"Not it," answered Mrs. Swaffham. "Matilda knows all about the plot; that is most certain; but its discovery may be news to her, and if so, she will not thank you for it, Jane. Why will she burn herself with fire not on her hearthstone?"
"Prince Rupert is her lover. She will do anything he desires her to do."
"If he truly loved her, he would not permit her to be put in danger."
"We do not know all, mother."
"That is the truth, Jane. We know very little about ourselves, let alone our friends. Doctor Verity would say to us, 'Judge not; every man's shoes must be made on his own last.'"
Then Jane smiled, and the smile filled the silence like a spell. Mrs. Swaffham went out of the room, and soon afterwards Doctor Verity came in, asking cheerily as he entered, "How is it with you to-day, Jane?"
"I live as best I can, Doctor. I watch from the morning to the midnight for a footstep that does not come."
"There is a desire that fulfils itself by its own energy, but this desire is born of unfailing Hope, and of that unfaltering Faith that can move mountains. Have you got it, Jane?"
"I am so weak, Doctor John. Pray for me."
"Pray for yourself. Why should any one pray for you? Pray for yourself, though it be only to say, with the old Acadians, 'Hold Thou my hands!' When you were a baby, and were fretful and restless, then your mother held your hands. That steadied you. You were not used to the whirling earth, or you had that sense of falling into the void all babies have, and you trembled and cried out in your fear, and then your mother instinctively held your little hands in hers, and you felt their clasp strong as the everlasting hills, and went peacefully to sleep. Go to God in the same way, Jane; you are only a little babe in His sight; a little babe crying in the vast void and darkness, and trying to catch hold of something to which you may cling. Say to the Father of your spirit, 'Hold my hands!'"
And she rose and kissed him for his sweet counsel, and that night, and many a night afterwards, she fell asleep whispering, "Hold Thou my hands."
CHAPTER XIII
CHANGES AT DE WICK
"Friendship, of itself a holy tie,
Is made more sacred by adversity."
"A form of senseless clay – the leavings of a soul."
When Matilda received Anthony Lynn's letter, she was immediately certain that the old man's conscience troubled him in the presence of death, and that he wished to return de Wick to its rightful owners. Sir Thomas and Lady Jevery were of the same opinion. "He can leave the estate to you, Matilda," said Sir Thomas; "you have never been 'out' for either Stuart, and the Commonwealth takes no action on private opinions, only on overt acts. Stephen is barred, but Lynn can leave de Wick to you, and having neither kith nor kin, I think he ought to do so. He owes everything to your father's help and favour."
This idea took entire possession of Matilda; she thought it a duty to her family to answer the request of Anthony Lynn favourably. It had been a surprise to her, and there were more surprises to follow it. As soon as Lady Jevery and her niece arrived at the gates of de Wick, they were confronted with a remarkable change in the appearance of the place. The great iron gates had been painted and rehung; the stone griffins that ornamented the posts had felt the stone-cutter's chisel in all their parts, and been restored to their proper shape and position. The wide walks were free of weeds, freshly graveled and raked, and the grass of the chase was in perfect order. There were plenty of deer, also, though Matilda knew well all the deer had disappeared long before her father's death.
As they came close to the house, they saw the flower garden aglow with spring flowers and in such fine order as would have satisfied even Sir Thomas Jevery. Anthony Lynn stood at the door to meet them. He looked ill and frail, but hardly like death, and when he witnessed the delight of the ladies at the changes made in de Wick, his face grew almost young in its pleasure. Every room in the house was a fresh surprise; for though all that was venerable through age of family association, and all that was valuable and beautiful had been preserved, yet so much of modern splendour and worth had been mingled with the old that the rooms were apparently newly furnished. Magnificent draperies of velvet, chairs covered with Spanish leather stamped in gold, carpets of richest quality, pictures by rare masters, Venetian mirrors and glassware, all that a luxurious and lavish taste could imagine and desire, were gathered with fitting and generous profusion in the ancient rooms of de Wick. Anthony Lynn accompanied the ladies through the house, finding a fresh and continual joy in their exclamations of delight; and Matilda, filled with astonishment at the exquisite daintiness of the suite called the "Lady Matilda's Rooms," said enthusiastically,
"Mr. Lynn, no man could better deserve to be lord of de Wick than you. And seeing that the de Wicks had to leave their ancient home, I am glad it has fallen to you – and I am sure my father is glad, also."
Then the old man burst into that thin, cold passion of weeping so significant of age, and so pitiful in its helplessness. "It is your father's doing, Lady Matilda," he sobbed. "It is my dear lord's wisdom. Pardon me now. This evening I will tell you all." He went away with these words, and the two women looked at each other in amazement.
In the evening he came to them. They were sitting by the fire in the now magnificently furnished great salon, and he asked permission to place his chair between them. Matilda made room for him, and when he had sat down and placed his terribly thin hand on its arm, she laid her lovely young hand upon his; and he looked into her face with that adoring affection which is often seen in the eyes of a favourite mastiff.
"When these dreadful wars first began," he said, "Earl de Wick foresaw their ending; and after Marston Moor he said to me, 'I know this man, Oliver Cromwell, and there is none that will stand against him. It is my duty to save de Wick; will you help me?' And I said to him, 'My dear lord, I owe you all I am, and all I have.' Then we had many long talks, and it was agreed that I should join the Puritan party, that I should pretend a disapproval of the Earl and his ways – but a disapproval tempered with regret – so that men might not suspect my opposition. The King was even then sending to de Wick for money, and I was supposed to supply it on the de Wick silver and valuables. In reality, the Earl sent these things to my care, and he himself gave the gold. For in those years he had much specie, the result of his trading partnership with Sir Thomas Jevery. The silver, the old pictures, the fine tapestries, and Eastern pottery all came to my home in St. Ives. People said unkind things of me, but my dear lord loved me. Then there came a time when de Wick was bare, and the King still wanted money. And the Earl promised to borrow from me one thousand pounds, in consideration of letters royal making the Lady Matilda Countess de Wick in her own right, if her brother Stephen had no heirs of his body. His Majesty being in great straits, readily granted the request, and the proper papers were made. And I looked well to it that no necessary formality was lacking, and the thousand pounds were paid, not by me, but by Earl de Wick. His store was then gone, but he had secured the succession of de Wick in his own blood and name; for you will see, my dear lady, if ever you have to assume this title, when you marry, your husband must take the name of de Wick."
"But if I never marry any one?"
"Oh, that is an impossible contingency! You would owe that debt to all the de Wicks that ever lived and died; and you would pay it, whether you liked to, or not."
"Yes, I should," she answered promptly.
"Here are the papers relating to your succession," he continued; "and here are those relating to my trust in the matter of the de Wick silver and valuables. They are all now in their proper places, and when I go to my old friend, I can tell him so. When he was dying, he said to me, 'Anthony, the next move will be the sale of de Wick house and lands. Stephen is already outcast, but I have given you the money to buy it. Let no one outbid you. Keep it in your own care until my King comes back to his throne, and my children to their home.' I bought de Wick for seven hundred pounds less than the money entrusted to me for its purchase. The balance is here at your hand. The only contingency not provided for, was my death, and as I know that is speedily certain, I wish your promise that these papers be placed in Sir Thomas Jevery's charge. I know it is what my lord would advise."
Matilda took the papers silently. Her father's loving thoughtfulness and Anthony's loving fidelity, affected her deeply. Lady Jevery was weeping, and the old man himself raised a face wet with tears to Matilda. She stooped and kissed him. She promised all he asked. "But," she added, "you have made no mention of the refurnishing of the house, nor yet of the money that must have been spent on the garden and chase."
"That outlay was my own little pleasure," he answered. "It has made the long, lonely months here full of hope. I always thought I knew how to make a great house look like a great house should look;" and with pardonable pride he added, "I think you both liked it."
He found in their hearty admiration all the recompense he wished. "You will let me die here?" he asked, "here, where my old friend died? you will let me sit in his chair, and die in his bed? It is all I ask, unless you will stay awhile and brighten my last days."
The favours asked were affectionately granted, and Matilda virtually became mistress of her old home. Anthony was seldom seen, but Stephen de Wick came and went, and brought with him men whose names were not spoken, and whose business meant much more than the packs of cards which appeared to be all they cared for. In fact, Matilda was soon neck deep in Prince Rupert's plot, and there was no doubt in her mind that the month of May would end the life of Oliver Cromwell, and bring the King to his throne and the de Wicks to their earldom.
She was sitting, one afternoon, talking to Stephen about advices he had just received from his confederates in London, when a servant entered. "My lady," he said, "here has come a man with a letter, which he will deliver to none but you." Matilda's first thought was, "It is some private word from Rupert;" and she ordered the messenger to her presence at once. When she saw it was Jane's writing, she was much annoyed. "I will wager it is some bad news, or it had not come through this gate," she said; and she opened the letter with angry reluctance. Hastily she glanced over the lines, until she came to the discovery of the plot.
"Oh, indeed, here is the burden of Jane Swaffham!" she cried in a passion. "We are discovered. All is known – all has been known from the very first. Stephen, you are in instant danger. You must away at once."
"I do not believe it."
"Fool! How else could Jane have sent this word? She says Cromwell has known it from its beginning. The man has a devil; who can circumvent him? You must fly at once. The warrant for your arrest will doubtless come by to-night's mail. My God, are our troubles never to cease? Is everything not countersigned by Cromwell to be a failure? It is unendurable!"
"Everything with which Prince Rupert meddles is unfortunate," answered Stephen. "He assigns all he touches with failure. I said so from the beginning. He is, and was, the King's evil genius."
"You lie! You lie downright, Stephen! But this is no time for quarreling. You must away, and that at once."
"And, pray, how? or where? I will not run. I will stand or fall with the rest."
"What drivel, what nonsensical bombast are you talking? It is 'I,' 'I' and still 'I' with you. Have you no consideration for others – for uncle and aunt, and for poor, dying Anthony? Think of all he has done, and at least let him go in the belief that he has saved de Wick."
"It is better to stand together."
"It is already – I'll wager that much – every man for himself. You must take the North Road to Hull; you are sure of a ship there."
"And how the devil, sister, am I to reach Hull?"
"Take the sorrel horse; if any one sees you, you are for Squire Mason's;" then hastily unlocking a drawer, she brought a little bag of gold and put it in his hand. "There is enough and to spare for your road to Paris." He flung the gold from him, and Matilda clasping her hands frantically, cried "My God, Stephen, are you not going?"
"Storm your utmost, Matilda. I care not a rap; I will not budge from this spot."
"But you must go! Stephen, Stephen, for my sake," and she burst into passionate tears and sobs.
"Be quiet, Matilda. Women's counsel is always unlucky, but I will run, if you say so. I feel like an ever-lasting scoundrel to do it."
"They will all run – if they can. There is a little time yet in your favour. The mail-rider does not pass here till eight o'clock, or after. You have four or five hours' grace."
He rose as she spoke, and she kissed him with passionate tenderness. When he left the room, she ran to the roof of the house to watch which road he took. If he went northward, he was for Hull, and bent on saving his life; but if he went south, he was for London, and would doubtless have the fate on Tower Hill he had been warned against. In about a quarter of an hour she saw him riding at great speed northward, and after watching him until he became a speck on the horizon, she went back to her room, and she was weeping bitterly though quite unconscious of it.
Her first act was to tear Jane's letter into minute pieces. She did it with an inconceivable passion. Every shred of the paper fluttered into the fire as if in conscious suffering, and when the last particle was consumed, she stood with her folded hand on her mouth, looking at the white ashy films, and considering what next to do. Her face was set and frowning; she was summoning to her aid, by the very intensity of her feeling, whatever power she possessed to counsel her perplexity.
Suddenly her face lightened; she smiled, nodded her handsome head with satisfaction, and then in a leisurely manner put on her garden hat and walked to the stables. She was a daily visitor there, and her appearance caused no surprise. She went at once to a young man known to be Stephen de Wick's constant attendant whenever he was in the neighbourhood. She knew he could be relied on, and as they stood together by Matilda's Barbary mare, she said with the critical air of one talking about a favourite animal, "Yupon, can you help in a matter for Earl Stephen? It is life or death, Yupon, and I know of no one but you to come to – also, there will be a few gold pieces."
"With or without gold, my lady, I am your servant. What is to be done?"
"You know the three large oak trees, just beyond the boundary of de Wick?"
"I know them well, my lady."
"Be under the oaks to-night, at eight o'clock. Have with you a lanthorn and a coil of strong rope. You will see Earl de Wick there, and when he speaks, join him on the instant. Can he rely on you?"
"By my soul, he can; even to blood-letting."
"Be this our bargain then. Eight o'clock – no later. And on my honour, I promise, there shall no guilt of blood-letting stick to your hands."
"Let me perish, if I am not there."
All the man's words had the savour of a strong, faithful spirit, and Matilda went back to her room satisfied. The principal part of her plan for Stephen's safety was accomplished; she had no doubts now as to its prosperous carrying out. So she lay down and tried to compose herself; and as the day darkened and the time for action came, she found a strength and calmness that was sufficient. Without a sign of anxiety in her heart, she eat her evening meal with her aunt, and then said,
"I am going to dismiss Delia, go to bed early, and sleep a headache away." Lady Jevery said she was "in the same mind"; and this circumstance, being much in Matilda's favour, gave her that satisfactory feeling of "having the signs favourable," which we all appreciate when we intend important work.
About seven o'clock she went to her brother's room, and brought away a suit of his clothing; and when she had dressed herself in it, and put a pistol and hunting-knife in her belt, and a large plumed hat on her head, she looked in the mirror with the utmost satisfaction. She was her brother's double; quite his height, and singularly like him in carriage, face and manner. Of this resemblance she had soon a very convincing proof, for as she passed through the hall, her own maid Delia curtsied to her, and said, "My lady is sick to-night, sir, and will not be disturbed." And Matilda bowed and passed on. As for the other servants, in and out of the house, they knew they were to have eyes and see not; and ears, and hear not. Therefore, though several met, as they supposed, the young Earl leaving the house, there was no further recognition of the fact among themselves, than a lifting of the eyebrows, or some enigmatical remark, only to be understood by those en rapport with the circumstances.
Matilda walked quickly through the garden, and still more quickly through the lonely chase. She was not afraid of the thing she was going to do, but she was afraid of the toads and snails, and the unknown deer and dogs that thought the wooded space their own. But without molestation she arrived at the three oaks. Yupon Slade was already there. He showed her the light of the lanthorn for a moment, and then his black-cloaked figure and masked face blended indeterminately with the darkness around him. For nearly an hour Matilda walked up and down the road, keeping well within call of her companion. But about nine o'clock the sound of a horse coming at an easy gallop was heard, and Yupon was softly called. He was at Matilda's side as the rider came near them. She advanced to meet him, calling pleasantly, "Miles Watson, a word, if it please you."
The voice was familiar and kind, and Miles drew rein and asked, "Who calls me? I am on the Commonwealth's business, and cannot be delayed."
Then Matilda, pointing the pistol in his face said, "You must light from your horse, Miles Watson." Miles tried then to proceed, but Yupon had whispered to the animal he rode, and the creature took no notice of his rider's persuasions. The pistol was dangerously near; Yupon's rough order "to tumble" was not unaccompanied by threats, and Watson thought it best to obey quietly, where he could not resist. When Yupon had bound him securely, Matilda took the lanthorn, and drawing from her girdle the sharp hunting-knife, she cut open the leathern mail-bag, and turned the light upon its contents. The small private letters she hardly noticed, but there were three ominous-looking papers closed with large red seals, and these she instantly seized. They were all directed to the Sheriff of Ely; and she felt sure they were the authority for Stephen's arrest. She took possession of the whole three, bade Yupon set loose the horse, and leaving the other contents of the rifled mail-bag on the grass by the side of the bound carrier, she put into her companion's hand the promised gold pieces, and then slipped away into the shadows and darkness of de Wick chase.
Once within its boundaries she ran like a deer till she reached the house. All was shut and silent, but she was prepared for this emergency. She had a key to her private rooms, and she reached them without sight or sound that could betray her. Indeed, she felt reasonably certain that neither Yupon nor the mail-rider had suspected her disguise. When she put the gold in Yupon's hand he had said quite naturally, "Thanks to you, Earl Stephen;" and twice over Miles Watson vowed, "I shall be equal to you yet, Earl de Wick. I know who you be, Earl de Wick."
There was still fire on her hearth, and she pushed the dying logs together, and lit a candle by their blaze. Then she opened one of the letters. It was a warrant for the arrest of Squire Mason. The next opened was a warrant for the arrest of Lord Frederick Blythe; but the third was, truly enough, the warrant for the arrest of Stephen de Wick, for treason against the Commonwealth and conspiracy against the life of the Protector. She drew her mouth tightly, and tore the whole three warrants across, and threw them into the flames. When they were ashes, she turned quickly, divested herself of her brother's clothing, and put on her own garments. Then she carried Stephen's suit to his room, and afterwards put out the candle and went to bed.
But it was dawn before she could sleep. She lay calculating the time that it would take to get fresh warrants, and her conclusion was, "If Stephen have the least bit of good fortune, he will be out of danger, before they know in London that their lying warrants are beyond looking after. And I am glad I have done Mason and Blythe a good turn. At dawn I will send them a message they will understand. Oh, indeed, Mr. Cromwell, if you can spy, others can spy also!" She was a little troubled when she thought of her aunt and Anthony Lynn. "But, Lord!" she said audibly, "it is not time yet to face the question; I shall be ready for it when it comes."
She did not anticipate this trial for some days. "They will begin to wonder in two days what the sheriff has done in the matter; in three days they may write to ask; about the fifth day he may let them know he never got the warrants; then there will be new warrants to make out, and to send, and all this net spread in the sight of the birds, and the birds flown. In all conscience, I may take my ease for one clear week – then – perhaps I may be in London. I will consider of it."
Her plan had, however, been too hastily formed and carried out to admit of a thorough consideration, and in her hurry of rifling the mail, it had not occurred to her that one of those small, unimportant-looking letters might also be for the sheriff. This in fact was the case. When daylight brought rescue to the bound carrier, the rejected letters were gathered up, and one of them was a letter of instructions regarding the three warrants to be served. It directed the sheriff to take Mason and Blythe to Ely for trial, but to bring Stephen de Wick to the Tower of London.
Now the overtopping desire and ambition of Sheriff Brownley's heart was to visit London officially; and this shameful theft had at least put a stay on the golden opportunity of going there with a prisoner of such high rank and high crimes as Stephen de Wick. He was in a passion of disappointment, and hastily securing a warrant to arrest Stephen de Wick for mail robbery, he went to de Wick to serve it.
For no one had a doubt as to the culprit. The mail-rider swore positively that it was Stephen de Wick. "He minced and mouthed his words," he said, "but I knew his face and figure, and also the scarlet beaver with the white plumes with which he joys to affront the decent men and women of Ely; yes, and his doublet, I saw its white slashings and white cords and tassels. Till I die, I will swear it was Stephen de Wick; he, and no other, except Yupon Slade, or I am not knowing Slade's way with horses. He whispered a word to my beast, and the creature planted his forefeet like a rock; no one but Yupon or his gypsy kin can do that. And Slade has been seen often with de Wick; moreover, he has work in Anthony Lynn's stables – and as for Anthony Lynn God only knows the colour of his thoughts."
It was Delia who, about the noon hour, came flying into her lady's presence with the news that the sheriff was in the stables talking to Yupon Slade, and that he had two constables with him.
"What do they want, Delia? I suppose I must say whom do they want? Is it Mr. Lynn, or Lady Jevery, or myself?"
"I think it will be Earl de Wick they are after, my lady."
"'Tis most likely. Bid them to come in and find Earl de Wick. Give me my blue velvet gown, Delia, the one with the silver trimmings." Silently she assumed this splendid garment, and then descended to the main salon of the house. Her great beauty, her majestic presence, her royal clothing produced an instant impression. The sheriff – hatted before Anthony Lynn – bared his head as she approached. He explained to her his visit, the robbery committed, the certainty that Stephen de Wick was the criminal, and the necessity he was under to make a search of the house for him. She listened with disdainful apathy. "Mr. Lynn," she said, tenderly placing her hand on his shoulder; "let the men search your house. Let them search even my private rooms. They will find nothing worse than themselves anywhere. As for Earl de Wick, he is not in England at all."
The old man gave a gasp of relief and remained silent. It was evident that he was suffering, and Matilda felt a great resentment towards the intruders. "Why do you not go about your business?" she asked scornfully. "Under the King, an Englishman's house was his castle; but now – now, no one is safe whom you choose to accuse. Go!" she said with an imperious movement, "but Mr. Lynn's steward must go with you. You may be officers of the law – who knows? – and you may be thieves."
"Anthony Lynn knows who we be," answered the sheriff angrily. "We be here on our duty – honest men all of us; say so, Anthony."
"You say it," replied Lynn feebly.
"And the lady must say it."
"Go about your business," interrupted Matilda loftily. "It is not your business to browbeat Mr. Lynn and myself."
"Thieves, indeed! Stephen de Wick is the thief. He robbed the mail at nine o'clock, last night."
"You lie! You lie damnably!" answered Matilda. "Earl de Wick was miles and miles away from de Wick at nine o'clock last night." Then she bent over Anthony Lynn, and with an intolerable scorn was deaf and dumb and blind to the sheriff and his companions. Only when the steward entered, did she appear to be aware of their presence. "Benson," she said, "you will permit these men to search every room and closet, and pantry and mouse hole for the Earl. And you will see that they touch neither gold nor silver, pottery nor picture, or anything whatever – but Earl de Wick. They may take the Earl – if they can find him."
The men were about an hour making their search, and during this interval Lady Jevery had been summoned, and Anthony had received the stimulating drug on which he relied. But he was very ill; and Lady Jevery, who adored her nephew, was weeping and full of anxious terror. Matilda vainly assured her Stephen was safe. She insisted on doubting this statement.
"You thought he went north at four o'clock, but I feel sure he only went as far as Blythe. No one but Stephen would have dared to commit such a crime as was committed at nine o'clock. But 'tis most like him and Frederick Blythe; and they will be caught, I feel sure they will."
"They will not be caught, aunt. And if it were Stephen and Blythe, they did right. Who would not steal a warrant for his own beheading, if he could? I sent a message to Blythe and Mason at dawn this morning, and they are far away by this time."
At this point the sheriff reentered the room. He was in a vile temper, and did not scruple to exercise it. "The man has gone," he said to Anthony Lynn; "and I believe you know all about the affair."
"About what affair? The mail robbery?"
"Just that. What are you doing with profane and wicked malignants in your house? I would like to know that, Anthony Lynn."
"To the bottomless pit with your liking," answered Anthony shaking from head to feet with passion. "What have you to do with me and my friends? This is my house, not yours."
"You are none of Cromwell's friend. Many people beside me say that of you."
"I am glad they do me so much honour. Cromwell! Who is Cromwell? A man to joy the devil. No, I am not his friend!" and with a radiant smile – "I thank my Maker for it."
He spoke with increasing difficulty, scarcely above a whisper, though he had risen to his feet, and believed himself to have the strong, resounding voice of his healthy manhood. The sheriff turned to his attendants —
"You hear the traitor!" he cried. "You heard Anthony Lynn turn his back on himself! I knew him always for a black heart and a double tongue. We must have a warrant for him, and that at once."
"Fool!" said the trembling, tottering old man, with a superhuman scorn, as his clay-like face suddenly flamed into its last colour. "Warrant! warrant! Oliver Cromwell has no warrant to fit my name. I go now on the warrant of the King of kings. Put me in the deepest dungeon, His habeas corpus sets me free of you. Matilda! Stephen! I am going to my dear lord – to my dear King – to my dear God!" and as a strong man shakes off a useless garment, so Anthony Lynn dropped his body, and in that moment his spirit flew away further than thought could follow it.
"What a villain!" cried the sheriff.
"Villain, in your face," answered Matilda passionately. "Out of the presence of holy death! You are not fit to stand by his dead body! Go, on this instant! Sure, if you do not, there are those who will make you!"
With these words she cried out for her servants in a voice full of horror and grief, and the first person to answer her cry was Cymlin Swaffham. He came in like some angry young god, his ruddy face and blazing eyes breathing vengeful inquiry. Matilda went to his side, clung to his arm, pointed to the dead man on the hearth and the domineering figure of the sheriff above it, and cried, "Cymlin, Cymlin, send him away! Oh, 'twas most unmercifully done!"
"Sir," said Cymlin, "you exceed your warrant. Have you arrested Stephen de Wick?"
"The man has run, Mr. Swaffham, and madame there knows it."
"You have nothing to do with Lady Matilda. If the house has been searched, your business here is finished. You can go."
"Mr. Swaffham, if you don't know, you ought to be told, that Anthony Lynn – just dead and gone – was a double-dyed Royalist scoundrel; and I and my men here will swear to it. He confessed it, joyed himself in the death struggle against the Lord Protector; we all heard the man's own words;" and the sheriff touched with the point of his boot, the lifeless body of Anthony Lynn.