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In a deep wooded valley in the north of Devon stands the village of Ashacombe. It is but a little village, of some twenty or thirty cottages with white cob walls and low thatched roofs, running along the sunny side of the valley for a little way, and then curving downward across it to a little bridge of two tiny pointed arches, on the other side of which stands a mill with a water-wheel.
Still he went on trying day after day, and very often came home by Ashacombe, when he did not fail to call at Bracefort Hall, where everybody was glad to see him, whatever the failure of his efforts. Thus a whole month passed away without any change in Tommy Fry or any sign that might give hope of discovering the strange woman.
There was no parson living in the village, the parish being so small that it was joined to another and served by an old, old man, who wore his hair in powder and droned through one service only on Sundays in the little dark church at Ashacombe. The congregation was always small, and perhaps the three most enthusiastic members were Dick, Elsie, and the Corporal.
The idea was at once taken up by her companions, and the more they talked, the more likely it seemed to them. The man had been driven from his regiment probably because of his evil doings, and was come to Ashacombe to plague them; and all agreed that it would be very pleasant to earn two guineas by the catching of him. Mrs. Fry went home brimful of this new notion and poured it out to Mrs.
The scrap of garden behind each cottage is well tended and full of vegetables, and the scrap of garden in front gay with flowers; for Ashacombe has never known the time when there was not a master or mistress in the Hall who made the village their first care.
There was more came than you'd a think for, plenty enough to turn the head of a silly maid; and there was one that father favoured particular, for he had land close nigh by Loudacott, but I didn't like he never could. There wasn't but one that pleased me, and that was Jan Dart. You know his old mother that lives to Ashacombe, or used to live, for they tell me that she's a-dying.
There are many more monuments now in the churches both at Ashacombe and Fitzdenys than there were then; but those who read from them of George, Lord Fitzdenys, who fought in the Peninsula, at Waterloo, and at Maheidpore, and of Eleanor his beloved wife, think little or know nothing of the manner in which they were brought together.
So Ashacombe, as may easily be guessed, is a sleepy little village, which sees little of the great world outside. Still sleepy though the village may be, it is always beautifully neat and clean. The walls are always of spotless white, and the thatch trim and in good repair.
He learned also that she had brought down some honey for sale on the day following her appearance at Ashacombe, and had bought a sack of oatmeal at the mill, which she had taken away on a scarecrow of an Exmoor pony. There were of course sundry stories of her, but these were dark and uncertain, and of no value for tracing her to her dwelling place.
"And it wasn't above a week afterward that the old Betsy cometh back and saith, 'You'd best have let me call mun back when I told 'ee'; and then she told me that a serjeant was come to Ashacombe and that Jan was listed for a sojer and was agone.
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