The silence this time was of a different kind altogether.
"And the abatement," said the Duke. "I sent money in July for an abatement of fifteen in the hundred on every rent under fifty pounds this year, and for seed corn, and for the servants' wages. None of that has reached you. It'll reach you this week. Every tenant. Whether you've signed anything or not. Whether you've made your mark or put your thumb in Mr. Quarrendon's eye. I'll stand in the estate office myself and hand it over the table if I have to."
Somewhere at the back of the crowd, Widow Gotobed said, quite distinctly, "He's got his grandfather's ears and he talks like a Horncastle dealer," and somebody laughed, and then a great many people laughed, and the wave that had been drawing back off the shingle simply went away.
Ivatt opened the pound.
Matthew Sowerby went in first, without being told, and came out leading his mother's red cow by a halter of rope, and he walked her the whole length of the green with the rain on his bare head and his face working, and gave the rope into Bet Sowerby's hands. And then he turned round and went back for Mrs. Pell's pig.
Sir Lionel Bastable did not read the proclamation. He sat his horse for a moment longer, looking down at the Duke with an expression Kezia could not quite read—anger, and contempt, and underneath them something that looked very like the rapid calculation she had seen in Quarrendon's face.
"You'll find," he said, "that the estate cannot carry it, Wendlebury. Eighty thousand pounds of mortgages and a wet year and the common giving you sixpence an acre. The bill will come again next session. There are other freeholders in this parish than you. I have bought four of the copyhold cottages on the Coldwell side since Lady Day, and I shall buy more."
"Then you'll come and look at them first," said the Duke. "And so shall I."
Sir Lionel wheeled his horse and rode off up the village street, his keepers trotting at his stirrup. Mr. Quarrendon's clerk furled the umbrella. Mr. Quarrendon himself sat on in the gig with his gloved hands folded on his knee.
"I think, Your Grace," he said, "that we had better speak in the estate office."
"Yes," said the Duke. "I think we had. Bring the books. All of them."
X.