[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman (36 page)

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 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 official. “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,

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.