Eppie (20 page)

‘You know how clumsy Eppie is,’ Martha said. ‘She can’t pour
anything out of a jar without shedding half of it on the floor.’

Gillow was not pacified. ‘Of recent, my little maid, I’ve
noticed you’re becoming as wilful as your brother.’

‘Calm down,’ Martha reproved.  ‘I do think you are over
reacting.’

‘Calm down?  Is that all you can say? All morning I’ve been
made to look a clod by du Quesne and that arrogant nephew of his. Thurstan
denies shooting at Eppie, or that he was even about last night. I don’t know
how he has the nerve. I saw Bullet cantering away when I was riding back after
searching for Eppie at the church. And if I haven’t got worries enough with
Wakelin, I come home to a rabbit clad in a tailcoat, eating all my best carrots.’

‘It’s only
one
carrot,’ Eppie said. ‘And we can still
eat it.’

‘I don’t care! How dare you pull up my vegetables without my
say-so? I am going to shred that rabbit.’

Eppie sprinted after him. ‘No, Pa!’

‘What worry with Wakelin?’ Martha asked, trailing him.

Reaching down for the rabbit, Gillow glared round at her.
‘I’ll tell you what …’ His face broke into a startled grimace.

‘I’ll do it, Pa!’ Eppie tugged at his jacket where he knelt.
‘You’ll rip his clothes.’

‘Martha, quick!’ Gillow cried. ‘My finger’s caught in the
snare!’

Martha rushed to his side. ‘Let me help! Just calm down.’

‘If you tell me one more time to calm down, I’ll hit you.’

Betsy tutted. ‘Gillow, really, you shouldn’t talk to Martha
like that. Jacob is there anything you can do?’

‘Let me pull it up.’

‘I’ve hammered the stake too deep,’ Gillow objected.

‘I’ll fetch me cutters. Ebernezer did a good job, re-sharpening
‘em.’

Wakelin lurched into the garden, swigging ale. ‘Waz’s up, Pa?’

‘Your idiot sister’s making a fool out of me, that’s what.’

‘Gillow, you are taking things to extremes,’ Martha said. ‘Wakelin,
where are you getting the money from to buy ale? You seem to be constantly
drinking these days. You certainly can’t afford it out of your wages and, of
recent, I’ve not noticed any of my brew missing.’

 He thrust a bloodied lump at her.  Twiss bounded up,
interested. 

‘What’s this?’ she asked.

‘Waz it look like?  Heart.  I’ll have it for me dinner,
fried with onions.’

‘I mean where did it come from?’

‘Sheep.’

‘It never fails to amaze me the things your lad keeps in his
pockets,’ Betsy said. ‘Only yesterday he fetched out a stoat’s paw amongst
those quail eggs he’d gotten me.’

 Gillow’s eyes were almost popping out of their sockets. ‘Do
I have to stay here all day?  I am in pain, though I’m sure no one here cares.’

Wakelin smirked at his father’s misfortune. ‘Wallowing in
self-pity will do you no good.’

‘You’ll be the one wallowing when they catch you.’

‘What are you on about?’ Martha asked.

‘Are you blind?  Look what he’s got - another load of wood.’

Martha stared askance at the bundle beside Wakelin’s boots.
‘Not again? Where did you get that?’

‘Tree.’

‘Time and again, I’ve told you not to come home with du
Quesne’s firewood. When will you start to listen?’

‘Wood’s wood. No one can prove where I got it. Besides, I’m
careful. Can’t have ya shivering can I, me old Ma?’

‘Is there anything you can do to help your father?’ she
asked, seeing Gillow gritting his teeth in agony. ‘With his shaky hands, Jacob
is bound to slice off your father’s finger.’

Wakelin staggered over. ‘Hey, Pa, ya seen this? There’s a
rabbit dressed for dinner.’

‘How quick-witted you must be to notice him,’ Gillow
answered cuttingly. ‘Eppie made it to
amuse
me.’

‘Tell ya who he reminds me of. Du Quesne. He’s even wearing
the same kind o’ wig.’

Eppie smirked at Wakelin’s praise. ‘He’s Lard duck
Queer-fleas rabbit. I made the caterpillars on his wig with squashed pom-poms.
I couldn’t fasten his breeches button ‘cos his belly’s as fat as Mister Lord’s.’

‘Hush, Eppie!’ Martha warned.

Eppie rushed on enthusiastically. ‘I’ve even put dirty rushlight
grease on his behind, like the slime his lordship sat on in church.’

‘Is that so, Strawhead?’ 

Yesterday’s fears seized Eppie. She span round to see du
Quesne planted in Gillow’s kale patch.

‘Wakelin Dunham, my gamekeeper informs me that he spotted
you blundering about my thickets, stealing wood. If you deny your action, I warn
you that your punishment will be harsh.’

Thurstan tugged Wakelin to his feet. ‘By his lack of denial
he declares himself guilty.’

Wakelin opened his mouth to reply. Catching sight of
Martha’s cautionary glance, he shut it abruptly.

‘I do not know if your father has acquainted you with
matters discussed at the manorial court hearing?’ du Quesne asked coolly.
Noticing Gillow’s predicament, the flash of a smile played upon his lips. ‘Though
I imagine not, as he seems somewhat preoccupied. Nevertheless, let me inform
you that Mr Thomas Lathy has agreed to act as the executioner of Little
Lubbock, to my mind a position that has remained too long vacant.’

Wakelin gazed, stricken, at his friend. 

Despondently, Tom bowed his head.

‘As your first duty, Lathy, you will accompany Dunham to the
stocks,’ du Quesne said. ‘Ensure that he remains there for three days and is
denied food and water.’  

Wakelin tried to shake off Thurstan’s grasp. ‘I ain’t going!’

‘You are fortunate, Dung Heap,’ Thurstan said. ‘Following
the sudden demise of Mortimer Melchoir, as from tomorrow I am to take up my
duties as chief magistrate. If your malfeasance had occurred then I would have had
the pleasure of dealing you a severe sentence.’

With one chop, Jacob released Gillow, though the tightened
wire proved more problematic.

‘This’ll learn the lad,’ Gillow said, nursing his finger. ‘He’s
had it coming a long while.’ 

Eppie stood in the lane, watching as Wakelin, closely
trailed by Twiss, was dragged away.

‘Eppie, love,’ Martha called. ‘Come in. It’s perishing.’

‘Not yet, Mam.’  Miserable, she followed in Wakelin’s cold
footsteps.

Gillow ate his evening meal with
difficulty, using his left hand. 

Both Eppie and Martha were uncomfortably aware of his sullen
mood, which they felt as a dense veil of annoyance mixed with a tinge of regret.
Patiently, they waited, longing for his passion to lighten.

Shivery and achy, Eppie had retired early, Martha having
placed the truckle bed close to the warm hearth. Occasionally, Eppie caught
Gillow shooting maddened glances at her.

Martha attempted to rouse him from his black mood. ‘I was
thinking to increase the number of my geese.  I’d get fifteen pence for each
six-weeks-old gosling.’

Chewing the last of the sheep’s heart, Gillow glared at the
low-burning fire.

Having munched his way through half an apple pie, he shoved
away the platter. ‘Do as you wish.’ He lit his pipe with a taper and dropped
into his chair. ‘You usually do.’

Martha sat beside the penurious glow of a candle, mending her
skirt. She stared at the shiny blackness of rain etched upon the window. ‘It’s
hard to think of Wakelin out there.’

Nose blocked, Eppie found it hard to breathe. ‘Twiss
wouldn’t come home and Wakelin wouldn’t talk to me. He sat there, all sad, with
his feet locked in holes.’

‘Are you sure you won’t eat anything?’ Martha asked.

‘I’m all achey.’

‘I don’t feel hungry either. The baby is making me queasy.
I’ll fix you a posset.’ 

Having strained the treacle and milk through a cloth, she
brought it to Eppie. ‘Drink it now; it’ll warm your tummy.’

Martha’s needle danced in and out of the cotton fabric. ‘I can’t
imagine why Tom said he’d be hangman.’

Gillow drew in a deep breath, feeling more relaxed and keen
to talk. ‘It all came out at the court leet. The night after du Quesne forced
Tom to hang his dogs, some of the manor geese were found poisoned in the fowl
enclosure. In The Duck, Amis overheard Tom bragging to farmhands that he’d done
it. Thurstan told Tom he could only be reprieved if he agreed to execute
poachers and the like.’

Eppie spoke timidly, unsure of his reaction, ‘I’m sorry my rabbit
got ya mad.’

Gillow propped his feet upon the fender. ‘It’s me who should
apologise. I get a little blind where my garden is concerned.’

‘A lot, don’t you mean?’ Martha smiled, glad happiness
had returned to the household.

‘It’s wrong what du Quesne’s done to the lad,’ Gillow said. ‘Such
a lot of fuss over a few rotting branches.’

‘Tomorrow I’ll bury my rabbit and put a stone over him, like
Genevieve’s tomb. In church, Doctor Burndread told Gabriel about a carving in a
cathedral. It showed a lord hitting a village boy on the head because he had stolen
his pears. Why do they have things like that?’

‘To teach common folk right from wrong,’ Gillow answered. ‘The
parson’s sermons are frequently about how we must show deference towards our
betters.’

‘Why is Mister Lord better than us?  Why can’t everyone be
equal?’

‘There’s a need for leaders and workers.’

‘Why doesn’t Mister Lord want the parson to run the vestry
school?’

‘Book learning isn’t natural for the likes of us. By keeping
workers illiterate, we’re kept humble. That way it’s easier for people such as
du Quesne to control the lives of those beneath them. Ignorant, we’ve no choice
but to jump at their every command.’

‘I’m not going to be ignorant,’ Eppie said forcefully. ‘I’m
going to learn lots of things.’

‘Learning doesn’t necessarily make a person less ignorant, nor
kind, come to that. Take Thurstan. Though he’s educated, he has a cruel way
about him. A wise person is he who holds God in reverence.’ He winked at
Martha. ‘Anyway, what sorts of things have you in mind to learn, my little
maid?’

‘I want to know why the warbler that wove a nest cup in a
bed of reeds at Lynmere didn’t know that she was raising a cuckoo. Ella and I
found her five eggs splattered after the baby cuckoo pushed them out. And I’ve
always wondered where the moon goes in the day.’

‘I remember asking the same question of my father. He said
the moon buries itself in a vast pit in the earth. It’s afraid to come out in
case the sun melts it.’    

Eppie grew excited with ideas. ‘How do you reckon spiders live
without bones?  Lying in my sack this morning a spider, the size of our
cauldron, crawled over my face. Why do I have nightmares about things I’d
rather forget, like the spoon-hanging boy? And if someone gets stuck up a tree,
why does that make them scared to climb along high branches again?’

Gillow knocked his pipe on the hearth. ‘The only thing I
want to know is where our daughter gets her fanciful notions?  It certainly ain’t
from you or me.’

Martha blew out the candle and watched the glimmer drown in
its grease. ‘Talk for yersen. I’m never short of ideas. There may be summat in
what Eppie says about fear. I’ve often wondered if there’s some dread behind the
fits that Wakelin suffers. It’s like he’s churned up inside.  If he has any worries,
he never talks about them.’

Gillow grinned at Eppie. ‘I’ve never known your brother to
be scared of o’t.  He’s as hard as the gristle in the kidney pies yer mother
makes.’

Rising swiftly, Martha snatched the fox-cushion and
playfully walloped him in the stomach.

‘Don’t do that!’ Leaning against the chimney beam, he
brought his bandaged hand to his forehead. ‘That was the headiest ale you’ve
ever brewed.’

‘The ale doesn’t usually affect
you. You’re most likely coming down with the same sickness as Eppie.’

It was approaching two in the morning when Martha slid out
of bed and dressed. 

Drifting between sleep and waking, Eppie opened her eyes at
the rustle of a frock. ‘Mam?  What ya doing?  It’s still bedtime.’

Hurriedly coiling her hair, she drew near. ‘Your cold sounds
worse.’

‘I can only breathe once every half hour.’

‘You must be
really
poorly!’

Gillow turned restlessly in bed. 

‘You’re going to see Wakelin, ain’t ya?’ Eppie asked.

‘I’m taking him a jacket. Twiss will be wanting a bone.’

‘Mister Lord said Wakelin mustn’t have any food.’

‘Then his lordship will have to
lock me in the stocks alongside Wakelin. I suppose I’m breaking du Quesne’s
rules, like Wakelin. Wakelin acted out of conscience bringing me the firewood. Now
I’m acting out of conscience taking him food and water, but I can’t rest easy
knowing he’s starving. You go back to sleep.’

Foaming waters splashed in the stony darkness. A keen wind
gusted, crying through the trees.

Catching Martha’s scent, Twiss sprang to his paws.

Wakelin was slumped over the stocks, a chain secured around
his neck. He raised his head as she trod close. ‘Who’s zat?’ 

His breath smelt strongly of gin.

‘You’re drunk! Where did you get the liquor? Tom?’ Immediately,
Martha was annoyed with herself. She had intended to remain even-tempered despite
his erring ways. She stroked Twiss’s damp fur, which smelt fusty, like a damp
blanket.

Ravenous, Wakelin bit into a pig’s pluck faggot and chewed
noisily, slavering. ‘’Cors a’m drunk. A’m al’us drunk.’

Martha touched his shirt.  Drenched, it stuck to his skin.
‘You’re as cold as death.’

‘What d’ya expect?’ 

She sniffed with disdain. 

‘Yur, I ain’t even allowed out for a call o’ nature, though
that stink’s rotten eggs and a few unsavoury things you wouldn’t want to know
about. After Thurstan visited The Duck to celebrate his dubious rise to magistrate,
he and Cudbert had some entertainment using me as a shooting target.’