‘Regretfully, I have to decline. You see, I have unfinished business across the moors to the south. It’s that boggart I told you about. I drove it out of one farmhouse and it immediately made its home in another. But you’ll have no trouble locating the Fresque house. Just ask anyone for Bent Lane. The mistress is expecting you.’
‘What’s she like, this Mistress Fresque?’ asked the Spook. ‘How did you come to meet her?’
‘She’s a kind woman, but with a good head for business and practical matters,’ Judd replied. ‘I’m sure you’ll get along fine. I met her on my travels. She gave me my first taste of Romanian hospitality.’
‘Ah, well, spook’s business comes first,’ said my master. ‘But we hope to see you again before we leave. I expect we’ll be here for one night at least.’
‘Of course, I’ll see you tomorrow. Give my regards to Mistress Fresque!’
Judd gave us a nod, then set off southwards, and without further ado the Spook led the way down the steep track towards the town.
The narrow cobbled streets were bustling with people going about their business. There were market stalls, and street hawkers selling food and trinkets from trays. Todmorden seemed just like any other small County town, but there was one difference: its inhabitants all looked grim-faced and unfriendly.
The first man my master sought directions from ignored him and walked straight past us, with the collar of his jacket turned up against the wind. At the second attempt he had a little more success. He approached an elderly, florid-faced gentleman who was walking along with the aid of a stick. He looked like a farmer, with his broad leather belt and big heavy boots.
‘Can you please tell us the whereabouts of Bent Lane?’ my master asked.
‘I could – but I’m not sure if I should,’ said the man. ‘You see, it lies across the bridge on the other side of the river. The people over there are foreigners and best kept well clear of!’ With that he nodded and continued on his way.
The Spook shook his head in disbelief. ‘You wouldn’t credit it, lad,’ he said. ‘Just a few paces across a river and you become a “foreigner”! They’re just folks like us that happen to be from another county, that’s all!’
We walked as far as the narrow wooden bridge, which was the only obvious point at which the river could be crossed. It was falling into disrepair – a few of the planks were missing and others were partially rotted through; it was just wide enough to accommodate a horse and cart, but only the foolhardy would risk taking one across. It seemed odd that nobody had thought to mend it.
From here, the part of the town on the other side of the river looked no different to the part on the County side. Beyond the trees I saw the same small stone houses and cobbled streets, though they seemed deserted. I thought we were about to cross, but the Spook pointed back to a tavern on the County side.
‘Let’s save ourselves some trouble, lad, and ask someone who might be able to give us precise directions. We could kill two birds with one stone by finding somewhere to spend the night.’
We entered a small tavern whose sign proclaimed its name: THE RED FOX. The room was empty, but there was a fire in the grate and a balding sour-faced man in a leather apron was washing pewter tankards behind the bar.
‘We’re looking for the house of Mistress Fresque,’ said the Spook. ‘I believe that she lives at the top of Bent Lane somewhere across the river. Could you be so kind as to give us directions?’
‘It’s on the other side of the river, all right,’ said the man, not answering the question. ‘And crossing the river is dangerous. Few do so from this side. You’ll be the first this year.’
‘Well, it’s certainly in need of urgent maintenance,’ said the Spook. ‘But I don’t think it’s quite ready to fall into the river yet. Are you the innkeeper?’
The man put down the tankard he’d been drying and stared hard at the Spook for a few seconds. My master returned his gaze calmly.
‘Yes, I’m the innkeeper. Do you require food and drink, or maybe a bed for the night?’
‘We might need all three,’ said the Spook. ‘A lot depends on how our business goes.’
‘Cross the bridge,’ the man said at last, ‘then take the third street along on your left. It leads to Bent Lane. The house of Mistress Fresque is the big one right at the end of the lane up in the woods. It’s hidden by trees so you won’t see it until you’re very close. And stay on the path. There are bears in the vicinity.’
‘Thanks for that.’ The Spook turned to go. ‘It may well be that we’ll see you later.’
‘Well, if you do require rooms, make sure you’re back before sunset,’ the landlord called after us. ‘The doors are locked and barred then, and I’ll be safe in my bed well before dark. If you have any sense, you’ll follow my example.’
‘WHAT KIND OF tavern shuts its doors so early?’ I asked my master as we strode towards the bridge.
‘It’s obviously one that doesn’t really welcome strangers, lad! That’s clear enough.’
‘I didn’t think there were any bears left in the County,’ I said.
‘They are certainly rare. The last time I glimpsed one was over twenty years ago. It sounds like most of ’em have crossed the border to live here!’ the Spook said with a smile.
‘So what’s that innkeeper scared of?’ I asked. ‘Why does he need to get to bed before the sun goes down and make so much fuss about locking his doors?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. But this town doesn’t seem a very friendly place. Maybe there are robbers lurking after dark. Maybe they don’t get on with the people across the river. Sometimes there are grudges and feuds between families. It wouldn’t take much for folk from different counties to imagine all sorts of grievances.’
We turned into Bent Lane, which soon started to rise steeply. The few houses were, without exception, unoccupied, their windows boarded up against the elements. Soon the trees took over, and the further we walked, the closer they crowded in until they formed a claustrophobic leafy archway over our heads that shut out the sun and made everything very gloomy.
‘I wonder why they call it Bent Lane,’ I said. ‘It’s not the slightest bit crooked.’