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Updated: June 25, 2025
The body in the meanwhile had been placed under the shelter of one of the titanic caves which giant hands have carved in the acclivities of the chalk. Squire Boatfield ordered it to be removed. It was not fitting that birds of prey should be allowed to peck at the dead, nor that some unusually high tide should once more carry him out to sea, ere his murderer had been brought to justice.
At sight of Mistress de Chavasse, Boatfield rose. A look of annoyance crossed his face, at thought that Editha's arrival had, mayhap, endangered the success of his present purpose. Ink and paper were on the table close to his elbow, and it was obvious that he had been questioning the old woman very closely on a subject which she apparently desired to keep secret from him.
"But, Mother ..." "Then go at once and get it, ere that fool Sir Timothy or the odious Boatfield capture it under your very nose." "But, Mother ..." "Go! say something smart to her at once ... talk about your gray mare ... she is over fond of horses ..."
"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.
She went up to him, holding out her hands as if in instinctive childlike appeal for protection, to a kindly man. "This mystery is horrible!" she murmured. Boatfield took her small hands in his, patting them gently the while, desiring to soothe and comfort her, for she seemed deeply agitated and there was a wild look of fear from time to time in her pale face.
"No!" retorted Squire Boatfield, who was still nursing his shin-bone, "maybe not, Sir Timothy, but it shows how observant I am." "Oliver, pick up Lady Sue's handkerchief," came in mild accents from Mistress Pyncheon. "Quite unnecessary, good mistress," rejoined Dame Harrison decisively, "Sir Timothy has already seen it."
Editha looked around her in amazement, astonished that like herself Squire Boatfield had also evidently retraced his steps and was sitting now in one of the high-backed chairs beside the hearth, whilst the old Quakeress stood not far from him, her attitude indicative of obstinacy, even of defiance, in the face of a duty with which apparently the squire had been charging her.
On the whole, the road had been more lonely than he liked and he was glad of company. Outside the Lamberts' cottage a small crowd had collected. From the crest 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 he dismounted caught sight of the heels and crupper of the squire's well-known cob.
The knock seemed to have come from spectral hands, for 'twas followed by no further sound. Then again the knock. Lambert went to the door and opened it. "Be the quality here?" queried a timid voice. "Squire Boatfield is here and Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse," replied Lambert, "what is it, Mat? Come in."
He had been allowed to view the body, and to swear before Squire Boatfield that he recognized the clothes as being those usually worn by the mysterious foreigner who used to haunt the woods and park of Acol all last summer.
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