Girl Auction

BY NED EGAN

Part 19

Now, Simon has the double-barrel, and Bridie with the big tonsiltickling scian. Both have thrown on a few clothes, the warmest they’ve got; which isn’t saying much. Looking out, Simon saw there was little light abroad. Just far stars bringing a dim glow from the frostwhite grass. Bridie now starts rummaging in the old dresser drawer, and finds a stub of a pencil. “Must leave a message for Ma and Da,” she said, quietly. So she tears a piece out of an old copybook, and writes: ‘Ma and Da, if you wake up and find Sim and I are missing, don’t worry. We’ll be back safe and sound as soon as possible. The Connolly girls are in big trouble, and we’ve had to go to their help. Nothing serious {?} and we knew you’d approve. Sim brought along your shotgun, Da, in case we come across a rabbit or pheasant{?} We should be home by daylight, but there’s a good few miles to travel, so don’t come looking for us, whatever you do; even if it’s tomorrow night, we’ll be back, Bridie.’

So that was the note. No histrionics. Just warning that there was danger abroad in the night. No way was Bridie going to leave them puzzled if they woke to an empty house. Simon looked over her shoulder, scrutinised the note in the glim of the tallow candle, and nodded. “Good work, sis, that’ll do. Not too much. You can’t dress it up as fun, whatever you do. They know we’re not thick. You’re a great girl to face a hard time with…”

Now, Bridie puts the purse with the ‘glinties’ on the table, beside the pig-sticker, saying “You’d better carry the purse, Sim, you’ve got that sound inside pocket. Should we meet opposition, if it’s thought anyone is carrying the sovs - it’ll be me. I’ve already smeared them with honey, so they don’t jingle; and tipped a good dose of pepper into the purse, too, in case some rambling tarrier starts sniffing at it, in the bunny bunker under the Long Road Stile.”

Which spake drew an admiring look from Simon: “Cripes, sis –you’ve got absolutely everything figured!”

“Ah, Sim” she sighed, “if wishes were fishes…” Simon and Bridie have now left their midnight home, and have set out to provide what help they can. Mainly, to place thirty sovereigns {left in their keeping by a thoughtful Connolly aunt} - in a rabbit burrow under the Long Road Stile.

The Stile is the exit from Bilzies onto the Long Road, and is at the end of the Hazel Path that the trio are now staring down, as it twists and winds away between dark trees and skeochs. Again, be aware that the Dacent is patrolling the fringes, armed with a Purdey shotgun.

Now Molly turns to Babsie, and says, quietly: “We’ll be expected to take the Hazel Path, to move straight down it. There’s no knowing what we’re up against. The Dacent for sure, with his Purdey, and his evil witchy ma. She’s the worst. We know most of Dacent’s evil ways – but she’s a cat of another colour. “The one thing they’ll expect is us traipsing down the middle of the nHazel. This may not be the cleverest battle-plan in the world – but if we go the harder way – skirting between the path-side skeochs and saplings – at least we can’t be twigged easily by the Dacent. And if you, Babs, and the madra track down one side, and I with the Four Ten the other - we’ll create doubt as to where the gun is. Because that’s what the Dacent is afraid of – I saw hot fear in his piggy eyes in the Five Acre fight, when I winged him.” That decision made. Molly now surveys the far reaches of the cold sky, checking if there’s any strange flitting figures outlined against the glittering diamonds of the universe. It was now firmly in her head that ma Dacent would call up evil troops of spectres to prevent their escape. If only they could just get to that bloomin’ Long Road… Turning to Babsie, she whispers: “Are you worried about being separated from me –slinjing through the dark on your own?” The answer came back, fast: “No, Mollers, I am ten, after all! And I have the madra, who will ‘go to town’ on any eejit that shows up.

All of a sudden the Mollers felt hope surging through her. And if she had her father’s gambling nature, she’d now bet on getting through this dangerous night.

But, just in case, she’d keep the Four Ten handy…

“I’ll go first, Babs – you and madra give a roar if you see anything as I cross the Path; we can’t be too careful.” A squeeze on her elbow: understood. Now, for the first time in several minutes, Molly steps from cover. The frostblasted grass crunches like thunder {she thinks} as she moves cautiously across to the fairly dense skeoch bushes that front right up to the other edge of the Hazel. Then, swiftly, with no alarms from the sky, or behind her, she’s in shelter again. The little runaways are only a few yards apart, anyway – The Path being only a few yards wide. Then something odd starts to happen around them. In some very strange way, the fabric of the icy night changes. The process is almost imperceptible. A tiny breeze, no stronger than the breath of an infant, drifts through the silent trees and bushes. The night gets neither hotter nor colder: but the breeze - is there. Neither of the sisters knows if the other had noticed it – but they both had. Silence reigned. The girls said nothing; they never commented on anything strange - until they were sure. Here, they weren’t. So they waited, still as statues……

To be continued….

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