his mind wandered back to the Flying Dutchman, Vanderdecken, and his villainous crew—they would probably have
reveled in the highwayman's trade.
Amy bumped against him as the gig lurched to a stop. "Don't go to sleep, Ben, I think we've arrived at the
place!"
Three lanterns had been brought, the seaman lit them and gave one to each of his young friends. "Here y'are,
mates. You're in charge of lightin' and the maps. Stay close to 'em, Mr. Mackay. Me an' Will can do the digging.
Where is Will?"
Eileen had unharnessed Delia from the shafts, allowing her to rest and crop the grass. She pointed. "Over
yonder, t'other side o' the path, with Hetty." She raised her voice. "You found it yet, Will?"
The dairyman called back to his wife. "No, not yet, my dear. Ouch!"
The maidservant Hetty could be heard giggling. "You found it now, Will. Tripped straight over it. Like as not
sprained your ankle again!"
Will was thankful the darkness hid his furious blushes. "No harm done. Bring some light over here, you young
'uns!"
A massive ancient oak tree overshadowed the path at that point. Beneath the shade of its outstretched limbs a
half-buried milestone had been standing for centuries. Ben held his lamp close to the stone. "This is it! Look.
'Chapelvale One Mile.' See, beneath the letter M of Mile, there's the arrow pointing downward!"
The Labrador passed him an observant thought. "Or is it supposed to point outward, like the one on the tree at
the ruined smithy?"
Ben looked up at the lawyer. "What d'you think, sir, do we dig down, or is the arrow meant to point outward to
another spot?"
Adjusting the glasses on his nose, the solicitor peered at the stone. "D'you know, I'm not too sure. What's your
opinion, Jon?"
The old seaman put down the spades and pickax he had brought from the gig. "Who's to say, sir. There ain't no
clues tellin' us what number o' paces we should tread if we were to dig in another place."
Hetty settled the argument by taking a penny from her apron pocket. "Trust to luck, sez I. Toss a coin, Tails, we
digs down, 'cads, we digs somewheres outward from the arrow." She spun the coin, Alex held the lantern over where
it fell. "It's tails!"
44.
MORNING SUNLIGHT FILTERED INTO THE bedroom as Maud Bowe sat at the bedroom mirror, inserting a
last clip into her elaborate hairdo. The Smithers household had grown peaceful and quiet since that young horror
Wilfred had departed for boarding school, accompanied by his mother. Mrs. Smithers would take up lodgings close to
the school, until her dear Wilfred was settled in, as she put it. Maud smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Today was
the last day she would have to spend in Chapelvale, dreadful rural backwater!
"Hetty! Hetty! Where the blazes are you, I want my breakfast!"
Arriving downstairs, Maud found Mr. Smithers red-faced and irate. "Ah, Miss Bowe, have you seen the maid, is
she dusting upstairs?"
Maud swished by him on her way to the kitchen. "No, she's not, though if she'd been anywhere within a mile of
the house, she'd have heard you bellowing, sir!"
Smithers followed her out, watching as she put the kettle on and buttered a slice of brown bread. "What're you
doing, miss?"
Cutting the bread into triangles, she placed it on a plate.
"Making my breakfast, obviously. It must be clear, even to you, that Hetty can't come for some reason."
Smithers waved his hands uselessly. "But the table isn't laid, my dress clothes haven't been brought out of the
wardrobe. Nothing's been done—wineglasses, sherry decanters, side trays, and clean linen. Where are they? I'm sup-
posed to be holding a reception this afternoon for the county planners, a magistrate, business associates arriving from
all over to begin our plans!"
Maud spooned tea leaves into the pot. "Then you'll just have to change your arrangements. I'm not your maid of
all work."
Smithers wiped sweat from his reddening brow. "Piece o' bread 'n' butter an' a cup of tea is no breakfast for a
man to start a full day on, eh?" He blinked under Maud's frosty stare.
"Then cook something for yourself—this is my breakfast!"
Having made tea, Maud put it on a tray with the bread and butter and retired to the garden with it: -A few
moments passed before Smithers emerged, eating a thick slice of bread with strawberry jam slathered on it and
holding a beer tankard filled with milk. He plunked himself moodily down next to her at the wrought-iron table.
"That maid, Hetty, she's sacked, finished, bag an' baggage!"
Maud curled her lip in disgust as milk spilled down Smithers's chin from the tankard. He wiped it off on his
sleeve.
"What're you turnin' your nose up at, little miss high 'n' mighty? All very prim an' proper, aren't you, eh, eh?
What happened to your bullyboys from London? Never turned up, did they? Well, whether or not, things'll go ahead
today. You'll see, I've got it all organized on my own, without your help, missie!"
Maud was about to make a cutting reply, when a carter, wearing a burlap apron, appeared at the gate and
shouted, "Hoi! Mr. Smithers, we've 'ad the stuff that you 'ired brought over from 'Adford. Been waitin' in the village
square since six-thirty. Wot d'yer want us t'do with it?"
Smithers yanked the oversized watch from his vest pocket. "Twenty past seven already, I'd better get movin'.
Listen, you'd best get down t'the station at nine-ten an' meet the officials. Don't be late, now, d'ye hear me?"
Maud shooed a sparrow away from her plate. "I'm hardly likely to be late meeting my own father."
Smithers stopped in his tracks. "Your father? You never said anything about him arrivin' today!"
Maud considered her lacquered nails carefully. "He'll be traveling up from London with some investors just to
check on the amounts of money paid out to the villagers. They'll arrive on the eight-fifty. To meet up with the
magistrate and county planners coming down on the nine-ten. I'll show them the way to the square—you'd best have
things ready there."
Maud thought Obadiah Smithers looked about ready to take a fit. He stood scarlet-faced and quivering. "Check
on the money? What's the matter, doesn't the man trust me?"
Maud was satisfied her nails were perfect. She replied coolly, "When it comes to business, my father trusts
nobody!"
At eight-fifteen Blodwen Evans opened the front door of the Tea Shoppe and began sweeping over the step with
a broom.
She stopped to view the activity in the square. Directly in front of the notice board post, two wagons had pulled
up. Men were unloading a table, chairs, and what looked like a small marquee with an open front. Smithers was
directing two other men to put up a large sign, painted on a plywood board. Shopkeeper Blodwen called to her
husband, "Dai, look you, see what's 'appenin' out 'ere!"
Dai Evans emerged, wiping flour from his hands, and gave a long, mournful sigh. "Whoa! Look at that, now,
will you. Our village square full of strangers. Read me that notice, will you, Blodwen, I ain't got my glasses with me."
Blodwen read it aloud slowly. " 'Progressive Development Company Limited. Payments made here for all land
and properties within the Chapelvale area. All persons wishing to receive the stipulated compensation must be in
possession of legal deeds to their land and property or payment cannot be made.' "
Blowing her nose loudly on her apron hem,
Blodwen wiped her eyes on it. "There's sad for the village, Dai. I
never thought I'd see this day!"
Dai put an arm about his wife. "There there, lovely, you make a cup of tea. I'll go an' look for the deeds to our
shop."
Blodwen stood watching Smithers approaching, she called over her shoulder to Dai, "You'll find 'em in the blue
hatbox on top of the wardrobe!"
Smithers had a spring to his step and a happy smile on his face. He touched his hat brim to Blodwen cheerfully.
"Mornin', marm, another good summer's day, eh. Am I too early to order breakfast and a large pot of tea?"
Blodwen Evans drew herself up to her full height, which was considerable, and stared down from the front step
of her shop. "Put one foot over this step, boyo, and I'll crack this broom over your skull!"
Smithers beat a hasty retreat back to the square, where he began finding fault and bullying the workmen.
Blodwen held her aggressive pose for a moment, then sighed unhappily and leaned on the broom. Chapelvale, the
little village she had come to love so much, was about to be destroyed. In a short time, the drapers, butchers, post
office, general shop, and the ironmongers, those neat, small shops with their wares gaily displayed behind
well-polished windows, would stand empty, waiting for demolition, their former owners gone off to other places.
Even the almshouse, with its tall, shady trees in the lane behind, would be trampled under the wheels of
progress. Children dashing eagerly into her Tea Shoppe, pennies clutched in their hands for ice cream cones, old
ladies wanting to sit and chat over pots of India and China tea, with cakes or hot buttered scones. They would soon be
little more than a memory to her. But such a beautiful memory. Blodwen Evans lifted an apron hem to her face and
cried for the loss of the place she knew as home.
45.
IN MR. MACKAY'S OFFICE WINDOW, THE CLOCK stood at half past nine. A lot of people had gathered in
the square at Chapelvale. It was, as Smithers had predicted, a good summer's day, with hardly a breeze stirring and the
sun beaming out of a cloudless blue sky. However, the square was still and silent, despite the large gathering of
villagers. Percival Bowe stood with his daughter Maud upon his arm. In subdued voices they made small talk with the
magistrate, the county planning officer, and their lawyers. Principal shareholders, who had traveled up from London,
stood apart, with • the project engineers. They carried on a low-key conversation, every so often casting quick glances
from under the marquee shade at the faces outside, of the sad, puzzled, hostile villagers.
Smithers felt untidy and out of place, trying unsuccessfully to mingle with those in the marquee. He approached
Mr. Bowe, rubbing his hands nervously. "The, er, Tea Shoppe is closed today, or I'd have sent for some
refreshments." He wilted under the icy stares of Maud and her father. Wiping perspiration from under his collar with a
grubby finger, Smithers shrugged apologetically. "I was goin' to have a reception up at the house, but, er, maid's day
off y'know. Haha..."
Percival Bowe had a sonorous voice that any undertaker might have admired. "So I gather, sir. Not quite what I
was led to expect from your letters. What time is it?"
Eager to please, Smithers fumbled out his oversized watch. "Nine-forty exactly, Percy... er, Mr. Bowe.
Nine-forty, sir!"
Mr. Bowe touched the pearl stickpin he wore in his cravat. "Those bumpkins out there will stand all day, staring
dumbly at us like a herd of cattle. Do you not think it might be wise to encourage them forward? I assume they will
want payment for their properties today, as small as it is."
There was nobody about to do Smithers's shouting for him. Acutely embarrassed, he stood outside the marquee
facing the villagers and cleared his throat, conscious of the carter and his men from Hadford chuckling behind his
back. He held forth both hands like a politician at a meeting.
"Er, good morning, er, will you please listen t'me. I want you to form an orderly line, no pushin', er, haha. We
will begin the payments to those who have their deeds or, er, appropriate papers with them!"
There was not a move from the villagers. They stood silent.
Smithers tried again, this time with the voice of reason. "Oh, come on now, it's for your own good. Form a line,
right here where I'm standing. Come on, please. Anyone?"
Blodwen Evans's voice rang out from her bedroom window. "For our own good, is it? You any relation to Judas?
He sold the Lord for thirty pieces o' silver!"
The Hadford workmen guffawed aloud, one or two clapped.
Smithers glared up at the window before marching back into the marquee, where he confronted Bowe. "They're
not movin'. Can't you do anything?"
Bowe looked over Smithers's shoulder at those outside. Men, women, children in hand, none moving. "Give it
half an hour or so, then I'll send out one of my London lawyers to read them the official notice. Any of those
bumpkins too stupid to understand it will just have to stand and wait out there until sundown. By then the bailiff will
have arrived with his deputies, they'll hand out any unpaid monies and possess their houses and properties. By force,
if necessary!"
Mr. Bowe turned away from Smithers. As he did, his eye caught a movement.
It was a two-wheeled dairy cart carrying four women and a baby. A young girl and a boy held the reins, leading
the horse between them. Behind the cart strode four men, another boy, and a big black Labrador. Slightly to one side
of the odd cavalcade, a police sergeant marched, nodding amiably to the village folk.
Mr. Bowe gave an inward sigh of relief. At last some of these rustics were coming forward. He moved to the
table in front of the marquee, calling to his colleagues.
"To your places, gentlemen, our first customers are here!"
Two lawyers, the magistrate, and an official with a bag containing a ledger and a wad of certified money orders,
took their seats at the table. Maud Bowe tried to whisper something to her father, but he ignored her. Putting on a
smile of false cordiality, Bowe addressed the group. "Well well, it's nice to see decent folk acting sensibly. Hope
you've brought your deeds along with you, eh!"
Mackay ignored Maud's father and strode up to the table, looking very dapper, from his clean-shaven face to his
crisp white shirt, freshly pressed trousers, and tailcoat. Placing a leather satchel on the desk, he opened it and
produced a long and ancient-looking scroll, which he unrolled.
Looking over the top of his nose glasses, he inquired politely, "Which one of you is the magistrate?"
The magistrate stared over the top of his spectacles. "I am, sir, state your name and business."
Seething with impatience and excitement, the dapper lawyer kept his feelings hidden as he announced in a voice
that could be heard all around the village square, "I, sir, am Philip Teesdale Mackay, a solicitor and chartered member
of the legal profession. I represent Mrs. Winifred Winn, who resides in Chapelvale. On her behalf, it is my duty to
inform you that said lady lays claim and title to the entire village, up to its boundaries and all dwelling houses, places
of business, and land within the curtilage of such establishments!"
In the silence that followed, the drop of a pin could have been heard. Then the magistrate spoke. "I trust you
have proof of this unusual claim, sir?"
Mr. Mackay's eyes never left the astounded official. With a dr
amatic flourish he held out his right arm, palm
open. Amy and her brother stepped forward. Picking up the weighty scroll, they unrolled it and placed it in the
lawyer's well-manicured hand. He grasped it firmly by its top. It was a huge thing, real calfskin vellum, with several
silk ribbons—blue, gold, and purple—hanging from it. These were sealed with blobs of scarlet wax with gold
medallions set into them.
The diminutive figure of the lawyer seemed to increase in stature. His voice boomed triumphantly forth, like a
town crier.
" 'Be it known to all my subjects, nobles, vassals, and yeomanry. I do acknowledge the valiant deeds of my
liege Captain Caran De Winn in the capture of the French fleet and our victory at Sluys. He served his sovereign and
country right worthily, no man braver than he.
" 'Hereby I grant unto him freely the acres of our good English land, to be known hereonin as Chapelvale. Caran
De Winn, his sons, daughters, and all who come after, bearing the name of Winn, will have squiredom over this place.
Without let or hindrance, tax or tithing, for as long as any monarch shall rule our fair land. Let no man raise his voice
or wrath-against my edict. May the family of Winn serve God and England with loyalty, faith, and forbearance. Given
by my hand on this Lammas Day in the year of Our Lord thirteen hundred and forty-one.
" 'By the grace of God. Edward III, King of England.' "
Ringing cheers and shouts of delight erupted throughout the village square. Hats flew in the air and the
cobblestones echoed to the stamping of feet. People hugged and kissed one another indiscriminately; it was a scene of
total jubilation. The black Labrador dodged to safety beneath the gig as Ben was surrounded by his friends, Will and
Jon shaking his hands, whilst Mrs. Winn and Amy seized him and kissed both his cheeks. Mr. Braithwaite pounded
the boy's back, shouting, "We did it, boy. We did it!"
Catching his breath, Ben roared back. "No, it was you who did it, friends. I only started the search, me and good
old Ned."
The Labrador sent a thought from beneath the gig. "Keep me out of this, mate. I don't want to be crushed,
battered, and slobbered over!"
When the blue-eyed boy managed to break free, he saw Alex, with a crowd of other young people
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