Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

The constable brushed a finger over his handlebar mustache. "Sergeant Patterson says it was, sir, but that were

long afore my time—or his, for that matter."

The lawyer looked from side to side with a quick, bird-like movement. "I wonder where the executions took

place?"

Again the constable's thumb jabbed back over his shoulder. "Sergeant Patterson reckons it were in the yard,

be'ind the station 'ouse. Says murderers were 'anged back there."

Eileen climbed from the gig, pulling her skirts up, and, smiling at the policeman, she stepped down. "You must

be awful brave, Constable Judmann, livin' so close to a place where murderers were 'angered. I'd be far too afraid."

The constable's ruddy face turned a shade redder at the compliment, and his chest puffed out a bit further.

"There's nought there to worry about, marm, just a backyard with a plot o' garden. I sees it from my back

bedroom window «very day, tends the garden m'self. I like t'keep it tidy."

"I'll wager you do, Constable. D'you think we could take a look at it?"

The policeman appeared disconcerted at Eileen's request. "Oh, I don't know so much about that, Mrs.

Drum-mond. That's official police property. The public ain't allowed in there. 'Twould be more'n my job's worth if

Sergeant Patterson found I'd let folks go wanderin' willy-nilly 'round the station."

This announcement was followed by an awkward silence, which was broken by the arrival of the sergeant

himself on his bicycle.

Patterson was a cheerful man in his mid-thirties, very tall and lean, with curly red hair and narrow sideburns.

His voice carried the faint trace of a Scottish border accent, from Cold-stream, the town of his birth. He touched his

peak cap to the small assembly and smiled.

"Mornin' to ye, looks like another warm 'un today, eh!"

Sergeant Patterson nodded to the constable, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Ah've just come from yon

railway station. There's three truckloads o' machinery an' buildin' materials arrived there. They've been sent to

Smithers, from Jackman an' Company of London. Aye, all shunted intae a sidin' for unloading an' cartin' tae the

village square, where they plan on stackin' et! So ah told the stationmaster tae put a stop on the operation.

"Your man Smithers was there, too. Weel, ah soon put a flea up his nose! Told him he's not allowed tae unload

a single nail until the morrow, when the court order comes intae force. Auld Smithers roared like a Heeland bull, so ah

read him the riot act an' said that if he disobeyed the law, ah'd arrest him an' lock him up! Ah cannae take to the man,

he's a pompous windbag, if ye'll pardon mah opinion, Mr. Mackay."

The lawyer nodded. "That is my observation of Smithers also, Sergeant."

Patterson parked his bicycle against the garden wall. "Mah thanks tae ye, sir. Constable, ah want ye tae go down

tae the railway station an' stand guard over those wagons, d'ye ken? Oh, an' take a Prohibition of Movement order

form. Pin it tae the delivery. Mind now, make sure et all stops right there!"

The constable saluted needlessly. "Right away, Sarn't. Leave it t'me! Permission to borrow your bike?"

Patterson looked as if he was trying to hide a smile. "Permission granted, Constable, carry on!"

They stood watching Constable Judmann wobble ponderously off down the lane. The sergeant chuckled.

"Will ye look at the man go! Och, he loves ridin' mah old bicycle. Weel now, an' what can I do for you good

folk?"

Eileen answered. "We wanted to have a look at the old execution place, but the constable didn't seem too happy

about it."

Will swelled out his chest and stomach, in a passable imitation of Judmann. "Invasion of police property, if I

ain't mistaken, Sarn't. Sort of a peasant's revolt!"

The sergeant pretended to look grave. "Och, sounds serious tae me! Ye'd best all come in, ah'll put the kettle on

for tea, an' we'll discuss the matter. Just hauld yer wheesht a moment!"

Patterson took an apple from his pocket and fed it to the mare, rubbing her muzzle affectionately. "Stay out o'

this revolt, bonny lass. Mah gaol couldnae cope with ye!"

The walls inside the police station were covered thick with countless applications of whitewash on the top, and

equally heavy layers of bitumen and tar on the bottom. All the woodwork had been painted dark blue many times over

the years, some of it showing blisters around the blackleaded iron fireplace. A notice board by the window was

crowded with official-looking posters, old and new. Patterson made tea, seating Mr. Braithwaite, Mr. Mackay, Will,

and Eileen on tall stools at the charge office desk. Amy and her brother sat on a long bench with Jon and Ben.

Ned lay under the desk, gnawing a thick, gristly mutton bone, making his thoughts known to his master. "Good

man, Sergeant Patterson, what d'you think, pal?"

Ben returned the thought, sipping tea from a brown pottery mug. "I don't know what it is, but I don't feel right in

here. I'm starting to go cold and sweating at the same time."

The Labrador crawled from under the desk, carrying his bone. "Hmm, you don't look too good. This is a creepy

old place. Let's go outside and sit with Delia in the sun."

Amy saw the pair leave, she followed them out. "Are you all right, Ben? You look rather pale."

He leaned on the garden wall, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I'm all right now, thanks. There

was something about the atmosphere in there. Don't know what it was, but I didn't like it."

She patted his hand. "There's no need to go back in if you don't want to. We'll stay out here and let the others

talk to the sergeant.

"You're a strange one, Ben, not like anyone in the village, and certainly not like me or my brother. I hope you

don't mind me asking, but where were you born? What other places have you lived in, before you came here?"

Avoiding the girl's face, he looked off into the distance. "I'd like to tell you, Amy ... but.. ."

She watched her friend's fathomless blue eyes cloud over. It was like looking at a faraway sea when a storm

broods over it. Without knowing why, a wave of pity for the strange boy swept through her mind. "Ben ... I'm sorry."

When he turned and looked at her, his eyes were clear, and the color had returned to his cheeks. Best of all, he

was giving her the smile she had come to like so much.

"You've no cause to be sorry. You're my friend, that's what counts."

The old ship's carpenter provided most of the story, but Patterson let his gaze rove from Alex to Eileen, to Will,

Mr. Braithwaite, and Mr. Mackay, as they put in their contributions to the intriguing narrative.

The sergeant sat gazing into the dregs of his mug before speaking. "Ah was posted tae this village four years

ago, as ye know. 'Tis a grand wee place. Ah've come tae like it fine. But tomorrow modern progress is due tae move

in here. Och, they cannae turn us out of the police station, 'tis Crown property ye ken. Though who in their right mind

would want tae stay here, amid a dusty great quarry an' cement factory?

"Judmann's auld now, he'll take his pension an' move. As for me, och, I'll prob'ly put in tor transfer tae another

post. Though 'twill sair grieve me to go. Friends, if ah can help ye in any way, then ah will. D'ye want tae take a look

'round the auld hangin' ground out back, eh? Then be mah guest!"

Jon was like a big child on a Sunday school outing. He dashed out of the station, rubbing his large, tattooed

hands together gleefully, calling to Amy and Ben. "Come on, mates, away boat's crew! We've got permission to

search around the back—in fact, we've got the sergeant's blessing!"

His two young friends seemed glad, but not overim-pressed. "You go, mate, we'll go around the outside of the

building. See you there later."

The ex-ship's carpenter's craggy face showed concern. He ruffled the boy's tow-colored hair. "D'you feel all

right, son?"

Ben managed a cheery grin. "Never felt better, shipmate!"

The old seaman stared oddly at the pair for a moment. "Righto, see you two 'round there, eh. Hah, look at Ned,

snoozin' away like an old grampus there!"

The black Labrador was curled up in the gig, asleep under the shade of a seat. Amy wrinkled her nose

sympathetically. "He's keeping Delia company, poor old boy. He must be tired in this heat—let him sleep."

36.

IT WAS SHADY TO THE POINT OF BEING gloomy in the walled courtyard at the back of the police station.

The wall enclosing the ancient execution site was over twelve feet high, totally covered by dark green clinging ivy,

giving the impression it was built of vegetation and not limestone. It had a heavy timber door for access to the outside,

the wood layered with countless coats of dark blue paint. Jon had to work vigorously on the rusty latch and bolts until

the door creaked open to admit the two friends.

The feeling of dread Ben had experienced about the station returned, much stronger this time. He had an urge to

run a mile from the drear, forbidding place. However, the presence of the girl at his side and the sight of Eileen, the

policeman, and the rest of his companions was reassuring. Bracing himself, he strode in over the moss-grown cobbles.

Sergeant Patterson was addressing the party.

"Ah'm afraid the history of this auld place is a mystery tae me. When ah first arrived here, I discovered that

damp an' mildew had ruined the auld records. My orders were tae clean up the station, so ah made a grand wee bonfire

o' the soggy documents. Och, ye should've seen Constable Judmann's face.

He never spoke tae me for a fortnight. Mr. Mackay, will ye read out yon poem again, sir?"

The lawyer donned his pince-nez and coughed officiously.

" '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."

Braithwaite shrugged apologetically. "So, er, as you see, Sergeant, we're searching for, hmmm, a gibbet. That is,

er, a hanging place, as it were. Hmm, yes, very good."

Eileen shuddered, rubbing at her upper arms nervously. "Well, I don't see any sign of where they 'anged folk.

Brrr! I feels it, though. Ma would, too, if she were 'ere!"

The dairyman nodded his agreement as he took stock of the courtyard.

An indefinable air of doom did seem to hang over the place. Snails and slugs had left their glistening silver

trails over a border of smooth limestone blocks, which separated a garden area running around the walls on three sides.

The soil was mainly clay, oozing damp. A few straggling shrubs were struggling to survive, overhung by a sickly

laburnum and two purple rhododendrons. The whole atmosphere was hemmed in, dark and claustrophobic, eerie and

silent.

The sergeant smiled wanly. "Nae much tae look at, is it? 'Twas over a hundred years since the last man was

hanged here. Ah took a glance at the auld records before burnin' them.

All written in curly, auld-fashioned script, an' very hard tae decipher. Here now, young Somers, d'ye ken how

they used tae execute murderers?"

Alex shook his head dumbly, swallowing hard at the thought.

Patterson explained the process, his Scottish brogue severe as he told of the manner in which legal sentence was

carried out. "Weel now, a magistrate, priest, sergeant, an' constable had tae be present, an' the auld hangman, o' course.

Yon door, the one Jon opened, they let the public in through there tae watch—as an example of what happened tae

criminals an' evildoers. Then the condemned man was brought out in chains, from the holdin' cell.

"Aye, 'twas a terrible ceremony. The shiverin' wretch was made tae stand on a box 'neath the gallows tree, while

the hangman put the noose 'round his neck. That was when the magistrate read out the death sentence, then he stood

aside for the priest tae pray with the condemned man. When the reverend was finished, they usually allowed the man

tae say a word tae everyone watchin'. The doomed man'd tell them what a wicked fellow he'd been, an' how sorry he

was tae suffer the penalty for his crimes. He'd then tell everyone tae live good lives an' profit from the sight of his

punishment.

"When all that was over with, the magistrate tipped the hangman a nod, the executioner kicked the box from

under the unfortunate wretch, an' the deed was done!"

Amy clapped both hands over her eyes as if she had witnessed it. "Ugh! It sounds so horrid and cruel!"

Eileen placed an arm about the girl's shoulders. "Indeed it was, my dear. From what I've read, it was quite

primitive in small villages . . . they never died instantly. I suppose that's why the poem says they danced around.

Sometimes it took as long as ten minutes before their legs stopped kicking. What a dreadful sight. I can't think why

folks wanted to watch!"

Will clapped his hands, breaking the spell. "Enough of all this! Let's get searching, friends. Is there a gibbet,

tree, or post around here? If there isn't, we're stumped!"

37.

LOUD BARKING AND SCRATCHING ON THE yard door sent Jon hurrying to open it. The big, black

Labrador dashed in and straight across to his master. Nobody had noticed the towheaded boy not taking part in the

discussion. He had quietly sat on the step of the station house. That was where he now slumped in a faint. The dog

licked his master's face furiously, transmitting thoughts. "Ben, Ben, wake up, pal. Open your eyes. Oh, please!"

Jon sat down on the step and took the boy's head in his lap. Eileen bustled past and returned with a mug of cold

water and a damp cloth, which she applied to the strange boy's forehead, while Jon patted his cheek lightly,

murmuring, "Come on, me old shipmate."

Ben's eyelids fluttered, then he came around. Amy seized his hand and rubbed it. "Jon, get him out of here. It's

this place that's caused him to faint, I know it is!"

Ben pointed to the corner of the garden, right by the angle of the wall. "No ... wait... it's there!" Struggling from

Jon's grasp, he made his way over to the corner, with the girl still holding his hand. He made a mark in the soil with

his heel. "Here ... dig here!"

Leaning on his dog and holding on to Amy, with Alex hovering anxiously behind, Ben allowed himself to be

led outside.

Eileen followed out with the glass of water, and found them seated on the pathside by Delia. "Good 'eavens, you

poor lad. What 'appened in there?"

Ben took a sip of water and began feeling better. "I felt dreadful when I walked into the yard, so I sat on the step.

Couldn't trust my legs to hold me up. It was while the sergeant was talking, all that stuff about how they used to hang

murderers. I suddenly felt myself drawn to look at the corner of the garden. There was a dark shape there. I found I

couldn't stop staring at it, and the longer I gazed, the clearer it became..."

The younger boy shuddered and cried out shrilly. "What was it, Ben?"

"It was a man, dressed in tattered, olden-day clothes, chains around his hands and ankles. He was hovering

about two feet from the ground, neck all on one side, his face horribly twisted, tongue sticking out. He was kicking as

if he was dancing a silly jig. The man was looking straight at me. His hands kept twitching and pointing down to the

ground beneath his feet. . . I've never seen anything so horrible. That must have been when I passed out."

He stroked Ned, leaning his head against the dog's neck. "Good old boy, you were the one who rescued me. I

felt you coming to me, barking from far off."

Eileen clapped a hand to her cheek in wonderment. "You felt that, Ben? But how did the dog know?"

Before he could answer, Jon's voice rang clear over the wall to where they were sitting. "We found it. Here 'tis,

lad, we're comin' out!"

Will and Jon came running, waving their spades, followed by Mr. Mackay and Mr. Braithwaite, their clothing

stained with soil and clay, bearing between them a bright green bucket. Sergeant Patterson was bent double,

supporting the bottom lest it burst and fall. They flopped down on the grass with Ben, and he touched the object.

"What is it?"

Sergeant Patterson passed a forearm across his brow. "Och! "Tis heavy, that's what it is. Auld bronze pail, either

bronze or copper. See how green it is? Must've been very thick, because it's only gone through in one or two places.

Ye'd be surprised at the weight of it!"

Amy chuckled. "Probably because it's filled with tallow."

Will lifted the pail and turned it upside down on the grass. "Well, we'll soon see. Loosen it off, Jon."

The old seaman began hitting it gently with the side of his spade, all around the sides. He tapped the pail's

bottom sharply and lifted it off, just like a child making sandpies with a bucket at the seaside. The solid tallow wax

was dark and dirty from soil and clay leaking into it.

Will spoke to the sergeant. "Have you got a big knife? Jon's old clasp knife ain't big enough to slice through this

lot."

The sergeant hurried into the station house and was soon back with a large, fearsome-looking blade.

"Russian Crimean War bayonet, a souvenir brought back by Private Judmann. Ye should hear the tales he tells

of how he came by it, a different one each time!"

The bayonet was more than adequate. In Jon's capable hands it sliced through the tallow, until he brought forth

two slender objects with heavy, spreading bases, still caked with the stuff.

Mr. Mackay identified them immediately. " 'Light bearers 'neath the ground.' A pair of candlesticks!"

The three young friends searched through the shorn-off tallow, Mr. Braithwaite hovering anxiously around

them.

"No, er, sign of any, er, further clues, scraps of, er, er, parchment and so forth?"

Amy looked up. "None, sir. Maybe the next clue is scratched on the bottom of the candlesticks, same as the

cross."

Jon handed the candlesticks to the sergeant. "Put these in a basin of hot water. It'll clean 'em off, then we can

take a proper look."

Mr. Braithwaite followed Sergeant Patterson into the station house, his dusty black scholar's gown flapping.

"Very good, very good, go, er, careful now, Officer. Don't, er, drop them. Precious objects, yes, er, precious indeed!"

When cleaned up in soap and hot water, the candlesticks were things of great beauty, gold-fluted columns

spreading to broad elegant bases, each of which was inset with three of the bloodred, pigeon-egg rubies, to

complement the chalice and crucifix. Mr. Braithwaite was ecstatic, running his fingertips over the fine Byzantine

tracery patterned onto the heavy gold pieces. However, when he looked at the bases of both candlesticks, they were

smooth and untouched by any messages scratched on either one.

The only noise in the still midday air came from Delia's hoof as she struck it against the ground. The six sat

staring at the treasure of St. Matthew glittering in the sun, the rubies shining as if they were afire.

Ben broke the silence by announcing to his crestfallen friends, "Listen, we can sit here all day looking at the

candlesticks, but that won't get anything solved. We've worked too hard and long to let this thing defeat us!"

The dairyman farmer got up to strap Delia's nosebag on. "You're right, lad, but what's our next move?"

Mr. Mackay, who had been brushing clay from his clothing, rose smartly to his feet. "I suggest we go carefully

back over all the evidence. Search the hole where we found the pail, inspect the pail, and sort through that tallow

again. One of us will stay here and go over the candlesticks with a fine-tooth comb. If we're all agreeable, of course!"

Eileen took a pail from the gig to fill with water for Delia. "Good idea! Nothin' worth havin' is come by easy, I

say. Ben, you take the candlesticks. Will, take Jon and the sergeant an' check that 'ole you dug. Mr. Braithwaite, Mr.

Mackay, see if you can find any message in that old copper bucket. Alex, you 'n' me will rummage through that tallow

again."

Amy pointed to herself. "What about me, Miz Drum-mond?"

"Oh, I'd forgot you, m'dear. Stay 'ere with Ben an' help with the candlesticks. Keep an eye on him in case he

tries to faint again. Come on, you lot, stir your stumps!"

The Labrador threw Ben a thought. "The lady forgot about me. I'll stay here, too, with you and Amy. Be with

you in a moment, I'll just get a quick drink from my pal Delia's water bucket."

38.

FIFTY MILES SOUTH OF THE POLICE STAtion a small boy was trudging along a country lane toward the

farmhouse where he lived. The boy, a small, sturdy lad of about eight years, stopped to witness a strange sight.

Weaving from side to side and honking furiously, a machine was coming toward him. It was one of the new

petroleum-driven motorcars, a bright green one, with its leather hood down. He scurried to one side, hugging the

hedge as it rumbled past him and ground to a halt with a screeching sound. There were four men in the car. One of

them, wearing a long duster coat, gauntlets, and a cap, with the peak backward, climbed from the vehicle. He had on a

pair of light-brown-lensed goggles, which he pushed up onto his cap as he approached the boy. The lad shrank further

into the hedge as the man stooped and thrust his face forward.

"G'mornin', sonny boy. Is that there Chapelvale?" The man pointed to a church spire in the distance. The boy

shook his head.

The man scratched his coarse, stubbled chin. "Oh, I see, well, wot's that place called?" The boy spoke a single

word. "Church." This seemed to exasperate the man. "I know it's a church, sonny, but wot's the name of the village

where the church is, eh?"

The boy considered this for a moment. "It's not Chapelvale."

Another man emerged from the car, dressed in a suit of very loud green checkered material. He sported a

pencil-thin mustache, his hair was plastered into a center part. He shouted out to his companion, "Come on, Gripper,

the kid don't know nothin'. Let's get goin'!"

Gripper was about to shout back an answer, when a farmer appeared at the gateway of a farmhouse further up

the road. He was a giant of a man, his sleeves rolled up to expose two brawny arms. Slamming the gate open, he

marched aggressively up to the one called Gripper, whom he pointed a thick finger at.

"Hoi you! Gerraway from my lad an' leave 'im be!"

Gripper backed off hurriedly. "I don't mean the kid no 'arm. I was only askin' him where Chapelvale is."

The boy ran to his father and clung to his leg. The man ruffled his son's hair as he replied, "Chapelvale. 'Ow's

Georgy supposed to know, eh, 'e's only a child!"

Gripper tried a friendly smile, it looked more like a leer. "Then p'raps you can tell me where Chapelvale is, eh,

mate?"

The farmer did not like strangers. His big fists clenched. "No I can't, an' I'm not your mate. Now, get on your

way, quick!"

Gripper drew himself up in a dignified manner and strode back to the motorcar, which was still running. He

shouted back, "Stoopid big lump. Bet you'd 'ave trouble findin' your own be'ind with both hands!"

The fanner picked up a stone from the roadside. Gripper shoved his loudly garbed associate into the vehicle,

leapt in after him, and accelerated off down the lane.

Gripper was the driver. The flashy one in the front with him was, aptly enough, named Flash. The two backseats

were occupied by Chunk, a massive, unintelligent specimen who wore a suit three sizes too small and a pearl-grey

bowler hat perched on his shaven skull; and Chaz, a small, weaselly type, dressed in a frock-tailed morning coat and

pin-striped pants, a size too large. In lieu of a shirt or collar he wore a knotted scarf of once-white silk. He was

perpetually sniggering at anything and everything, which was what he did as soon as they were out of stone-throwing

range.

"Heeheehee, we're lost! I told yer, didn't I, Gripp. Hee-hee!"

Gripper clenched the brass steering wheel tight, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Shut yer gob, Chaz,

or I'll belt yer one 'round the 'ead, on me oath I will!"

But Chaz would not be silenced. "Why go onna train, 'e sez, let's keep the money an' steal a motorcar. Leave it

to me, 'e sez, I'll find Chapelvale. When're yer gonna find it, Gripp, eh? Next week? Heeheehee!"

They all lurched to one side as Gripper threw the car around a hairpin bend, bumping off the high-banked grass

verge. He snorted aloud in frustration. "Shut 'im up, willyer, Chunk; give the flamin' nuisance a smack fer me!"

Chunk took Chaz's scrawny neck in one huge paw, rendering him helpless. "Where d'ya want me to biff 'im,

Gripp? In the eye?"

Chaz pleaded. "No no, 'e doesn't want yer to biff me anywhere!"

"Ho yes I do!" replied Gripper. "Biff 'im where y'like, Chunk."

In biffing people, Chunk always preferred the nose. Chaz had quite a big beaky nose, so Chunk biffed it

enthusiastically. Chaz squealed and fell back in the seat, his nose bleeding profusely. He held the dirty silk scarf to it.

"Wot didjer do dat for? Be dose is broke!"

Chunk felt no sympathy or enmity toward Chaz. "I did it 'cos Gripper tole me to. Ain't that right, Gripp?"

Gripper carried on watching the road. "Right, Chunk, now per'aps 'e'll stop makin' smart remarks!"

Flash had noticed a milestone. "It said arf a mile to Church 'aven on that stone, Gripp. Must be wot that place is

called."

They drove into the village of Church Haven and stopped outside the post office. Gripper went in to ask for

directions; a kindly, old, silver-haired postmistress came out onto the street with him to explain things.

"Chapelvale, sir, my goodness but you are a long, long way from there. Where have you come from?"

Gripper was losing patience, but trying to stay polite. "London, marm, but which way is it to Chapelvale?"

The old lady shook her head wistfully. "I've never been to London, but I hear 'tis a wonderful city, St. Paul's

Cathedral, Buckingham Palace. It must be so nice to live there. Do you ever see Her Majesty Queen Victoria?"

Flash leaned out of the car. "Lots o' times, me ole darlin'. We seen 'er only last week, didn't we, Gripp."

Gripper shot him a murderous glance, but he carried on. "Oh yes, we're special messengers for 'Er Majesty the

Queen. That's why we got ter get to Chapelvale. So could you tell us the way?"

The postmistress was only too willing to help royal couriers. "Most certainly—head straight down the High

Street and take a left turn at the bottom, where you can't go any further. Then you'll be on the road to Great Sutley.

You'll pass through there and on to Little Sutley, then Sutley-on-the-Marsh. Take a right there and make for

Vetchley-on-the-Wold. Now, when you get there ..."

Gripper got into the motorcar. "That'll do, we'll find it from there. Thanks, marm!"

She caught sight of Chaz in the backseat. "Oh dear, your poor friend's nose is bleeding. Has he been injured?"

Gripper pulled the motoring goggles over his eyes. "No, he's all right, marm. Sometimes 'e gets the nosebleeds

with motorin', speed of the car, y'know. We been traveling at twenny-five miles an hour most o' the way."

She gasped at the thought. "Twenty-five miles an hour! It's a wonder you aren't all dead. Wait there, I'll get him

a clean, damp cloth and a drink of water."

She scurried inside the post office. Gripper drove off with Chunk complaining from the backseat. "Why didn't

ya wait, Gripp? I coulda done wiv a drink o' water."

They clattered off down the cobbled High Street in a cloud of exhaust fumes, arguing among themselves.

"Look, never mind the water, we can't 'ang about all day!"

"I'b bleedin' to death through be dose, you should ob waited an' let 'er see t'me."

"Shut yer mouf, Chaz, or I'll stop the motor an' give you annuder one. Where did she say to turn left, Flash,

Little Sut-ford on the Wold or Vetchley in the Marsh?"

"I dunno, I thought you was lissenin' to 'er. Pass us one o' those sandwiches yore missus made, willyer, Chunk."

"She made those sangwiches fer me, not youse lot. Any'ow, I et am all. That's why I'm firsty for a drink o'

water."

"Big fat greedy pig, didyer 'ear that, Gripp. 'E's scoffed all the sandwiches, the rotten ole lard barrel!"

"Sharrap, the three of youse! I'm tryin' t'think. Sharrap!"

"Are you finkin' why there's a fence acrosst the road, Gripp? Well, that's 'cos the lady tole yer to turn left an'

you turned right. You'd better back the motor up."

"No I won't, 'cos I don't know 'ow to. You lot'll 'ave to get out an' push it backward. Cummon, out, youse three!"

Whilst the others were searching, Ben and Amy took one of the candlesticks and began examining it minutely

from sconce to base. They scanned the intricate engraving for any trace of hidden writing. Ned nudged the other

candlestick with his nose. It fell over and rolled down the grass bank of the path-side. The Labrador chased after it

and grabbed it in his mouth by the top. Eileen was engrossed in searching through the lumps of tallow. Alex had lost

interest, having already searched through it once, when he spotted the dog with the candlestick in his mouth.

Scrambling forward, the younger boy grabbed the base of it and tried to tug it from Ned's jaws.

"Where are you going with that? Naughty fellow, give it to me. Let go, Ned!"

But the big Labrador was not about to let go. He dug his front paws into the grass and tugged back, sending a

thought out to Ben. "Huh, the nerve of the lad. Tell him to let go, mate. He's supposed to be messing with the

tallow—these candlesticks are our job. Tell him, Ben!"

The boy turned his head to see what was going on, and saw Alex and Ned tugging the candlestick between them.

All at once there was a pop, like a cork being pulled from a bottle, and the two fell back upon their bottoms—each

holding a half of the candlestick!

Everybody came running at the sound of Ben and Alex shouting. "We've found it! We've found it!"

The big dog allowed Ben to relieve him of the top half, passing a highly indignant thought to his master.

"You've found it? Well, of all the nerve, it was me who found it!"

The boy hugged the Labrador's neck, returning the thought. "Of course you did, pal. When we get home, I'll

make sure Winnie rewards you with the best feed you've ever had!"

The dog licked Ben's face. "Now you're talking, shipmate!"

Mr. Mackay peered into the hollow cylinder of Ben's half-candlestick. "Ah yes, yes, yes, a small scroll of paper.

I could get at it, if I had a pair of tweezers."

"Let me try, please." The lawyer handed the candlestick over to Amy. Her slim fingers and strong fingernails

soon extracted the scroll. It was very thin, delicate paper, almost transparent. She gave it to the old seaman, who

unrolled it carefully as the others looked on with bated breath.

Will leaned over Jon's shoulder and looked. His sigh of frustration was audible. "No message, just a lot of little

lines."

Later, Sergeant Patterson made more tea for them as Mr. Braithwaite gazed at the thin paper lying on the

charge-office desk. "Hmm, lines and a few dots. Spaced out in, er, rather a, er, peculiar way. Hmmm."

The lines and the dots seemed to have no connection.

The sergeant glanced at them as he passed out mugs of tea. "Very peculiar, ah'd say, what d'ye think, laddie?"

Ben stood with his eyes riveted on the paper. "I'd say we've got a real mystery on our hands this time!"

39.

WILL'S MA TOOK LITTLE WILLUM TO VISIT Mrs. Winn that afternoon. Not having heard from Ben or the

others, the anxious older woman was delighted to see them. They had tea and hot, buttered crumpets. Willum liked a

dab of strawberry jam on his crumpet and sat on the carpet, the picture of happiness, his cheeks smeared with jam.

Catching sight of Horatio, he crawled off in hot pursuit, attempting to get his sticky fingers on the cat, calling, "Fussy

ca', fussy ca'!" Within minutes they had another visitor come calling. Hetty Sullivan, the Smitherses' maidservant. Mrs.

Winn hastened to top off the teapot and toast more crumpets. Hetty was a good sort—she rescued Horatio from little

Willum's attentions and put him out in the garden.

Willum protested aloud as she cleaned him up with a wet flannel and towel. "Gaaah, wanna fussy ca'!"

The three ladies had just settled down to their tea, when Delia came clopping up the lane. Mrs. Winn threw up

her arms in mock despair. "Merciful heavens, it looks like open house here today—there's a whole crew arriving!"

The servant girl could see the old lady was secretly pleased to have so many callers on a Thursday afternoon.

"You stay there, Miz Winn, I'll see to them."

Mrs. Winn made a move to rise, then sat back down. "Thank you, Hetty, I'm afraid we've eaten all the crumpets.

There's a Dundee cake and a currant loaf in the larder. Oh, and you'd best get the big teapot out!"

Wiping their muddy boots on the doormat, Ben and his friends trooped in. The open-faced farmer's wife swept

little Willum up and hugged him. "You rascal, fancy findin' you 'ere!"

The older woman's cheeks were flushed to a rosy hue as she took Ben's hand. "So many people, lad! Well, did

you have any luck?"

The boy winked at Amy. "Show her."

With a flourish the girl placed both of the candlesticks on the table. "St. Matthew's treasure, the light bearers

'neath the ground!"

Mrs. Winn held up her hands, as if afraid to touch them. "Oh my! Oh goodness! They're absolutely beautiful!"

Mr. Braithwaite picked one up and rubbed a fingermark off with his sleeve. "Er, beautiful indeed, marm.

Byzantine, er, er, workmanship, hmmm, a long-lost art, yes, er, very good!"

Mr. Mackay folded both hands beneath the tails of his coat and paced around before holding forth.

"Unfortunately, madam, we have as yet been unable to find the deeds to your land. In my estimation we now have the

three pieces sent up by Bishop Peveril from the court of King Edward the Third: a chalice, a cross, and a set of

candlesticks to grace the altar of the church, which later became the almshouse. But it is the deeds that are vital to our

cause. And we do not have them! Each piece has given us a clue, leading to the next one, from Luke to John and on to

Matthew. But I regret to inform you that the message we found with the candlesticks is very obscure and far, far too

cryptic for us to search further. Rather a shame, seeing as the deadline is tomorrow morning." He rolled out his

prediction: "If the deeds are not found by then, Chapelvale will be in the hands of the developers!"

The old woman put down her teacup. "Where did you find the candlesticks?"

The younger boy answered. "Under the old police station yard. Constable Judmann wasn't going to let us in, but

Sergeant Patterson allowed us to dig there. He even helped."

The Smitherses' Hetty trundled in with a trolley, laden with tea and cakes. "Sergeant Patterson, 'e's a nice bobby,

where's 'e now?"

Alex took a wedge of Dundee cake. "Back up at the station. There was a message coming in on the button

machine...."

"You mean the telegraph," his sister corrected him. "The sergeant said he'd follow us up here after the message

had arrived."

Will's ma was growing impatient. "Well, where's this obscure clue? Don't we get to see it?"

"Here 'tis, Sarah, see what you make of it." The ship's carpenter passed her the thin paper sheet.

Screwing her eyes up, Ma inspected it briefly before passing it to Mrs. Winn. "Lot o' lines an' dots, don't mean a

thing t'me!" she said as a knock at the door announced the sergeant's arrival.

As Hetty served the young policeman tea, he took the telegram from his tunic pocket. "Ah was on mah way tae

check on Judmann at the railway station, when auld Mr. Talbot called me intae the post office an' gave me this

telegraph, from the postmistress at Church Haven, over fifty miles from here. It says that early this mornin', four o'

Queen Victoria's couriers passed through there. Seems the poor laddies were lost. Anyway, they drove off in a

motorcar, without waitin' tae hear proper directions. Sounds odd tae me."

"D'you think it'll have anything to do with the village bein' turned into a quarry an' cement factory, Sergeant?"

Patterson folded the telegraph form, pondering the dairyman's question.

"Och, ah dinna think the Queen's even heard of our village. Tae mah knowledge, we've never had royal couriers

vis-itin' Chapelvale. If any such thing were planned, London would contact the police station, not the local post office,

an' ah've had no word at all from London, ye ken?" He tucked the telegram back in his pocket. "There's somethin'

strange goin' on. Ah'm goin' back tae the village, tae look further intae this matter!"

"Could I come with you, Sergeant Patterson?" The blue-eyed boy had become alert at the mention of London.

Amy tapped the paper upon the table. "But what about solving this riddle?"

Ben made his excuses. "I won't be too long, Amy, Jon. There's something I've got to talk with the sergeant about.

I'll bet with all the brains here you'll have the riddle beaten before I get back. Keep them at it, Mr. Braithwaite!"

The old scholar blinked, ruffling his arms in his sleeves, as Ben and his big, black dog accompanied the

policeman out.

"Eh, er, keep them at it? Oh, er, yes, very good young, er!"

As the front door closed, Will's mother, more curious than ever, indicated the paper. "Where did you find this,

Will?"

"Inside one of the candlesticks, Ma, why?"

"Which one?"

Eileen picked up a candlestick. "This one, I think."

Alex shook his head. "No, it was the other one. Ned's teeth made a slight scratch on that one. I noticed it when I

put the two halves back together. See?" He pointed to the faint scratch on the other candlestick.

Mrs. Winn poured herself more tea. 'That's the one you found the paper in, eh, Jon?"

"Aye, that's the one, marm."

She took a sip of her tea. "Then why haven't you looked inside the other one? Doesn't it come apart?"

The good-natured farmer's wife laughed heartily. "Haha-haha! Good thinkin', Winnie, what a bunch o' puddin'

'eads we are!"

The ex-seaman and the dairyman took an end each, and they pulled, like two children with a Christmas cracker.

The candlestick popped apart so easily that Will fell backward and Jon bumped into Mr. Mackay.

Apologies were forgotten as they stared at the slim scroll of paper lying on the floor.

40.

SERGEANT PATTERSON WAS AN EASY MAN to get on with. Ben explained to him how he had come by

the information that Smithers's guest, Maud Bowe, was having four of her father's company thugs sent up from Lon-

don to frighten Mrs. Winn into leaving her home. The sergeant spoke without looking at Ben as they walked toward

the village square. "Why didn't ye inform me of this before, lad?" The boy thought hard before replying. "Well, I'd

never met you before this morning. But when you got that telegraph message, and it mentioned four men coming up

from London, I thought you'd better know about what I'd found out, so I'm telling you now."

The Scots sergeant nodded. "Aye, fair enough. I hope ye don't mind me askin', but how did ye plan on dealing

with them? Always providing that what Hetty told Miz Winn was fact, and not just kitchenmaid's tittle-tattle."

Ben's blue eyes narrowed. "Oh, I'd think of something, one way or another."

The sergeant questioned him further. "Did ye tell any o' the others—Jon or Will, for instance?"

"No, you're the first one I've spoken to about it."

The policeman could not help admiring the boy's courage. "And ye were goin' tae handle it all on your own,

eh?"

Ben stopped and stared at the bobby. "Me and Ned could do it!"

There was something about the pair, the manner in which the big, black dog stood by the boy and the

determined light in the boy's blue eyes. Sergeant Patterson smiled. "Ah'd bet money that ye could. But there's three of

us now, and ah'm the law. Ah was a constable for four years in the east end o' London. Ah think ye'd better let me

give ye some assistance, son." He held out his hand. "All right with ye?"

The boy shook Patterson's hand. "Fine with me, Sarge-. Righto, Ned?"

The black Labrador held out his paw to the astonished sergeant, who shook it firmly and laughed. "Hahahah!

Yon's a pretty intelligent dog!"

The dog flashed a passing thought to his master. "This young sergeant's fairly bright, too, eh, lad!"

The postmaster, Seth Talbot, had more news for them when they arrived at his office. "Message just come

through from Drakehampton. I don't think those four men in the motor vehicle know who they are. Asked the

postmistress there directions for Chapelvale, said they were racehorse buyers. Drove off and nearly knocked an old

gent down who was crossing the road."

The sergeant turned to Ben. "Would ye like to go around tae the railway station sidings for me? Tell Constable

Jud-mann ah can't relieve him yet and tae stay there. I'm going tae use the telegraph here. Get a description of our four

friends and their motorcar from Drakehampton. Then ah'll contact headquarters in London and see what they know

about them."

The constable was in his element. He stood holding on to the bicycle, in view of the "Prohibition of Movement"

notice he had fixed to the railway trucks. Nothing but his sergeant's command would cause him to quit his post, he

assured Ben, adding, "You tell the sarn't I'll stand 'ere all day an' all night, if needs be, lad!"

Sergeant Patterson was beaming when they returned to the post office. The Labrador passed a thought to Ben. "I

must look just like that when I get a big beef marrowbone!"

The boy could not hide a grin. "Aye, you do!"

Further thoughts were cut short by the sergeant, who met the two at the door. "Och, ye were right, lad! George

Pearson, alias Gripper, Frederick Lloyd, alias Flash, Charles Hyland, alias Chaz, and Eric Wardle, alias Chunk.

Driving a motorized vehicle, registration number BLH 98. Stolen from the front drive of Colonel Busby Hythe

Simmonds of South Hampstead Crescent, London, yesterday evening!"

He strode from the post office, patting Ben's back and stroking the dog's head, a definite spring in his step. "Och

aye, they've been guests at headquarters quite a few times. Felons, that's what they are, Ben. Known criminals!"

Ben had to trot to keep up with the sergeant's long strides. "What's the next move, then, Sarge?"

Patterson squared his shoulders. "Reception committee, lad. We've got tae give our London friends a warm

welcome. Haha, if the constable knew he'd be sharpenin' his bayonet and cleaning up his auld army rifle.... Best leave

him guarding the railway trucks, eh? Excitement, Ben, the very spice of life!"

"Ask him where we're off to now, pal?"

Ben caught the Labrador's thought and asked the sergeant, "Where are we going now, Sarge?"

"Tae Miz Winn's house, o' course, ah want tae see if they've solved the candlestick riddle. Keep up there,

partner!"

Relief flooded the boy as he marched jauntily alongside his competent friend. He had not really known what he

was going to do about the London villains. Of course, he had put on a confident air when Winnie told him about them,

but that was mainly for her benefit. Truth was he had acted just like a typical Chapelvale villager, pushing the matter

to the back of his mind, hoping that it was all just Hetty's gossip. He counted himself very lucky that he had confided

in Sergeant Patterson.

"Don't blame yourself too much, pal." The dog followed in Ben's tracks. "A boy and a dog are pretty thin odds

against four full-grown rogues. Our policeman'll deal with 'em, look at the sergeant. He's actually looking forward to

it."

Ben tugged Ned's tail. "Excuse me, pal, but d'you mind not cutting in on my thoughts?"

The Labrador snapped playfully at Ben's ankle. "And what about my thoughts, pray? I was as worried as you

about the issue. Thank goodness for the law, I say!"

They encountered a fairly pensive group in the Winn sitting room, studying a piece of paper that lay unfurled

upon the table.

Ben looked hopefully to the seaman. "So you found something, is that it?"

"Aye, lad. That paper was rolled up inside the other candlestick. What d'you make of it?"

The paper, for the most part, was blank, except for one corner, which had two rows of tiny cramped writing.

Ben read aloud. " 'Be of good heart, like a flame pure and true. May the light of St. Mark bring my words unto

you. E.D.W "

The sergeant picked up the paper and inspected it. "Good, thick, quality stuff. Far more substantial than the thin

slip in the other candlestick. Have ye tried matching them together in anyway?"

Mr. Braithwaite placed the thin paper on the table. "We were just, er, about to do so, er, yes, quite so!"

Between them, Braithwaite and Mr. Mackay tried connecting both papers. Heeding every suggestion put

forward by the rest, they placed the papers side by side, one over the other, semi-overlapping, and in every other

possible combination that could be guessed at.

The result was absolutely nothing.

Will Drummond clenched both fists. Shutting his eyes tight, he called out in frustration, "St. Mark, are you

listenin'? We're all of good heart! D'you think you could let us in on your secret, eh? Before 'tis too late for

Chapelvale!"

Will's ma pursed her lips severely. "William Drummond! Don't you be so disrespectful to one o' the Lord's

disciples, you won't get anythin' done like that!"

The blue-eyed boy felt pins and needles prickle his scalp, realizing the truth of her statement. He recalled

another place and another time, long ago, when a man had ranted and called out against heaven. And he remembered

the results of that day.

Eileen rescued little Willum, who was trying to sit on Ned's back. "Ma's right, Will. Any'ow, I think there's too

many cooks at the puddin' round 'ere. Ain't you got nothin' else to do, you menfolk?"

Sergeant Patterson had an idea. "Why don't you ladies and Mr. Braithwaite set your minds tae solving the

puzzle. Ah'll take the men out into the kitchen—there's something Ah want tae speak tae them about."

Winnie exchanged a secret smile with her friend Hetty. "Agreed, Sergeant. Would you mind taking these dishes

out with you when you go and washing them? We'll let you know when we want more tea."

The sergeant paused in the doorway. "Right ye are, marm. Ben, Alex, bring the dishes out. You're with the men

now, ye ken!"

Amy handed her brother a cup and saucer. "Here you are, sir." Alex took them, giving her a stern glance. After

all, he was classed as one of the men now.

In the gathering dusk, Gripper jammed on the brake, throwing the motorcar's occupants forward. "Flash, nip

back 'n' see wot it sez on that signpost we just passed. Go on, move yerself!"

Flash blinked, rubbing his eyes. "Go easy, willyer, Gripp. I was jus' takin' forty winks there."

Gripper raised a threatening fist. "I'll forty winks yer. Get goin', yore supposed t'be the one keepin' watch."

Flash slouched off moodily back down the road. Gripper unfolded the sketch of Chapelvale, which had been

supplied by Maud Bowe's father, squinting at it in the half-light.

"Can't be too far from the spot now, eh?"

He was answered by Chunk's stentorian snore from the backseat. Using the leather gauntlet he had removed,

Gripper turned and belabored the two sleepers vigorously. "Am 1 the only one wid 'is eyes open 'round 'ere? Wake

up!"

The blows bounced off Chunk's stolid face, and he opened one eye. "Wot's the matter, are we there?"

Chaz snuffled, wiping a grimy sleeve across his upper lip and complaining as he inspected it. "Y'b started bee

dose off bleedin' again. Wodjer doo dat for?"

Flash interrupted further complaints by climbing back into the front passenger seat. "It sez 'Adford. Any good?"

Gripper explored the sketch with a grimy finger, repeating, "Hmm, 'Adford, 'Adford, lemme see . . . Hahah!

There 'tis!"

Up in the far corner of the drawing, a road leading out of Chapelvale was marked "Hadford Rd." Gripper

realized that it was totally the wrong way to be approaching their destination. Hadford Road was at the north side of

Chapelvale. Coming up from London, they should have entered by the south road, which ran parallel to the railway

line. But he did not offer this information to the others.

Instead he announced proudly, "See, I wasn't lost. Told yer I knew the way, didn't I, eh?"

He continued driving, assuming that they agreed by their silence, until Flash spoke his thoughts over the

chugging engine noise.

"But you said it was a four-hour drive. We been on the road since five this mornin'!"

Gripper had an explanation, as he always did. "Oh yerss, but lookit all the times we 'ad to stop. When that

farmer was goin' t'chuck a rock, when those cows blocked the lane, when we turned inter that farmyard by mistake,

when youse 'ad ter push the motor backwards, when we asked the post office lady the way. It all adds time ter the trip

y'know, all adds time!"

Chunk sighed wistfully. "I liked the post office lady, she was gonna give me some water. Wish I 'ad a glass

now."

Flash laughed mirthlessly. "Worrabout a glass o' beer, that's wot I need. An' a good plate o' steak 'n' kidney pie.

I'm starved, I only 'ad a slice o' toast fer breakfist."

Chaz dabbed the scarf to his injured nose. "Yuh, bee too, I'b huggry, you nebber stopped for food, nod once!"

It was rapidly going dark. Gripper clenched his teeth as he bumped over a fallen branch lying in their path.

"Sharrap about food, you lot! Eat, eat, that's all youse think about. One more word outta you, Chaz, an' I'll stop this

motor an' give yer a knuckle sandwich. How'll that do yer, eh, eh?"

"Whoo!"

Gripper did not realize it was a nearby owl that had hooted. "You, that's who, Chaz. Now, shut yer gob!"

"Bud I nebber said nothig, Gripp."

Gripper nodded. "Just as well y'never, loose-lips. Aye aye, is that lights, up on that 'ill ahead?"

Chunk replied, "That'll be 'Adford, can we get summat to eat when we gets there ?"

Gripper kept his eyes riveted on the road. "We could if we was stoppin' there, but we ain't. Mister Bowe's

daughter'll be wonderin' where we've gotten to."

Flash pulled a face. "Oh, that one, liddle miss snotty nose. My daddy sez you got to do this, my daddy sez you

gotta do that. An' she looks at yer like yer sumthin' she stepped in!"

Gripper sniffed. "She can look at us anyway she wants to, as long as 'er daddy pays up. Five guineas apiece fer

puttin' the frighteners on some old dame, just so she'll leave 'ome. Not bad money fer a small job like that!"

Chunk's stomach gurgled so loud it could be heard above the growl of the engine. He patted it sorrowfully.

"Don't know about five guineas. I'd settle fer a paperful of fish an' chips right now, wiv salt an' vinegar on 'em."

"Can't you think of nothin' but yer stummick, y'great lump!"

A further abdominal gurgle almost drowned out Gripper's statement. Chunk gazed mournfully at the passing

countryside. "Well, I can't 'elp it if me stummick's bigger'n yours, Gripp."

"Aye, if yer brains was as big as yer stummick, you'd be in charge o' the country, Chunk, doin' the prime

minister out of a job. That's wot you'd be doin', mate!"

"Why, 'as the prime minister got a big stummick, Gripp?"

"The prime min ... Jus' go back t'sleep, willyer, Chunk!"

Flash propped his feet up on the dashboard. "Kin I 'ave a snooze, too, Gripp?"

Gripper let go of the steering wheel with one hand. He gave Flash a numbing punch on his shin. "No, y'can't.

You keep yer eyes open fer more signs!"

41.

" 'BE OF GOOD HEART, LIKE A FLAME PURE and true, May the light of St. Mark bring my words unto

you. E.D.W.' " Mr. Braithwaite and the ladies sat in the gathering gloom, staring at the paper as Amy read the rhyme

for the third time.

Ben entered the room with a lighted taper. "Jon told me to bring some light to you before you ruin your eyesight

staring at that paper." Mrs. Winn had neither gas nor the new electric light, favoring the old ways, and kept four

ornate oil lamps in her sitting room. The boy lit them all, one on the mantelpiece, two on the window ledges back and

front. He touched his taper to the wick of the largest lamp with its tall glass chimney and a cream-hued bowl. This

lamp stood on the same table as the paper and gave off a wonderfully soft glow.

Ben chuckled. "Now you can see to think properly. Miz Winn, I'm going out with the men."

A worried frown creased the old lady's brow. "So that's what you were all discussing in the kitchen. I knew as

soon as the sergeant read out the telegram about the four men coming here in the motorcar. Be careful, Ben, and do

exactly as Sergeant Patterson tells you—they could be dangerous." There was something in the blue eyes of the

strange boy from the sea that told the old lady he had faced danger many times. His hand felt reassuring as he touched

her shoulder lightly. "We can take care of this, Jon, Will, Mr. Mackay, Alex, the sergeant, and myself. No need for

you to worry.

"Don't open the door to anybody until you've looked through the window to see who's there. I'll leave Ned with

you, just in case."

Little Willum had played himself out and lay on the sofa, surrounded by cushions. As his mother covered him

with an old plaid traveling rug, Ned came to sit by her.

Eileen patted the big dog's head. "I'd like to see anyone try t'get past Ned if he didn't want 'em to come in. You

go on, Ben. We're safe enough. Tell my Will not to forget Delia's nosebag an' water bucket."

Amy touched the boy's hand. "Be careful, Ben, and good luck!"

He paused at the door, tossing hair back from his keen blue eyes. "Good luck to you, too, pal. Don't worry, I'll

keep my eye on Alex for you. Stay, boy!"

The black Labrador winked at Ben. "All right, shipmate, I'm only coming to the door to see you off."

When they had departed, Mr. Braithwaite suddenly began pacing the room earnestly. Hetty whispered to her

friend, "Lookit that ole buffer scratchin' away at 'imself, Winnie. The shoulders of that gown look as if 'e's been

sprinklin' 'em with talcum powder!"

Mrs. Winn suppressed a smile. "Ssshh, he's deep in thought."

Mr. Braithwaite stopped, holding up a finger, like an orator about to deliver a speech. "Hmph! It, er, occurs to

me, er, ladies, that we should, er, light a candle in one of those holders, as it were. Yes, very good, to see it the light of

St. Mark brings any, uh, er .. . words to us. Yes?"

Mrs. Winn opened a drawer in the table. "It can't do any harm, I suppose, I keep some candles in here."

Mr. Braithwaite took a candle. Using his library key, he scraped the wax at its base until it fit the socket of one

golden candlestick. When he had lit it, the old scholar stood holding the candlestick in one hand and the paper in the

other.

"Right, er, very good so far. Er, er, hmmmmmm."

He was at a loss what to do next. Will's ma, Sarah, came to his rescue, her voice mounting with excitement.

"Give it to me now, I think I might know the answer!" She practically snatched both candlestick and paper.

The young girl watched curiously as Sarah held the paper over the flame. "Be careful, you might burn it!"

The old woman moved the paper back and forth across the flame confidently. "When I was a little girl, me 'n'

my pals used t'send messages to each other, invisible notes. All you need is some white vinegar or lemon juice to

write with, even an egg white'll do. See! I knew I was right, somethin's showin' on the paper. Here!"

Heat from the candle flame had caused markings to appear! They were rather faint, but still discernible.

The excited maidservant hugged the younger girl with a sob in her voice. "Oh, I 'ope it's somethin' that'll put a

spoke in ole Smithers's wheel. What does it say, Mr. Braithwaite, sir? What does it say?"

Scanning the paper, the old scholar shook his head. "Er, nothing really, just shapes and, er, dots, so to speak!"

The women gathered around the table to view the odd markings.

Hetty was both angry and disappointed. "I never learned to read or write, but that ain't no writin'. I can see that.

An' it ain't nothin' a body could read, I'm sure!"

Will's ma glanced at Mr. Braithwaite. "What d'you think, sir?"

He stared at the markings blankly. "I, er, tend to agree with Miz, er, hmmm!"

Sarah turned her attention to Amy. "An' you, girl, what d'you make of it, eh?"

Amy picked up the thin sheet of paper with the lines and dots on it.

"I'd place this paper over that paper and see if it matches up."

The dairyman's wife clapped her hands. "So would I, m'dear, try it!"

Amy placed the thin paper over the thicker one, lining up the first dot over the one beneath.

Mrs. Winn kissed Amy. "Thank you, you clever, pretty girl!"

The black Labrador stood with his paws upon the table, passing a thought to Horatio, who had prowled in. "We

mustn't forget to thank good old Edmund De Winn, too, eh?"

"Mrrrowr! Sardine, milk, waaiow! 'Ratio hungry!"

Ned stared down his nose at the cat. "Don't think too hard—you'll damage that amazing brain of yours!"

The librarian-schoolteacher flopped down in an armchair, shaking his head. "Thin paper over thick paper and

join up the marks. Well, I, er, never. Hmmm, must be getting, er, er, old if I can't see that, er, ah yes ... old."

42.

WITH THEIR WINDOW BLINDS PULLED down, the village square shops looked as if they were sleeping.

Dust had settled on the leaves of the hawthorn trees, without even the faintest breeze to stir it.

In the window of Mr. Mackay's office, the clock showed ten minutes after midnight. Dark clouds obscured a

pale, crescent moon; the air was still and warm from the long summer's day. A villainous-looking man, his matted

beard showing beneath a battered slouch hat, sat holding the reins of a horse and gig in the shadows. He turned this

way and that, watching every possible entrance to the village square.

Concealed in some bushes at the side of the Hadford Road, Ben and Alex were first to hear the distant chug of a

motorcar. Without a word, side by side, they ran back to Chapel-vale.

The villainous man looked up as the boys came panting up to him. "Did you see them?"

"No, but we heard the motorcar!" "It's coming in on the Hadford Road, be here soon!" The man nodded. "Good,

boy, collect Mr. Mackay from Station Road. Alex, get Will from School Lane. Make your way up to the police station,

see you there. Now go, an' remember, lads, keep out of sight!"

Gripper stopped the motor just short of the square. Flinging off his gauntlets and goggles, he rested his forehead

against the steering wheel and sighed thankfully. "Chapelvale at last!"

Chunk sounded slightly doubtful. "You mean we're 'ere, Gripp? 'Ow d'yer know that?"

Flash shook his head in amazement at Chunk's ignorance.

" 'Cos we passed a sign on the road that said Chapelvale. But I suppose you was kippin' again."

Chunk straightened his bowler and stretched. "Nuffin" wrong wid sleepin', is there? It is nighttime, y'know. I

got pains in me guts wiv 'unger. Where d'we get sumthin' to eat? You promised us, Gripp."

Gripper massaged his temples with both hands. "Chunk, give it a rest, willyer. Forget yer stummick for a minute.

Chaz, you ain't asleep, are yer?"

"Huh, 'ow cad I sleeb wid be dose bleedin' like a tap? You shuddena told hib to hid be, Gripp, id hurds!"

Gripper raised a single finger in warning. "One more word outta you, Chaz, just one more!"

Flash began tugging at Gripper's sleeve. "Gripp, Gripp!"

Gripper shook him off. "I'm 'ere. Y'don't 'ave to tear the coat off me. Wot is it?"

Flash pointed. "Some ole geezer sittin' watchin' us, wiv an 'orse an' cart. Over there, look!"

Gripper got out of the vehicle and nodded to his crew. "There's four of us an' one of 'im, let's see wot 'e wants."

The villainous-looking man, who was in reality the old ship's carpenter wearing a disguise, stared down from

his perch on the gig at the four toughs. His voice held a sneer. "So, yew got 'ere finally. Wot time d'yer call this t'be

rollin' up fer the job, eh?"

"We got los ... Oof!"

Flash had the wind knocked from him by Gripper's elbow. Gripper did his best tough stare and spat in the dust.

"None of yer business, Granddad, we 'ad a few problems, that's all. Now, where's this old biddy's place? We'll do the

job. Don't get yer whiskers in an uproar about that. Show us the way."

Jon shook his head pityingly, looking them up and down. "Company toughs, eh, huh! It's too late t'do anythin'

tonight, Mr. Smithers an' Maud wants to see yer up at the 'ouse."

"Do they 'ave food up there, you know, eats?"

The old seaman winked at Chunk. "All yer likes, tons of it!"

"Ad hab dey got bandages an' thiggs, too?"

Jon chuckled wickedly. "Probl'y, but they mightn't 'ave enough to go 'round yore big 'ooter. Fell on it, didyer?"

Gripper fished a leather-bound cosh out of his pocket and began smacking it ominously in his palm. "Lissen, ole

man. Yore too nosy fer yer own good, but I can soon fix that. Now, are y'takin' us up to the 'ouse, eh?"

Jon indicated the cart. "Cummon, 'op in. I'll take ye."

Gripper grabbed the back of Flash's coat as he began to mount the gig. "We got a motorcar, you get goin'. We'll

foller yer."

Secreted with Ben and Alex in the rosebushes to one side of the police station door, Mr. Mackay, armed with

Sergeant

Patterson's long pacing stick, whispered hoarsely through the open charge office window. "They're coming!"

Gripper stared suspiciously at the greystone building. "This don't look like no toff's big 'ouse!"

The shipman climbed down from the gig. " 'Cos it ain't, it's my 'ouse. Mr. Smithers don't want you lot t'be seen

'round 'is mansion. Well, are you big, brave 'ooligans goin' to sit out 'ere in yer motorcar all night?"

Gripper silenced the engine and got out, pointing a finger. "Watch who yer callin' 'ooligans, Granpop. Cummon,

youse lot!" They swaggered up the path nonchalantly, letting Jon see that they were not the least bit afraid, while he

followed them.

Gripper was about to raise the lion's-head knocker on the door when it was flung open and Sergeant Patterson

pulled him inside. As he did, he roared, "Now!"

Will sprang forward and grabbed Chunk, charging from the rear, as Jon and Mr. Mackay bulled Chaz and Flash

into the station with their two companions. The boys watched through the window as the sergeant locked the door.

Gripper was pale with shock and indignation. He immediately recognized the interior, having been in many

police stations. "Wot's all this, then? We ain't done nothin' wrong. I'll see our lawyers about this!"

The sergeant towered over Gripper and folded his arms, smiling. "Colonel Busby Hythe Simmonds, ah

presume."

Gripper sensed the policeman had made a mistaken identity. "You've got the wrong man, Sergeant. I ain't

Colonel Bubsy Wots'isname, neither are me friends. Never 'eard of 'im afore!"

Patterson nodded understandingly. "Well, ah'm glad we've got that cleared up, sir. Perhaps you'd like tae tell me

what ye are doing in possession of the colonel's motorcar, number BLH 98, which was stolen from outside his house

at South Hampstead Crescent in London last evening?"

Flash groaned. "Told yer we should've took the train, Gripp."

Gripper shot him a murderous glance, silencing him. He turned back to the sergeant. "You can't 'old us 'ere. We

ain't committed no crimes, we found the motorcar, see."

The sergeant's voice still retained its pleasant tone. "Found it, sir, where, in Church Haven outside the post of-

fice?"

Chunk smiled in remembrance of the visit. "That's right, Sarge, where the ole lady nearly give me a drink o'

water. I liked 'er!"

The two boys listened in through the open window, chuckling as the sergeant replied. "Och aye, ye'd be one of

the four royal couriers, or is it one of the racehorse buyers who asked directions at Drakehampton post office. Which

were you? Think!"

Chunk took off his bowler and scratched his shaven head. "Er, I fink the game's up, Gripp. 'E's nabbed us

fair'n'square!"

Gripper stamped his boot down on Chunk's foot. "Shar-rup, thick'ead. Don't say another word, none of youse!"

The sergeant sat at the charge office desk, his pleasant mood evaporating suddenly as he rapped out, "Enough o'

all this nonsense. George Pearson, Frederick Lloyd, Charles Hy-land, and Eric Wardle. Ye are under arrest for the

theft of a motor vehicle, pending further investigations revealing any other felonies. Ye'll be held in custody here until

such times as ye appear before a magistrate, have ye anything tae say t'the charges brought against ye?"

Flash whispered to Gripper, " 'E knows our proper names! 'Ow'd'e find that out?"

Gripper ground his teeth together audibly. "Shut... up!"

Sergeant Patterson stared levelly at the four accused. "Ah said, have ye anything tae say t'the charges?"

Gripper glared sullenly back at him. "We wanna lawyer!"

Mr. Mackay looked them up and down with disdain. "I'm a lawyer, the only one in Chapelvale, but I don't deal

in criminal law. Besides, I've quite enough clients at the moment, thank you. So, what are your plans, gentlemen, eh?"

Chaz's nose had stopped bleeding, and he sniffed carefully before blurting out, "The company we work for in

London, Jackman Donnin' an' Bowe,'ll get a lawyer fer us, a real one from London, not some 'ayseed like that feller!"

Gripper groaned, and clenching both fists, he turned on Chaz. "You stoopid, loudmouthed squealer! I'll.. ."

Chaz skipped nimbly out of range, placing himself behind the formidable figure of Will Drummond.

"Keep 'im away from me! It was Gripper who pinched the motorcar, 'e's the on'y one of us wot can drive. I

'aven't done nothin', an' I'm not gonna be left carryin' the can fer miss snotty nose Maud Bowe an' 'er father's firm. No!

Not fer any local bigwig who's in with 'em, either!"

It was at that moment when Constable Judmann pounded on the station door and the old seaman let him in. "I

thought you were comin' to relieve me, Sarge. 'Ello, what've we got 'ere?"

Sergeant Patterson took hold of Chaz firmly. "Ah'll tell ye all about it later, Constable. Lock those three up in

the holding cell, will ye. Ah'll keep this fellow here with me. Ah've got a feeling he wants tae tell me more." The

sergeant relieved Mackay of his stick.

"Thanks for the help, gents. Time yon lads were in bed, though. Does your dad know you're out this late, Alex?"

The younger boy who stood framed by the open window with the blue-eyed boy replied, "It's all right, Sarge.

Me and Amy told him we'd be stopping over with Ben at Miz Winn's tonight."

The sergeant winked at Ben. "Weel, you make sure they get straight off tae bed, and don't stay up late yourself!"

Ben grinned cheekily. "Bed? Not on a night like this. It's gone midnight, d'you realize? Today's Thursday, the

deadline day for Chapelvale. I'm going back to see if Miz Winn and our friends have cracked the riddle!"

The boys ran off, with Will, the shipman, and the lawyer in their wake, calling, "Hi, wait for us!"

43.

WILL'S MA HAD TAKEN LITTLE Willum to bed with her, in Winnie's room on the ground floor. On the sofa

formerly occupied by little Willum, Mr. Braithwaite lay, wrapped in his gown, overcome by slumber. Hetty took the

plaid traveling rug and covered him over with it. "Good old feller, it was him who thought of lightin' the candle. That

got us started." Mackay bobbed his head in a small bow. "But I've no doubt he couldn't have got much further without

the help of you ladies, excellent work all 'round!" Amy, Eileen, and Mrs. Winn were far too excited to contemplate

sleep. They showed the results of their labors to the menfolk, who told them of the capture of the London toughs. The

blue-eyed boy took a look at the writing, then at the old map with the four dots upon it. "It's marked here as East-path,

where's that?"

Eileen blushed in the lamplight. "Oh, 'tis a pretty little lane. Will an' me used to walk there, when we was

a-courtin'." Mr. Mackay knew a bit more about the area. "Ah yes, East-path. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, Jon, but

isn't that the old stagecoach way, to the east of the village square?"

Jon confirmed the solicitor's words. "Aye, that's the place," the old shipmate said. "Once the new road was built

from Hadford, for the waggoners to use, the path fell into disrepair. Of course, that'd be nigh on a hundred years back.

Eastpath will be so overgrown we'll have a right old job tryin' to locate a milestone."

Will shook his head. "Oh no we won't, friend. I recall trip-pin' over that stone an' sprainin' my ankle one

evening as I was runnin'."

Amy chuckled. "Were you chasing after Eileen?"

Will's big, jolly wife gave Amy a nudge, almost knocking her over. "No, it were I who was chasin' after Will!"

Mr. Mackay coughed officiously to dispel any more talk of the romantic escapade. "Harrumph! Yes, well, we're

going to need spades, lanterns, and so on. Shall we get started? Our time is short now."

The black Labrador passed a thought to his master, who was sitting stroking him. "Pity the poor girl who ever

tries to chase that dry old stick."

The gig was loaded up, ready to go. Ben stood at the door with Mrs. Winn. The old lady looked very tired, he

hugged her affectionately. "You go back inside and have a nice nap, Miz Winn. Leave this to us. I promise we'll come

back here with anything we find, straightaway!"

She kissed Ben's cheek. "I'll have breakfast ready for you."

The dog was obviously holding a mental conversation with Horatio. As they climbed into the gig, Ben eyed the

Labrador. "What was going on between you two, Ned?"

The black Labrador laid his chin on Ben's lap. "I told him to keep an eye on things while we were gone."

The boy scratched the back of his dog's ear. "I suppose he gave you a lot of nonsense about sardines, butterflies,

and mice. Poor old Horatio, he's got a bit of a one-track mind."

Ned shook his head. "No. Surprisingly, he said he'd watch over the house and if anything happened he'd track us

down and let me know. I think that Horatio's finally come to his senses. Just in time—can't go around with a headful

of sardines and butterflies all his life!"

Delia trotted dutifully through the darkened village, passing the almshouse and heading up the overgrown path.

It became very dim, overshadowed by an archway of overhanging trees. Ben was imagining what it had been like all

those years ago: stagecoaches laden with passengers and mail, carriages bearing merchants and gentry, carts laden

with produce. All of them fearful to be traveling such a lonely and shaded path, where highwaymen and thieves might

lurk. The strange boy glimpsed the crescent moon, struggling to cast its light through the leafy canopy. Unwittingly

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 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,

sir!"

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 an 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

arm-piece 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 merrymaking.

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're 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."

Ben raised his eyebrows. "Evening tea garden?"

The girl nodded. "Wonderful idea, isn't it? Dai and Blod-wen Evans are employing Hetty Sullivan to run the tea

garden five evenings a week, after the Tea Shoppe closes in the late afternoon. They'll be supplying her with the

materials, of course. Hetty's delighted with her new job. Show him the other plans, Curator Preston."

The old ship's carpenter assumed a mock dignified attitude. "Ahem, that's my new title, y'know, Curator Preston,

of the Preston-Braithwaite Collection. I'm going to be Caretaker Handyman, too. Good, isn't it, I never had that many

high-flown titles in my sailin' days. Mrs. Winn wants the old almshouse to be part of our village life, not an old ruin

molder-ing away unused at the corner of the square. Apart from rethatching the roof, and the addition of a window or

two, the outside'll look pretty much the same, nice an' quaint.

"But inside there'll be the collection, the cross, chalice, candlesticks, and deeds, all in display cases, together

with the story of how Chapelvale was saved. We all get a mention in it, even good old Ned. Then there's the evenin'

tea garden and an extra room inside for any village meetings, dances, young people's events. We're even gettin' a

small library—Mr. Braith-waite will be in charge of that. A proper little village hall for everyone to use, eh, lad!"

The boy shook his friend's big, tattooed hand heartily. "Sounds wonderful, mate. When will all the rebuilding

work start?"

Mr. Mackay interrupted. The dapper little lawyer was positively beaming. "First thing Monday morning, m'boy!

My friend the magistrate and I visited the firm of Jackman Donning and Bowe in London last week. We came to an

amicable agreement with them. This morning I received by special post a check for a considerable amount. Together

with the express wish that the name of Jackman Donning and Bowe never be associated with past events in

Chapelvale and the hope that all will be forgotten."

Mr. Mackay actually performed a small dance of triumph as he pulled forth the check and waved it over his

head. "Sufficient funds for our almshouse restoration fund. The workmen arrive with materials on Monday morning,

eight o'clock sharp!"

Mr. Braithwaite looked up from a list of new books he was studying. "Quite, er, very good, very, er, er, good.

Yes!"

Will Drummond picked a crowbar from a wheelbarrow of tools he had brought from the farmhouse. "Aye, lad,

meanwhile 'tis our job to clear all the rubbish from this almshouse an' make it ready. Here y'are, Curator Preston, the

crowbar you asked for, sir!"

Jon hefted the long curved iron, moving to the center of the room.

His blue eyes twinkled as he winked at Ben.

"You can lend a hand later, shipmate, but first there's something I've got to do, just to satisfy my own curiosity."

The boy gave his friend a puzzled look. "Of course I'll help, but what's the crowbar for?"

The old seaman looked up at the ceiling. It was cracked, damp-stained, and bellied. "Ever since I first docked at

this almshouse I've wondered what that big, ugly hump atop of the roof could be. I ain't going to let no team o' strange

workmen find out afore I do. So cover your eyes an' mouths, every-body. There's goin' to be a load of old dust an'

rubbish an' whitewash comin' down.

"Stand clear now, pals. Here goes!"

Whump! Bump! Thud!

A mess of dried rushes, twigs, old plaster, and limewash showered down. Ben and the others shielded their eyes

and nose. Jon shaded both eyes with a hand as he battered furiously at the growing gap in the ceiling.

Crack! Whump! Thud! Whack!

He stopped a moment and stared into the huge, dark cavity he had made. "Push that table over here, quick!"

Suddenly Ben knew. He grabbed Ned's collar and hurried outside. The black Labrador sensed it, too. They

began running to get as far away from the almshouse as possible, both knowing that they would not outdistance the

sound of inevitable fate.

The ground beneath Ben seemed to sway, like the deck of the Flying Dutchman, and cold sweat broke out on

his face, like seaspray. The distant hiss of escaping steam from a train pulling into the station sounded as if it were the

gales off the coast of Tierra del Fuego, so long ago, so far away.

"Leave this place, do not stay to watch your friends grow old and die one by one, while you are still young. You

must go!" At the sound of the angel's voice, the dog increased his speed, pulling at his master's hand on his collar,

dragging Ben along with him.

Jon stood on the table. He had not noticed Ben and his dog going; amid the curtain of dust and falling rubbish,

neither had the others. Will climbed up alongside the old ship's carpenter, holding up a lighted lantern. "What is it?

What's up there, Jon?"

"It's a bell, Will! That's what the hump was, a little bell tower. Our new village center will have a bell! Listen!"

The old seaman swung the crowbar and struck the inside of the bell. Booonnnnggggg! The sound of the bell boomed

out over Chapelvale.

As the brazen echoes reverberated far and near, a baby cried.

Eileen popped her head through the back window of the almshouse, looking none too pleased. "Stop that noise

this instant! I just got little Willum nicely to sleep out 'ere, now you gone an' wakened 'im, poor mite."

The old man lowered the crowbar sheepishly, stating his excuse. "But, marm, that's the first time the bell's

sounded in nigh on three hundred years!"

Eileen stood with her hands on her hips. "Oh is it now, well, let it be the last for the moment. Get down from

that table, Will Drummond, an' you, too, Jon Preston. Standin' up there like two naughty children, covered in dust an'

muck an' I don't know what. You should see yourselves!"

Will climbed from the table, dusting himself off. "Sorry, my love, you go an' have a nice cup o' tea at Evans, I'll

get Willum back to sleep again."

Amy could not help smiling at the two big men, now friends. As Jon got off the table, she brushed whitewash

flakes from his beard. "Go on, the pair of you, take Eileen over for tea and crumpets. I'll see to Willum."

Jon threw his arms about Will and Eileen. "Come on, you two, let's do as Amy says—my treat, though!"

They were halfway across the square when Jon noticed his friend's absence. "Wait, I'll go an' ask Ben if he an'

Ned want t'come to the Tea Shoppe with us."

Eileen gave him a playful shove. "Go on with you, what does the lad want with old fogies like us? Ben's prob'ly

lookin' after little Willum with Amy. Leave the young 'uns to themselves, you great fusspot!"

The farmer was in full agreement with his wife. "Aye, she's a pretty girl an' he's an 'andsome lad. Leave 'em be,

mate."

An engine tooted and the stationmaster's whistle shrilled over at the railway station. Jon checked his old pocket

watch. "There goes the ten-fifty, right on time."

Eileen patted a cloud of dust from the old carpenter's back. "I've never been on a train! Huh, progress they calls

it. Noisy, great, smelly things. Trains are only for travelin' folk an' those in a hurry to leave home. I ain't in no rush

t'go runnin' off. Chapelvale's my home!"

48.

ONE WEEK LATER

SATURDAY ARRIVED AGAIN, MISTY AT FIRST, but soon clearing up to reveal a warm, soft day. Mrs.

Winn had done her shopping, but there was so much of it that she had paid the delivery boy to take it up to the house.

Evans Tea Shoppe was pleasantly busy. She sat alone at the window, reading and rereading the precious letter she had

received.

Blodwen Evans brought a pot of tea and Mrs. Winn's usual tea cake to the table. Winnie caught her trying to

glance at the letter and covered it with her handbag. Pretending she had not been trying to pry, Blodwen looked

through the window.

"Look you, 'ere's Amy an' Alex." As the young people drew closer, Winnie tapped the windowpane with her

worn gold wedding ring, beckoning them inside. "Bring ice cream and lemonade for them, please, Blodwen."

The brother and sister seated themselves in the window corner. The old lady poured herself tea. "What are you

two up to today, still helping Jon at the almshouse? He's not short of willing hands these days."

Alex settled himself back against the cushion. "We're going to help him build a new fence and gate for the

front."

Mrs. Winn sliced her tea cake precisely into four and leaned closer to Amy, keeping her voice low. "I hope

you're over the weeps and sniffles now. Come on, let's see a little smile?"

The girl tried a smile, which did not quite work. She looked down at the tablecloth. "We still haven't heard from

him, Miz Winn."

Alex blinked several times and sniffed. "We liked Ben, and Ned, too—why did they have to go? It's not fair!"

There was silence. Alex looked away through the window as Winnie did her best to answer the question.

"There's a lot in life that isn't fair, you'll find that out as you grow older. When Ben first came to me, he said that he

could only stay awhile, I never pressed him about it. He was a bit of a mystery, I suppose as much to you as to me, a

good boy, a real friend, but so strange. What made him leave so suddenly I'll never know—his rucksack and change

of clothes are still in his room. Did he ever mention leaving to you?"

Amy dabbled her ice cream spoon thoughtfully. "I remember the afternoon we met him outside the station. I

asked him would he be staying in Chapelvale, he just said, I don't know, maybe. As if he was teasing, or just

shrugging the question off. I could never tell with Ben. He had those sort of eyes, cloudy blue sometimes, bright,

shining blue at other times. They could twinkle and smile, make you feel happy somehow. But often they would grow

distant and mysterious, so you couldn't tell what was going on behind them."

Mrs. Winn watched Amy apply herself to the ice cream. "I sensed the same thing. Perhaps not as much as you

did, but I'm an old lady and you're about the same age as Ben, so you understand him better. What about you, Alex?"

Alex snorted on his lemonade. "Boys don't notice things like that about their pals, but I liked Ned's eyes. They

were friendly, brown I think. I know this much about Ben, though. He made me feel brave ... I'm not scared ... not of

bullies or anything these days. That's why I miss him so much, he could've taught me lots more if he'd stayed. I bet

you miss him, too, Miz Winn?"

The old lady pursed her lips. "It's different when one's older. I tell myself I remember Ben fondly and I always

will. You and I, this whole village, look at the mess we were in before he came. Ben changed all that by getting us to

help each other. I think of him as my gift, loaned to me for a while, like a kind of a good angel. But that sounds silly,

doesn't it. Nobody could imagine a rough-and-ready angel with a great black dog lolloping round at his heels!"

At the thought of it, they all burst out laughing. Mrs. Winn touched the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Oh dear, what a vision. But now, would you like to hear some good news? I received a letter today. This'll cheer you

up. It certainly made me come alive again."

Amy touched the letter sticking out from beneath the handbag. "Is this it?"

The old lady beamed with pleasure. "It certainly is, would you like to read it out to Alex and me? Well, go on!"

Mrs. Winn's happiness was complete. She even let Blodwen Evans hover nearby to listen as her young friend

read the letter. " 'Hello, Mum! It's your wandering son Jim putting pen to paper. Sorry I haven't written tor a while, but

here's some exciting news for you. My wife Lilian and I have been thinking lately of moving back to dear old England.

We miss it a lot. Jamie and Rodney are growing into fine big sons. Would you believe, Jamie was fourteen last week

and Rodney turned twelve in April.

" 'School is a bit makeshift in Ceylon, or should I say was, because we've taken them out of it and decided on

coming home to get them a proper education. Most of all, they want to see their grandma and Chapelvale. How is the

old place? I'm always telling Jamie and Rod about when I was a boy in the village. They're dying to see it. Well,

we've got sufficient savings from my investments, and Lilian would like to purchase a house in Chapelvale. I'll turn

my hand to some sort of new job (you know me, jack-of-all-trades, or should I say Jim, ha ha). We are at present

aboard the steamship Ocean Monarch, traveling to England, expect to be there within ten days of you receiving my

letter.

" 'Now, don't fuss, Mum. No need to come hurrying up to Liverpool docks to meet us. We'll make our own way

to Chapelvale quite easily. I understand you've got a train line running to there now. You can meet us at the station.

Got to close now, due at the captain's table for dinner. See you soon, love from your son Jim, Lilian, and the boys.

XXXX

" 'P.S. Hope you know some nice young folks the boys can pal up with.' "

Alex clenched his fists, squinched his face up, and shuddered with delight. "Nice young folks like us, Miz

Winn!"

Will slapped his hand down on the table. "Ahah, thought I'd find you here. Come on. You, too, Jon. We're just

goin' 'round to your dad's, Alex. One of my cows, Buttercup, she's in calf. Eileen an' Ma are with 'er now. It's a bit

early, but she's due today, Ma says. So, would you like to see one o' my baby calves bein' born?"

Amy and Alex chorused eagerly. "Yes, please, Will!"

Jon was already hurrying out to the cartful of young people.

"Last one in the gig doesn't get scones an' cream at the farm!"

Winnie stayed where she was, watching them pile in.

"Regina, did you save me a place?"

"Course I did. Hurry up, Alex!"

"Shove over, Tommo!"

"Amy, sit here by me!"

"Ahoy there, what about me?"

"You'll have to run behind, Jon. Hahaha!"

"Up here by me, Jon. Good job Delia's a big, strong gal!"

"I'm with ye, Will. Gee up, Delia!"

Winifred Winn sat watching the sunlight's lovely play through the fine haze of dust they had left as the gig sped

from the village square. Dreams she had never dared to dream had come true. Yet in the midst of all her happiness she

felt a tinge of sadness, picturing the towheaded lad and his dog a short while ago, crossing the square. He was wearing

the new outfit she had bought for him, the black Labrador trotted at his side faithfully. They halted halfway across the

square. He flicked the blond hair from his eyes and stood there. Those blue eyes had never seemed so bright. Ned

barked once, Ben raised his arm, shouting as he waved.

"Miz Winn!"

She half rose from her chair, the name forming on her lips.

"Ben..."

Then the dust settled and an old lady was left gazing at an empty village square.