offense is of no
concern to you," he said, sternly. "You are carrying out the explicit
command of Lord Eden. It is not necessary that you know more. Now, go and
select a simple toy, no knots, no spikes, then deliver yourself of ten strokes
across the main of her back and be done with it."
The
big man faltered under the weight of Ragland's authority. He continuously
creased and uncreased the soft-brimmed hat in his hand. He muttered a stubborn,
"'Tisn't right," and as Ragland stepped forward, still glowering, the
man retreated, not contrite or resolved, simply trapped. He was fed, housed,
and clothed to perform a certain duty, and perform he must.
Standing
in the doorway, Ragland heard a hush fall over the waiting crowd at the sight
of the whipman. They knew that at his appearance, the performance was about to
start. Ragland lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and surveyed the
faces a distance away. Most of them were familiar. A few were not. On one side
of the whipping oak stood the castle servants, keeping apart from the villagers
as though they were elevated in rank. In their midst he saw the bulky figure of
Dolly Wisdom, a piece of linen pressed against her mouth. He predicted to
himself that at some point in the proceedings the linen would be covering her
eyes.
There,
in the front circle, he saw the grinning facsimile of Hartlow Locke, supported
on one side by Parson Branscombe, and on the other by Digby Bell. Ragland
stared fixedly at the poor man. Obviously the night had failed to have a
medicinal effect on him. He looked mussed, soiled, like a child, clutching at
something, a stuffed animal perhaps, although it was difficult to tell from
that distance. Ragland noticed that both men kept a firm grip on his arms,
while to one side Jenny Toppinger wept openly, a small female circle supporting
her, trying in vain to comfort her.
Quickly
Ragland pushed his vision on. He was like a man arming himself. There were
threats and hazards everywhere, in the cluster of small children playing idly
in the loose gravel, skimming stones over puddles left by the rain, in the
unhappy faces of the women, the fortified faces of the men, the blank grin of
Hartlow's face, and Jenny's endless supply of tears.
Ragland
muttered, "God, let's get it over with." He lifted his hand in signal
to the two guardsmen waiting nearby. On the command the two men turned smardy
and marched in step toward the door of the Keep. At the same moment Jack Spade
appeared, coming up the small wind from the Servants' Hall, a thin whip hanging
limp at his side, his hat squarely on his head.
A
silence went over the inner courtyard. Parents hastily gathered their young
about them. A vdnd whistled over the castle, the sea breeze that always played
about the edge of the high cliffs. There was no other sound save the crunching
of gravel as Jack Spade approached the whipping oak, standing at attention,
clearly resigned to the duty at hand.
As
the two guards disappeared inside the Keep door, all eyes focused in that
direction. Ragland maintained his position of authority on the central
staircase. In the painful interim, he once more surveyed the crowd. Suddenly he
realized that Russell Locke was missing. The orders had been clear. Father and
brother both were due as witnesses. He looked sharply up toward the windows of
Lord Eden's chambers. No one in sight. With a surge of resentment, it occurred
to Ragland that his Lordship probably had gone back to sleep, his customary
habit in the face of unpleasantness.
So
be it. The brother was missing and Ragland was clearly in charge. He would not
postpone the grim proceedings a moment longer. He felt stretched, his nerves
resisting the terrifying memory of his charade at the whipping oak. He looked
quickly about. Where was Elfie? He did not want Elfie to see this. He had given
her instructions to walk the beach this morning. As witless as she was, it was
difficult to know if she
concern to you," he said, sternly. "You are carrying out the explicit
command of Lord Eden. It is not necessary that you know more. Now, go and
select a simple toy, no knots, no spikes, then deliver yourself of ten strokes
across the main of her back and be done with it."
The
big man faltered under the weight of Ragland's authority. He continuously
creased and uncreased the soft-brimmed hat in his hand. He muttered a stubborn,
"'Tisn't right," and as Ragland stepped forward, still glowering, the
man retreated, not contrite or resolved, simply trapped. He was fed, housed,
and clothed to perform a certain duty, and perform he must.
Standing
in the doorway, Ragland heard a hush fall over the waiting crowd at the sight
of the whipman. They knew that at his appearance, the performance was about to
start. Ragland lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and surveyed the
faces a distance away. Most of them were familiar. A few were not. On one side
of the whipping oak stood the castle servants, keeping apart from the villagers
as though they were elevated in rank. In their midst he saw the bulky figure of
Dolly Wisdom, a piece of linen pressed against her mouth. He predicted to
himself that at some point in the proceedings the linen would be covering her
eyes.
There,
in the front circle, he saw the grinning facsimile of Hartlow Locke, supported
on one side by Parson Branscombe, and on the other by Digby Bell. Ragland
stared fixedly at the poor man. Obviously the night had failed to have a
medicinal effect on him. He looked mussed, soiled, like a child, clutching at
something, a stuffed animal perhaps, although it was difficult to tell from
that distance. Ragland noticed that both men kept a firm grip on his arms,
while to one side Jenny Toppinger wept openly, a small female circle supporting
her, trying in vain to comfort her.
Quickly
Ragland pushed his vision on. He was like a man arming himself. There were
threats and hazards everywhere, in the cluster of small children playing idly
in the loose gravel, skimming stones over puddles left by the rain, in the
unhappy faces of the women, the fortified faces of the men, the blank grin of
Hartlow's face, and Jenny's endless supply of tears.
Ragland
muttered, "God, let's get it over with." He lifted his hand in signal
to the two guardsmen waiting nearby. On the command the two men turned smardy
and marched in step toward the door of the Keep. At the same moment Jack Spade
appeared, coming up the small wind from the Servants' Hall, a thin whip hanging
limp at his side, his hat squarely on his head.
A
silence went over the inner courtyard. Parents hastily gathered their young
about them. A vdnd whistled over the castle, the sea breeze that always played
about the edge of the high cliffs. There was no other sound save the crunching
of gravel as Jack Spade approached the whipping oak, standing at attention,
clearly resigned to the duty at hand.
As
the two guards disappeared inside the Keep door, all eyes focused in that
direction. Ragland maintained his position of authority on the central
staircase. In the painful interim, he once more surveyed the crowd. Suddenly he
realized that Russell Locke was missing. The orders had been clear. Father and
brother both were due as witnesses. He looked sharply up toward the windows of
Lord Eden's chambers. No one in sight. With a surge of resentment, it occurred
to Ragland that his Lordship probably had gone back to sleep, his customary
habit in the face of unpleasantness.
So
be it. The brother was missing and Ragland was clearly in charge. He would not
postpone the grim proceedings a moment longer. He felt stretched, his nerves
resisting the terrifying memory of his charade at the whipping oak. He looked
quickly about. Where was Elfie? He did not want Elfie to see this. He had given
her instructions to walk the beach this morning. As witless as she was, it was
difficult to know if she
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