would soon be
little more than a memory to her. But such a beautiful memory. Blodwen Evans lifted an apron hem to her face and
cried for the loss of the place she knew as home.
45.
IN MR. MACKAY'S OFFICE WINDOW, THE CLOCK stood at half past nine. A lot of people had gathered in
the square at Chapelvale. It was, as Smithers had predicted, a good summer's day, with hardly a breeze stirring and the
sun beaming out of a cloudless blue sky. However, the square was still and silent, despite the large gathering of
villagers. Percival Bowe stood with his daughter Maud upon his arm. In subdued voices they made small talk with the
magistrate, the county planning officer, and their lawyers. Principal shareholders, who had traveled up from London,
stood apart, with • the project engineers. They carried on a low-key conversation, every so often casting quick glances
from under the marquee shade at the faces outside, of the sad, puzzled, hostile villagers.
Smithers felt untidy and out of place, trying unsuccessfully to mingle with those in the marquee. He approached
Mr. Bowe, rubbing his hands nervously. 'The, er, Tea Shoppe is closed today, or I'd have sent for some
refreshments.' He wilted under the icy stares of Maud and her father. Wiping perspiration from under his collar with a
grubby finger, Smithers shrugged apologetically. 'I was goin' to have a reception up at the house, but, er, maid's day
off y'know. Haha...'
Percival Bowe had a sonorous voice that any undertaker might have admired. 'So I gather, sir. Not quite what I
was led to expect from your letters. What time is it?'
Eager to please, Smithers fumbled out his oversized watch. 'Nine-forty exactly, Percy... er, Mr. Bowe.
Nine-forty, sir!'
Mr. Bowe touched the pearl stickpin he wore in his cravat. 'Those bumpkins out there will stand all day, staring
dumbly at us like a herd of cattle. Do you not think it might be wise to encourage them forward? I assume they will
want payment for their properties today, as small as it is.'
There was nobody about to do Smithers's shouting for him. Acutely embarrassed, he stood outside the marquee
facing the villagers and cleared his throat, conscious of the carter and his men from Hadford chuckling behind his
back. He held forth both hands like a politician at a meeting.
'Er, good morning, er, will you please listen t'me. I want you to form an orderly line, no pushin', er, haha. We
will begin the payments to those who have their deeds or, er, appropriate papers with them!'
There was not a move from the villagers. They stood silent.
Smithers tried again, this time with the voice of reason. 'Oh, come on now, it's for your own good. Form a line,
right here where I'm standing. Come on, please. Anyone?'
Blodwen Evans's voice rang out from her bedroom window. 'For our own good, is it? You any relation to Judas?
He sold the Lord for thirty pieces o' silver!'
The Hadford workmen guffawed aloud, one or two clapped.
Smithers glared up at the window before marching back into the marquee, where he confronted Bowe. 'They're
not movin'. Can't you do anything?'
Bowe looked over Smithers's shoulder at those outside. Men, women, children in hand, none moving. 'Give it
half an hour or so, then I'll send out one of my London lawyers to read them the official notice. Any of those
bumpkins too stupid to understand it will just have to stand and wait out there until sundown. By then the bailiff will
have arrived with his deputies, they'll hand out any unpaid monies and possess their houses and properties. By force,
if necessary!'
Mr. Bowe turned away from Smithers. As he did, his eye caught a movement.
It was a two-wheeled dairy cart carrying four women and a baby. A young girl and a boy held the reins, leading
the horse between them. Behind the cart strode four men, another boy, and a big black Labrador. Slightly to one side
of the odd cavalcade, a police sergeant marched, nodding amiably to the village folk.
Mr. Bowe gave an inward sigh of relief. At last some of these rustics were coming forward. He moved to the
table in front of the marquee, calling to his colleagues.
'To your places, gentlemen, our first customers are here!'
Two lawyers, the magistrate, and an official with a bag containing a ledger and a wad of certified money orders,
took their seats at the table. Maud Bowe tried to whisper something to her father, but he ignored her. Putting on a
smile of false cordiality, Bowe addressed the group. 'Well well, it's nice to see decent folk acting sensibly. Hope
you've brought your deeds along with you, eh!'
Mackay ignored Maud's father and strode up to the table, looking very dapper, from his clean-shaven face to his
crisp white shirt, freshly pressed trousers, and tailcoat. Placing a leather satchel on the desk, he opened it and
produced a long and ancient-looking scroll, which he unrolled.
Looking over the top of his nose glasses, he inquired politely, 'Which one of you is the magistrate?'
The magistrate stared over the top of his spectacles. 'I am, sir, state your name and business.'
Seething with impatience and excitement, the dapper lawyer kept his feelings hidden as he announced in a voice
that could be heard all around the village square, 'I, sir, am Philip Teesdale Mackay, a solicitor and chartered member
of the legal profession. I represent Mrs. Winifred Winn, who resides in Chapelvale. On her behalf, it is my duty to
inform you that said lady lays claim and title to the entire village, up to its boundaries and all dwelling houses, places
of business, and land within the curtilage of such establishments!'
In the silence that followed, the drop of a pin could have been heard. Then the magistrate spoke. 'I trust you
