Eppie

by Robertson, Janice

  ‘What tunnel? I know of no such place.’

  ‘Aunt Constance clearly had the sense not to let you in on all of her family’s secrets, for which I give her credit.

  ‘You like to think that you kept Talia confined to the house. However, I know that she often stole off along the tunnel. I used to watch her standing upon the arch with her arms outstretched, her face to the sun, as though she were willing herself to fly away from you.

  ‘This time, though, I saw a sly fellow creeping across the arch. In his arms he carried a bundle. It was obvious that he’d been stealing from the manor. I trailed him to the medieval granary. By then I was having second thoughts. It was because of you that my father lost his wealth. It would serve you right to lose some of your valuables. It was months later that I realised Wakelin Dunham had actually stolen Genevieve.

  ‘Now I insist that you hand over the locket. I should hate to miss this opportunity to have your daughter hung.’

  ‘You stood up to father when he was about to hang Wakelin,’ Eppie reasoned with Gabriel. ‘You can stand up to him again.’

  ‘That’s easier said than done.’

  ‘You must have faith in yourself. What does it matter if he casts you out? Nothing is more important than love.’

  ‘I suppose I shouldn’t let father wield such power over me.’

  ‘So you’ll tell him you intend to wed Rowan?’

  ‘Well, I would’ve liked to have married her.’

  ‘Then you will, muttonhead. ’

  ‘I can’t see how.’

  ‘Because you are already married to her.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘If you make-believe something has already happened it can make it come true. I tried it with Mr Grimley when Lottie needed somewhere safe to go during the day. Say to yourself that you have already asked your father, and he has agreed. It’ll make you feel confident.’

  ‘I will tell him.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now.’

  Gabriel pushed back the chair and rose to his feet. ‘I’ll do it.’

  She grinned as he strode purposefully away, not lingering to cast a backward glance of doubt.

  Gabriel was disturbed, yet intrigued, to see a fierce argument going on between his father and Thurstan, fists flailing as they fought over Talia’s locket. ‘Father!’

  Hearing Gabriel’s shout, Thurstan momentarily glanced round.

  To protect his daughter’s life, du Quesne was determined that the locket would not fall into his nephew’s hands. Hastening towards the window, he cast it into the river.

  Consumed with anger at its loss, Thurstan grasped the sill of the window and leant forward.

  Something grey and shapeless, like a mass of rotting leaves, ripped through the water. Draped in lacy tatters, a skeletal arm reached up, its fingers curling around the locket as it sank.

  Stupefied, Thurstan stared at the gaping hole where Talia’s nose would have been, at her cheeks, once rosy, now fallen into decay. Before the phantom plunged to the depths, he beheld a transformation: her face radiant, the way he remembered.

  In the tussle, Talia’s lock of hair had floated to the floor. Like a man obsessed, her father picked it up and stroked the ringlet. He was filled with misgiving. Living in a world of his own making he had repeated his father’s mistakes. His single-minded, uncompromising nature had made him uncooperative, exiled from those he loved, fearful of the vulnerability of exposing his feelings to those for whom he most cared. Too quickly he had waged into battle like an army commander. His rashness had lost him the war, but there was still time. He had always been so hard on Gabriel. It was time to shatter that part of his character, the strong exterior that masked his inner turmoil. It was necessary to lose his sense of self in order to find himself. If Thurstan was about to throw him into jail, what had he to lose by pouring out his heart, of letting go?

  ‘Father, I have decided, I shall marry Rowan! Nothing you can say will stop me.’

  Grim with grief, du Quesne meekly nodded his consent.

  ‘You agree?’ Gabriel said, paralysed with surprise.

  Swinging round in fury, Thurstan cried, ‘Rowan is to marry me. All is arranged.’

  ‘She abhors the sight of you!’ Gabriel cried.

  ‘What would she want you for? You can hardly call yourself a man. Overwhelmed by feelings of inferiority, you wish only for a wife to care for you as though you are a child.’

  ‘It is true that I lack a high opinion of myself. That hardly disqualifies me from being a loving husband. But you, my narcissist cousin, are driven by evil, with no more love in you for others than a speck of dust.’ Wild with despair, he made to strike Thurstan. ‘I say you shall not marry Rowan!’

  Mr Grimley hurriedly let himself into the office by the yard door. ‘Something earlier.’

  Eppie had remained in the office, waiting for Gabriel’s news. She wondered at the mill manager’s grave expression.

  ‘Something Thurstan mentioned to his lordship. He has found out that Wakelin Dunham is going to lead an attack on the mill. Did you know about this?’

  ‘Forgive me for not disclosing it to you. I had hoped that I could reason with my father, so that the wreckers would not attack the mill. Now I’ve failed, I was going to tell you. You must be careful, Mr Grimley.’

  ‘It is not my safety that I am concerned about. Thurstan said he was sending one of his men to the knacker’s yard to arrest Wakelin. It does not sound good.’

  ‘I must go to Wakelin and warn him, although I may already be too late.’

  Dextrously, Thurstan ducked and parried blows, laughing coldly at Gabriel’s flaccidity. ‘Batting out like this, you are weaker than a brew of milky tea.’ A brutal look upon his face, he forced Gabriel towards the thunderous strapping.

  His skull slammed against the smooth sharpness of metal beside the engine’s drive wheel, Gabriel cried out in pain, gripped by a horror that his brain would be spilt. Fighting for his life, he lashed out wildly.

  ‘I am going to kill you,’ Thurstan rasped, ‘you and that vociferous sister of yours.’

  Realising the danger to his son’s life, du Quesne blundered in, the engine room shaken by his fury. ‘Leave my boy!’

  Gabriel’s hatred of Thurstan instantly paled into terror, comprehending his cousin’s web of cunning.

  Spinning round on his heels, Thurstan caught his uncle off balance with the ferocity of his onslaught. Momentarily, arms beat above Gabriel’s head.

  As though the engine were some gargantuan troll, intent on making du Quesne suffer for the evils he had inflicted upon the mill workers, it swooped, striking with its stony club. Seized by the strap, du Quesne was conveyed upwards with lightning speed, his wail of terror accompanying the unearthly screeching whine of machinery.

  Though his father’s cry broke off abruptly, the sound of his agony reverberated in Gabriel’s ears.

  The engine creaked to a halt.

  An ominous silence saturated the mill.

  All the while, Wilbert had been watching the fight, pouring more oil on the floor than into the engine.

  Thurstan thrust Gabriel into Wilbert’s arms. ‘He did it!’

  Women surged in behind Eppie and Mr Grimley, some shrieking in revulsion at the sight of du Quesne’s twisted body, others rollicking at the man’s misfortune. Children raced in, many grinning from ear to ear, clamouring to peer at the mutilated mill owner.

  ‘I want these caterwauling fools out of here!’ Thurstan ordered Crumpton.

  Martha was reluctant to leave, but knew better than to argue with the overseer.

  Beneath du Quesne’s lacerated body a dark rivulet of blood spilled.

  Without fear, Eppie knelt beside him and gazed into his stricken face. Something was different about the way he looked into her eyes; the hardness replaced by softness, the boy in her father throwing off his years of emotional pain, castin
g away his protective cloak of resistance to reach something that had remained suppressed within him. Something profound: love.

  Wincing with the searing pain, he spoke huskily. ‘Tell me.’

  It was some moments before she found her voice. ‘You must remain still.’

  ‘I need to know.’

  Sharp grief surged in her heart at the loss of her father. ‘It is true. I am your daughter, Genevieve.’

  Sad repentance clouded his eyes. ‘I am glad. I should have recognised in you my own stubborn, independent spirit.’ Blood trickled from his mouth. ‘You must turn these qualities to better use than I ever did.’

  ‘You will not die, Father. You must not!’

  ‘I have lived a withered life. Why will death be any different? Where is my son? Where is Gabriel?’

  Though he yearned to go to his father’s side, his strength sapped after the ordeal, Gabriel was unable to free himself from Wilbert’s clutches.

  ‘For mercy’s sake,’ Mr Grimley pleaded, ‘why do you not let the man go to his dying father?’ It dawned upon him that Thurstan meant to accuse Gabriel of the murder of his father. ‘Gabriel would never have instigated this atrocity. Tell us, your lordship! You must tell us, quickly, who did this to you?’

  ‘Thank the Good Lord,’ Thurstan cried in mock astonishment, hastening to du Quesne’s side. ‘My uncle lives still, and might recover.’

  Wild with desperation, knowing Thurstan’s sly ways, Eppie rained blows upon her cousin, fighting to keep him away. Wrenching du Quesne’s head, he snapped the tenuous thread that held him to life. His elegant clothing sullied by his uncle’s blood a look of abhorrence swept Thurstan’s face. He rubbed his palm down the front of the dead man’s coat. ‘Tell them, Hix.’ He stepped back from the corpse. ‘Tell them that you saw Gabriel lunge at his father and push him into the engine.’

  ‘Tis as true as I stand ‘ere,’ Wilbert replied loudly, a little too hastily. ‘His lordship was bellowing at Master Gabriel, saying ‘e wun’t allow him ta wed the Grimley girl. Master Gabriel were that riled he told his pa he oughta watch out else he’d give him a rabbit punch.’

  Thurstan winced. ‘All right, Hix, save the evidence for the trial.’

  Fast and bitter the tears streamed down Gabriel’s face. ‘Every word of it is a lie, Mr Grimley! Thurstan tried to kill me. Father fought him, to save my life. Thurstan overpowered him.’

  Thurstan smiled thinly. ‘Hearken to the ranting of the miscreant.’ Finding Eppie’s hard gaze upon him, probing for evidence of guilt in his face, he turned his eyes from her.

  ‘You do not need to convince me, Gabriel,’ Mr Grimley said. ‘Ever since you were a boy I have known you to be a gentle, considerate person, incapable of such wickedness.’

  ‘Tempora mutantur nos et mutamur in illis. Times change and we change with them, Grim. For many years my cousin has lived away from these parts. Experiences have hardened him. I know it to be a fact that my uncle never offered him an allowance for his living expenses whilst in London. Gabriel was sorely grieved and desired revenge.’

  ‘That’s a shaggy dog tale, no mistake!’ Eppie cried, leaping to her feet. ‘Rowan told me he refused the allowance.’

  Thurstan ignored her outburst. ‘Only last night did I hear Gabriel bickering with his father over the matter. Indeed, whilst we were dining, my little cousin went so far as to threaten to take my uncle’s life. What you see before you is the result of his bitter hostility. I fear he must suffer for his sins.’

  All possible industry at a standstill, the workers streamed through the gates, some in stunned silence, others chattering at fever pitch.

  Eppie skidded down the passageway that led into the knacker’s yard, past an official notice written in Wakelin’s best handwriting, proclaimed: ‘All Meet Handled comes frum Locul People alredy Dead or Killed on the Premises.’

  A pock-faced man gutted a cow. Its stomach slumped onto his boots with a sickening slop. ‘What you be wantin’?’

  ‘I need Wakelin.’

  ‘Dunham? The master’ll be after ‘im. He don’t hold with folk forsaking ‘em’s work.’

  ‘He’s gone? Did he say where?’

  ‘This man come fer ‘im.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘How’d I know?’

  Seeing her traipse away, her head lowered in despondency, he added, helpfully, ‘’e had a limping way o’ walkin’, n’ a scar down his cheek.’

  Already feeling that her life had been thrown into serious disarray, Eppie was staggered further by this sinister revelation. ‘Jaggery! He’s Thurstan’s man.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD

  Malstowe jail rife with a fresh outbreak of sickness, only through sheer persistence was Mr Grimley able to gain permission to visit Gabriel.

  The outer wall of the jail, with its row upon row of iron-lattice windows, cast a shadow into a lane. It was here the mill manager left his gig. On the opposite side were tumbledown houses, washing dangling on poles projecting from uppermost windows.

  Warily, Eppie and Rowan followed Mr Grimley. Behind them the turnkey rammed home the bolts of the nail-studded door, their echo mingling with the wails of the dying and the shrieks of fighting rats.

  A guard, clutching a flaming torch, led the way past a cloister of chambers where wretched-looking men, women and children were thrown together. Some had lost limbs, others their minds.

  Thrusting her arm through bars, a woman pleaded for food. In her other arm, she clutched her new-born.

  Eppie’s heart went out to her. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Emily Standfield, miss,’ the woman replied, frightened-eyed.

  ‘How do you come to find yourself in this terrible place?’

  ‘I were caught up in the farmers’ riot about the drainage pipe tax. Soldiers rode down on us with horsewhips and pistols. Them they didn’t kill, or what run away, got thrown into jail. I been found not guilty.’

  ‘Why do you languish here?’

  ‘I ain’t the let-loose money, miss.’

  Eppie might not be able to aid all of the innocence prisoners, but she could at least help one of them. ‘Have no fear; I will see you out of here.’

  ‘God protect ‘ee, miss,’ Emily cried, tears glistening in her eyes.

  Eppie placed in the woman’s hands one of the cobs that she had brought for Gabriel. Children swept upon the bread like shabby, squabbling starlings, tearing it into pieces and stuffing it into their mouths as though they had not eaten for days. Perhaps they had not.

  Ascending a flight of steps, Eppie followed Mr Grimley and Rowan, who were making their way along a railed gallery. Having enquired of a gaoler the price of the discharge fee for Emily, she handed over the four shillings. ‘You will request that the governor ensures her immediate release?’

  Squinting slyly, the man pocketed the coins. ‘Surely as I breathe.’

  Boyle approached, pushing a two-wheeled plank-like barrow used to cart the dead from the cells. ‘Jeremiah, you oughtn’t to be here, not with your young ladies.’ He looked haggard, thinner than Eppie recalled, his gums almost toothless, and the inky smudged skin beneath his eyes bulging like saddlebags.

  ‘We’ve come hoping to speak with Gabriel du Quesne,’ Mr Grimley replied.

  ‘Sorry business. I remember him as a lad.’

  ‘At Shivering Falls?’ Eppie asked.

  Boyle looked hard at her, drawing upon his memory. ‘You’re the lass. I remember Jaggery throwing your dog in the water.’

  He led the way through the crypt-like cell, cautioning, ‘Mind where you step, ladies.’

  The governor kept an alehouse for inmates who could afford liquor. He was clearly raking in a profit; empty bottles lay strewn about. In a ruinous state, the cell had no ventilation or drainage and was mucked out like a stable though, judging by the smell, none too frequently. The floor seethed with cockroaches. Eppie’s skin crawled at sickening cracks and squelches as she inadvertently
trod upon the milling insects.

  Stripped to filthy blue and yellow striped breeches, Gabriel sat with his back to a wall, sweating in the intense heat. His hair hung loose about his shoulders. On his lips were specks of dried blood. Though the sight of Talia was a breath of fresh air in this hell, never had Eppie seen her sister look so mournful.

  Long days in this ghastly place had taken their toll on Gabriel. With no mats for bedding it was impossible to sleep soundly.

  Rowan touched him upon the knee.

  Wearily he opened his eyes.

  ‘Why are you in this state?’ Mr Grimley asked. ‘Didn’t you receive the food I sent for you?’

  ‘How could I eat when those around me have little to sustain themselves? I shared what I had.’

  ‘I knew you would,’ Mr Grimley said resignedly.

  ‘Cheeseman’s dead.’ The quack wiped his hands down his befouled apron. At his feet lay a prisoner, his face black-blue. ‘It’s stifling in here; I’m off to the warden’s for a jug of ale.’

  Unimpressed by the remedies of the cheap charlatan, Boyle confided to Mr Grimley, ‘After the sickness has hooked them, most of the prisoners are gone within two days. With one mouthful of Doc’s arsenic potion, though, they’re outta this world quicker than you can swat one o’ these flies.’ He indicated to a bucket of stale urine, its rim black with buzzing flies attracted by the stench like rancid raw beef.

  ‘Gabriel du Quesne, Benjamin Fuller,’ a guard yelled. ‘You’re on trial next.’

  Mr Grimley was taken aback. ‘Trial? Now? This is outrageous.’

  Rowan clung to Gabriel’s arm as he rose, tired and despairing.

  ‘Fuller knocked off a squire’s hat,’ Boyle said. ‘He’ll hang for sure, and all.’

  Mr Grimley spoke hurriedly to the guard. ‘I left strict orders with the governor that I was to be informed well in advance of Gabriel’s trial. I must speak with Judge Baulke and get him to delay the hearing.’

  ‘It ain’t him as is heading the court this morning. Thurstan du Quesne’s due in.’

  Rowan put her face in her hands and sank into herself in anguish.

  Gabriel looked on hopelessly.