" "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!"
His father towered over him, ignoring his pleas.
"Enough, sir, no more lies! I saw Regina's father in the village this morning. He caught her sneaking in, long
after midnight. So you can stop your sniveling lies. I know exactly what went on around the old almshouse last
night!"
Wilf cowered on the bed, his face ashen. "Regina's the liar, it was her who got Alex murdered, not me. I swear!"
His father's voice was like thunder. "What nonsense is this, eh? Murder indeed, I saw the very boy you're
talking of, the animal vet's young son. He was alive and well, sitting in a dairy cart with his friends. So you can stop
your lying about murder!"
Wilf was temporarily lost for words. He sat openmouthed as reality flooded in on him. Alex was alive, there
would be no policemen calling on him. No judges, court, or prison.
His father ranted on furiously. "A disappointment to me, that's what you've been, lad, a thorough
disappointment! Letting y'self get beaten by a boy half your size, then thinking up stupid murder plots. Still, I blame
m'self in ways—you're not half the young fellow I was at your age, no backbone! Mollycoddled, that's what you've
been, spoiled rotten! But all that stops right here and now, sir, d'you hear me? No more being waited on by a maid an'
hiding behind y'mother's skirts. Oh no, m'lad, it's boarding school for you. They'll straighten you out, an' no mistake!"
Wilf had only heard the latter part of his father's tirade. He leapt out of bed, a look of horror on his face.
"B-boarding school?"
His father took him by the arm and shoved him in the direction of the bathroom. "Aye, boarding school. There's
a good one up in Scotland, so I'm told. I'll make the arrangements today. Now, get in there an' clean that mess off
y'self. Then you can tidy your room up an' pack your trunk. I'm not havin' the good name o' Smithers scoffed at by
village bumpkins. No use appealin' to your mother. My decision's final, sir. Final!"
Slamming the bathroom door on his son's stunned face, Smithers went downstairs and out onto the back lawn,
where he took a deep breath of the summer air and straightened his starched collar. Maud Bowe was sitting primly,
reading another of her young ladies' etiquette books, not a hair out of place and not a sign of a flush upon her cheeks.
She shut the book decisively, folding her hands on the cover. "You wanted a word with me, sir. Well?"
Clasping both hands behind his back, Smithers circled her chair several times, finishing up facing her.
"Those, er, associates you're bringing up from London, Miss Bowe."
Completely composed, she stared levelly at him. "Yes?"
He dropped his eyes and lowered his voice.
"Let them come and do what they've got to do. But no mistakes or failures. I want them in and out of
Chapelvale as quick as possible. Understood?"
Maud could not help reveling in her victory. "Jackman Donning and Bowe are an established London
company— we don't deal in failures and mistakes. Like some I could mention ..."
Blood mounted to Smithers's cheeks, and he struggled to control himself. Turning on his heel, he made for the
house, replying as he went. "I'll leave it up to you ... my dear!"
A black cat appeared out of the hedgerow. Purring, it rubbed its flank against Maud's fine-grained, calf-button
boots. She shooed it off with a swipe of her book. "Shoo, cat!"
Horatio prowled slowly back through the small gap in the hedge. "Miaow! 'Ratio go home now, Winnie got
milk, sardines, purr!"
The black Labrador rose slowly from his hiding place in the shade of some lilacs. "Come on, then, me old
furbag, I've heard enough for today. Sardines, ugh, nasty, slimy little fishes, don't know how you can eat the things!"
Mrs. Winn was taking her afternoon nap in the sitting room. Ben sat outside on the sunny lawn. He unfolded the
copy of the poem Amy had given him and began studying it.
'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.
Sweat suddenly beaded on his forehead, he felt cold despite the warm summer day. The bell ne'er made a
sound ... carrion crow.... Visions and images of death floated about in his mind. Villainous faces marked by evil
appeared unbidden, the sounds of seawaves roared in his ears. Long, long ago, Vanderdecken, Petros, Scraggs, Jamil,
he saw them all, leering, cursing. But others were there, mingled with the crew of the Flying Dutchman. Older, half