CHAPTER XXXIX
THE HOME-COMING OF ADAM LAMBERT
All heads were bent; none of the ignorant folk who stood around wouldhave dared even to look at the old woman kneeling beside that rough dealbox which contained the body of her lad. A reverent feeling had killedall curiosity: bewilderment at the extraordinary and wholly unexpectedturn of events had been merged in a sense of respectful awe, whichrendered every mouth silent, and lowered every lid.
Squire Boatfield, almost paralyzed with astonishment, had murmured halfstupidly:
"Adam Lambert ... dead? ... I do not understand."
He turned to Marmaduke de Chavasse as if vaguely, instinctivelyexpecting an answer to the terrible puzzle from him.
De Chavasse's feet, over which he himself seemed to have no control, hadof a truth led him forward, so that he, too, stood not far from the oldwoman now. He had watched her--silent and rigid,--conscious only of onething--a trivial matter certes--of Editha's inquiring eyes fixedsteadily upon him.
Everything else had been merged in a kind of a dream. But the mutequestion in those eyes was what concerned him. It seemed to representthe satisfaction of that morbid curiosity which had been such a terribleobsession during these past nerve-racking days.
Editha, realizing the identity of the dead man, would there and thenknow the entire truth. But Editha's fate was too closely linked to hisown to render her knowledge of that truth dangerous to de Chavasse:therefore, with him it was merely a sense of profound satisfaction thatsomeone would henceforth share his secret with him.
It is quite impossible to analyze the thoughts of the man who thus stoodby--a silent and almost impassive spectator--of a scene, wherein hisfate, his life, an awful retribution and deadly justice, were allhanging in the balance. He was not mad, nor did he act with eitherirrelevance or rashness. The sense of self-protection was still keen inhim ... violently keen ... although undoubtedly he, and he alone, wasresponsible for the events which culminated in the present crisis.
The whole aspect of affairs had changed from the moment that the realidentity of the dead had been established. Everyone here present wouldregard this new mystery in an altogether different light to that bywhich they had viewed the former weird problem; but still there need beno danger to the murderer.
Editha would know, of course, but no one else, and it would be vastlycurious anon to see what lady Sue would do.
Therefore, Sir Marmaduke was chiefly conscious of Editha's presence,and then only of Sue.
"Some old woman's folly," he now said roughly, in response to SquireBoatfield's mute inquiry, "awhile ago she identified the clothes ashaving belonged to the foreign prince."
"Aye, the clothes, de Chavasse," murmured the squire meditatively, "theclothes, but not the man ... and 'twas you yourself who just now...."
"Master Lambert should know his own brother," here came in a suppressedmurmur from one or two of the men, who respectful before the quality,had now become too excited to keep altogether silent.
"Of course I know my brother," retorted Richard Lambert boldly, "and canbut curse mine own cowardice in not defending him ere this."
"What more lies are we to hear?" sneered de Chavasse, "surely,Boatfield, this stupid scene hath lasted long enough."
"Put my knowledge to the test, sir," rejoined Lambert. "My brother's armwas scarred by a deep cut from shoulder to elbow, caused by the fall ofa sharp-bladed ax--'twas the right arm ... will you see, Sir Marmaduke,or will you allow me to lay bare the right arm of this man ... to see ifI had lied? ..."
Squire Boatfield, conquering his reluctance, had approached nearer tothe coffin; he, too, lifted the dead man's arm, as the old woman haddone just now, and he gazed down meditatively at the hand, which thoughshapely, was obviously rough and toil-worn. Then, with a firm anddeliberate gesture, he undid the sleeve of the doublet and pushed itback, baring the arm up to the shoulder.
He looked at the lifeless flesh for a moment, there where a deep andlong scar stood out plainly between the elbow and shoulder like theveining in a block of marble. Then he pulled the sleeve down again.
"Neither you, nor Mistress Lambert have lied, master," he said simply."'Tis Adam Lambert who lies here ... murdered ... and if that be so," hecontinued firmly, "then the man who put these clothes upon the body ofthe smith is his murderer ... the foreigner who called himself PrinceAmede d'Orleans."
"The husband of Lady Sue Aldmarshe," quoth Sir Marmaduke, breaking intoa loud laugh.
The rain had momentarily ceased, although the gale, promising furtherhavoc, still continued that mournful swaying of the dead branches of thetrees. But a gentle drip-drip had replaced that incessant patter. Thehumid atmosphere had long ago penetrated through rough shirts andworsted breeches, causing the spectators of this weird tragedy to shiverwith the cold.
The shades of evening had begun to gather in. It were useless now toattempt to reach Minster before nightfall: nor presumably would the oldQuakeress thus have parted from the dead body of her lad.
Richard Lambert had begged that the coffin might be taken into thecottage. The old woman's co-religionists would help her to obtain forAdam fitting and Christian burial.
After Sir Marmaduke's sneering taunt no one had spoken. For these yokelsand their womenfolk the matter had passed altogether beyond their ken.Bewildered, not understanding, above all more than half fearful, theyconsulted one another vaguely and mutely with eyes and quaint expressivegestures, wondering what had best be done.
'Twas fortunate that the rain had ceased. One by one the women, stillholding their kirtles tightly round their shoulders, began to move away.The deal box seemed to have reached a degree of mystery from which 'twasbest to keep at a distance. The men, too--those who had come asspectators--were gradually edging away; some walked off with theirwomenfolk, others hung back in groups of three or four discussing themost hospitable place to which 'twere best to adjourn.
All wore a strangely shamed expression of timidity--almost ofself-deprecation, as if apologetic for their presence here when thequality had matters of such grave import to discuss. No one had reallyunderstood Sir Marmaduke's sneering taunt, only they felt instinctivelythat there were some secrets which it had been disrespectful even toattempt to guess.
Those who had been prepared to carry the coffin to Minster were the lastto hang back. Squire Boatfield was obviously giving some directions totheir foreman, Mat, who tugged at his forelock at intervals, indicatingthat he was prepared to obey. The others stood aside waiting forinstructions.
Thus the deal box remained on the ground, exactly opposite the tinywooden gate, strangely isolated and neglected-looking after thedispersal of the interested crowd which had surrounded it awhile ago. Itseemed as if with the establishment of the real identity of the dead theintensity of the excitement had vanished. The mysterious foreigner had asmall court round him; Adam Lambert, only his brother and the oldQuakeress.
They remained beside the coffin, she kneeling with her head buried inher wrinkled hands, he standing silent and passionately wrathful bothagainst one man and against destiny. He had almost screamed with horrorwhen de Chavasse thus brutally uttered Lady Sue's name: he had seen theyoung girl almost sway on her feet, as she smothered the cry of agonyand horror which at her guardian's callous taunt had risen to her lips.
He had seen and in his heart worshiped her for the heroic effort whichshe made to remain outwardly calm, not to betray before a crowd theagonizing horror, the awful fear and the burning shame which of a truthwould have crushed most women of her tender years. And because he sawthat she did not wish to betray one single thought or emotion, he didnot approach, nor attempt to show the overwhelming sympathy which hefelt.
He knew that any word from him to her would only call forth moremalicious sneers from that strange man, who seemed to be pursuing LadySue and also himself--Lambert--with a tenacious and incomprehensiblehatred.
Richard remained, therefore, beside his dead brother's coffin,supporting and anon gently raising the old
woman from the ground.
Mat--the foreman--had joined his comrades and after a word ofexplanation, they once more gathered round the wooden box. Stooping totheir task, their sinews cracking under the effort, the perspirationstreaming from their foreheads, they raised the mortal remains of AdamLambert from the ground and hoisted the burden upon their shoulders.
Then they turned into the tiny gate and slowly walked with it along thelittle flagged path to the cottage. The men had to stoop as they crossedthe threshold, and the heavy box swayed above their powerful shoulders.
The Quakeress and Richard followed, going within in the wake of the sixmen. The parlor was then empty, and thus it was that Adam Lambertfinally came home.
The others--Squire Boatfield and Mistress de Chavasse, Lady Sue and SirMarmaduke--had stood aside in the small fore-court, to enable the smallcortege to pass. Directly Richard Lambert and the old woman disappearedwithin the gloom of the cottage interior, these four people--eachindividually the prey of harrowing thoughts--once more turned theirsteps towards the open road.
There was nothing more to be done here at this cottage, where the veilof mystery which had fallen over the gruesome murder had been sounexpectedly lifted by a septuagenarian's hand.
The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century Page 39
