extreme form of punishment...? Benjamin Stoddard
sucked down cold air and left the latent cold courtroom of a killer and the question unanswered
.................................................................
In a more everyday cogent account of an incident, it would be accepted that when the discovery of Agnes Campion's body
was made, it would be by one of her peers, maybe a stable-hand or the supervisor of the small farmstead. So when the
middle son of Giles Brandreth -Saul, spotted in the dying light of the day, a strange shape lying next to the horse trough,
any narrative often fixates on the impact of trauma on the seventeen year-old and the reason why he was out there near
the servants quarters gets lost among in the emotive cascade that customarily follows.
Saul Brandreth is a likeable juvenile and his parents believed his future would be a rosy-one if steered correctly. Giles had
already spoken to some acclaimed solicitors out at West Wansford with intent that the lad would move to the large town
and learn the practice of attorney-at-law. Jessica Brandreth had often mused that in this proper environment, her son would
take a wife suitable of her family's standing and the Brandreth dynasty would be fortified.
However, there was an unchartered variable that the confident squire of many small-holdings and his pretentious Missus
were unaware of, that being the lustful relationship his son and a milkmaid employed at the Brandreth's extravagant villa
were pursuing most evenings. Usually in the loft above where the cows were relieved.
One might suggest some of the fortunate denizens of Willowsgate would find it hard to believe Miles Brandreth was big
on homegrown foods, but it's true. During his early years and in his travels around his many properties, those who leased
or rented from him had always been surprised when he showed his gratitude to being asked in sitting down to a meal with
them and accepting whatever they gave him.
When it came time to retire from his field of trade due to a heart complaint, one of Miles' first wishes was to have a small
farm where he could procure such eatables. This included a small herd of milking cows and someone to gather their dairy.
With his libidinous yearnings ghosting away in the fading light, Saul now stared down at his first love and couldn't believe
such a gentle and affectionate girl could produce so much blood. A more detached person may have suggested this was
due to Agnes Campion's major organs being violently ripped out. Constables from Gaynestown were dispatched and had
scoured the surroundings of the Brandreth estate for a killer without success. A Doctor emerita from Willowsgate arrived
not long after and had treated the anguished teenager.
As the dawn had broken over the landscaped setting of the Brandreth home, Doctor Sawyer -still in his pyjamas under
his coat, advised plenty of peace and quiet for Saul to a red-eyed mother who'd recently discovered her son liked to romp
with the help. Tonight, as the husband's horse-drawn cart trundled along the snow-covered from the church to her imposing
home, a chary Jessica Brandreth stared out into the cold darkness and wondered who would come to make all this badness
go away.
Benjamin Stoddard found the stale remains of Joshua Cutler. A mild winter's day and a hopefully milder walk through
his leafless orchard with his dog Banjo had been his morning agenda preceding a hearty breakfast and then an quiet
afternoon of writing his memoirs.
Alas, the former Judge -who'd moved to Willowsgate from Gaynestown five summers ago, would discover a different
type of authority that performs its own style of chastisement for unsaid transgressions. After vomiting up last night's
supper onto the frost-kissed grass of his fruit grove, the aged adjudicator had realised through a kaleidoscope of tears
that the torn-up offspring of Miles Cutler must have sought escape from his attacker by attempting to climb one of the
apple trees.
With ribs and spine exposed within the ice-sprinkled dried gore, Ben Stoddard could see that the unknown assailant had
reached its victim before such an ascent had occurred. Wiping his mouth and forcing his heaving to ease, Ben recalled
what he knew about the dead body on his property.
Joshua Cutler had been an impatient lad, enjoyed the trappings of his father's wealth and was known for being one for the
ladies when he went messing around in the fishing village of Durridge. Judge Stoddard had seen the rebellious teenager
several times there when he and his wife enjoyed a few days on the coast at his sister's place. A large manor set away
from the boorish inhabitants and an ideal overlook of the quaint littoral.
Calling Banjo to heel, the eighty year-old hurried back to his home to alert his fellow Willowsgate neighbours. Maybe this
time they'd listen to him and form a committee to generate some sort of official enforcement of law. However, during his
rushed mission beneath the undraped branches of the Druidic legend, he bridled his wish to delight in dark thoughts that
faintly called to the usually well-principled side of his brain.
Young Cutler's habit of spooning with uncultured damsels of the quayside had been in a manner not promotive with his
mother's part-time vocation. Margot Cutler was the sexton of their newly-constructed church and breathed religion like air.
Now, her once-boastful and libertine son was just an excavated tatterdemalion scarecrow alone in an orchard without fruit.
Was this the outcome of delinquent reprehensible behaviour and an extreme form of punishment...? Benjamin Stoddard
sucked down cold air and left the latent cold courtroom of a killer and the question unanswered
.................................................................
In a more everyday cogent account of an incident, it would be accepted that when the discovery of Agnes Campion's body
was made, it would be by one of her peers, maybe a stable-hand or the supervisor of the small farmstead. So when the
middle son of Giles Brandreth -Saul, spotted in the dying light of the day, a strange shape lying next to the horse trough,
any narrative often fixates on the impact of trauma on the seventeen year-old and the reason why he was out there near
the servants quarters gets lost among in the emotive cascade that customarily follows.
Saul Brandreth is a likeable juvenile and his parents believed his future would be a rosy-one if steered correctly. Giles had
already spoken to some acclaimed solicitors out at West Wansford with intent that the lad would move to the large town
and learn the practice of attorney-at-law. Jessica Brandreth had often mused that in this proper environment, her son would
take a wife suitable of her family's standing and the Brandreth dynasty would be fortified.
However, there was an unchartered variable that the confident squire of many small-holdings and his pretentious Missus
were unaware of, that being the lustful relationship his son and a milkmaid employed at the Brandreth's extravagant villa
were pursuing most evenings. Usually in the loft above where the cows were relieved.
One might suggest some of the fortunate denizens of Willowsgate would find it hard to believe Miles Brandreth was big
on homegrown foods, but it's true. During his early years and in his travels around his many properties, those who leased
or rented from him had always been surprised when he showed his gratitude to being asked in sitting down to a meal with
them and accepting whatever they gave him.
When it came time to retire from his field of trade due to a heart complaint, one of Miles' first wishes was to have a small
farm where he could procure such eatables. This included a small herd of milking cows and someone to gather their dairy.
With his libidinous yearnings ghosting away in the fading light, Saul now stared down at his first love and couldn't believe
such a gentle and affectionate girl could produce so much blood. A more detached person may have suggested this was
due to Agnes Campion's major organs being violently ripped out. Constables from Gaynestown were dispatched and had
scoured the surroundings of the Brandreth estate for a killer without success. A Doctor emerita from Willowsgate arrived
not long after and had treated the anguished teenager.
As the dawn had broken over the landscaped setting of the Brandreth home, Doctor Sawyer -still in his pyjamas under
his coat, advised plenty of peace and quiet for Saul to a red-eyed mother who'd recently discovered her son liked to romp
with the help. Tonight, as the husband's horse-drawn cart trundled along the snow-covered from the church to her imposing
home, a chary Jessica Brandreth stared out into the cold darkness and wondered who would come to make all this badness
go away.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.