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