Eppie

by Robertson, Janice

  ‘When I was young I played up there.’

  Clem, a stable lad with a close-eyed varmity expression, made the more fox-like because of his mop of red hair, strode in, holding a bunch of rats bound by their tails. ‘I thought you’d like to take a look at these, Master Gabriel. I found them in the stables.’

  ‘Adult male rats occasionally eat their young,’ Gabriel said. ‘Perhaps the mother tied their tails to stop their cannibalistic activity?’

  ‘I’ll stick them in your father’s study shall I?’ Clem asked, sauntering off. ‘Add to his beasts of curiosity.’

  ‘You’d be risking your life if you did.’

  Gabriel turned to Eppie. ‘This is what I really brought you here to see. Father has invested in a corn threshing machine. It imitates human flailers. When the men were digging up the floor to lay the cogs and pulleys that run from the wheelhouse they exposed hundreds of these horse skulls. They had been packed under the earth.’

  ‘Why are they here?’

  ‘Skulls give a better rhythm when flailing the barley for malting. Spellbound died a few days after Talia drowned. Mother insisted the men dug a grave for the pony. She didn’t want him to be beheaded and end up here.’

  Eppie climbed the ladder to the platform. ‘Did Spellbound die of a broken heart?’

  ‘He was sick with strangles. Clem found the pony dead in Miller’s Stream. It runs through the fields. The hide of Talia’s rocking pony used to be stuffed with straw, until the night Spellbound died.’

  ‘When I was in the Swan Chamber I felt the pony’s bones. He had a cob under his throat.’

  ‘That was the abscess Spellbound had beneath his jaw.’

  ‘So, because Spellbound died in the stream his spirit has floated away to be with Talia. That’s wonderful!’ She reached for the swing.

  ‘I wouldn’t try that if I were you. It’s probably frayed.’

  Unheeding, she gripped the rope. Shrieking with exhilaration, she soared through the air and, letting go of the rope, tumbled onto a hay bale. ‘I’m having another go!’

  ‘I think we ought to get back and see if Mrs Dunham is rested. She’ll want to set off for home.’

  They had just entered the stockyard when they noticed Clem standing before a loosebox, pointing agitatedly over his shoulder, a warning look in his eyes.

  Over the top of a lower stable door they spotted Ranger’s flowing white tail and grey rump.

  From du Quesne’s raised voice it was clear that he was infuriated by Fulke’s dilatory manner of delivering news.

  ‘Her lassie was soused from head to foot in mud. Not a thought did Master Gabriel give to me padding, what’s me pride an’ joy, sir.’

  ‘Never mind your confounded carriage. What do you mean my son went up a chimney?’

  Gabriel groaned.

  Clem waved them onward.

  Cautiously, they picked their way past ambling pigs, hoping du Quesne would not glance round.

  ‘What woman nearly gave birth in my carriage?’ du Quesne raged.

  ‘’er as lives by the tollgate.’

  ‘Mrs Betsy Psalter? She must be all of five and sixty years of age.’

  Eppie lingered to listen.

  ‘I told her lass to clear off. Did she heed me? No. Let herself into your home as easy as swotting a fly. Trailed mud all over your rugs an’ all, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘Eppie!’ Gabriel cried in a hushed voice, hurrying her. He waited at the paved court before the brewhouse where refuse from the dairy was tipped into a hog-tub.

  She had just caught up with him when she stood on the hem of her over-sized scullery maid frock. Losing her balance, she squeaked in alarm.

  ‘What’s going on out there?’ du Quesne yelled.

  Dashing to her aid, Gabriel hoisted her up.

  Together they scurried into the brewhouse. Gabriel threw the bolt to behind them.

  Du Quesne thundered on the door with his fists. ‘Open up immediately!’ He peered through a window festooned with trembling cobwebs.

  Dejectedly cradling his sling-strung arm, Dawkin was slumped beside a barrel, his inquisitive eyes fixed on them.

  Eppie and Gabriel ran into the adjacent kitchen, surprising the servants by their sudden appearance, and out along the passage that led to the vestibule.

  Taking two steps at a time they had almost reached the top of the open-well stairs when du Quesne stormed in at the garden door. Stopping dead in his tracks, opposite a shiny yellow vase his own height, he stared straight into Eppie’s frightened eyes. ‘Strawhead! I might have known.’

  Gabriel grabbed her by the hand and pulled her onwards.

  Having heard du Quesne shouting, Martha and Molly waited anxiously in the shadows further along the passage.

  ‘Try and get rid of him,’ Gabriel told Molly.

  ‘Me? How? What shall I say, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know. Make something up.’

  Hands shaking, he thrust the key into the door of the Swan Chamber. Seeing Gabriel glance beseechingly at her, Martha nodded, realising that he meant her and Eppie to hide until they could make their escape.

  Quietly, he closed the door behind them.

  Afraid to face du Quesne, Molly pressed herself into the recess of a doorway.

  He spotted her anyway. ‘You there, where’s my son? Tell me quick, or by the deuce I will not be responsible for my actions.’

  ‘Dreans, sir.’

  ‘Drains? Whatever are you talking about, you feeble-minded girl? ’

  Eppie gripped Gabriel’s arm. ‘You’ve left the key on the other side of the door. If he comes in here, he’ll find us.’

  A tortured look came into his eyes. Having scanned the chamber, he motioned Martha to hide behind a Chinese folding screen decorated with birds of paradise, a snake creeping up on them.

  ‘When I went to fetch kindling,’ Molly explained nervously, ‘I heard Master Gabriel telling Wilbert Hix’s pa about how to make gutters from hollow spruce poles. He said they’d be good to run rain away from the cow muck in the yard. He’s very clever is Master Gabriel.’

  ‘That is a matter of contention,’ du Quesne answered frostily.

  ‘Let’s hide under the bed,’ Gabriel suggested. They swept back the drapes which were drawn around the four-poster rosewood bedstead.

  To Eppie’s surprise, Lady Constance lay on top of the bed, the features of her placid face waxen. Her eyes were closed, with touches of greyness around the puffed crescent skin, her breathing shallow.

  Gabriel stooped over her. ‘Mother, are you feeling worse?’

  A miniature medicine chest stood upon the bedside table. The lid was raised, revealing black velvet casing, cushioning several gallipots. One stoppered pot was labelled Quinine for Head Fever, whilst the other, Antimony, a Calmative Tincture for Hysteria, had tipped over and was empty.

  Du Quesne relentlessly grilled Molly. ‘You must have seen where he went. He ran down this corridor only moments ago. He had that despicable girl with him. She was dressed in scullery maid garb. I hope Mrs Bellows has had more sense that to take Dunham on the staff.’

  ‘I telled ya, I saw nowt, sir. God strike me dead if I’m tellin’ a lie.’

  ‘Be careful what you wish for,’ he answered derisively. ‘Ah, ha! Do my eyes deceive me or are those muddy footprints leading to the nursery?’

  ‘Oy, they in’t in there, sir!’ Molly cried in a high-pitched voice.

  In his mother’s open palm lay Talia’s miniature portrait. Knowing that it must remain hidden from his father, Gabriel snatched it, and he and Eppie dived beneath the bedstead.

  The door crashed back against the coffer. Du Quesne sounded as dangerous as a powder keg. ‘I know you are in here, boy.’

  Eppie and Gabriel exchanged wide-eyed, frightened glances.

  In response to du Quesne’s bellowing, the baby cried.

  ‘Caught you!’ he roared triumphantly. Martha’s place of concealment discovered, he hauled her out.

  Dre
ading what punishment he would contrive for them, the children froze in horrified anticipation.

  Turning his attention to the bed, an obvious hiding place, he almost ripped off the bullion fringe as he tugged the drapes aside. He was unconcerned about his thoughtless action in disturbing his wife. ‘It’s only you, Constance. I thought somebody was in here.’

  Mrs Bellows stomped along the corridor to investigate the commotion. ‘What’s to-do, your lordship? Have you disturbed a burglar?’

  ‘I would sooner discover a score of burglars than that contemptible sneak, Eppie Dunham.’

  Still expecting trickery, he dropped to his knees and glared beneath the bedstead, his irate, bulging eyes looming unnervingly close to Eppie’s.

  Eppie felt as though she was looking at the reflected image of the man viewed beneath the wind-blown waters of a lake. There was also something peculiar about his voice, which sounded strangely far off. Water, for she was sure it was that, as she felt it when swimming in the plunge pool at Shivering Falls, pressed around her body. It was not cold, it was comfortingly warm.

  It was then that she and Gabriel became aware of another presence. Frail, like an aged veil about to fall into dust, Talia also rested on her elbows beneath the four-poster, her body gleaming with a quivering light. In her eyes was a mischievous glint as she grinned at their startled expressions.

  Vexed at not having laid his hands upon the children, du Quesne furiously cast back the hangings, leaving Eppie and Gabriel staring at the agitated movement of his silver-buckled boots beside Martha’s motionless feet. The ghost vanished. The musty smell of the Swan Chamber returned.

  ‘I want this house turned upside down,’ du Quesne yelled. ‘I will not be made to look a fool by my son. Until I have caught this woman’s infernal daughter and rung her neck, you will lock this woman in the scullery.’ The door slammed. The latch clicked.

  ‘What about her ladyship?’ Mrs Bellows asked. ‘You’ve locked your wife in, sir.’

  Du Quesne had an inkling that his wife believed that, if she rested in the nursery, she would be close to her daughter’s spirit. It was a conviction that annoyed him intensely. ‘After, and not before my wife has spent an hour or two trying to batter down the door you may let her out.’

  ‘I must help mam,’ Eppie whispered.

  Gabriel nodded, filled with a wave of empathy for her predicament.

  Creeping to the door, they listened.

  ‘What I can’t understand,’ du Quesne said as they made off down the corridor, ‘is why Gabriel would want to be friends with this Dunham girl. She is an abominable, prying child. Can you think of anywhere they might be hiding, Mrs Bellows?’

  ‘They may have gone into the wood, sir. I sometimes see Master Gabriel run in there early in the mornings, before his studies.’

  ‘How are we going to get out?’ Eppie asked.

  Gabriel turned to look at the wainscoting at the far side of the chamber. ‘There’s a secret tunnel that runs beneath the manor. Cut centuries ago, as a means of escape for Catholic priests, it leads to Shivering Falls.’ At his touch, the panel shifted silently. ‘This is where Talia went when she tried to rescue our kittens from drowning.’

  Eppie could only see the top steps of a wooden staircase, the remainder disappearing into the gloom.

  ‘You go first,’ Gabriel said.

  Once he had replaced the panelling, enveloping them in an eerie blackness, Eppie was glad that she had already descended to the hewn stone.

  The tunnel was so icy cold that it sucked away the seasons. Stumbling along, she threw out her hands, feeling her way. ‘I can’t see where I’m putting my feet.’

  Lustre of moonlight in their darkness, Talia appeared. Her dress was of such diaphanous silver-blue that Eppie could see through it, from the floral ribbons at the front to the purple bow which adorned the back.

  Guided by Talia, they quickly reached the end of the tunnel and squeezed their way out.

  Dropping to their knees, they crawled across the natural bridge which divided the rock faces. Spray pounded up from the foaming waters, dashing upon their backs.

  Safe on the other side, Eppie shook water from her face and glanced around, disappointed that Talia was nowhere to be seen.

  Stabbing toes into grooves and seeking handholds on the boulders, they scurried down. In the distance they heard du Quesne riding in the woods, yelling for Gabriel to show himself.

  ‘Now what?’ Eppie asked frantically as they reached the pool.

  ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘What if I fetch Dusty? Mam could ride her home.’

  ‘We’re closer to the manor house. Let’s sneak back and find a way to let Mrs Dunham and the baby out before father returns.’

  They plunged through the woodland. Dappled light flickered on leaves in the closing rays of the sun.

  Their racing feet, crushing leaves and cracking twigs, was the easiest give-away du Quesne could wish for.

  Eppie spotted Talia waiting for them beside the gate that led into the garden. ‘There she is!’

  Alf nowhere in sight, they pelted across the lawn, only to come to a jolting halt, noticing that the garden had undergone a peculiar transformation. Wildwood beasts: a badger, fox, rabbit and frog, all shaped from yew trees, towered around them.

  When Gabriel spoke his voice was almost a sigh. ‘It’s Talia’s garden, as I remember it.’

  A thrill quivered through Eppie at his words. Beneath her feet she felt the silent pulse of the earth. It was not their earth. This was another world, an enchanted water-world soaked in a myriad of stars. Pink clustering flowers of a calico bush, creamy-lemon gladioli, and red cockscomb swayed in an ever-changing flow pattern.

  Eppie brushed away strands of hair which floated before her eyes. ‘How can we be here?’ she asked, filled with caressing warmth, like the tender love of a sister.

  Hooves thundered, drawing close. Ranger leapt clear over the woodland gate, du Quesne leaning over his horse’s neck.

  Grabbing Eppie by the hand, Gabriel dragged her behind a yew-clipped squirrel, just as du Quesne jumped from his horse.

  ‘Now I have you, boy!’ Whacking his leather boots with his riding crop, du Quesne stepped briskly towards where he saw the frightened children crouching behind a topiary stump, their shadows streaking across the lawn. ‘I will make you pay for your disgraceful behaviour, boy.’

  A flash of anger crossed Talia’s face. Not only had this bombastic man ruined her happiness in life, he was intent on making the lives of her brother and sister unbearably miserable. Pursing her lips, she sent a breeze through Alf’s two-spouted watering can, directing a jet of water straight at her father.

  His fine powdered-wig inexplicably blasted from his head, he let out a cry of woe. Hurtling after it, he tripped over a topiary stump and plunged headfirst into a holly bush.

  ‘These countess cakes will put a smile on her ladyship’s face,’ Kizzie said. ‘Though the marzipan needs a drop more rose-water.’

  Eppie and Gabriel heard other voices as they hurried towards the stillroom; amongst them was Molly’s, bemoaning du Quesne’s bullying antics. ‘It’s a wonder her ladyship’s managing to rest with all this commotion.’

  ‘There you are!’ Hannah cried, as the children ran in. ‘What a to-do. It’s heathen the way his lordship has treated Mrs Dunham and the baby.’

  ‘You must’ve had a good hiding place,’ Molly said. ‘Where was ya, in the duck pond?’

  ‘We’ll explain later,’ Gabriel answered. ‘Molly, I want you to get the keys to the scullery and the nursery off Mrs Bellows.’

  ‘You told me not to go sneaking about, pinching keys, sir.’

  ‘I go back on what I said.’

  ‘I don’t know how I’m gonna do it.’

  ‘Nor do I, but you must hurry. I’ll go and tell Clem to prepare mother’s carriage. Mrs Dunham shouldn’t have to walk after her ordeal.’

  ‘I’ve already told him,’ Molly said.

  ‘You
’re a marvel. After you’ve secured the keys, go and check that mother is all right. She didn’t look well.’

  Whilst Bill Hix distracted Fulke in the harness and chaff room, Lady Constance’s coach was brought into the carriage yard. Eppie scrambled in, her head buzzing with the strange experiences of the day. A flaming red sunset suffused the western sky, painting the upholstery of the coach a vermilion tinge.

  Gabriel sprang onto Wayward’s saddle. Glancing round at the apprehensive faces, he waved Clem on. The coach rocked, its wheels clattering across the cobbles.

  ‘Hoy! What ya doing?’ Fulke had caught the sound of the departing carriage. Pelting up, he grasped the tackle of the lead horse.

  Gabriel was incensed. ‘Let us pass!’

  ‘Good man!’ Du Quesne hurried towards them. ‘Out!’ he ordered Martha and Eppie, throwing back the door. Irate, he turned on Gabriel. ‘I suppose you never gave a moment’s thought to the scandal you have caused by inviting these lowly people into my home?’

  Gabriel was incensed. ‘What scandal?’

  His father dabbed at scratches on his face. ‘Labourers must be kept servile, not cossetted. If you carry on like this all the workers’ wives will come to expect such indulgent treatment.’

  Farm labourers gathered to watch the row, their faces showing a mixture of contempt for du Quesne and amazement at what they were witnessing.

  ‘Winwood, fetch the muck cart,’ his lordship ordered. ‘If Mrs Dunham is keen on having wheels, she and her offspring may travel home in that.’

  Groans of disgust went up from household servants huddled in the brewhouse doorway. Du Quesne glared at them. They darted away, leaving only Dawkin to survey the commotion.

  ‘Have you no heart, sir?’ Gabriel remonstrated. ‘This is inhumane.’

  ‘I have heard all about your so-called humane acts from Fulke Clopton. You seem intent on making me into a laughing stock in front of my estate workers. How dare you scale a chimney to rescue a worthless climbing-boy?’

  ‘Why does everyone keep blaming Gabriel?’ Eppie butted in. ‘It was me what shinnied up the chimney.’