Eppie

by Robertson, Janice

  Jaggery stepped towards the crater. ‘What’s going on down there?’

  Her liberator positioned his body so that he screened her. ‘There were some scum in a sack trying to escape. I’ve given him a stinger to quieten ‘im.’

  ‘We’ve done in there anyway.’ Jaggery headed off. ‘The last wagon was bursting.’

  The flames of the fire cast upon the face of Eppie’s rescuer as he stared down at her. He looked even more dishevelled than usual, his hair as rough as the coat of a wintering horse.

  Though overjoyed to see him, she was filled with doubts. ‘Wakelin!’ she croaked, rubbing her throat. ‘Why are you here?’ Drawing herself into a crouching position, she tried to shut out thoughts about the bodies lying beneath her.

  He took a swig from his pocket pistol. ‘The night air suits me.’

  ‘I mean, doing this wicked work.’

  ‘I can’t help that. Some rat let on to Thurstan that I was gonna smash the mills. Jag fetched me outta the slash house and said he’d hide me.’

  ‘It was Jaggery who encouraged you to lead the wreckers. It must’ve been he who told Thurstan.’

  ‘Jag’s me friend, ‘e wun’t do that.’

  ‘Jaggery’s beastly; he threw Twiss into the pool at Shivering Falls.’

  ‘You’re only saying that cos’ ya hate Jag. ‘sides, ma would’ve let on if he had.’

  ‘Thurstan’s the leader of the bodysnatchers.’

  ‘Yur, very funny. That scum couldn’t lead a worn-out horse to the knacker’s yard. I gorra go, else Jag will be back and find ya.’ He made to leave.

  She struggled to her feet and clutched the rope around his jerkin. ‘No! Help me!’

  ‘’elp ya what? Come to that what are you doing down ‘ere? I know you like wandering, but you surely an’t got some kind of macabre fascination about going to watch gravediggers in the middle of the night?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve come to find Gabriel. He’s alive, somewhere in this pit. Thurstan accused him of killing Lord du Quesne when he didn’t.’

  ‘I’d heard about du Quesne. And Gabriel’s in one of these ‘ere sacks?’ He was silent, trying to take everything in.

  ‘Have you got your jack-knife?’

  ‘Me knife?’ he repeated, as though slow-witted.

  ‘The bags are stitched.’

  Having made his decision he snatched at the nearest sack. ‘Where is he? Which one?’

  She grabbed his arm. Too easily she had read his mind. ‘Killing Gabriel won’t make you free. I’ve found out. Worse, Thurstan has.’

  The blade of his knife glinted in the dying firelight. He drew close, in his eyes a wild look. ‘Yuv found out what?’

  Fear froze every muscle in her body. He was seriously drunk and, down here, he might as easily murder her as Gabriel.

  She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, not knowing what his reaction might be. ‘That I am Genevieve du Quesne.’

  ‘So,’ he drawled, ‘ma told ya, the blabbermouth.’

  ‘I overheard you, that time you shredded our cellar. After that I figured everything out.’

  ‘Why did you never let on?’

  ‘Why would I want things to change? You, me, mam and Lottie, we’re a family. That’s what you said at Dank Cottage, remember? That rainy night we left for Malstowe. And you were right, we are a family.’

  He was staggered, realising the depth of her love for him.

  A bond of misery and hopelessness drew them together. Both saw the righteousness of acting together as a means to release their torment.

  Working rapidly, he slashed sack after sack.

  ‘Why doesn’t he answer?’ she said. ‘You don’t think he’s caught the sickness and died?’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. What’s more, we might. There’s all this stuff oozing around me boots, an’ I don’t reckon its water.’ He stopped and stared at a mother with a baby.

  ‘Emily Standfield!’ Eppie said, grief-stricken. ‘I paid the governor for her discharge.’

  He stroked the baby’s fist. ‘This feels like our Eppie’s hand, before I laid her in the cradle at the manor.’ He gazed at Eppie’s sad expression, her eyes glittering with tears. ‘You was born to be a lady and I’ve ruined all that.’

  Stones skittered onto sacks. Dick swiftly stepped into the pit.

  Wakelin wielded his knife.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Eppie said. ‘I’ve told Dick about Gabriel.’

  ‘Gabriel was taken from the last cartload,’ Dick said hastily. ‘Before Jaggery went to the church to check on the men he told me to help the gravediggers throw the bodies onto the wagon. Luckily I’m the only one not wearing gloves; I felt the warmth of Gabriel’s body. When the diggers left, I knifed the sack open and helped him to hide in the carriage. He’s in a bad way and can hardly walk. I didn’t know what else to do with him. Now I’m thinking that was the dumbest place to hide him as he’ll be lugged off anyway.’

  One by one they scrambled over the edge of the pit and ran for cover behind a yew.

  Peering around the trunk, Eppie saw Jaggery and Fulke standing beside the open door of the coach, talking. ‘Now what do we do?’ she asked bleakly.

  ‘I’ll lure ‘em away,’ Wakelin answered.

  ‘But you have to escape. Thurstan mustn’t find you.’

  ‘Yur, yur.’ He shoved their backs. ‘Go!’

  Stooped over, Eppie and Dick dived behind gravestones, gradually getting closer to the gates. Hearing thudding footsteps, she glanced around to see Wakelin racing straight at one of the two men who were approaching the carriage with Lord Wexcombe’s shrouded body slung between them. ‘What’s he up to?’ she whispered.

  Seeing Wakelin charging at him like a mad bull, the man at the rear cried out in astonishment at this curious attack from one of their own men. He lost his grip on the corpse and it thudded to the ground.

  Jaggery made towards the commotion. ‘Hey, what’s going on, Pryce?’

  Huffing with irritation at the further delay, Fulke remounted and swilled from his bottle. The horses stamped and shook their heads impatiently.

  Dick scurried to the coach, to check it was safe for Eppie to follow, and waved her on.

  Her heart in her mouth, terrified that Fulke might glance down and see her, she ran as fleetingly and as quietly as she could. It reminded her of the time she raced across the stock-yard when her father was raging with Fulke about her and Martha for trespassing in his house. This time, though, she raised the hem of her frock so that she would not trip over it.

  Calming her breathing, she stepped into the carriage as gently as possible so that Fulke would not know she was inside. Though it was shadowy within, she made out planks that spanned the seats. She knew she ought to whisper Gabriel’s name, but knew Fulke was bound to hear.

  ‘Wake, stop it ya stupid limmack!’ Jaggery cried.

  Eppie looked around. Men sprang back as Wakelin attempted to punch any face within striking distance. It was quite a dizzying spectacle to witness.

  Clambering on top of the planks, she frantically shifted a couple of the boards apart.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ Jaggery asked. ‘Stop shovin’.’

  ‘It ain’t right we should be stealing Wexcombe’s body,’ Wakelin said hotly. ‘Judge Baulke will have the yeomanry on us.’

  His caution was greeted by guffaws amongst the men.

  ‘Quiet, Kenelm!’ Jaggery warned. ‘Wake, take yer hands off Wexcombe.’

  Eppie dropped beside Gabriel. Though she could scarcely see his face in the gloom, she felt the clammy warmth of his sturdy body. ‘We have to go.’

  He did not answer.

  ‘At The Barrel you led me on to lead the wreckers,’ Wakelin said. ‘Then ya went and snitched to Thurstan du Quesne.’

  ‘What rot are you talking?’ Jaggery asked. ‘I don’t even know the man.’

  Eppie tugged on Gabriel’s elbow. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I’m stuck,’ he
whimpered.

  ‘You can’t mean it! They’ll be here at any moment.’

  ‘I think it is time that Dung Heap is enlightened.’

  Eppie glanced through the small gap beneath the planks, into the graveyard.

  Thurstan rode stealthily through the curtain of darkness. ‘Get Wexcombe on board. Although he is not likely to be recognised in London, I don’t want to take the risk. Before you crate him mislay his head, like you did after I killed Bulwar.’

  ‘So, it was Thurstan,’ Eppie said under her breath, utterly relieved that Dawkin was proven innocent of the crime.

  Humming to drown out his warning, Dick rapped gently on the carriage, hurrying Eppie.

  Once more, she tugged on Gabriel’s elbow.

  ‘It’s no use,’ he said weakly. ‘I can’t get my legs to go.’

  The gravediggers approached the carriage.

  ‘Drat!’ Dick clambered into the carriage.

  Lantern light swept the interior.

  Eppie squirmed at the sickening thud overhead as the body was hurled onto the planks.

  ‘Get it off me!’ Dick shrieked.

  ‘What you doin’ in ‘ere?’ Jaggery asked.

  ‘Fixing the planks,’ Dick answered lamely.

  A grin on his face, Jaggery slammed the door.

  ‘Hoy!’ Dick scrambled over the corpse to get to the door. ‘Let me out!’ he cried in a perturbed voice, realising Jaggery was standing outside, keeping a hold on the opposite side of the handle.

  Amused by Dick’s discomfiture, the riders threw themselves into their saddles and cantered away.

  Having had his little fun, Jaggery stepped back from the coach and went off to listen to the quarrel between Wakelin and Thurstan.

  It had all been play-acting with Dick. Taking his chance, he thrust aside the corpse and drew back the planks so that Eppie could crawl up beside him.

  Pulling up the corner of the curtains, which had been drawn to conceal evidence of its extraordinary traveller from prying eyes, she peered out.

  Wakelin glowered at Thurstan as he prowled around him, a pistol in his hand.

  ‘I have always believed that there is much to the art of physiognomy,’ Thurstan said, ‘judging a character from the features of the face. It is one of my greatest delights when condemning people to the gallows. I have an expanding collection of heads, which I plan to transfer to the Brown Room at Tunnygrave Manor. On this occasion, however, I must forgo your cranium. Sad, although I suppose it would have been devoid of brains. Have you anything to say before I improve your ape face by reducing it to particles of dust?’

  ‘Go to plaguey hell!’

  ‘Tut, tut. After all the years I have had the misfortune of being acquainted with you, I must say that your language is not much improved.’

  ‘I know your scabby mind’s behind this bodysnatching. I’m gonna have the law on you.’

  ‘But I am the law. You can do nothing to touch me. Jaggery, I will let you into Dung Heap’s murky secret. Many years ago, he stole Gabriel’s sister, Genevieve, from her cradle. She goes under the assumed name of Eppie Dunham.’

  ‘Her! Sour face, spits like a wild cat?’

  ‘The very one. I would not want her to challenge my inheritance. She must be disposed of, permanently. I suggest you keep a watch at Bridge House, where I suspect she is hiding. Now, Dung Heap, you will accompany me to the church. I would not like our little business to be overheard.’

  Wakelin had been expecting this.

  Taking the full force of Wakelin’s blow on his chin, Thurstan crashed back against the door. The carriage lurched on its rockers. Eppie nearly screeched with surprise, but managed to keep silent.

  Fulke cracked the whip over the horses. Away the carriage sped, bumping and bounding over ruts in the road.

  Panicking, Eppie made to throw back the door.

  Placing his hand over hers, Dick restrained her. ‘If you both jump out at this speed you’ll go under the wheels.’

  With his feet on top of a plank, he grasped the wooden ledge that ran around the top of the carriage, used to stop luggage from toppling off, and dextrously swung his body.

  ‘What’s that!’ Dick shrieked as he thumped onto the driver’s box beside Fulke.

  Snorting in alarm, the horses shuddered to a stop, leathers creaking. The swinging door smashed against the shiny painted side of the carriage.

  ‘’ere, waz your game?’ Fulke bawled.

  ‘Didn’t you see it?’ In Dick’s voice was a genuine note of fear.

  ‘See what?’

  ‘That ghost in the middle of the road! It was a girl, shimmering like a light, with white ribbons and grass in her hair. The horses ran straight through her.’

  ‘I reckon it’s you what’s been on the bottle, not me.’ Fulke jumped down and slammed the door shut. ‘I’ll never get to me bed at this rate. You climb up the rear and keep a sharp eye out with that gun.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  NIGHTMARE BEASTS

  Wakelin was through the graveyard before Thurstan had a chance to recover.

  Not far off The Leaking Barrel, a cavern of lamplight and warmth, with its lopsided beams and dirty plaster, beckoned. Wakelin pictured Fortune, the painted barmaid, drifting between tables, the smell of rum and tobacco hanging heavy in the parlour.

  His only chance of staying alive was to head in the opposite direction, along the riverside. The path led to the barge, where he kept a gun concealed. If Thurstan was intent on his death he ought to have an even chance.

  On this sultry night the depths of the river stewed, reeking with a concoction of fermenting sewage and spewed substances.

  ‘I’m gonna make it,’ he spat out as he stumbled along. Wretched from a surfeit of ale and sleepless nights in the damp caves he was petrified by the thought that he might be wrong.

  Thurstan was gaining on his quarry, the steady thudding of his boots growing louder.

  Now, well into open countryside, Wakelin spotted the black bulk of the dilapidated barge. In spite of its sorrowful state, one or two timbers missing, and the bow gouged by collisions with other vessels, it offered a place of sanctuary, a haven where he liked to shut himself away from the world. Though he could not see the wood smoke curling from the flue, he smelt the savoury waft of roasting meat coming from the cabin.

  Despite his peril, he was overwhelmed with fury, wondering who had broken into his boat. He had no time to ponder further. Dodging bullets, he listened in dread to their whine before they struck the dirt path before him, sputtering grit. An easy target, he knew he was being played along.

  A piercing pain shot through his leg and thence through the rest of his body. He cried out in pulsating agony. A second bullet gored into his flesh. Staggering, doubled over, he crashed into the congealed river.

  Thurstan drew up swiftly, having noticed a figure emerge from a ruined barge further up. Under cover of darkness he was confident that the person would not be able to recognise him. Before turning to flee, he let loose with a volley of shots into the river where Wakelin floundered.

  Ignited, the cocktail of combustible wastes encircling Wakelin burst into flames. He made a desperate attempt to escape the fiery heads of luminous serpents which leapt around, scarlet and turquoise, searing. A haze of blue smoke enveloping him, he gulped his last breath of air and sank beneath the tempestuous waters.

  ‘That was a close thing,’ Gabriel said. He and Eppie crawled from behind a hedge and watched the carriage race away.

  Heading back along the road, Gabriel winced when his bare toes caught the edge of a sharp stone. ‘I was nearly suffocated in that sack and have practically lost all feeling in my legs.’

  ‘At least you’ve had an easy time of it,’ Eppie teased.

  ‘An easy time?’

  ‘All you had to do was stick your feet up and have a nice rest.’

  ‘It was hardly tranquil, knowing that I might be discovered at any moment. And I’m starving. Every time a guard came i
n to stitch a prisoner into a sack I had to squash my stomach, otherwise it would’ve growled louder than gravel rattling in a tin. At the same time I had to hold my breath and count to one hundred and thirty one. You try it.’

  Ponderously, Eppie asked, ‘Do I have a sour face and spit like a cat?’

  ‘Do you want an honest answer?’

  Eppie gripped his arm harder, having caught the sound of a horse ridden hard towards them. ‘Someone’s coming!’

  Dragging her reluctant brother by the arm, they scurried for cover behind a tree that stood beside a field gate.

  Gabriel peered up the road, watching the horseman canter away. ‘That was Thurstan.’

  ‘I hope Wakelin’s all right.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Thurstan took quite a blow; he won’t have caught him.’

  ‘I told Wakelin to get away. He chose to stay and create a distraction whilst Dick and I rescued you.’

  ‘After what Thurstan did in wrenching father’s neck like that, it’s reassuring to know that there are kindly people like Wakelin out there.’

  As they approached the graveyard gates, Eppie glanced at Gabriel’s clothing. ‘It wouldn’t be a good idea to shamble through town dressed in prison breeches; they’re a dead giveaway if you’re spotted. We might find something in the church for you to wear. We mustn’t delay; Reverend Clinch will be back to lock up, if he hasn’t already.’

  The unexpected scrimmage with Wakelin having distracted the bodysnatchers, they had omitted to clear up. A solitary lantern forgotten, its glimmer fell upon a subterranean chamber.

  They crept along the nave and stared into the hole.

  Stone coffins were stacked one on top of another, hemmed in by shadows. Eppie was consumed by a chilling eeriness, imagining the parched skeletons lying long and aching for centuries in the vault.

  Worse, was the desecration of Squire Bulwar and Lord Wexcombe’s corpses; whatever their flaws in life, they had deserved dignity in death, not vandalism of their remains.

  Eppie led Gabriel to where she knew cassocks would be hanging. She rummaged through the robes.

  The door banged. ‘Oy! Who’s back there?’