CHAPTER XXXV
THE SMITH'S FORGE
Up to the hour of his departure from Acol Court, Sir Marmaduke had beenconvinced that neither his sister-in-law nor Lady Sue had heard of thenews which had set the whole of Thanet in commotion. Acol Court liesvery isolated, well off the main Canterbury Road, and just for two daysand a half Master Hymn-of-Praise Busy had contrived to hold his tongue.
Most of the village gossips, too, met at the local public bars, and hadhad up to now no time to wander as far as the Court, nor any reason todo so, seeing that Master Busy was always to be found at Prospect Innand always ready to discuss the mystery in all its bearings, with anyonewho would share a pint of ale with him.
Sir Marmaduke had taken jealous care only to meet the ladies atmeal-time, and under penalty of immediate dismissal had forbiddenHymn-of-Praise to speak to the serving-wench of the all-absorbing topic.
So far Master Busy had obeyed, but at the last moment, just beforestarting for Acol village, Sir Marmaduke had caught sight of MistressCharity talking to the stableman in the yard. Something in the wench'seyes told him--with absolute certainty that she had just heard of themurder.
That morbid and tenacious curiosity once more got hold of him. He wouldhave given all he possessed at this moment--the entire fruits of hiscrime perhaps--to know what that ignorant girl thought of it all, and itcaused him acute, almost physical pain, to refrain from questioning her.
There was enough of the sense of self-protection in him, however, tocheck himself from betraying such extraordinary interest in the matter:but he turned on his heel and went quickly back to the house. He wantedto catch sight of Editha's face, if only for a moment; he wanted to seefor himself, then and there, if she had also heard the news.
As he entered the hall, she was coming down the stairs. She had on hercloak and hood as if preparing to go out. Their eyes met and he saw thatshe knew.
Knew what? He broke into a loud and fierce laugh as he met her wildlyquestioning gaze. There was a look almost of madness in the hopelesspuzzlement of her expression.
Of course Editha must be hopelessly puzzled. The very thought of hervague conjecturings had caused him to laugh as maniacs laugh at times.
The mysterious French prince had been found on the sands murdered andmutilated.... But then ...
Still laughing, Sir Marmaduke once more turned, running away from thehouse now and never pausing until his foot had touched the stirrup andhis fingers were entangled in the damp mane of the mare. Even whilst hesettled himself into the saddle as comfortably as he could, the grimhumor of Editha's bewilderment caused him to laugh, within himself.
The nag stepped slowly along in the mud at first, then broke into ashort trot. The two serving-men had started on ahead with theirlanterns; they would, of course, be walking all the way.
The icy rain mingled with tiny flakes of snow was insufferably cuttingand paralyzing: yet Sir Marmaduke scarcely heeded it, until the marebecame unpleasantly uncertain in her gait. Once she stumbled and nearlypitched her rider forward into the mud: whereupon, lashing into her, hepaid more heed to her doings.
Once just past the crossroad toward St. Nicholas, he all but turned hishorse's head back towards Acol Court. It seemed as if he must find outnow at once whether Editha had spoken to Lady Sue and what the younggirl had done and said when she heard, in effect, that her husband hadbeen murdered.
Nothing but the fear of missing the last look at the body of AdamLambert ere the lid of the coffin was nailed down stopped him fromreturning homewards.
Anon he came upon Busy and Toogood painfully trudging in the mire, andsinging lustily to keep themselves cheerful and warm.
Sir Marmaduke drew the mare in, so as to keep pace with his men. On thewhole, the road had been more lonely than he liked and he was glad ofcompany.
Outside the Lamberts' cottage a small crowd had collected. From thecrest of the hill the tiny bell of Acol church struck the hour of two.
Squire Boatfield had ridden over from Sarre, and Sir Marmaduke--as hedismounted--caught sight of the heels and crupper of the squire'swell-known cob. The little crowd had gathered in the immediateneighborhood of the forge, and de Chavasse, from where he now stood,could not see the entrance of the lean-to, only the blank side wall ofthe shed, and the front of the Lamberts' cottage, the doors and windowsof which were hermetically closed.
Up against the angle formed by the wall of the forge and that of thecottage, the enterprising landlord of the local inn had erected a smalltrestle table, from behind which he was dispensing spiced ale, andbottled Spanish wines.
Squire Boatfield was standing beside that improvised bar, and at sightof Sir Marmaduke he put down the pewter mug which he was in the act ofconveying to his lips, and came forward to greet his friend.
"What is the pother about this foreigner, eh, Boatfield?" queried deChavasse with gruff good-nature as he shook hands with the squire andallowed himself to be led towards that tempting array of bottles andmugs on the trestle table.
The yokels who were assembled at the entrance of the forge turned togaze with some curiosity at the squire of Acol. De Chavasse was notoften seen even in this village: he seldom went beyond the boundary ofhis own park.
All the men touched their forelocks with deferential respect. MasterJeremy Mounce humbly whispered a query as to what His Honor wouldcondescend to take.
Sir Marmaduke desired a mug of buttered ale or of lamb's wool, whichMaster Mounce soon held ready for him. He emptied the mug at onedraught. The spiced liquor went coursing through his body, and he feltbetter and more sure of himself. He desired a second mug.
"With more substance in it, Master Landlord," he said pleasantly. "Nay,man! ye are not giving milk to children, but something warm to cheer aman's inside."
"I have a half bottle of brandy here, good Sir Marmaduke," suggestedMaster Mounce with some diffidence, for brandy was an over-expensivecommodity which not many Kentish squires cared to afford.
"Brandy, of course, good master!" quoth de Chavasse lustily, "brandy isthe nectar of the gods. Here!" he added, drawing a piece of gold from atiny pocket concealed in the lining of his doublet, "will this pay forthy half-bottle of nectar."
"Over well, good Sir Marmaduke," said Master Mounce, as he stooped tothe ground. From underneath the table he now drew forth a glass and abottle: the latter he uncorked with slow and deliberate care, and thenfilled the glass with its contents, whilst Sir Marmaduke watched himwith impatient eyes.
"Will you join me, squire?" asked de Chavasse, as he lifted the smalltumbler and gazed with marked appreciation at the glistening andtransparent liquid.
"Nay, thanks," replied Boatfield with a laugh, "I care naught for theseforeign decoctions. Another mug, or even two, of buttered ale, goodlandlord," he added, turning to Master Mounce.
In the meanwhile petty constable Pyot had stood respectfully atattention ready to relate for the hundredth time, mayhap, all that heknew and all that he meant to know about the mysterious crime.
Sir Marmaduke would of a surety ask many questions, for it was passingstrange that he had taken but little outward interest in the matter upto now.
"Well, Pyot," he now said, beckoning to the man to approach, "tell uswhat you know. By Gad, 'tis not often we indulge in a genuine murder inThanet! Where was it done? Not on my land, I hope."
"The watches found the body on the beach, your Honor," replied Pyot,"the head was mutilated past all recognition ... the heavy chalkboulders, your Honor ... and a determined maniac methinks, sir, whowanted revenge against a personal enemy.... Else how to account for sucha brutal act? ..."
"I suppose," quoth Sir Marmaduke lightly, as he sipped the brandy,"that the identity of the man has been quite absolutely determined."
"Aye! aye! your Honor," rejoined Pyot gravely, "the opinion of all thosewho have seen the body is that it is that of a foreigner ... Prince ofOrleans he called himself, who has been lodging these past months atthis place here!"
And the petty constable g
ave a quick nod in the direction of thecottage.
"Ah! I know but little about him," now said Sir Marmaduke, turning tospeak to Squire Boatfield, "although he lived here, on what is my ownproperty, and haunted my park, too ... so I've been told. There was agood deal of talk about him among the wenches in the village."
"Aye! I had heard all about that prince," said Squire Boatfieldmeditatively, "lodging in this cottage ... 'twas passing strange."
"He was a curious sort of man, your Honor," here interposed Pyot. "Wegot what information about him we could, seeing that the smith is fromhome, and that Mistress Lambert, his aunt, I think, is hard of hearing,and gave us many crooked answers. But she told us that the stranger paidfor his lodging regularly, and would arrive at the cottage unawares ofan evening and stay part of the night ... then he would go off again atcock-crow, and depart she knew not whither."
The man paused in his narrative. Something apparently had caused SirMarmaduke to turn giddy.
He tugged at his neckbands and his hand fell heavily against thetrestle-table.
"Nay! 'tis nothing," he said with a harsh laugh as Master Mounce with anejaculation of deep concern ran round to him with a chair, whilst SquireBoatfield quickly put out an arm as if he were afraid that his friendwould fall. "'Tis nothing," he repeated, "the tramp in the cold, thenthis heady draught.... I am well I assure you."
He drank half a glass of brandy at a draught, and now the hand whichreplaced the glass upon the table had not the slightest tremor in it.
"'Tis all vastly interesting," he remarked lightly. "Have you seen thebody, Boatfield?"
"Aye! aye!" quoth the squire, speaking with obvious reluctance, for hehated this gruesome subject. "'Tis no pleasant sight. And were I in yourshoes, de Chavasse, I would not go in there," and he noddedsignificantly towards the forge.
"Nay! 'tis my duty as a magistrate," said Sir Marmaduke airily.
He had to steady himself against the table again for a moment or two,ere he turned his back on the hospitable board, and started to walkround towards the forge: no doubt the shaking of his knees wasattributable to the strong liquor which he had consumed.
The little crowd parted and dispersed at his approach. The lean-towherein Adam Lambert was wont to do his work consisted of four walls,one of which was that of the cottage, whilst the other immediatelyfacing it, had a wide opening which formed the only entrance to theshed. A man standing in that entrance would have the furnace on hisleft: and now in addition to that furnace also the three elm chairs,whereon rested a rough deal case, without a lid, but partly covered witha sheet.
To anyone coming from the outside, this angle of the forge would alwaysseem weird and even mysterious even when the furnace was blazing and thesparks flying from the anvil, beneath the smith's powerful blows, orwhen--as at present--the fires were extinguished and this part of theshed, innocent of windows, was in absolute darkness.
Sir Marmaduke paused a moment under the lintel which dominated the broadentrance. His eyes had some difficulty in penetrating the density whichseemed drawn across the place on his left like some ink-smeared andopaque curtain.
The men assembled outside, watched him from a distance with silentrespect. In these days the fact of a gentleman drinking more liquor thanwas good for him was certes not to his discredit.
The fact that Sir Marmaduke seemed to sway visibly on his legs, as hethus stood for a moment outlined against the dark interior beyond,roused no astonishment in the minds of those who saw him.
Presently he turned deliberately to his left and the next moment hisfigure was merged in the gloom.
Round the angle of the wall Squire Boatfield was still standing, sippingbuttered ale.
Less than two minutes later, Sir Marmaduke reappeared in the doorway.His face was a curious color, and there were beads of perspiration onhis forehead, and as he came forward he would have fallen, had not oneof the men stepped quickly up to him and offered a steadying arm. Butthere was nothing strange in that.
The sight of that which lay in Adam Lambert's forge had unmanned a goodmany ere this.
"I am inclined to believe, my good Boatfield," quoth Sir Marmaduke, ashe went back to the trestle-table, and poured himself out anotherhalf-glass full of brandy, "I am inclined to believe that when youadvised me not to go in there, you spoke words of wisdom which I haddone well to follow."
The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century Page 35
