Sebastian, then dropped the rock into the cart. `Wot ye doin' here? Didn't ye hear? The diggin' at Camlet Moat is finished. I don't work fer Sir Stanley no more and I got nothin' else to say to ye.'
Sebastian brushed away a fly buzzing about his face. `When we spoke the other day, you forgot to mention your confrontation with Miss Tennyson a week ago last Sunday. Here, in Cockfosters. Outside the smithy's.'
`Me brother's the smithy like our da was before him.'
`Which I suppose explains how Miss Tennyson knew where to find you.'
Forster turned away to stoop down and grasp another rock.
Sebastian said, `The incident was witnessed by half the village.'
Forster grunted. `Aye. She were a feisty thing, that woman. She could squawk all she wanted, but I knew that in the end she wasna gonna go to Sir Stanley. She'd no proof of anything.'
`Maybe she recently discovered something. Maybe that's why you killed her.'
Forster heaved another rock up and over the side of the cart.
`I told ye and the magistrate both: I was home with me wife Sunday.'
Sebastian stared off to where the field sloped gently toward a line of chestnuts growing along a small watershed to the west. The air was hot, the pasture a bright emerald green and scattered with small daisies. The scene was deceptively peaceful, with an air of bucolic innocence that seemed to have no place for passion and greed. Or murder.
He said, `Do you believe Sir Geoffrey de Mandeville hid his treasure on the island?'
Forster glanced over at him and smiled, the dimplelike slashes appearing in his tanned cheeks. `De Mandeville? Nah. But did ye never hear of Dick Turpin?'
`Dick Turpin? You mean, the highwayman?'
`Aye. Him as once worked Finchley Common. Used to hide out at the island, he did. His uncle Nott owned the Rose and Crown by the Brook, across the chase at Clay Hill. Seems to me, if there's treasure on that island, it's more likely Dick Turpin's than some old knight what's been dead and gone for who knows how many hundreds of years.'
`Is that what you were looking for? A highwayman's gold?'
Forster reached for his mule's reins. `Never claimed it were me. All I m sayin' is, Turpin's story is well-known about here. Coulda been anyone lookin' for what he mighta hid.'
`So why did Miss Tennyson accuse you?'
Forster urged the mule forward a few feet, then stopped to reach for another stone. `She didn't like me much. Never did.'
`And you didn't like her,' said Sebastian, keeping his eyes on the hefty rock in Forster's hands.
`I won't deny that. She threatened to tell Sir Stanley I was the one who tore apart the well. But she had no proof and she knew it.'
`So why did you threaten her?'
`I didn't. Anyone who tells you different is either makin' stuff up or jist repeatin' crazy talk he heard.' Forster slammed the rock down on the growing pile, then paused with his fists propped on his lean hips, his breath coming hard, his handsome, sun-browned face and neck glistening with perspiration. `I been doin' me some thinkin'. And it occurs to me that meybe Sir Stanley has more to do with what happened to the lady than I first suspicioned.'
`Odd, given that yesterday you seemed more intent on casting suspicion on Sir Stanley's wife, Lady Winthrop, than on Sir Stanley himself.'
`I told ye, I been doing me some thinkin'. It occurs to me this might all have somethin' to do with the way Sir Stanley likes to fancy himself one of them ancient Druids.'
`A Druid,' said Sebastian.
`That's right. Dresses up in white robes and holds heathen rituals out at the island. I know for a fact Miss Tennyson seen him doin' it just the other day. He coulda been afraid she'd give away his secret.'
1Couldn't have been much of a secret if you knew about it.'
Forster's eyes narrowed with unexpected amusement. He laid a finger beside his nose and winked, then turned away to stoop for another stone.
Sebastian said, 1And how precisely do you know that Miss Tennyson saw Sir Stanley enacting these rituals?'
Forster hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spit it into the grass.
`Because I was there meself. Last Saturday evening, it was, long after we'd finished work for the day. Sir Stanley was at the island in his robes when Miss Tennyson comes back...'
`How?' interjected Sebastian.
`What do ye mean, how?'
`You said Miss Tennyson came back. So was she walking? In a gig? Who was driving her?'
`She come in a gig, drivin' herself.'
It was the first Sebastian had heard of Gabrielle Tennyson driving herself. It was not unusual for a woman to drive in the country without a groom. But Gabrielle would have driven out from London, which was something else entirely. He said, `Did she do that often? Drive herself, I mean.'
`Sometimes.'
`So you're saying she arrived at the island and found Sir Stanley about to engage in some sort of ancient ritual?'
`That's right. Just before sunset, it was.'
`Did either of them know you were there?'
`Nah. I was hid behind some bushes.'
`And what precisely were you doing at the island?'
`I'd forgot me pipe.'
`Your pipe.'
Forster stared at Sebastian owlishly, as if daring Sebastian to doubt him. `That's right. Went back for it, I did. Only then I seen Sir Stanley in his strange getup, so I hid in the bushes to see what was goin' on.'
`And you were still hiding in the bushes when you saw Miss Tennyson drive up?'
`I was, yes.' Forster turned away to reach down for a big, jagged rock. `I couldn't hear what they was sayin'. But there's no doubt in me mind she seen him and that rig he was wearin'.'
`And then what happened?'
`I don't know. I left.'
`So you're suggesting what, precisely? That Sir Stanley was so chagrined by Miss Tennyson's discovery of his rather unorthodox behavior and belief system that he lured her back to the island on Sunday and killed her?'
`I ain't suggestin' nothing. Just tellin' ye what happened, that's all.'
`I see. And have you told anyone else about this encounter?'
`No. Why would I?'
`Why, indeed?' Sebastian started to turn away, then paused as a thought occurred to him. `One more question: Did you discover anything unusual or interesting in the course of the excavations at the island last Saturday?'
Forster frowned. `No. Why?'
`I'm just wondering why Miss Tennyson would return to the island, first on Saturday evening, then again on Sunday.'
`That I couldn't say.'
`You've no idea at all?'
`No.' Forster reached for his mule's reins.
`What precisely did you discover Saturday?'
`Just an area of old cobblestones like a courtyard or somethin'.'
`That's all?'
`Ain't nothin' to kill a body over, is it? Well, is it?'
`I wouldn't have thought so,' said Sebastian. `Except for one thing.'
Forster wrapped the reins around his fists. `What's that?'
`Miss Tennyson is dead.'
And them two nippers, said Forster.
