The following evening, sitting at home in Stanbury, the steward thought about the events of the previous night. He was angry his companions had lost his wager; he did not like common folk winning at the rat baiting that he secretly organised to coincide with each manor court.

On a good night, he could win money from the locals who had managed to scrounge enough coin for the payne, fines and dues. Without money for the payne, fines and dues, they would have to pay more the next time, some shillings for the lord and some for him. He always stayed one step ahead, knowing that if the lord's coffers were low and he lost his temper, he would have to pay it out of his own purse. It was quite a lucrative setup. He paid a shilling to the rat catcher, a shilling to the dog owner and a portion of the winnings to his recently acquired partners. That, coupled with his skimming of the fines and dues paid, provided a lucrative income on top of the stipend his lordship paid him to tend manor business.

That night, he thought, was supposed to be different.

He had arranged for a dog to come up from Bradford after seeing him in action there a few weeks past. He had never seen a dog so ferocious, so cunning and quick. He lost some money on him in Bradford but expected to get it all back, and more, that evening.

The evening had begun well enough. He had charmed his way into a card game with a couple of out-of-town coney-catchers. He had watched them take coin from several locals before he approached the table. He felt contempt for any outsiders that tried to cash in. These two were obviously from out of the parish, likely doing their regular rounds through the local villages. It was apparent they were good at it, for the pair of them still had both their ears.

They allowed him to win the first three hands, one of them raising the bet each time before bowing out to let his companion lay down cards that were always just good enough to win the hand. Clever devils. They let him win often enough to keep him interested, but slowly took more and more of his purse.

That was until the watchman rang the bell for a count of eight.

The steward took a long drink from his tankard and stared into the fire.

His thoughts turned to the Hargreaves family.

They had only recently settled in the district. Their daughter Agnes worked in the manor kitchens. He saw her often enough carrying baskets across the yard or fetching supplies for the cook. She did her work and caused no trouble.

Her father was another matter.

He knew which cottage they occupied and roughly what they owed, but John Hargreaves had yet to appear before the manor court. Certain dues remained unpaid.

The steward remembered seeing him at the rat baiting the previous evening.

Most newcomers made themselves known sooner or later. They attended church, paid what they owed, and tried not to attract attention. Hargreaves had done none of those things.

The family kept to themselves.

There had been enough trouble over religion in recent years. It paid to know who attended church and who did not.

The steward emptied the last of the ale from his tankard and set it on the table.

John Hargreaves had arrived quietly enough, but there was something about the family that troubled him.

Unpaid dues.

No appearance before the manor court.

No attendance at church.

And a newcomer who seemed content to keep to himself.

There had been enough trouble over religion in recent years. It paid to know who attended church and who did not.

That was why he had sent the constable to the Hargreaves cottage earlier that morning.

Now all that remained was to wait.

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A knock sounded at the door.

The steward looked up from the fire.

"Enter."

The constable stepped inside and removed his hat.

Without a word, he placed a small leather-bound book upon the table.

The steward frowned and pulled it towards him.

The cover was worn from use.

He opened it and slowly turned the pages.

Several passages had been marked.

On the inside cover was written a single name.

Agnes Hargreaves.

The steward closed the book.

"So," he said quietly.

The constable shifted his weight.

"It were hidden amongst the girl's belongings."

The steward nodded.

Outside, the church bell sounded across the village.

"Thank you, constable."

The man bowed his head and left.

The steward sat alone for some time staring at the book.

Then he placed it beside his ledger and took another drink from his tankard.

There were dues to be collected.

And questions still needing answers.

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                                                             -XI-