Approaching, Gabriel grinned. So pleased was he to be with her that he chattered on excitedly. ‘It’s so good to see you, Eppie! You, too, Mrs Dunham. It has been a most tiresome journey. At one point, the flies teased my horse so much that it threw me. I rolled under a hedge and nearly died of fright. Beside me lay a masked highwayman, booted, spurred, and shot through the head.’
Eppie thought about Dawkin. When Wakelin had gone to speak to the chimney sweep about Dawkin, a few weeks after Christmas, he had discovered that Mr Crowe had relocated to London, taking the climbing-boys with him.
‘Mr Grimley invited me to break my homeward journey by spending a few days at Bridge House. I met Rowan and was quite taken by her charms. She is such a beauty and so gentle. Her parents, relatives of Mr Grimley, are deceased, so she has come to live with him. I’ve been away longer than I anticipated. After my stay with Doctor Morton, father sent me abroad, to be tutored by a professor. The professor treated his sons and me to a Grand Tour of Europe. Doesn’t the harvest-wain look colourful! I thought I’d stop and travel home in style with the reapers.’ A dark doubt took hold of him. ‘Eppie, why will you not look at me?’
Seeing Eppie reluctant to answer, Sukey seized her opportunity, ‘Her durn’t, her’s that ugly. Her bruver shoved her inta the fire an’ fried off ‘er ear.’
Cross, Eppie stamped her foot at the girl. ‘I tripped!’
Gabriel was stupefied by the revelation. Glancing into Martha’s anxious eyes, he saw in a flash the horror of that night.
The wain set off to the threshing barn where the Harvest Home would be held. Seated high upon the corn, children blew horns. Men and women sang.
Tightly gripping the dusty ribbons of her bonnet, Eppie told Gabriel. ‘It was an accident!’
‘I know Wakelin better than that,’ he answered, scouring the crowd. ‘Where is he?’
Sukey dashed after the wain, calling back to Gabriel, ‘Your pa told him he had to be mucky-man. Wakelin said no way would he do it, so he’s been sent ditching friz punishment.’
The tale thus recounted, Eppie trembled to see the resolve grow in Gabriel’s stony countenance. ‘Don’t get angry with him. He was upset because Twiss was killed.’
‘I am truly sorry to hear about Twiss. But what Wakelin has done to you is abominable. He can’t hide behind the death of his dog.’
Eppie made to follow him as he strode towards the ditches.
Martha held her back. ‘No, Eppie, it’s between them.’
His mind preoccupied, Wakelin failed to notice the boy draw near.
‘Haven’t you caused Eppie enough suffering?’
Gabriel’s shrill voice sliced through Wakelin. The last thing he wanted was trouble with another du Quesne. Weary and hungry, with muscle spasms from the beer sloshing in his innards, he did not feel in the best of tempers. He made pretence of having neither seen nor heard him.
‘To torture Eppie with fire, that is the most loathsome thing imaginable.’
Wakelin wetted his palms by spitting upon them. Using a butterfly blade to scoop clay, he slapped it against the side of the ditch.
‘You stand there like a corpse with not the slightest show of emotion, not a flicker of remorse.’
Wakelin surged through the ditch, rather than climb to where Gabriel stood rebuking him. Mud splashed above his knees. Aware of Gabriel closing in, he bolted out and lobbed the shovel at a blackthorn hedge.
‘What harm has Eppie ever done to you?’
Trudging away, Wakelin stared grimly at his clayed boots squelching slime at each weighty footfall.
‘Don’t you realise what a sinful thing you have done?’
Wakelin was increasingly agitated with Gabriel tagging on. Snatching the knife out of his boot, he flicked mud from its blade.
‘Don’t you care that you have caused your mother grief?’
Wakelin swung round. A blinding flash of white light seared the anvil clouds and rain pounded, battering the parched fields. ‘Leave my ma outta this. Eppie’s got nowt to do with you. Shiz my sister, I’ll do what I want with her.’ Instantly, realising the implications of his incautious words, he regretted them. He loved Eppie too much to wish her harm. It had been his old-self talking, that dead part of him which he had come to detest. And as to calling Eppie his sister, that was how he truly felt.
‘She’s not your sister, and well you know it,’ Gabriel said without hesitation.
Wakelin scowled. ‘What rot are you on about now?’
‘Eppie said she spotted you beside Genevieve’s tomb, just before I arrived at the church to practice for the concert. She said you seemed upset. That’s what started me thinking that something odd was going on. Then, when I saw Talia and Eppie together in the garden the resemblance between them was plain to see.’
Wakelin was shaken by the memory of the ghost. ‘Saw ‘em, together? So, it’s like everyone says, you are raving.’
‘It was you who broke into the tomb using the sledgehammer. In it were the remains of your baby sister.’
‘For all yer ranting ya can prove nowt. So, do us a favour, leave me be.’
Gabriel thrust his hand into his pocket and fetched something out. He opened his palm. ‘Remember this? On the night Genevieve was born, I placed it in her cradle. In my childish way I thought it would make the baby become Talia. In the morning I found it on the floor.’
At the sight of the locket, Wakelin’s blood chilled. Sweat trickled coldly between his shoulder blades. His crime was so close to being discovered. ‘Did ya?’ he said, trying to stop his voice from shaking. He turned and marched off. ‘Well, the baby must’ve knocked it out.’
‘She was bound with linen,’ Gabriel said, pacing after him. ‘At first I was confused. I didn’t know what to think or do. I resolved that I would let things be. I convinced myself that, in Mrs Dunham, Genevieve has a devoted mother. I thought that was sufficient. Now I realise I was wrong. I’m taking her back with me, back to her real home. That way she will be out of harm’s way.’
Wakelin turned on Gabriel. ‘How can ya imagine she’ll be safe in the hands of your father? It’s common knowledge that he treated Talia like a prisoner. Eppie loves her freedom. D’ya want to deny ‘er that? No, I tell ya, du Quesne’s heartless. In the cornfields he laughed his boots off when he clapped eyes on Eppie’s burns.’
Gabriel was taken aback by Wakelin’s emotional torrent of words. ‘I would never deny that father can be unfeeling. I have felt the sting of his birch too often to say otherwise. But things will be different from now on. I am older. I will be there to protect her.’
‘Will ya? That I doubt. You’re forever running from home. Besides, he’d never accept her.’
‘He has no option. She is his daughter.’
‘Look,’ Wakelin said, exasperated, ‘I know I ain’t always made things easy for Eppie, but I’ve changed. From now on, I intend to do right by her.’
Streaming rain poured down Gabriel’s face. ‘These are fine words, Wakelin, though, frankly, I do not trust you.’
‘Never will you have her! Never!’ Wakelin screamed into Gabriel’s face. ‘I’m warning ya, du Quesne. You’re as frail as an eggshell. I could smash ya ta flittericks, so leave things be!’
‘I am not afraid of you,’ Gabriel cried defiantly. ‘Genevieve must know her true family.’ Turning his back on Wakelin, he headed in the direction of Dank Cottage.
Tearing after him in fear and anger, Wakelin swept the boy round and slammed his fist full into his face. Gabriel had been so surprised by the sudden assault that he had no time to cry out.
Standing over the young man’s unconscious body, lying sprawled in the stubble, the dreadful thought came to Wakelin that his strike had been so hard that it had killed him. He knelt down to check, sighing with relief. Gabriel was still breathing.
In the attack the locket had fallen from the boy’s pocket. Gaping greedily at the gold, he was overcome by temptation. More than this, though, he was mesmerized by Talia�
��s beauty. This was an opportunity to keep her memory close to him.
Terrified that someone might have witnessed the assault he stared around, warily. He could not leave Gabriel here, so close to the ditches. It would be obvious that he had attacked him. Scanning the field, unsure, he caught sight of the pumping mill.
Gabriel draped over his shoulder, hands trailing and head lolling, Wakelin mounted the ladder to the storeroom at the top of the mill, where he knew lumber and ropes were stowed. Around him the storm crashed, relentless. Vivid lightning flashed.
Laying him on the timber floor, he touched the boy’s skin. It felt cold and clammy, not simply wet from the rain.
‘I’m sorry, lad,’ he said, filled with misgiving, ‘for what I did in taking Genevieve, for all the pain I’ve caused ya. Leastwise yu’ll be dry up ‘ere.’
Slicing a length of rope, he tied Gabriel’s hands. ‘I’ll be back after I’ve had summat to eat,’ he thought. ‘Force ‘im ta say footpads attacked ‘im. Threaten ‘im not ta blab about his sister, or else.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
THE PUMPING MILL
Sleeves rolled past her elbows in readiness for baking, Martha stood in the open doorway.
Although last night’s Harvest Home would have meant free meat, she was loath to go anywhere near Tunnygrave Manor and so had made do with her home-made harvest pie.
Eppie thumped down the loft steps. ‘Why hasn’t he come home?’
‘I’m worried sick wondering what has happened,’ Martha answered.
‘He’s probably helping with the mill,’ Eppie said, coming to stand beside her.
The air smelt heady, saturated with a rich earthiness released after last night’s deluge.
‘I hadn’t thought about that.’
‘I’ll go and see.’
‘Would you? I need to stay with Lottie. It’s not surprising she’s sickening after all that sun. And Eppie,’ she called, watching her going to fetch the donkey, ‘when you find Wakelin ask him how Gabriel is.’
Already preparations for towing the pumping mill were underway. Astride his horse, Maygott waved animatedly amidst a scene of disorder. Labourers, who had the unenviable task of tethering two score oxen to yokes, were charging hither and thither after a frisky beast that had bolted.
Sparrows pecked at fallen corn ears around the wheels of the brewery wagon.
‘Mister Jonas, have you seen Wakelin?’ Eppie asked, riding up.
‘He was still at the Harvest Home when I left last night.’
‘Keep an eye on Dusty, will ya?’ She tethered the donkey beside Dodgy, the innkeeper’s horse.
The rectangular mill was set upon a central pivot and fixed onto a sledge-like framework which enabled it to glide across the earth. Lying upon the ground were massive cloth sails, temporarily removed to lighten the structure.
Oss Cordwainer checked the tethers of the rearmost oxen. ‘Team’s ready, sir.’
‘Then get on with it, man,’ du Quesne said, gazing at approaching storm clouds. ‘If we leave it much longer the land will be a quagmire.’
The mill shuddered forward.
‘They’re off!’ Flip shouted.
About the event was an atmosphere of festivity. Large-eyed children, having waited in suspense, charged the sky with rousing cries. Enthused by the buzz of excitement, Eppie trotted alongside the tramping oxen.
Thurstan rode into the field. ‘So it is true, you are breeding monster-sized chickens. Busy shifting the hutch, are we?’
‘I can do without your quips,’ his uncle replied. ‘What are you doing here, anyway? I did not imagine the science of crop management to be one of your passions.’
Thurstan’s friends, Cudbert, Stanhope and Hugh, dismounted their horses beside the brewery wagon.
‘What’s it to be, squires?’ Jonas asked. ‘Drunk for a penny or dead drunk for tuppence?’
Thurstan handed his uncle a weighty leather pouch. ‘I know you might consider it vulgar to present you with coinage here, in the field, but this might put you in better spirits. The final repayment of the money you loaned me.’
Du Quesne gave a mollified nod. Untying the leather throng which secured the pouch, he estimated the value of the coins.
‘I find life is treating me favourably these days,’ Thurstan said. ‘I will be delighted to return your kindness and make you a loan should the occasion arise.’
‘The occasion will not. I can handle my money.’
Thurstan smirked; satisfied that he had pulled off his roguish scheme in handing over the forged coins.
The mastiffs bolted past and raced furiously around the mill. Ranger reared in alarm.
‘To heel you brutes!’ du Quesne cried. Unbuckling his saddlebag, he agitatedly stuffed in the money. ‘What’s got into them?’
Wretchedly, Regal and Sceptre slunk away, tails between their legs.
Driving a cane-sided whiskey, the physician turned into the field. Over the summer, Doctor Burndread had been experimenting with mouse droppings, of which his larder produced bountiful heaps. Upon hurling balls of the stuff, carefully blended with a compound of poisons and soda, from an upper floor window, he found that, upon shattering, they emitted a smell not unlike a concoction of mouldering fish guts and sewage. That morning, having hit on the idea of lobbing them upon the French from hot air balloons, he decided to dash over to solicit du Quesne’s ruminations, and to beg the much needed capital to fund the venture.
Attention riveted upon the oxen as the mill continued its wobbling stop-start motion. Only a few, including Eppie and Maygott, noticed Wakelin pelt towards the mill.
Eppie hastily twisted back through the crowd. Glinting, the rounded edge of something stuck out of the soil. Prising it up, she realised it was a coin. It must have tumbled from du Quesne’s pouch and been trodden in by Ranger. She pocketed it, intending to return it.
‘Dunham!’ Maygott cried. ‘Get down from there.’
Howling, Wakelin butted his forehead into the timber cladding. The cry reminded Eppie of the time he had had a decayed tooth pulled out by the blacksmith. Letting go of the ladder, he leapt backwards to the ground.
The commotion over, the estate manager cantered away, leaving Wakelin muttering curses and threats in his wake.
He pushed ahead of the crowd to watch the progress of the pumping mill.
Eppie tried to keep up with his brisk strides. ‘Why were you going up there?’
‘Huh?’
‘Did you fight with Gabriel?’
‘Keep yer voice down, sap head.’ Checking that no one was listening, he answered, ‘He pushed me to it. He weren’t much hurt. Leastwise, I don’t think ‘e were. I meant to go back, honest. I got drunk at the Harvest Home and fell asleep. He must still be tied up in there. Thing is, I’ve got to get to him and tell him not to blab to his pa that I beat him up. Oh no! He’s watching.’
Eppie followed his furtive glance. The mill looked like a Cyclops, the small window in the top storeroom its eye. It was through this window, casting a stricken look upon the oxen far below, that a shadowy face peered.
Gabriel had been awakened by a bump.
Terrified of heights, he fought back nausea as he gazed upon the scene in the field below, caught between a sense of fascination and fright at his predicament.
Amongst the plainly dressed workers who, from this elevation, looked like a drab patchwork of browns and creams, he easily made out the richly-attired figure of his father. The man’s behaviour and complaining bluster also set him apart.
‘Can’t you keep these refractory beasts moving?’ du Quesne thundered.
Burndread was gesticulating to gain his lordship’s attention.
Du Quesne rode up to the lead oxen and cracked his riding crop upon the rump of a flagging creature.
Gabriel’s attention shifted to one who stood slightly apart, not watching the herd but observing him. The sight of Genevieve’s lonely figure left him burgeoned with misery.
Without warni
ng, the sledge shot forward and grated over hummocky ground. A shudder ran up the fibre of the mill, through Gabriel’s bones, and he fell.
‘Take it easy, Cordwainer. Do you want it on its side?’
In response to du Quesne’s angst, children shrieked with delight, dying to see the mill tumble, to add to their amusement.
‘No, Eppie!’ Wakelin cried, seeing her rush off. ‘You mustn’t!’ He made to follow. To his dismay Tom grabbed him and, with a wide grin, flourished a tankard of beer beneath his nose.
Eppie knew it was reckless to climb whilst the mill was lurching. If she did not keep her wits about her she might easily lose her grip. Added to this, the leather-lashed wooden rungs were slippery with the drizzling rain.
Reaching the top, she tugged up the rope handle and thrust back the door.
Gabriel was shivering violently. His shirt felt horribly cold and damp from last night’s downpour.
She fell to untying his hands.
‘I knew you’d come,’ he croaked in a wooden voice.
‘Wakelin must be out of his mind doing this to you.’
She helped him to his feet, supporting him by the arm. ‘We need to get out of here or both you and Wakelin will be in trouble with your father for fighting.’
Before them the door creaked back and forth like the dead weight of a body upon a gibbet. Turning her foot upon the rung, she looped her body and glanced up. Gabriel was staring, transfixed, at the ground.
To him it was like peering over a cliff at rocks buffeted by crashing waves. At any moment he would be blown over the precipice.
Eppie’s reassuring voice broke through his uneasy thoughts. ‘You can do it. Take your time.’
Grimly clutching at the ladder, he followed, ponderously. The mill wallowed in a depression. Beneath his hands the ladder vibrated. ‘I can’t!’
They were a few feet off the ground when someone thumped up, two rungs at a time. ‘I’m warnin’ ya, du Quesne!’
Gabriel, who had begun to feel at ease with Eppie’s coaxing, was unnerved. Looking down, he stared into Wakelin’s fierce face.
Eppie Page 34