Flip snatched the reins and sprang into the saddle. He gave the pony a hearty kick in the hindquarters as he wriggled in his seat, quickly following this with a fierce dig in the ribs with his boot. With a snort of alarm, the whites of his eyes wildly protruding, Hopper jibbed backwards, crab-like, toward the wall, clattering into buckets. Instinctively, Flip gave the cob another kick in the ribs to disentangle him.
Dashing back, Mark wrenched the reins. ‘Ya clumsy oaf.’
Hopper reared. The saddle went awry. Flip slithered, his fall broken by a heap of mouldering straw.
‘You ain’t fixed his saddle on proper,’ Mark said, giving Pip a clip around the ear.
Terrified of her father’s wrath, she jabbed a finger towards Eppie. ‘It were ‘er. She told me to keep the buckle loose so Hopper didn’t kick out.’
‘Did she!’ Staring savagely, Mark bore down on Eppie.
Too astonished for words, she ran.
Pip caught up with her halfway along the track. ‘Not so fast! You owe me.’
Eppie skidded to a halt. ‘I ain’t got o’t.’
Pip rubbed her smarting ear. ‘I’ll take ‘er.’
‘Not Elizabeth! I take her to bed with me.’
Shoulder-barging Eppie, Pip grabbed the doll and ran. ‘Well, ya don’t no more!’
Eppie could not bring herself to open the field gate. ‘I can’t leave without Elizabeth. She’ll think I don’t love her.’ Sinking beside the briar-entangled hedge she cried until she felt as dry as Gillow’s stored beans.
Dusk deepened.
She awoke to the sound of Oss Cordwainer, the herdsman, calling in the cows. ‘Cush! Cush!’
How peaceful the heavens looked, the curved blade of the moon as sharp as a sickle, the stars wheeling in its silver light.
She thrust out her numb legs and rubbed away pins and needles.
Ebernezer still toiled in his forge, a stream of flickering firelight flooding the yard. The reverberating clank-clunk of his hammer sounded strangely remote.
She took a glance of longing at the distant farmhouse, its parlour glowing with lamplight, and trudged off down the lane.
Black-silhouetted, a rider lay in wait in the high-hedged lane that led to the manor stockyard. Though she knew it was not he, she spoke in a fearful, wavering voice, ‘Pa?’
Thurstan touched Bullet’s flanks with his spurs and rode up, slowly. In his black cape and tricorn hat he looked every inch a highwayman.
Her face lengthened in horror as, drawing level with her, he pointed a cavalry pistol between her eyes.
She took a step backwards. ‘Is he going to kill me?’ she thought in terror. ‘Kill me here? Now? Will I never see mammy again?’
A sudden surge of blood around her body lent wings to her feet.
As she increased the distance between Thurstan and herself, a shot, so loud that the earth seemed to shatter beneath her, rent the chilly air. Something breezed past her ear, lifting her hair with a sickening caress. A bullet!
‘I could kill you, know that!’ Thurstan laughed short and cold. He kicked his capering horse into stillness. ‘But I will not,’ he muttered maliciously. ‘I will derive greater pleasure knowing that you are living your life in grime and misery. Though you know it not, Dung Heap, you did me a favour when you stole Cousin Genevieve. It was a feeble weapon without a thrust.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A STUFFED RABBIT
‘I can’t imagine what’s keeping him,’ Martha fretted.
Gillow had gone to the manor to pay the land agent the quit rent for the past three years.
‘Are you looking forward to the church concert?’ Eppie asked.
‘Very much. It’ll make a change to listen to pleasant music. All I hear these days is the stale singing of drunkards hanging over Miller’s Bridge.’
‘That’s pa and Wakelin, ain’t it?’
‘Like as not!’
‘Before pa gets back, I’ll finish my sewing. I want to give him a surprise.’ Working steadily in the loft, a perplexed look crossed her face. She called down to Martha, ‘Wakelin was in church yesterday, talking to the tomb of Gabriel’s baby sister.’
‘That’s odd.’
‘D’ya reckon we ought to ask him what he was up to?’
‘Safest to leave him be.’
Eppie climbed down with the rabbit pelt stuffed with straw, its head and paws intact. ‘What do you think?’
Martha gazed in wonder. ‘How clever! Dressed in his little clothes he looks alive.’
‘Which bit of him do you like best?’
‘I like all of him,’ she answered admiringly, ‘though he smells. You’ve done a good job of sewing the buttons on the shirt. I like his frilly lace cuffs and shoe buckles.’
‘Lord du Quesne has shiny buckles so I thought my rabbit would like some. They’re too big; they’re off Jenny’s old bridle.’
‘Why did you want to stuff a rabbit?’
Eppie nipped into the front garden. ‘After pa set the snare I asked him why, in the Ten Commandments, Thou Shalt Not Kill doesn’t apply to killing rabbits. He said because they aren’t like us. I told him they was.’
‘What did your pa say?’
‘That God only made rabbits so people can eat them. I told pa that every life is special. He got mad and told me to hop it.’
‘I can’t say I’m surprised. You do pester him with your questions.’
The room filled with the aroma of freshly-baked bread. Martha set the table. ‘You can’t really think rabbits are like us?’
Eppie sliced the pheasant pie. ‘They jump around, have bairns, eat, breathe and do droppings. We could’ve been born rabbits instead of people.’
‘You eat rabbit meat.’
‘I think of it as a gift from the rabbit, to keep me alive.’
‘Rabbits don’t chatter like us.’
‘Gabriel and I spotted a guard rabbit on top of a warren. It thumped with its paws, warning other rabbits that a fox was coming. That’s a rabbit’s way of talking.’
‘One thing you can’t deny is that rabbits don’t look like us.’
‘That’s what pa said. So I asked him if rabbits looked like us would he stop putting out traps. He said he supposed.’
‘That’s why you decided to make your rabbit?’
‘Exactly! When he sees my rabbit he’ll take that horrid snare away.’ Hearing hurried footsteps, she glanced through the window. ‘Here’s pa. He’s running!’
‘Running? That’s a first. I never recall seeing him run before.’
Gillow burst in. ‘Where is he?’
‘Who?’ Martha asked.
‘Don’t answer me back, woman. You know who.’
‘If you mean Wakelin, he hasn’t come in for his tack.’
‘I need to find him, quick. I’ve been to the woods. He and Haggard aren’t there. I have to warn him.’
‘That’s a good ‘un, Gillow,’ Jacob said, chuckling in the lane.
‘What’s he spouting on about?’ Gillow muttered angrily.
‘I’ve used pigeon decoys to lure pigeons for shooting,’ Jacob said, ‘but in all my time I’ve never heard of anyone dressing a rabbit to lure coneys to the trap.’
Gillow stomped down the path.
Martha spoke in a hushed voice. ‘Eppie, you never said you were going to put it there. Now we’re in trouble.’
‘Why? My rabbit looks funny holding a carrot.’
‘That’s precisely what I mean. As long as I’ve known him, Gillow’s been most solemn about his plot of earth. It’s sacrosanct.’
Betsy hobbled over. ‘Unless I am mistaken, that rabbit is wearing a patch of my red-spotted neck scarf.’
Eppie dashed off to greet the old lady. Before she got far, Gillow grabbed her by the back of her frock and marched her to the porch. ‘What’s your game?’
‘Lower your voice,’ Martha implored. ‘Eppie meant no harm.’
‘I only did it to give you a laugh,’ Eppie said, startled at
his harsh words.
‘And I suppose you thought it was funny when you spilt polish on his lordship’s pew?’
‘I didn’t do that on purpose.’
‘If you’ve been making out to your mother that it was an accident you’d better admit to her that you’ve been lying.’
‘It weren’t no lie.’
‘You know how clumsy Eppie is,’ Martha said. ‘She can’t pour anything out of a jar without shedding half of it on the floor.’
Gillow was not pacified. ‘Of recent, my little maid, I’ve noticed you’re becoming as wilful as your brother.’
‘Calm down,’ Martha reproved. ‘I do think you are over reacting.’
‘Calm down? Is that all you can say? All morning I’ve been made to look a clod by du Quesne and that arrogant nephew of his. Thurstan denies shooting at Eppie, or that he was even about last night. I don’t know how he has the nerve. I saw Bullet cantering away when I was riding back after searching for Eppie at the church. And if I haven’t got worries enough with Wakelin, I come home to a rabbit clad in a tailcoat, eating all my best carrots.’
‘It’s only one carrot,’ Eppie said. ‘And we can still eat it.’
‘I don’t care! How dare you pull up my vegetables without my say-so? I am going to shred that rabbit.’
Eppie sprinted after him. ‘No, Pa!’
‘What worry with Wakelin?’ Martha asked, trailing him.
Reaching down for the rabbit, Gillow glared round at her. ‘I’ll tell you what …’ His face broke into a startled grimace.
‘I’ll do it, Pa!’ Eppie tugged at his jacket where he knelt. ‘You’ll rip his clothes.’
‘Martha, quick!’ Gillow cried. ‘My finger’s caught in the snare!’
Martha rushed to his side. ‘Let me help! Just calm down.’
‘If you tell me one more time to calm down, I’ll hit you.’
Betsy tutted. ‘Gillow, really, you shouldn’t talk to Martha like that. Jacob is there anything you can do?’
‘Let me pull it up.’
‘I’ve hammered the stake too deep,’ Gillow objected.
‘I’ll fetch me cutters. Ebernezer did a good job, re-sharpening ‘em.’
Wakelin lurched into the garden, swigging ale. ‘Waz’s up, Pa?’
‘Your idiot sister’s making a fool out of me, that’s what.’
‘Gillow, you are taking things to extremes,’ Martha said. ‘Wakelin, where are you getting the money from to buy ale? You seem to be constantly drinking these days. You certainly can’t afford it out of your wages and, of recent, I’ve not noticed any of my brew missing.’
He thrust a bloodied lump at her. Twiss bounded up, interested.
‘What’s this?’ she asked.
‘Waz it look like? Heart. I’ll have it for me dinner, fried with onions.’
‘I mean where did it come from?’
‘Sheep.’
‘It never fails to amaze me the things your lad keeps in his pockets,’ Betsy said. ‘Only yesterday he fetched out a stoat’s paw amongst those quail eggs he’d gotten me.’
Gillow’s eyes were almost popping out of their sockets. ‘Do I have to stay here all day? I am in pain, though I’m sure no one here cares.’
Wakelin smirked at his father’s misfortune. ‘Wallowing in self-pity will do you no good.’
‘You’ll be the one wallowing when they catch you.’
‘What are you on about?’ Martha asked.
‘Are you blind? Look what he’s got - another load of wood.’
Martha stared askance at the bundle beside Wakelin’s boots. ‘Not again? Where did you get that?’
‘Tree.’
‘Time and again, I’ve told you not to come home with du Quesne’s firewood. When will you start to listen?’
‘Wood’s wood. No one can prove where I got it. Besides, I’m careful. Can’t have ya shivering can I, me old Ma?’
‘Is there anything you can do to help your father?’ she asked, seeing Gillow gritting his teeth in agony. ‘With his shaky hands, Jacob is bound to slice off your father’s finger.’
Wakelin staggered over. ‘Hey, Pa, ya seen this? There’s a rabbit dressed for dinner.’
‘How quick-witted you must be to notice him,’ Gillow answered cuttingly. ‘Eppie made it to amuse me.’
‘Tell ya who he reminds me of. Du Quesne. He’s even wearing the same kind o’ wig.’
Eppie smirked at Wakelin’s praise. ‘He’s Lard duck Queer-fleas rabbit. I made the caterpillars on his wig with squashed pom-poms. I couldn’t fasten his breeches button ‘cos his belly’s as fat as Mister Lord’s.’
‘Hush, Eppie!’ Martha warned.
Eppie rushed on enthusiastically. ‘I’ve even put dirty rushlight grease on his behind, like the slime his lordship sat on in church.’
‘Is that so, Strawhead?’
Yesterday’s fears seized Eppie. She span round to see du Quesne planted in Gillow’s kale patch.
‘Wakelin Dunham, my gamekeeper informs me that he spotted you blundering about my thickets, stealing wood. If you deny your action, I warn you that your punishment will be harsh.’
Thurstan tugged Wakelin to his feet. ‘By his lack of denial he declares himself guilty.’
Wakelin opened his mouth to reply. Catching sight of Martha’s cautionary glance, he shut it abruptly.
‘I do not know if your father has acquainted you with matters discussed at the manorial court hearing?’ du Quesne asked coolly. Noticing Gillow’s predicament, the flash of a smile played upon his lips. ‘Though I imagine not, as he seems somewhat preoccupied. Nevertheless, let me inform you that Mr Thomas Lathy has agreed to act as the executioner of Little Lubbock, to my mind a position that has remained too long vacant.’
Wakelin gazed, stricken, at his friend.
Despondently, Tom bowed his head.
‘As your first duty, Lathy, you will accompany Dunham to the stocks,’ du Quesne said. ‘Ensure that he remains there for three days and is denied food and water.’
Wakelin tried to shake off Thurstan’s grasp. ‘I ain’t going!’
‘You are fortunate, Dung Heap,’ Thurstan said. ‘Following the sudden demise of Mortimer Melchoir, as from tomorrow I am to take up my duties as chief magistrate. If your malfeasance had occurred then I would have had the pleasure of dealing you a severe sentence.’
With one chop, Jacob released Gillow, though the tightened wire proved more problematic.
‘This’ll learn the lad,’ Gillow said, nursing his finger. ‘He’s had it coming a long while.’
Eppie stood in the lane, watching as Wakelin, closely trailed by Twiss, was dragged away.
‘Eppie, love,’ Martha called. ‘Come in. It’s perishing.’
‘Not yet, Mam.’ Miserable, she followed in Wakelin’s cold footsteps.
CHAPTER TWENTY
POISONED HEART
Gillow ate his evening meal with difficulty, using his left hand.
Both Eppie and Martha were uncomfortably aware of his sullen mood, which they felt as a dense veil of annoyance mixed with a tinge of regret. Patiently, they waited, longing for his passion to lighten.
Shivery and achy, Eppie had retired early, Martha having placed the truckle bed close to the warm hearth. Occasionally, Eppie caught Gillow shooting maddened glances at her.
Martha attempted to rouse him from his black mood. ‘I was thinking to increase the number of my geese. I’d get fifteen pence for each six-weeks-old gosling.’
Chewing the last of the sheep’s heart, Gillow glared at the low-burning fire.
Having munched his way through half an apple pie, he shoved away the platter. ‘Do as you wish.’ He lit his pipe with a taper and dropped into his chair. ‘You usually do.’
Martha sat beside the penurious glow of a candle, mending her skirt. She stared at the shiny blackness of rain etched upon the window. ‘It’s hard to think of Wakelin out there.’
Nose blocked, Eppie found it hard to breathe. �
��Twiss wouldn’t come home and Wakelin wouldn’t talk to me. He sat there, all sad, with his feet locked in holes.’
‘Are you sure you won’t eat anything?’ Martha asked.
‘I’m all achey.’
‘I don’t feel hungry either. The baby is making me queasy. I’ll fix you a posset.’
Having strained the treacle and milk through a cloth, she brought it to Eppie. ‘Drink it now; it’ll warm your tummy.’
Martha’s needle danced in and out of the cotton fabric. ‘I can’t imagine why Tom said he’d be hangman.’
Gillow drew in a deep breath, feeling more relaxed and keen to talk. ‘It all came out at the court leet. The night after du Quesne forced Tom to hang his dogs, some of the manor geese were found poisoned in the fowl enclosure. In The Duck, Amis overheard Tom bragging to farmhands that he’d done it. Thurstan told Tom he could only be reprieved if he agreed to execute poachers and the like.’
Eppie spoke timidly, unsure of his reaction, ‘I’m sorry my rabbit got ya mad.’
Gillow propped his feet upon the fender. ‘It’s me who should apologise. I get a little blind where my garden is concerned.’
‘A lot, don’t you mean?’ Martha smiled, glad happiness had returned to the household.
‘It’s wrong what du Quesne’s done to the lad,’ Gillow said. ‘Such a lot of fuss over a few rotting branches.’
‘Tomorrow I’ll bury my rabbit and put a stone over him, like Genevieve’s tomb. In church, Doctor Burndread told Gabriel about a carving in a cathedral. It showed a lord hitting a village boy on the head because he had stolen his pears. Why do they have things like that?’
‘To teach common folk right from wrong,’ Gillow answered. ‘The parson’s sermons are frequently about how we must show deference towards our betters.’
‘Why is Mister Lord better than us? Why can’t everyone be equal?’
‘There’s a need for leaders and workers.’
‘Why doesn’t Mister Lord want the parson to run the vestry school?’
‘Book learning isn’t natural for the likes of us. By keeping workers illiterate, we’re kept humble. That way it’s easier for people such as du Quesne to control the lives of those beneath them. Ignorant, we’ve no choice but to jump at their every command.’
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