[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

by Brian Jacques

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 dramatic 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 congratulating him. Among them was Regina Woodworthy and the former members of the Grange Gang. Amy clasped Ben’s hand. “Look at my brother, the village hero, thanks to you, Ben.”

  The boy warded off an embrace from Eileen and little Willum, who had painted his face with a toffee apple somebody had given him.

  “Don’t be silly, pal. Look at Ned. He knows the safest place—under the cart. Come on, Amy!”

  They scrambled beneath the gig, laughing at the sight of Blodwen Evans leaning out of the bedroom window, waving a Union Jack and a Welsh red dragon flag, and hooting.

  “Put those deeds back in my hat box, Dai, let’s open the shop!”

  Mr. Bowe’s normally sallow face had taken on an ash-grey pallor as he turned his accusing gaze on Obadiah Smithers. “So, the old lady presents no problem, eh? Fool! I should never have listened to you and your harebrained schemes. Do you realize what this’ll cost my company?”

  Smithers collapsed onto a vacant chair, his eyes wide in disbelief. “I—I—I’m ruined!”

  Bowe stood over him, jabbing a finger savagely into Smithers’s arm to accentuate each word. “If you aren’t, then I’ll make sure you are. You’ll be glad to get a job selling matches on street corners when I’m done with you!”

  Straightening up, Bowe offered an arm to his daughter. “Maud, I’ll talk to you back in London. Come on, girl, or we’ll miss the train!”

  They turned to go and walked straight into the sergeant, whose voice was flat and off
icial. “Mr. Percival Bowe and Miss Maud Bowe, ah’d like ye tae come up tae the station house with me.”

  Mr. Bowe, who tried stepping to one side, flinched as the strong arm of the law captured his shoulder.

  Sergeant Patterson whispered confidentially in his ear. “Now now, sir, don’t want tae show ourselves up tae all the folk around here, do we? You and the young lady come quietly, ah’ve got four of your employees in mah holding cell on a vehicle theft charge. They’re making all sorts of accusations against Bowe and company. Ah’m sure it’s all quite unsubstantiated, but Ah’d just like ye tae take a stroll up there and we’ll sort it all out.”

  Mr. Mackay folded the scroll and handed it to the old seaman. Mrs. Winn linked arms with the solicitor. “Well, seeing as all the business is done, let’s go for lunch. Mrs. Evans has invited us all over to the Tea Shoppe for a celebration!” Waving her gloves, the old lady called out to her young friends. “Come on, you three, bring Ned, too. It’s free ice cream today!”

  Mr. Mackay straightened his cravat. “Just a moment, marm.” He turned to the magistrate. “Excuse me, sir, perhaps you’d like to join us.”

  Distancing himself from the company shareholders, the magistrate smiled his approval. “It would be a pleasure,

  46

  EVANS TEA SHOPPE PUT ON A WONDERFUL spread. Dai Evans pushed four tables close so the friends could sit together. Blodwen brought tray after tray of sandwiches, tea, cakes, and ice cream, dismissing any offer of payment.

  “Look, you, ’tis the least we can do for the folk who saved our village. Indeed to goodness, put that money away. Hoho, ’twas worth it just to see Obadiah Smithers’s face. In the name of heavens, though, ’ow did you find those deeds?”

  Mr. Braithwaite scratched his wiry mop. “Deeds, you say, marm, well er, hmm, ’fraid I can’t, er, enlighten you, I was, er, er, asleep on Miz Winn’s, er, sofa, yes. You tell her, er, er.”

  Amy put aside her ice cream and explained.

  “It’s a long story, but we had a clue that led us to the old milestone on Eastpath. I never knew milestones were that big, there was only a small part showing above ground!”

  Will confirmed her statement. “Aye, the one on Eastpath is a disused old millstone, a great, flat, round, granite wheel, with a hole through its middle. Well, me an’ Jon had to dig it out, y’see. We dug a fair deep pit around that stone, though we had t’ get out pretty quick, because it began to shift. We were no sooner out than the stone toppled. It blocked the hole completely! Good job young Ben had a bright idea.”

  The Labrador passed a thought from beneath the table to his master. “Tut tut, you had a bright idea?”

  The boy’s blue eyes twinkled as he slid a ham sandwich to his dog. “Sorry about that, pal, but it wasn’t your idea, either, as I recall. Didn’t you say Delia suggested that we use her to move the stone?”

  The big dog huffed a bit as he dealt with the sandwich. “Aye, but I was the only one who knew what she was thinking. A very intelligent mare she is. Take my word!”

  The dairyman farmer allowed Amy to continue with the tale.

  “We passed a rope through the hole in the stone and threw it over a thick branch of the oak tree growing nearby. Will harnessed the rope to Delia and she hoisted the stone clear. As the stone came up, we saw something sticking up out of the hole. I thought it was an oak root at first. Mr. Mackay, tell them what it was!”

  Brushing a crumb from his vest, the dapper lawyer allowed himself the briefest of smiles. “Ahem! It was the armpiece from a suit of armor. Mr. Braithwaite identified the object as being from about the mid-1300s. Who knows, it could probably have belonged to Caran De Winn. We took it back to Mrs. Winn’s house. The entire armpiece was sealed with tar on the outside and tallow within. When Jon Preston cut it open, there was the deed, perfectly preserved. A most timely and fortunate discovery, sir. The document states not only the title to ownership, but on the back, it also has a map, marking the boundaries of lands granted to Caran De Winn quite clearly.

  “So, you see, my friends, my client is the owner of quite a considerable area, of which Chapelvale village is merely the center! Mark Milestone East, and an arrow pointing downward, that was all the clue we had to go on. But our united efforts brought about its successful conclusion. Remarkable!”

  The magistrate took Mrs. Winn’s hand. “Remarkable indeed. Madam, may I be the first to congratulate you upon your elevation to the squirearchy. You are, through the help of your friends, a very fortunate lady!”

  The old lady blushed, fidgeting with her ecru linen gloves. “Why, thank you, sir. My late husband, Captain Winn, always said that the price of true friends is above that of gold. I wish he had lived to see himself as Squire of Chapelvale. He loved our village dearly, even though a great deal of his life was spent away from it, at sea. When things get back to normal, I am going to do something he would have approved of. I will grant to all the people of Chapelvale that piece of land which their home stands upon, house, shop, business, or farm. I can do that now that I legally own all this land, can’t I?”

  The magistrate rose to leave. “You can indeed, marm!”

  Dai Evans came hurrying in with a tray of drinks, elderberry wine, beer, and lemonade, which he began serving to the party.

  “Wait, sir, join us in a toast to our new squiress!”

  Smiling, the magistrate raised his glass. “I’m not sure squiress is right, but whatever it is, I’m sure Mrs. Winn will perform her duties admirably, with all of you as her friends!”

  Will Drummond raised his glass. “Aye, that’s the toast. Friends.”

  As the company clinked glasses they chorused together. “To friends!”

  Celebrations at Evans Tea Shoppe, and throughout the village, went on into the mid-noon. Now every villager was his or her own landlord, owning the actual ground their house or business stood upon. The square resounded to the noise of happy folk, who had occupied the marquee previously set up for those who had planned the destruction of Chapelvale. Amy Somers was watching Blodwen Evans coaxing her brother to take on yet another portion of ice cream, when she noticed that Ben and his dog had slipped away during the merry-making.

  She found them sitting in the alley together, enjoying a respite away from the bustle and noise indoors. The dark-haired girl sat next to Ben, her back against the wall, noting how he and the dog were looking at each other.

  “You two are talking together, I can tell.”

  Ben shrugged. “We’re just exchanging a few thoughts, feeling happy for Miz Winn and the village. Old Ned looks happy, doesn’t he?”

  Amy stroked beneath the black Labrador’s chin. “Yes, he looks very happy indeed. I’ll just sit here and be happy with you both.”

  Mischief danced in Ben’s blue eyes, as he sighed peacefully. “All you need for real happiness is the sun on your face and a friend by your side.”

  The girl smiled fondly at him. “That’s nice, but what about Ned?”

  The strange boy smiled back at her. “Ned’s the friend I was talking about.”

  She dived on him, pummeling away playfully. “Ooh, you rotter!”

  Ben giggled helplessly. “Mercy please, I meant you, too!”

  The dog threw a thought in. “Go on, m’girl, teach the cheeky young pup a lesson!”

  47

  ONE MONTH LATER.

  SUMMER ROLLED ON TOWARD AUTUMN. One morning after breakfast, Ben and his dog accompanied Winnie into the village on her weekly shopping trip. They sauntered into the square together, Ned slightly ahead, carrying the woven cane basket in his jaws. Ben stared at the ground, scuffing the dusty cobbles. Winnie watched him with some concern.

  “What is it, Ben, you don’t look too cheerful today. Do you feel ill, is that it?”

  The quiet boy flicked his hair aside and managed a smile. “Oh, I’ll brighten up, I suppose. Didn’t sleep too well last night, that’s all. I’m all right, really.”

  The old lady’s hand caressed his cheek. “You’r
e thinking of leaving, aren’t you.”

  Ben took the basket from his dog’s mouth and handed it to her. He could not explain the dreams that had been haunting him for the past two nights. Booming waves, hissing surf, creaking rigging, and the slap of wet sails against taut ropes. Vanderdecken’s ranting voice and his mad eyes. In his dreams the angel’s voice echoed clear again.

  “When you hear the toll of a church bell, you must leave this place and travel on!”

  The boy turned his clouded blue eyes away from the old lady. “You do your shopping, Miz Winn. I’ll go over to the almshouse and see how the new project’s coming along.”

  She watched him walking across the square with Ned trotting alongside. A boy and his dog. A sudden sadness descended on her, and she called after her strange friend.

  “I’ll see you at Evans Tea Shoppe for lunch, Ben.”

  Without turning, he waved his hand.

  As Ben dropped his hand, his big, black dog licked it. “I know, you don’t have to tell me, mate, we share the same dreams, remember?”

  Ben scratched the dog’s ear gently. “Aye, we’ve left a lot of places behind in our travels, but this village and the friends we’ve made here . . . I tell you, it’s going to be hard to leave Chapelvale.”

  Looking up, he saw Alex waving to them from the almshouse door.

  Almost everybody was there. Amy threw an arm around Ben’s shoulder, leading him into the building. Sheaves of reconstruction blueprints were laid out on the table. Jon, Will, Mr. Braithwaite, and Mr. Mackay were studying them. Amy coughed, waving her hand at the dust that was floating about. She called to Regina and her friends. “Stop that sweeping for a moment, please. Could you start carrying those benches outside?”

  Her brother wrinkled his nose. “Oh, all right, bossy boots. Come on, Regina, Tommo, let’s take this big one between us.”

  The old seaman took a pencil from behind his ear and made a minor adjustment to one of the blueprints. “There, we can extend the evening tea garden out into the old graveyard at the rear.”