With the ever-faithful flame flickering from her thumb, Peggy Powler examined the area where Agnes Campion had met
her death. Arthur Thurgood marvelled at the strange trick until the crouching conjurer warned him to keep an eye on the
mansion and the servant's quarters. The Last Witch of Underhill envisioned the affluent owner had dogs on the property
and though a couple of savage hounds racing towards her wouldn't be a problem, but for the shivering man standing on
the other side of the roughly-shaped rectangular trough, it might augment to circumstances she could do without at the
moment.
With a quick scan of the immediate vicinity, the eye-squinting sorceress failed to locate a place where -if her theory was
to hold true, any Wulpos-orientated graffiti could be displayed. There was a shape some distance away from where the
milkmaid had unwittingly donated her major organs and stepping across the snow-slushed grass, Peggy realised the
dark lump were some prone fenceposts laid forgotten and rotting. With a dubious browse, the snooping shaman came
to the conclusion the crumbling timber wouldn't be appropriate for the Werewolf to leave its mysterious mark.
Returning to her original place of investigation, Peggy stepped over a couple of discarded lengths of well-worn carved
wood and focused her observations on the walls of the milking-shed. They were of old over-baked brick and hadn't been
afforded a mortar-veneer. The water-manger had been constructed from hewn stone and metal bands, another craggy
surface that offered a difficult medium to discreetly display any scratched brand.
Peggy's twisted mouth hinted at her thought-process as she sought the large volumes of multifarious behaviours humans
often attempted to keep hidden for numerous reasons. In this case, a milkmaid had been eviscerated between her usual
place of work and a trough. Wiping the smeared dirt from her knees as the shadowed sorceress stood to her full height,
none of this was making sense unless Agnes Campion was here on this spot for a reason.
Why would yer' be here...? Peggy mentally asked the dead girl and hearing no response in the cold darkness, she closed
the space between herself and her jumpy sentinel watching everything with wide eyes. "Tell me Arthur, who found the poor
lassie?" the wily Witch whispered as she peeked around the corner of the milking parlour. There were two lights glowing
from the large mansion and due to the position of one of them, the pair of sneaky investigators knew the Brandreths were
retiring for the night. Arthur didn't comment on the land-owner's wise choice of slumber, but instead, answered the little
woman's question.
"It was Miles' son who discovered the milkmaid..." Arthur replied and peered down at the impassive shadow beneath the
large hat. "...he said he was going for an evening stroll when he inadvertently came across the horrible sight of one of his
father's servants" he added quickly. It seemed to Peggy that her shivering sidekick was more interested in an imaginary
torch-carrying search party coming their way than their current fact-finding foray.
"An evenin' walk on a cold night...? Divn' yer' think that's a bit queer?" she asked as she snuffed out her thumb-flame and
glanced back to survey the immediate scene of the crime. Arthur shrugged -although whether the perturbed conveyor of
spells saw his physical feedback, he didn't know. "She was a bonnie... she was a pretty young lady too..." he offered as
apology for his lack of out-of-the-box speculation.
Peggy sighed and then her lips tightened slightly in a knowing smile as her own cerebral cogitation of human practices
bubbled-up the idea that the location would be an ideal spot where someone -for unknown reasons, could meet another
without without a concern of being seen by both the occupants of the main house and the servant's quarters too. So now
we have a teenage boy, a young woman and a secluded haunt where nobody could observe such a rendezvous.
The smirking sorceress patted Arthur Thurgood on the arm and felt him flinch at the movement, "The young couple were
courtin' -if yer' get me-drift" Peggy hissed softly and though the wide brim of her headwear hid her features, she winked
at her taller companion and stepped forward to walk around the corner of the milk-parlour.
.................................................................
"You can't be sure they came in here..." Arthur whispered as he peered around in the animal-smelling building. "...It's
a bit of a leap to suggest Saul was having a... a dalliance with one the servants and think this place would be their
kissing-location" he added as he unknowingly avoided a shovel-missed assemblage of dung. Peggy Powler afired her
thumb once more and ignoring the tipped-over wooden bucket and three-legged milking stool, she went to examining
the muck-marks on the wooden stairs that led to above.
"Aye, Ah' get where' yer' comin' from, Arthur..." she responded softly, "...but Ah' think these young'uns' were doin' more
than just kissin'" the little Witch joshed as she ascended into the pitch-black escalier. The loft's shadows fled from the
creeping conjurer's flame as she stepped onto the old floorboards of the attic and even though it would seem an unusual
site to display one's affections, a large flattened pile of hay on the far-side of the dusty garret hinted that maybe the milk
-heavy cows below often waited to be emptied as their female attendant focused on a more urgent need.
Above the spider-webbed eaves, cracked clay-cooked tiles displayed an eerie pantomime of shadow-creatures as the
bare-footed intruder moved the flickering beacon on her thumb around in the crepuscular confines of the loft. Apart
from the stack of compacted straw, there was nothing else that told of use.
"They were up here..." Peggy said to herself more than the man who was now moving off the creaking staircase. "...The
pair of 'em would greet each other near the water-trough, check that no bugger was watchin' for an upper-cruster meetin'
a commoner and then sneak up here te' vent their love" she appended as she scoured the floor and walls for the mark of
the Wulpos.
Once more, she almost missed it and it was only due to a faint draught of air emanating through a narrow slit that farm
pigeons often use to nest in a place out of the weather. Ignoring the cold night-waft endeavouring to extinguish Peggy's
magical candle, the nosy necromancer leaned close to web-strewn channel and there on the left-hand side wall of this
dove-opening, a trinity of gashes formed the same shape the little warlock had seen at the other crime scenes.
However, the two earthward lines rendered in the earlier Wulpos insignia were missing and this sent Peggy's ruminations
into further bouts of study. "It looks like yer' Mister Werewolf didn't get te' write his stamp on his murder-ground properly"
she remarked mockingly and pulled back to where Arthur stood looking wistfully down at the depressed hay. "They were
lovers" he sighed and moved his sad eyes to the small poncho-wearing woman inspecting his demeanour.
Peggy nodded and touched his arm as she walked back towards the stairs. "Either the spoor as changed or the bugger
was interrupted in his scrawl" she murmured and heard Arthur's heavier footfalls on the steps behind her. Descending
back to the cow byre, her melancholy partner mumbled something she didn't hear and it was only when they'd stealthily
made it back to the trough, did he expound on his question.
.................................................................
"When I was just a child, I got hear all the usual yarns about Bogeymen, Bloodsuckers and Werewolves..." Arthur said.
"...My good mother used to tell me that out there in the big-bad-dark, men could become wild animals and scour the night
looking for reprehensible kids to devour" he added with a nostalgic smile. Peggy's attention was again on the outbuilding
and by the tilt of her hat, her questioning cohort could see her interest now lay above them where the dark pigeon-hole
appeared in the wall.
"Aye, Yer' Ma had more sense than most, Arthur" she said absently and began to take a couple of paces backwards from
where the narrator was standing. Ignoring her weird actions, Arthur continued with his long-winded query. "Well, I was told
that the Werewolf was a savage, wild, barbarous thing that shunned human-thinking and adhered to the deficient deceit of
the creatures from the forest" he stated and then delivered his challenge for his misunderstanding. "So how is it you think
such a feral wolf-man would consciously leave obscure clues at the scenes of its crimes?"
Peggy's shoulders began to quiver and in the gloom before the Witching hour and Arthur couldn't see that she was stifling
a gust of laughter as she held a piece of wood she'd picked up. It would be only later when they'd warmed themselves with
a midnight brew of coffee and disturbed the dying embers of the fire hearth below the Thurgood rampart, did she explain
the differences between the stereotypical view of a Werewolf and their current quarry, a Wulpos.
But for now, the little sorceress' mirth captured Arthur's attention and hitching back her giggles between the words, Peggy
snickered "Don't yer' see...? Oh Herne... the ladder broke...! He never had the time to scribble his daub!" and with that,
grabbed her friend's hands and began to jig.
her death. Arthur Thurgood marvelled at the strange trick until the crouching conjurer warned him to keep an eye on the
mansion and the servant's quarters. The Last Witch of Underhill envisioned the affluent owner had dogs on the property
and though a couple of savage hounds racing towards her wouldn't be a problem, but for the shivering man standing on
the other side of the roughly-shaped rectangular trough, it might augment to circumstances she could do without at the
moment.
With a quick scan of the immediate vicinity, the eye-squinting sorceress failed to locate a place where -if her theory was
to hold true, any Wulpos-orientated graffiti could be displayed. There was a shape some distance away from where the
milkmaid had unwittingly donated her major organs and stepping across the snow-slushed grass, Peggy realised the
dark lump were some prone fenceposts laid forgotten and rotting. With a dubious browse, the snooping shaman came
to the conclusion the crumbling timber wouldn't be appropriate for the Werewolf to leave its mysterious mark.
Returning to her original place of investigation, Peggy stepped over a couple of discarded lengths of well-worn carved
wood and focused her observations on the walls of the milking-shed. They were of old over-baked brick and hadn't been
afforded a mortar-veneer. The water-manger had been constructed from hewn stone and metal bands, another craggy
surface that offered a difficult medium to discreetly display any scratched brand.
Peggy's twisted mouth hinted at her thought-process as she sought the large volumes of multifarious behaviours humans
often attempted to keep hidden for numerous reasons. In this case, a milkmaid had been eviscerated between her usual
place of work and a trough. Wiping the smeared dirt from her knees as the shadowed sorceress stood to her full height,
none of this was making sense unless Agnes Campion was here on this spot for a reason.
Why would yer' be here...? Peggy mentally asked the dead girl and hearing no response in the cold darkness, she closed
the space between herself and her jumpy sentinel watching everything with wide eyes. "Tell me Arthur, who found the poor
lassie?" the wily Witch whispered as she peeked around the corner of the milking parlour. There were two lights glowing
from the large mansion and due to the position of one of them, the pair of sneaky investigators knew the Brandreths were
retiring for the night. Arthur didn't comment on the land-owner's wise choice of slumber, but instead, answered the little
woman's question.
"It was Miles' son who discovered the milkmaid..." Arthur replied and peered down at the impassive shadow beneath the
large hat. "...he said he was going for an evening stroll when he inadvertently came across the horrible sight of one of his
father's servants" he added quickly. It seemed to Peggy that her shivering sidekick was more interested in an imaginary
torch-carrying search party coming their way than their current fact-finding foray.
"An evenin' walk on a cold night...? Divn' yer' think that's a bit queer?" she asked as she snuffed out her thumb-flame and
glanced back to survey the immediate scene of the crime. Arthur shrugged -although whether the perturbed conveyor of
spells saw his physical feedback, he didn't know. "She was a bonnie... she was a pretty young lady too..." he offered as
apology for his lack of out-of-the-box speculation.
Peggy sighed and then her lips tightened slightly in a knowing smile as her own cerebral cogitation of human practices
bubbled-up the idea that the location would be an ideal spot where someone -for unknown reasons, could meet another
without without a concern of being seen by both the occupants of the main house and the servant's quarters too. So now
we have a teenage boy, a young woman and a secluded haunt where nobody could observe such a rendezvous.
The smirking sorceress patted Arthur Thurgood on the arm and felt him flinch at the movement, "The young couple were
courtin' -if yer' get me-drift" Peggy hissed softly and though the wide brim of her headwear hid her features, she winked
at her taller companion and stepped forward to walk around the corner of the milk-parlour.
.................................................................
"You can't be sure they came in here..." Arthur whispered as he peered around in the animal-smelling building. "...It's
a bit of a leap to suggest Saul was having a... a dalliance with one the servants and think this place would be their
kissing-location" he added as he unknowingly avoided a shovel-missed assemblage of dung. Peggy Powler afired her
thumb once more and ignoring the tipped-over wooden bucket and three-legged milking stool, she went to examining
the muck-marks on the wooden stairs that led to above.
"Aye, Ah' get where' yer' comin' from, Arthur..." she responded softly, "...but Ah' think these young'uns' were doin' more
than just kissin'" the little Witch joshed as she ascended into the pitch-black escalier. The loft's shadows fled from the
creeping conjurer's flame as she stepped onto the old floorboards of the attic and even though it would seem an unusual
site to display one's affections, a large flattened pile of hay on the far-side of the dusty garret hinted that maybe the milk
-heavy cows below often waited to be emptied as their female attendant focused on a more urgent need.
Above the spider-webbed eaves, cracked clay-cooked tiles displayed an eerie pantomime of shadow-creatures as the
bare-footed intruder moved the flickering beacon on her thumb around in the crepuscular confines of the loft. Apart
from the stack of compacted straw, there was nothing else that told of use.
"They were up here..." Peggy said to herself more than the man who was now moving off the creaking staircase. "...The
pair of 'em would greet each other near the water-trough, check that no bugger was watchin' for an upper-cruster meetin'
a commoner and then sneak up here te' vent their love" she appended as she scoured the floor and walls for the mark of
the Wulpos.
Once more, she almost missed it and it was only due to a faint draught of air emanating through a narrow slit that farm
pigeons often use to nest in a place out of the weather. Ignoring the cold night-waft endeavouring to extinguish Peggy's
magical candle, the nosy necromancer leaned close to web-strewn channel and there on the left-hand side wall of this
dove-opening, a trinity of gashes formed the same shape the little warlock had seen at the other crime scenes.
However, the two earthward lines rendered in the earlier Wulpos insignia were missing and this sent Peggy's ruminations
into further bouts of study. "It looks like yer' Mister Werewolf didn't get te' write his stamp on his murder-ground properly"
she remarked mockingly and pulled back to where Arthur stood looking wistfully down at the depressed hay. "They were
lovers" he sighed and moved his sad eyes to the small poncho-wearing woman inspecting his demeanour.
Peggy nodded and touched his arm as she walked back towards the stairs. "Either the spoor as changed or the bugger
was interrupted in his scrawl" she murmured and heard Arthur's heavier footfalls on the steps behind her. Descending
back to the cow byre, her melancholy partner mumbled something she didn't hear and it was only when they'd stealthily
made it back to the trough, did he expound on his question.
.................................................................
"When I was just a child, I got hear all the usual yarns about Bogeymen, Bloodsuckers and Werewolves..." Arthur said.
"...My good mother used to tell me that out there in the big-bad-dark, men could become wild animals and scour the night
looking for reprehensible kids to devour" he added with a nostalgic smile. Peggy's attention was again on the outbuilding
and by the tilt of her hat, her questioning cohort could see her interest now lay above them where the dark pigeon-hole
appeared in the wall.
"Aye, Yer' Ma had more sense than most, Arthur" she said absently and began to take a couple of paces backwards from
where the narrator was standing. Ignoring her weird actions, Arthur continued with his long-winded query. "Well, I was told
that the Werewolf was a savage, wild, barbarous thing that shunned human-thinking and adhered to the deficient deceit of
the creatures from the forest" he stated and then delivered his challenge for his misunderstanding. "So how is it you think
such a feral wolf-man would consciously leave obscure clues at the scenes of its crimes?"
Peggy's shoulders began to quiver and in the gloom before the Witching hour and Arthur couldn't see that she was stifling
a gust of laughter as she held a piece of wood she'd picked up. It would be only later when they'd warmed themselves with
a midnight brew of coffee and disturbed the dying embers of the fire hearth below the Thurgood rampart, did she explain
the differences between the stereotypical view of a Werewolf and their current quarry, a Wulpos.
But for now, the little sorceress' mirth captured Arthur's attention and hitching back her giggles between the words, Peggy
snickered "Don't yer' see...? Oh Herne... the ladder broke...! He never had the time to scribble his daub!" and with that,
grabbed her friend's hands and began to jig.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.