Eppie

by Robertson, Janice

  ‘Is there some trouble here?’ Gabriel asked, looking in.

  Eppie drew her eyes away from a sea-fish, its beak prolonged into a sword-like weapon.

  Molly apologised to Gabriel, ‘When I lit the fire in your mother’s chamber, I had no idea that a climbing-boy was up her ladyship’s flue. Duncan made things worse by throwing on extra scuttles of coal.’

  Whilst staying with Mr Grimley, Gabriel had heard from Priscilla, the housekeeper, that they could only afford to keep on one maid. Seeing as Molly hailed from Little Lubbock, Mr Grimley had recommended her to Mrs Bellows.

  Mrs Bellows stomped along the passage. ‘Master Gabriel has only been here a short while and already his room is in frightful disarray. Oh, sorry, sir, I didn’t realise you were in here.’

  ‘Mr Crowe,’ the boy cried. ‘Help! I think me arm’s broke!’

  Crowe gripped the white marble mantelpiece with his coal-blackened hands and roared up the chimney, ‘Throw yersen down this minute, else I’ll break all the bones in your body.’

  A climbing-boy, who shouldered a soot sack, offered, ‘I’ll see if I can fetch ‘im down.’

  ‘He ain’t worth the risk,’ Crowe answered. ‘I can see a scythe rammed up the chimney.’

  ‘Put there by past generations as an offering to protect the house from witchcraft,’ Mrs Bellows said.

  ‘You don’t mean to leave the boy up there?’ Eppie asked as Crowe made to quit the study, soot drifting to the floor from his turk’s head brush.

  Gabriel knew Eppie was right. ‘We can’t abandon him. I’ve a fear of heights, though I suppose I could try and climb up.’

  ‘I do not think that is a sensible idea, Master Gabriel,’ Mrs Bellows interjected.

  ‘Do what ya like,’ Crowe growled. ‘The lads and me ain’t hanging about. After all this trouble I don’t care to bump into his lordship. He’s a tyrant, from what I’ve heard in town.’

  ‘Come, Megan,’ Hannah said, ushering the kitchen maid out of the study. ‘His lordship’s venison will be done to a cinder if we don’t look sharp.’

  Mrs Bellows followed them. ‘Back to your chores the rest of you girls.’

  Eppie peered up the chimney, her head a little to one side, straining to hear. It was so dark that she could see nothing. ‘He’s gone very quiet. I hope he’s all right. I’ll see if I can get up.’

  ‘You?’ Gabriel looked staggered, but also guiltily relieved.

  ‘A bit more muck on me won’t make much difference. Though I hope I don’t fall and flay myself on that scythe.’

  Levering herself up with her knees and elbows she ascended slowly and painfully. The higher she climbed the more the haze of smoke caused her to wheeze. At one point it was such a squeeze that she became stuck and was terrified she would be up there forever. Reaching into a void, she gripped the boy’s ankle. The smoke in the ducts was thickening, making her splutter helplessly. She shook the child, terrified that it was too late, that he was already dead. ‘Wake up. If you don’t get out of here, you’ll die.’

  Groggily, the boy came to.

  ‘We’ve no time to waste.’

  ‘But my arm hurts.’

  ‘This is your only chance. Lean on me. Shuffle down as best you can, using your bottom and feet.’

  Tumbling into the hearth, Eppie cushioned the boy’s fall.

  Leaden steps were heard approaching, accompanied by the sound of a man making a gagging noise in his throat. Mr Crowe!

  Feigning innocence, Eppie, Gabriel and Molly stood in a row before the desk, beneath which the climbing-boy crouched.

  Smuts of soot puffed from Eppie’s loose hair into her eyes, impairing her vision. ‘I tried.’ She squinted at Crowe’s filthy face. ‘I got halfway. The smoke was so thick that I couldn’t breathe. The lad’s dead for sure.’

  ‘He weren’t no use to me with broken bones, no how. Let her ladyship finish roasting him. Granted he’s scrawny, but she’ll get some crackling off him.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SO FAR APART

  Sat in the copper tub before the range, Eppie clenched her lips, concentrating on keeping out trickles of soapy water as Molly poured jug after jug over her. Finally, after much painful rubbing with a flannel, the ordeal was over.

  Molly held out a cloth. ‘Sorry I didn’t recognise you at first, you was that lost with muck. It’ll be nice when you an’ me’s sisters.’

  ‘How d’ya mean?’

  ‘Ain’t ‘e told ya? Typical! One day me and your brother are gonna be wed.’

  ‘You’re in love with Wakelin?’

  ‘He ain’t that bad!’ She passed Eppie a scullery maid’s dress. ‘Here, stick this on, petal. It’s awful big on you. I’ll go and find you summat nicer to wear. Stay here.’

  Bored waiting, Eppie went exploring. She imagined musicians playing on the balcony in the Great Hall. Creeping upstairs, she chanced upon the family’s private quarters. The dining hall table, which Gabriel had told her was cut from a single oak tree from Copper Piece Wood, ran the length of the room. Set beside it were dozens of bobbin-turned chairs. Strange furry heads, trophies that Robert du Quesne had procured during his hunts in foreign places, decorated the walls.

  Despite the warmth of the day, a fire crackled and glowed in the library in readiness for the return of the master. A brown and white cat snoozed upon the flayed hide of a tiger. Eppie had heard so much about the cat and always longed to meet him. ‘Here, pussy!’ Prince Ferdinand rose and strode majestically towards her, sniffing to familiarise himself with her soapy scent. Stroking him, she delighted in the touch of his silky fur.

  Molly thundered along the corridor, opening door after door. Barging in, she cried, ‘So this is where you’ve got! Barrel ain’t he? He has a passion for cream. Lucy, the dairymaid, overindulges him.’

  Hand-in-hand they dashed along the wide hallway with its profusion of oak beams and half-panelling, turning corner after corner, until Eppie felt quite dizzy.

  Glancing over her shoulder to check that no one was watching, Molly inserted a key into a low oak door.

  The windows of the Swan Chamber stretched in a pleasant bay, the walls painted in an agreeable shade of violet. A rocking-cradle stood before the window, its drapes sun-yellowed.

  ‘We mustn’t come in here,’ Eppie cried, aghast. ‘This is where Genevieve died.’ Despite her reservations, the toys tempted her. Dropping to her knees, she picked up wooden animals from the deck of a Noah’s ark. Each was the size of her palm. ‘Wakelin would love to see these.’

  Molly rifled through a shiny walnut clothespress which smelt of orrisroot to protect the clothes from moths. It was a beautiful piece of furniture with lion-like legs, shell-shaped handles and curved ornamentation on the top. ‘There are some lovely things in here; satins, velvets, an’ poplins.’

  Holding a metal horse in each hand, Eppie made them gallop across the floorboards, drawing a dolls’ carriage. From the other side of the room came a scraping noise. A life-size white pony rocked gently on its bows as though ridden by an invisible rider. Leaping to her feet, she approached it. She rubbed the pony’s neck and gazed into its pale blue eyes. ‘It’s got a proper mane and tail. Its pasterns and hock joints feel real. What d’ya reckon this strange lump is beneath his jaw?’

  ‘How should I know?’ Having pulled out one of Talia’s frocks, Molly held it against Eppie’s back. ‘A bit big and it needs pressing, but it’ll do.’ She tossed the pink dress onto the four-poster bed and went to rummage in an embossed oak coffer beside the door. ‘It seems a crime for this stuff not to get worn.’

  Climbing three wooden steps, Eppie clambered onto the high rosewood bedstead with its elegant spiral twist posts. ‘This is lovely and squashy.’ She lifted up the second step, revealing a night commode. ‘Hey, my pa would love this. He’s always moaning about having to go out to the earth privy when he’s sick.’

  Molly slammed the coffer lid. ‘These pumps will do ya. Ain’t ya stuck that frock on yet?’
/>
  Eppie fingered the deliciously soft silk with its embroidered silver thread roses. ‘Pa says such finery ain’t for working girls.’

  ‘Well, yer pa ain’t here to see ya wearing it, is he? Come down so I can help ya dress.’

  Molly finished by piling Eppie’s hair in a top-knot and securing it with hairpins. ‘Have a squint at yourself.’

  Though a mirror hung above the stone mantelpiece, it was far too high to see her reflection.

  Molly dragged the rocking pony forwards. ‘You’ll be able to get a better look from up here.’

  Placing her foot in the stirrup, Eppie threw herself onto the saddle and peered into the glass. Her grin changed to an open-mouthed look of alarm. ‘The pony blinked!’

  ‘Course it did!’ Molly busily rooted in another drawer. ‘Look at this muff!’

  Wondering whether she had actually imagined it, Eppie gazed steadily at the reflection of the pony’s head. The surface of the mirror rippled. As though a spell had been cast upon her, she had the oddest sensation that she was looking upon herself standing beside the river, reeds flowing gracefully beneath the crystal clear waters. Swans drifted close to the opposite embankment, dipping their heads beneath the water. The strangest thing was that she saw herself as a woman, wearing a caramel-brown frock with puffed upper sleeves, similar to one that Betsy had recently made for her. Betsy jokily referred to the frocks as Eppie’s country weeds because they did not show the grime picked up when Eppie was racing around the woodlands. As quickly as it materialized, the haunting image vanished, leaving her staring at her stunned face.

  Excitedly, Molly dragged Eppie off the pony. ‘What d’ya reckon to this?’

  She had unlocked a linen cupboard which, to Eppie’s surprise, was a baby-house, furnished and decorated as a miniature version of Tunnygrave Manor. Inside were wax effigies of the du Quesne family. Mrs Bellows and the servants were hewn of wood.

  The toy Robert du Quesne sat at his desk. Ranged above him on the wall were the miniature heads of a bison and a hippopotamus. Tottering piles of books and drawings depicting mythical beasts were strewn around the tiny four-poster in which Gabriel’s figure slept. In the Swan Chamber the bewitching figure of a toy Talia rode upon a white pony.

  Eppie threw open drawers, discovering bed linen, curtains and clothes for the dolls, all lovingly hand-sewn by Talia. ‘It’s sad that Genevieve died. She’d have loved these.’

  Molly reached into the lying-in room. Fetching Lady Constance out of bed, she was about to blow away the dust that powdered her ladyship’s head when, from behind, the door creaked open.

  Eppie and Molly glanced round in horror. Expecting to see the corpulent figure of Mrs Bellows march in, Eppie’s stomach heaved in fright. Like butterflies caught in a spider’s web, she and Molly were trapped. Lady Constance had been compassionate in suffering Martha and herself to be taken into her home. Now, her ladyship was sure to think of her as a rude, unruly child, for here she was, in a chamber sacred to her ladyship, attired in her late-daughter’s frock, amusing herself with her play things.

  Panicking, Molly snatched up her feather duster and shoved Eppie to the side of the baby-house. To Eppie’s amazement, upon peering round, she saw Gabriel stride in.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ he asked Molly crossly.

  ‘Having a spit an’ polish, sir. Please sir, you won’t tell Mrs Bellows I came in here will ya? Ma relies on me money, sir.’

  Eppie knew she must make her presence known, to support Molly. She crept out, sheepishly.

  ‘Eppie?’ Gabriel cried, startled. ‘For a moment, attired like that, I thought …’ He stopped short, aware of the inquisitive eyes of the chambermaid fixed on him. Turning his attention back to Molly, he said, ‘I am prepared to forget your transgression as long as you promise never again to ransack my mother’s dressing table. It is an evil thing to sneak about the house of your employer, pinching keys.’

  Placing the key into his outstretched palm, Molly curtsied again and again like a marionette. ‘I’m much obliged to ‘ee, sir, but I was only borrowing it.’

  ‘Yes, yes, go now.’ Irritably, he pocketed the key.

  Left alone with Eppie, he paced to the window. ‘Dawkin has a fractured arm. Doctor Burndread is seeing to him.’

  ‘Dawkin? I remember him. His friend Titcher was hung for stealing a spoon. I’m so glad that awful Mr Crowe didn’t take him back.’ In a mood of gaiety, she pirouetted in Talia’s frock. ‘How do I look?’

  Despite himself, he laughed at her exuberance.

  Skipping into the turret she threw back the window. The invigorating air of the countryside drifted within. Everywhere was peaceful bird song. ‘I love your house!’

  They gazed upon the garden, their hands resting on the windowsill. Rose bowers, edged with delphinium and white peony, softened the starkness of the topiary lawn, whilst thorny shrubs lent a waxy lustre to the barren wilderness.

  In a mood of contentment, Eppie gently touched his hand. ‘We will always be friends, won’t we?’

  At her words the smile died on his lips. Heaviness settled upon him, a mood of blackness, near despair.

  It alarmed her to see the sudden change in him.

  Longingly, he gazed into her eyes. ‘We are more than friends, Eppie. Yet, though we are close, we will always be so far apart.’

  ‘It’s because my pa’s a weaver in’t it?’ she said miserably.

  Molly tore along the passage. ‘The bairn’s here! Your ma says come and look!’

  ‘Wait, Eppie!’ Gabriel called brusquely, grabbing her by the hand as she made to dash away. ‘You can’t go to see Mrs Dunham dressed like this.’

  Molly flashed him an acid look. ‘Why ever not? Miss Eppie looks a treat.’

  ‘I said no!’ Seeing Eppie shocked by the vehemence in his voice, he added softly, ‘Find Miss Dunham something else to wear, something simple, and cover her hair with a cap.’

  ‘Back to being a scullery maid,’ the chambermaid said downheartedly.

  Running swiftly with Molly on their way to the servants’ garret, Eppie turned to see Gabriel cast a disconsolate look at her, as though all the worries of the world rested upon his shoulders.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  SOMETHING CAUGHT

  Lady Constance disdainfully scrutinized the garments in which Molly had attired Eppie. ‘Couldn’t you find the child anything better to wear?’

  ‘Begging yer pardon, m’am,’ Molly said, bobbing a rapid curtsey. ‘I had Miss Eppie all …’ She turned to see Gabriel approaching, his cautioning eyes fixed upon her.

  ‘You had Miss Dunham all what?’ Constance asked impatiently.

  ‘Nuffin.’ Spinning round on her heels, she tore off, coughing along the corridor.

  Constance tutted. ‘Mrs Bellows really needs to take that new girl in hand. Eppie, my child, my physician informs me that your mother has come to bed of a daughter.’

  Eppie clapped joyfully. ‘Lottie’s here!’

  ‘Mother, do you think you ought to visit the baby?’

  ‘If Mrs Dunham has no objection, I will see the child. Onwards Agnes.’

  Eppie imagined Constance must have eyes in the back of her head for she sensed her son turn abruptly. ‘You will accompany me, Gabriel. We shall not be long. I do not wish to tire Mrs Dunham after her appalling accident.’

  ‘If you’ll pardon me saying, my lady,’ Agnes said, ‘I do not believe that you should be on cordial terms with the weaver’s wife. Frequently I have glimpsed the woman in her yard. The only clothes she appears to own are a patched red and blue striped frock and a green shawl with more holes in it than there is wool.’

  Incensed by Agnes’s scurrilous words, Eppie cried, ‘We may be poor, but at least my mam doesn’t go around like you, dressed as a muddy pig puddle.’

  ‘Though clearly you do,’ Agnes retorted, her gaze taking in Eppie’s brown scullery dress. She spoke in a confiding tone to Lady Constance. ‘That is not the worst of it. I believe the
woman to be unhinged. Upon perambulating past her cottage one spring morning I found myself bombarded by eggs. The woman stood beside her coop throwing them over the roof.’

  ‘Mam always does that with the first eggs of the season to ensure we have good clutches of eggs during the year.’

  ‘That sounds entirely logical to my way of thinking,’ Constance said.

  Agnes was unperturbed. ‘I was only expressing my view that it is not seemly for you to admit such a common woman into your husband’s home.’

  ‘I will thank you to remember your position in this household!’ Constance almost shrieked. ‘It is none of your concern as to whom I show amity.’

  Haughtily, Agnes jutted out her chin.

  ‘And kindly do not sniff behind my back,’ Constance snapped. ‘My son informs me that Mrs Dunham is a loving mother. That is enough for me.’

  Gabriel traipsed reluctantly along the wide passageways after them.

  ‘Come, Eppie, tell me a little about yourself,’ Constance said.

  Eppie readjusted her over-large cream cap, which kept slipping over her eyes. ‘There ain’t much to tell. I’ve gorra donkey called Dusty. I saw her being born. When she stood up her head was so big that she toppled over. Pa uses her to plough our plot. Sometimes she gets bored doing it and goes stiff. Then pa hops up and down and says rude things. Pa gets annoyed lots, especially when I’m singing myself to sleep. He says I sound like a screeching squirrel and if I don’t hush up he’ll take the fowling gun to me. Twiss is my brother’s dog. Wakelin eats raw onions. They make his breath stink. He made a wicker post-trap for Dusty so we can sell carrots. Me and Dusty fetch faggots for Betsy. She’s gorra mouldy ankle.’

  ‘That does not sound at all pleasant.’ Constance rapped with her stick upon the door of the lying-in room. Without waiting for a reply, she motioned Agnes to wheel her in. Expecting Martha to acquiesce to her unheralded arrival, she loftily informed her, ‘You will excuse my intrusion.’