intending to go to Mr. Mackay's office. Seeing the lawyer piling into Will Drum-mond's cart with the others, Smithers
hastened across to him, waving the latest compulsory purchase notice, whilst holding on to his top hat.
"Hold up there, Mackay. Where the deuce d'you think you're going? I was just about to consult you!"
Mr. Mackay did not like Smithers. He considered the fellow an overbearing bully, and he stared officiously
down from the gig at him. "Consult me without a prior appointment, sir? I'm afraid it's out of the question. I've got
other business!"
Smithers waved the order. "But what about this, it arrived in this morning's mail. I want it to be pinned up in the
square."
Mr. Mackay glared at Smithers over the top of his pince-nez. "Then fix it up yourself, sir, you look capable
enough. There's a nail and a post for the purpose. You can either leave the present order up, or tear it down to make
room for the new one. As you can see, I have other matters to attend, I bid you good day. Drive on, please, Mr.
Drummond!"
Smithers was left standing red-faced and at a loss for words as the gig pulled off smartly. Mrs. Winn and Eileen
stifled laughter with their kerchiefs. Not so with the other occupants of the dairy cart, they guffawed aloud.
"Well, that put him in his place, eh. Hahahaha!"
"Aye, did you see the face on him, like a beetroot!"
"Look, he's still standing there waving his silly paper. Hahaha!"
Mr. Mackay did not join in the merriment. Polishing his pince-nez, he blinked sternly at his traveling
companions. "I would have liked to see the contents of that order. I fear it will be no laughing matter for Chapelvale,
or you, Miz Winn. We must take a look at it on our return!"
They took the road past the station and over the level crossing. Ned passed a thought to his master as he allowed
Amy to stroke him. "Whatever we're looking for, bet I'm the one who finds it. By the way, what exactly are we
looking for?"
The boy answered. "I don't know, Ned. It's a large, overgrown area near the station we'll have to cover probably.
With an old, carved piece of stick as our only clue. We'll need the help of a good sniffer."
Will halted Delia at Mr. Mackay's command, on what appeared to be a piece of common land, about twenty
yards away from the railway tracks. Jon and Will spread the old map from the farmhouse cottage alongside the
railway property map that Mr. Mackay and Mr. Braithwaite were studying. Eileen, who had left her baby at home
with Will's ma, sat in the gig watching the two boys, while Amy and the black Lab ranged out across the
gorse-covered area. Mr. Mackay pointed to a corner of his boundary map.
"You see, here is the boundary line of the railway property. It ends ten feet away, where Will halted the gig on
that bit of disused path. So this is all common land."
Mr. Braithwaite looked from one map to the other. "Hmmm, this has got to be the, er, place, very good! See the,
er, tree, in the same place on both, er, maps, yes."
Jon pointed to the only tree left standing, on the far side of the common. "What, do you mean that one?"
Mr. Mackay shook his head doubtfully. "Your map is dated 1661. Surely that scruffy old tree hasn't been there
that long?"
Braithwaite was glad to prove himself, not only as a history scholar but as a botanist. "I, er, must take issue with
you on that, sir. Er. Let us take a look at this, hmm, tree."
They trooped over to where Ben and his friends were standing beneath the tree. It was a twisted and venerable
old specimen with a huge, untidy crown of thin leaves that sported red berries. The trunk, a gnarled column, was very
thick, seeming to consist of several thinner trunks welded together by age.
Jon instinctively knew what it was. "This is a yew, there's two growin' back o' the almshouse."
Mr. Braithwaite became very schoolmasterish, wagging a finger at the young people as he lectured them. "Quite
right. Taxus baccata, the common English yew, specimens have been recorded of up to one thousand years old. The
branches of this old tree may have provided the wood for English longbows to fight the French at the Battle of
Agincourt. Jon, hand me that carved piece of wood and your clasp knife, please."
Mr. Braithwaite scraped away at the uncarved side of the wooden stick until clean wood showed, then he
shaved a small section of bark from the trunk to reveal the wood beneath.
"Both common English yew, you see!"
Will smacked his open palm against the tree. "All sounds very good so far, but what're we lookin' for and where
do we search?"
Amy placed both hands on her hips. "Around this tree, I suppose."
Ben sprang and grabbed a spreading limb. "Or maybe up in the tree!" He climbed into the branches.
The others started to search around the base of the yew. Alex soon got tired of the hunt below and with Ben's
help climbed up into the boughs, too. The dog looked up, communicating with his master. "If you fall and break a leg,
don't come running to me!"
After more than a half hour of scanning the trunk and the ground around it, Mrs. Winn gave up and went to sit
in the gig with Eileen.
Will straightened up, holding his back. "Ain't so easy as it first looked. See anything up there, Ben?"
Ben clambered down. "Nothing, Will. As you said, it would help if we knew what we were looking for."
Being shorter than Ben, Alex found descending a bit difficult, but he made his way to the other side of the tree
and found a low branch. Edging onto it, he hung there by both hands, facing the trunk.
The seaman stood beneath, reaching up with both hands. "Come on, mate, let go an' I'll catch ye."
But Alex hung on to the branch, his face toward the trunk, shouting, "I found it! Here it is!"
Ben shot back up the tree like a monkey. Making his way across to Alex, he leaned downward, peering at what
looked like tiny knots sticking from the bark. He gave a joyous whoop. "It's the same pattern as the stick. Well done!"
Will shouted across to his wife. "Eileen, drive the gig over here, beneath this tree!"
32.
STANDING UPRIGHT IN THE LITTLE cart, the four men could easily make out the pattern of marks. Jon
traced them with his finger, then touched the point of his clasp knife to one.
"Metal! They're old horseshoe nails driven into the trunk. The bark has grown over them, but the pattern
remains."
Mr. Mackay dusted dead grass from his trouser knees fussily. "But with one difference, sir, there's an arrow
shape pointing down. That must mean we have to dig down at the yew base, directly where the arrow indicates."
The dairyman backed Delia away from the spot. Grabbing a spade, Will began cutting away the top grass.
"Right about here!" The old ship's carpenter spat on his hands and grabbed another spade from the gig.
But Eileen had different ideas. "I think 'tis a waste o' time diggin' there, Will. Surely the girth o' the tree has
growed bigger since sixteen hundred an' whatever. If you were lookin' for somethin' buried 'twould be right under that
trunk now! Don't waste your energy. You either, Jon Preston."
Will threw his spade down dispiritedly. "You're right, m'love."
Ben watched Ned go off with small, dainty paces, sniffing hard at the ground. He sent a thought to the dog.
"What are you doing, mate?"
The big, black dog did not answer for a while, but kept sniffing and going forward. When he stopped, he sat
down a short distance off. "Tell them the
arrow is probably pointing not down, but out from the tree, to somewhere
around here."
Ben stared at the Labrador. "You could be right, but why there, why not further out?"
Ned nosed the grass, turning up a soggy, moss-covered length of board and sniffling. "Because this is where the
old smithy once stood!"
The boy turned to his friends. "Suppose the arrow is pointing not down, but out. Would that be about where
Ned's sitting?"
Braithwaite was studying the piece of lath and its carving. "Hmm, about the length of a horse, eight horseshoes,
and one more horse's length. What, er, d'you think, Mr. Mackay?"
The solicitor focused on the stick with his glasses. "You could have something there, sir. At least we've got a
horse to test your theory with!"
Taking the gig to one side, Will unharnessed Delia. Lifting one of her back hooves, he measured it with a yew
twig, which he snapped off, then backed Delia up, until her tail was touching the yew trunk.
"Jon, take this twig. 'Tis a shoe's width. Mark off eight lengths from where my mare's front hoof is now."
The seaman did as Will bade. When he had marked off eight lengths, he stuck the twig in the ground. "Right
here, Will." The dairyman brought his horse forward and stood Delia, with her tail hanging down, exactly over the
twig.
The black Labrador looked up and licked Delia's muzzle, which was directly above him, then looked over to
where Ben stood, passing a thought to his master. "Told you I'd sniff it out, didn't I!"
Eileen chuckled. "That good dog o' yours, Ben, he looks as if he's gotten more sense than the lot of us put
t'gether!"
Jon and Will started digging on the spot.
Eileen harnessed Delia back into the gig shafts. "Come on, Winnie, we'll go back to Hillside Farm an' get lunch
ready for the diggin' gang."
Ben and Amy helped Mrs. Winn up into the gig. She waved to them as Delia trotted away and called hopefully,
"Bring whatever you find straight up to the farm."
The old mariner and the dairyman dug a square hole, straight down about two feet. Clank! Will's spade struck
something as he was shoring the side of the earth straight. "We were diggin' slightly astray, Jon. I think the dog was
sittin' in the wrong spot!"
Ned sniffed. "Dearie me, showed you the place, didn't I?"
Ben heard the thought and agreed with his dog. "Aye, can't expect a poor old canine to be accurate to the inch,
can we? Pay no heed, Ned. I thought you did splendidly!"
They dug down again, directly over the place where Will's spade had struck an object. After several minutes of
hard digging a sandstone building block was uncovered. Between them the two men lifted it out. Alex cleaned it up
with his hand until the letters E.D.W. appeared visible. Ben ran his finger over the letters. "Same as on your map, Will!
And the same as that name in the back of Winnie's family Bible! Edmond De Winn, the one who had one son and
seven daughters!"
Further speculation from Ben was cut short. The old seaman bent and began tugging with both hands at an
object embedded beneath where the stone had lain. "Here's something, mates, an old chest!"
Will helped him pull the chest out. It was iron-bound, rotting, and fused hard to the soil around it. Once they got
it out, a few smart jabs with Jon's spade soon caved it in, and it broke open. Braithwaite fell on his knees and lifted out
the contents. Wrapped in sheepskin and heavily coated with solidified tallow, it was still fairly obvious from its shape
that the thing was a cross.
High-noon sunlight streamed into the farmhouse kitchen. Will's ma shaded her eyes against it, peering out
across the yard. "Here they come, Winnie. Put the kettle on to boil again, Eileen."
Little Willum toddled out, holding Winnie's hand. "Dad-deeeee!"
The dairyman swung his son up onto his broad shoulders. "I hope you ain't ate all our lunch, Willum, I'm
starvin'!"
But food was out of the question once Eileen spotted the bundle.
"You found it, good men!"
Amy took little Willum from his father. "What about me?"
Will's ma wiped flour from both hands upon her apron. "An' you, too, m'dear, good work. Now, let's see what
you got, my meat an' potato pie'll be ready directly."
Ben placed the bundle on the table. "D'you think we'll need more hot water to melt the tallow, Jon?"
Taking out his ever-useful clasp knife, the ex-ship's carpenter set to work, slicing through the greased string
around the tallowed hide. "With any luck it'll just peel off."
Mr. Braithwaite was permitted to undo it. Finding an edge of the skin, he drew it back, exposing gold. In less
than a minute he had stripped sheepskin and tallow away completely.
It was a crucifix, complete with a tiny monstrance chamber for displaying the host. The top and ends of both
arms had pigeon-egg rubies set into the metal, identical to the ones on the chalice. At its base a marvelously graven
gold bird supported the cross on semi-spread wings, its talons gripping a half-orb of solid gold. The old scholar's
hands trembled as he held the object. He gazed at the embossed figure of Christ upon it, surmounted by the letters
INRI. "Crucifixus anticus! Wrought by the same Byzantine hand that fashioned the chalice. Do you realize, we are the
first ones to behold it since the seventeenth century!"
Jon and Ben were inspecting the tallow-bound sheepskin minutely when Will's ma wrinkled her nose in disdain.
"What're you messin' with that ole sheep 'ide for?"
The strange boy replied without looking up. "For the next clue, but it doesn't seem to be here. Can you find
anything, Jon?"
The carpenter's strong, tattooed hands delved through the tallowed skin. "Nothing, lad. The chest was empty
once we took the cross out. I was hopin' we'd find something in this wrapping, but no."
Alex sat at the table, his chin cupped in both hands, downcast. "We've missed the next clue somewhere."
The black Lab's tail swished to and fro as he raised his eyes to Ben. "Tell them it's carved on the bottom of that
halfdome the bird is standing on, I can see it from here. So could you if you were lying on the floor. Good job old
Braithwaite held the cross up. What would you do without me, eh, mate?"
Ben sat down on the floor by the Labrador and patted him fondly. "You're the best dog in the world, Ned.
Excuse me while I break the good news to them."
Ben squinted up at the underside of the crucifix, then raised his voice in excitement. "Look, there's carving
underneath that dome the bird is standing on. I can see it!"
Mr. Braithwaite harrumphed. "Bird, young man? That's the eagle of St. John the Evangelist you're talking about.
Let's see!" He turned the cross upside down. With Mr. Mackay leaning over his shoulder, checking, he read aloud.
" "Twould seem at the wicked's fate
that bell ne'er made a sound,
yet the death knell tolled aloud
for those who danced around.
The carrion crow doth perch above,
light bearers 'neath the ground."
Mrs. Winn looked around. "Well, what do you make of that?"
The lawyer meticulously copied the words onto a piece of paper, before taking charge of the cross.
"I'd better get this locked away in my office safe with all dispatch. Will, could you run me down there in your
gig, please?"
"You 'ave some lunch first, sir," Eileen chimed in. "Then my Will can drop you all off."
Over hot
meat and potato pie, Mr. Braithwaite made out another copy of the words for his own use. "Hmm,
very good, very good. Must, er, get back to the, er, library, of course. I'll, ah, er, study this and let you know my
findings, yes, very good!"
Amy made more copies in her fine, neat hand and distributed them to everybody, keeping one for herself and
her brother. After lunch it was decided that they would spend the rest of the day each trying to solve the riddle. They
had the time.
Will delivered Mrs. Winn to her house first. Ben stayed in the gig, alighting in the village square with the others.
Mr. Mackay read the notice tacked to the board on the post not far from his office. He turned to them, his face grave.
"Two days from today the clearances start. That means Smithers and his partners will be here with the county official
and the bailiffs. Payments will be made to the evacuating tenants, the land will be cleared, and, unfortunately,
Chapelvale will cease to exist as a village community and become a limestone quarry and a cement factory. Those are
the facts, my friends."
Ben's blue eyes grew hard. "Not if we can help it!"
33.
SMITHERS TAPPED LIGHTLY ON MAUD Bowe's bedroom door, and he called out as gently as his gruff,
demanding voice would allow. "Are you in there, Miss Bowe, I'd like a word with you in the sitting room, if
possible."
Maud opened the door a crack and was confronted by Smithers's rather worried-looking face. "I think you owe
me an apology first, for the way you insulted me this morning, Mr. Smithers."
It galled him to do it, but there was no other way. "Well, er, I was a bit, hasty shall we say. Forgive me, I'm a
gruff fellow sometimes. Comes of doin' business among men all the time. I shouldn't have raised my voice to you,
young lady. I mean, Miss Bowe."
She stared at him, enjoying her moment of triumph, then shut the door in his face. "I'll be down presently."
Obadiah Smithers drew in a deep breath, clenched his fists, and strode purposefully along the corridor to his
son's room. Flinging the door wide, he marched in without a word and dragged the coverlet off Wilf, who lay huddled,
still covered in breakfast mess. Smithers curled his lip in disgust as his son sniffed and sobbed.
"It wasn't me, he went in there on his own, I had nothing to do with it, honestly, I never!"
Castaways of the Flying Dutchman fd-1 Page 19