CHAPTER XXXIV
AFTERWARDS
Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse cursed the weather and cursed himself forbeing a fool.
He had started from Acol Court on horseback, riding an old nag, for theroads were heavy with mud, and the short cut through the woods quiteimpassable.
The icy downpour beat against his face and lashed the poor mare's earsand mane until she tossed her head about blindly and impatiently, scarceheeding where she placed her feet. The rider's cloak was already soakedthrough, and soon even his shirt clung dank and cold to his aching back;the bridle was slippery with the wet, and his numbed fingers couldhardly feel its resistance as the mare went stumbling on her way.
Beside horse and rider, Master Hymn-of-Praise Busy and Master CourageToogood walked ankle-deep in mud--one on each side of the mare, andlantern in hand, for the shades of evening would have drawn in ere thereturn journey could be undertaken. The two men had taken off theirshoes and stockings and had slung them over their shoulders, for 'twasbetter to walk barefoot than to feel the icy moisture soaking throughleather and worsted.
It was then close on two o'clock of an unusually bleak Novemberafternoon. The winds of Heaven, which of a truth do oft use the isle ofThanet as a meeting place, wherein to discuss the mischief which theyseverally intend to accomplish in sundry quarters later on, had beenexceptionally active this day. The southwesterly hurricane had brought,a deluge of rain with it a couple of hours ago, then--satisfied withthis prowess--had handed the downpour over to his brother of thenortheast, who breathing on it with his icy breath, had soon convertedit into sleet: whereupon he turned his back on the mainland altogether,and wandered out towards the ocean, determined to worry the deep-seafishermen who were out with their nets: but not before he had deputedhis brother of the northeast to marshal his army of snow-laden cloud onthe firmament.
This the northeast, was over-ready to do, and in answer to his whim aleaden, inky pall now lay over Thanet, whilst the gale continued itsmighty, wanton frolic, lashing the sleet against the tiny window-panesof the cottage, or sending it down the chimneys, upon the burning logsbelow, causing them to splutter and to hiss ere they changed their glowto black and smoking embers.
'Twere impossible to imagine a more discomforting atmosphere in which tobe abroad: yet Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse was trudging through the mire,and getting wet to the skin, even when he might just as well be sittingbeside the fire in the withdrawing-room at the Court.
He was on his way to the smith's forge at Acol and had ordered hisserving-men to accompany him thither: and of a truth neither of themwere loath to go. They cared naught about the weather, and theexcitement which centered round the Quakeress's cottage at Acol morethan counterbalanced the discomfort of a tramp through the mud.
A rumor had reached the Court that the funeral of the murdered manwould, mayhap, take place this day, and Master Busy would not havemissed such an event for the world, not though the roads lay thick withsnow and the drifts rendered progress impossible to all save to thekeenest enthusiast. He for one was glad enough that his master hadseemed so unaccountably anxious for the company of his own serving men.Sir Marmaduke had ever been overfond of wandering about the lonely woodsof Thanet alone.
But since that gruesome murder on the beach forty-eight hours ago andmore, both the quality and the yokels preferred to venture abroad incompany.
At the same time neither Master Busy nor young Courage Toogood couldimagine why Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse should endure such amazingdiscomfort in order to attend the funeral of an obscure adventurer, whoof a truth was as naught to him.
Nor, if the truth were known, could Sir Marmaduke himself have accountedfor his presence here on this lonely road, and on one of the mostdismal, bleak and unpleasant afternoons that had ever been experiencedin Thanet of late.
He should at this moment have been on the other side of the North Sea.The most elemental prudence should indeed have counseled an immediatejourney to Amsterdam and a prompt negotiation of all marketablesecurities which Lady Sue Aldmarshe had placed in his hands.
Yet twice twenty-four hours had gone by since that awful night, when,having finally relinquished his victim to the embrace of the tide, hehad picked his way up the chalk cliffs and through the terror-hauntedwoods to his own room in Acol Court.
He should have left for abroad the next day, ere the news of thediscovery of a mysterious murder had reached the precincts of his ownpark. But he had remained in England. Something seemed to have rootedhim to the spot, something to be holding him back whenever he was readyto flee.
At first it had been a mere desire to know. On the morning following hiscrime he made a vigorous effort to rally his scattered senses, to walk,to move, and to breathe as if nothing had happened, as if nothing layout there on the sands of Epple, high and dry now, for the tide wouldhave gone out.
Whether he had slept or not since the moment when he had creptstealthily into his own house, silently as the bird of prey whenreturning to its nest--he could not have said. Undoubtedly he hadstripped off the dead man's clothes, the rough shirt and cord breecheswhich had belonged to Lambert, the smith. Undoubtedly, too, he had madea bundle of these things, hiding them in a dark recess at the bottom ofan old oak cupboard which stood in his room. With these clothes he hadplaced the leather wallet which contained securities worth half amillion of solid money.
All this he had done, preparatory to destroying the clothes by fire, andto converting the securities into money abroad. After that he had thrownhimself on the bed, without thought, without sensations save those ofbodily ache and of numbing fatigue.
Vaguely, as the morning roused him to consciousness, he realized that hemust leave for Dover as soon as may be and cross over to France by thefirst packet available, or, better still, by boat specially chartered.And yet, when anon he rose and dressed, he felt at once that he wouldnot go just yet; that he could not go until certain queries which hadformed in his brain had been answered by events.
How soon would the watches find the body? Having found it, what wouldthey do? Would the body be immediately identified by the clothes uponit? or would doubt on that score arise in the minds of the neighboringfolk? Would the disappearance of Adam Lambert be known at once andcommented upon in connection with the crime?
Curiosity soon became an obsession; he wandered down into the hall wherethe serving-wench was plying her duster. He searched her face,wondering if she had heard the news.
The mist of the night had yielded to an icy drizzle, but Sir Marmadukecould not remain within. His footsteps guided him in the direction ofAcol, on towards Epple Bay. On the path which leads to the edge of thecliffs he met the watches who were tramping on towards the beach.
The men saluted him and went on their way, but he turned and fled asquickly as he dared.
In the afternoon Master Busy brought the news down from Prospect Inn.The body of the man who had called himself a French prince had beenfound murdered and shockingly mutilated on the sands at Epple. SirMarmaduke was vastly interested. He, usually so reserved and ill-humoredwith his servants, had kept Hymn-of-Praise in close converse for nighupon an hour, asking many questions about the crime, about the pettyconstables' action in the matter and the comments made by the villagefolk.
At the same time he gave strict injunctions to Master Busy not tobreathe a word of the gruesome subject to the ladies, nor yet to theserving-wench; 'twas not a matter fit for women's ears.
Sir Marmaduke then bade his butler push on as far as Acol, to gleanfurther information about the mysterious event.
That evening he collected all the clothes which had belonged to Lambert,the smith, and wrapping up the leather wallet with them which containedthe securities, he carried this bundle to the lonely pavilion on theoutskirts of the park.
He was not yet ready to go abroad.
Master Busy returned from his visit to Acol full of what he had seen. Hehad been allowed to view the body, and to swear before Squire Boatfieldthat he recognized the clothes as bei
ng those usually worn by themysterious foreigner who used to haunt the woods and park of Acol alllast summer.
Hymn-of-Praise had his full meed of pleasure that evening, and the nextday, too, for Sir Marmaduke seemed never tired of hearing him recountall the gossip which obtained at Acol and at St. Nicholas: the surmisesas to the motive of the horrible crime, the talk about the stranger andhis doings, the resentment caused by his weird demise, and theconjectures as to what could have led a miscreant to do away with soinsignificant a personage.
All that day--the second since the crime--Sir Marmaduke still lingeredin Thanet. Prudence whispered urgent counsels that he should go, and yethe stayed, watching the progress of events with that same morbid andtenacious curiosity.
And now it was the thought of what folk would say when they heard thatAdam Lambert had disappeared, and was, of a truth, not returning home,which kept Sir Marmaduke still lingering in England.
That and the inexplicable enigma which ever confronts the searcher ofhuman motives: the overwhelming desire of the murderer to look onceagain upon his victim.
Master Busy had on that second morning brought home the news from Acol,that Squire Boatfield had caused a rough deal coffin to be made by thevillage carpenter at the expense of the county, and that mayhap thestranger would be laid therein this very afternoon and conveyed down toMinster, where he would be accorded Christian burial.
Then Sir Marmaduke realized that it would be impossible for him to leaveEngland until after he had gazed once more on the dead body of thesmith.
After that he would go. He would shake the sand of Thanet from his heelsforever.
When he had learned all that he wished to know he would be free from thepresent feeling of terrible obsession which paralyzed his movements tothe extent of endangering his own safely.
He was bound to look upon his victim once again: an inexplicable andtitanic force compelled him to that. Mayhap, that same force wouldenable him to keep his nerves under control when, presently, he shouldbe face to face with the dead.
Face to face? ... Good God! ...
Yet neither fear nor remorse haunted him. It was only curosity, and, atone thought, a nameless horror! ... Not at the thought of murder ...there he had no compunction, but at that of the terrible deed which frominstinct of self-protection had perforce to succeed the graver crime.
The weight of those chalk boulders seemed still to weigh against themuscles of his back. He felt that Sisyphus-like he was forever rolling,rolling a gigantic stone which, failing of its purpose--recoiled on him,rolling back down a precipitous incline, and crushing him beneath itsweight ... only to release him again ... to leave him free to endure thesame torture over and over again ... and yet again ... forever the sameweight ... forever the self-same, intolerable agony....
The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century Page 34
