He chose to walk rather than ride. Unwilling to believe that all Castleacre considered his brother a murderer, he wanted to meet the eyes of everyone he came upon. But where yesterday there had been smiles and greetings, today there were none. Townspeople pointed him out covertly, turning away at his approach or busying themselves so as to avoid speaking to him. True, Dickson the tailor rose from where he sat cross-legged in the window of his shop and attended to him eagerly, but he was a young man intent on building up his business. While he was in the shop, with its coloured clutter of half-finished garments and reels of thread, Will negotiated for the making of a new cap for his visit to Oxmead, in place of the Sunday cap he was now wearing. He had persuaded Meg to let him have a good piece of the emerald green velvet from her discarded gown, and she had laughed and found him a peacock’s feather to go with it. The tailor promised that all would be ready by the next morning, Sunday, before Mass.
