Eppie (23 page)

The villagers fell into silence as du Quesne, Obadiah and Sapphira
Bulwar trod sedately past them.

Forming a tidy body, the cottagers filed inside.

‘I’m glad Thurstan hasn’t come,’ Eppie whispered to Martha.
‘That would’ve spoilt things.’

The parson beamed at Sarah
Leiff who passed into the church with her sons, Edmund and James. ‘A good
afternoon to one and all. I am delighted to see so many of you. Eppie, might I
make use of your donkey for the nativity play? You shall be Mary and ride down
the aisle. Samuel, you must lend us a sheep, although you must choose one that
is biddable. After all his work in decorating the church, the sexton was most
perturbed to see Carronade tear down the berried branches which festooned the
ends of the benches.’

Martha and Claire shuffled
along a bench, their voices lost in the hubbub of nattering neighbours.

Ensconced in the box pew,
du Quesne and his guests warmed their hands before the coal stove, receiving
jealous glances from shivering villagers.

The bassoonist, tenor-viol, flute, drum, tambourine and
clarinet practicing together resulted in a cacophony as of mice screeching
behind wainscoting.

Children sidled to the front to get a closer look at the
instruments.

Wilbert raced up to Eppie. ‘’ere, yer bruver says he’s got
summat to show ya.  He’s at that split yew.’ 

‘I ain’t bothered.’

‘He give me a farthing to send you.’ He shoved her. ‘I ain’t
giving it back.’

Eppie shouted to Martha to let her know where she was going.
The noisy buzz of anticipation in the audience drowned her words.

Not that Martha would have heard her anyway. Abstracted, she
was scanning du Quesne’s serious face, trying to see in him the father that Genevieve
would have known. He appeared perpetually ill at ease, like a tightly bound
twist of wire that would, at any moment, spring open. Clearly not in the best
of moods, he was frowning at the black-whiskered oboe player.

Eppie hastened through the shifting swell of coats and legs
of latecomers.

Like a stoat amongst rabbits, the parson ushered scurrying
children. ‘To your seats, if you please. Hurry now.’

The fringing arms of spruce trees dripped along the path
like ragged phantoms. Straying mist curled around weather-blackened
gravestones.

Startled by the screech of an animal in the shrubbery, she
sprinted to the ancient yew, desperately seeking Wakelin’s mortal familiarity. Stealthily,
she paced around the tree, its bark spongy beneath her fingertips.

‘D’ya wanna know why that old yew’s gorra split?’ Wilbert
had asked the children during vestry school. ‘Jelly got stuck inside. A toad
grew up from it, as tall as a man, his flesh as black as tar. When you ain’t
looking, he twists outta that tree an’ grabs ya.’   

Eppie could not get Wilbert’s voice out of her head. Clasping
her clammy hands together, she stared at the hollow mould in the yew, the exact
shape of the giant toad that had lain inside. She shot a nervous glance around.
‘Wakelin, what d’ya want? I ain’t got all day!’

 Redolent of fluttering snowflakes the melodious notes of
Gabriel’s flute drifted through the wintry air, accompanied by the tender
strains of Jacob’s bass viol. 

 ‘Wilbert Hix, you told me a tale so I’d miss the start of
the concert!’

 Racing back to the church, now almost obscured from view by
the mist, she tripped.  Looking up, she found herself lying beside Aunt Zelda’s
grave, shaped like an upturned rowing boat. At one edge was a hole, presumably
a rat tunnel. She imagined Aunt Zelda’s bony, dead fingers shooting out and
grabbing her pigtail.

Lingering over a semibreve, Gabriel beheld the rapt
listeners only to realise that the friendly face he most longed to see was
missing. Moreover, unlike the tranquil countenances of the congregation, Martha
was nervously staring around at the audience.

With no time to ponder the reason for Eppie’s absence, his
gaze fell back upon the notation. In his mind, concentrating on a bar of high
octaves, he imagined villagers waving jovially to him as they cleared
snow-heaped paths with besoms. Softening from presto to diminuendo, he was
startled from his quiescent state by an almighty crash.

Bustling amongst the flock, the parson had been handing out
threadbare cushions to those unfortunate not to have found a bench upon which
to repose. ‘Oh, my! Genevieve’s body has gone!’ 

Shooting from their benches, neighbours swarmed around,
jostling one another for a glimpse into the tomb.

Henry fetched out the stone head of a kitten, its ears
smashed.

Gabriel hoisted Flip out of the tomb.

‘I weren’t doing nowt wrong, sir, honest,’ the boy
whimpered. ‘I couldn’t see you playing yer whistle, so our Pip give me a shove
up. When I stood on top o’ the tomb the stone cracked. It looked already
broked.’

‘It is my opinion that the child’s body has been snatched,’
Jonas said huskily. ‘It’s going on all over London and spreading to country
villages of late. Resurrectionists are paid twenty guineas for a body, though
shorts
like Genevieve wouldn’t fetch much.’

Du
Quesne pushed through the wailing listeners. ‘How dare you speak in such a coarse
manner about my deceased daughter? If you say another word I will declare you to
be the culprit for it is obvious to me that you have a suspiciously prodigious
knowledge of the subject.’

‘Father,
it cannot be true what Jonas says? Genevieve has lain here over seven years. No
surgeon would have any use for her body after such a long time.’

‘What
do you take me for, boy? Only a fool like Jonas Lathy would utter such a
preposterous notion.’

‘I didn’t mean …’

‘I
don’t care what you meant,’ his father answered cuttingly.

A
gleam sprang into Sapphira’s eyes. ‘Three days after Jesus was crucified he
rose to life. Do you think, Robert, an angel has taken her?’

Plunging
his hand into the tomb, he drew out something and emitted a bitter snarl. ‘I
have my doubts as to whether even an angel would have resurrected Jesus using a
Great Enoch sledgehammer.’

The cart thundered along at a
reckless pace, Jenny’s hooves beating like hammers along the lane. With every
jolt, Eppie’s head bashed upon timbers. Drizzle quickly turned to driving rain.
Wet seeped into the stuffy sack in which her head and upper body were tied. Her
hands free outside the sack, she traced the firm, sharp edge of an object
beside her: a shovel.

Only when the horse tired did she realise the heinous
creature which had grabbed her when she fell next to Aunt Zelda’s grave was not
some abhorrent toad.

‘Get a move on, ya clapped out lump o’ lard!’

The possessor of that voice was unmistakeable. A surge of
relief swept over her. ‘Wakelin, don’t yell at Jenny like that! You know she’s
got hock-knees.’

Above the painful pounding
in her ears came the sound of Twiss barking and the jangle of the chain with which
Wakelin had left him tethered. ‘Twiss, wake pa!’ she cried hysterically. In
response, she received a blow from Wakelin as a warning for silence. Ominously,
the dog’s ecstatic welcoming call changed to a pitiful howl like that of a
wolf.  The sound sent a shudder of foreboding down Eppie’s spine.

Finally, the cart bounced
over rough ground for some distance, and came to a halt.

The next moment, Eppie was
hoisted into the air and slapped onto her captor’s shoulder. ‘Wakelin put me
down! What do you think you’re doing?’

Her ribs hurt from
rhythmical strikes against his collarbone. She yearned to be set down, yet
feared this very act, knowing he was in one of his irate moods.

Dropped to her feet, she
felt him tug at the rope. The sack whisked off, a rush of bitter air swirled around
her body.

She
immediately recognised where he had brought her. Trees with twisted roots grew
scantily upon the opposite embankment where the confluence of Miller’s Stream
tumbled over the crag to join the swift current of its tempestuous sister. 

After the clamour and bustle inside the church, Gabriel felt
keenly the stunned silence of the adult members of the community driven away by
his father.

Sensing the boy’s heavy-heartedness, Jacob left a huddle of
families, drawing his jacket collar up against the rain. ‘What d’ya reckon’s happened
to your sister if it weren’t bodysnatchers?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea, Jacob. Ebernezer maintains
that the sledgehammer was stolen from his smithy this morning.’

‘O, Jacob!’ Sarah shrilled from the lane.

‘Got to go; the old woman’s calling. The missus and I
enjoyed your playing, short though it were.’

Gabriel was about to make his way to the stables behind the
parson’s cottage when he glimpsed Martha weaving her way through the bleakness
of the graves.

Swiftly, Martha sought to piece together what had become of
Eppie. Reaching the resting place of her beloved children, the truth dawned. Apart
from the empty ale bottle it was the small details she discerned. Boots had trodden
recently shovelled soil. Blades of grass were crushed by the relaying of the
coffin-shaped marker. 

She recalled her words to Wakelin as he sat ensnared in the
stocks. ‘How can I rest easy knowing that Eppie is lying in Genevieve’s tomb?’

A wave of love for him flooded her body realising his
meritorious act in risking his neck for her, placing her daughter’s body where
it should be, sleeping amongst her kin. Despite this, she was consumed by
misery at the sin he had perpetrated in raiding the tomb.

‘Mrs Dunham?’ Eppie had told Gabriel that Martha had worries
at home so, seeing her hastily conceal the bottle behind her back, he assumed she
had come for a furtive tipple. ‘Pardon me, I did not mean to disturb you.’ He
made to turn, but the wretchedness in her eyes arrested him. ‘Did Eppie come out
here?’ 

She gazed upon her children’s grave, in her voice a haunting
tone. ‘When I saw Genevieve’s tomb broken I dreaded, no, I longed for Eppie to
come here. It’s where she belongs.’ 

‘So she’s around?’

She tore herself away from her cogitations. The glazed look
in her eyes faded. ‘No. I thought she’d gone to use the church privy. When she
didn’t come back I went to see if she was waiting for me in the cart. It’s
gone.’ She made to step past him. ‘Please, I must go.’

He pursued her. ‘Mrs Dunham, is something amiss?’

‘Nowt.’

‘I overheard Wilbert shouting to Eppie. He said Wakelin had
something to show her.’ He leapt before her. ‘Have they gone somewhere? I
wouldn’t ask, only it seems odd when she was so set on attending the concert.’

‘I have a tongue to boil.’

‘Of course, forgive my impertinence. Your affairs are none
of my business.’    

Struck by the aristocratic appearance of the boy, her eyes
drifted over his black boots and cream trousers, his crimson jacket with its
silver buttons and high collar. The richness of his apparel symbolised the
lifestyle to which Eppie should be assigned, her birth-right. She was acutely
mindful of the details in his features that mirrored Eppie’s: the delicate
nose, the brooding gaze of the eyes.

In spite of her reservation of revealing to Genevieve’s
brother what she feared had occurred, driven by despair, she spoke from the
heart. ‘I believe, Gabriel, that Wakelin’s mind has been disturbed by your
father’s harsh treatment of him. This morning, after Wakelin was let out of the
stocks, he raged at Eppie, saying how much he hated her.’ More quietly, she added,
‘Something worse happened, something worse than all the fury he could spout.’

‘What?’

‘Quietude stilled him. A look came in his eyes, as though he
were resolved to some dreadful deed.’ Her composure crumbled. ‘He has taken
her, I am sure of it.  I believe …’ She wrenched her eyes away from his steady
gaze, and stared at rain gushing from a gaping-mouthed gargoyle.

‘Go on.’

She turned to face Gabriel. ‘Wakelin is vulnerable. That
makes his behaviour changeable. I would say even … dangerous.’

He was dazed by her words. ‘You are surely not implying that
Wakelin intends to harm her?’

She did not answer.

‘Why?’ he pursued. ‘Please tell me, Mrs Dunham.’

She chose her words carefully. ‘My son is convinced that
Eppie does not love him … as a true sister ought.’

‘I can hardly believe that. Eppie often talks about Wakelin
with tenderness in her voice, although she says she can’t always make sense of
his changeable behaviour.’ He contemplated Martha’s earlier words. ‘If what you
say is true, we must find her, and fast. I’ll call some of the labourers
together. We’ll spread out and search.’

She grasped his hand as he made to hasten away. ‘No, Gabriel!
No one else must know.’

Staring into Wakelin’s
emotionless eyes, a deadly chill caused Eppie to shiver. Her reaction, though,
was one of irritation. ‘When mam finds out what you’ve done you’ll be in big trouble.’

Gazing over the brink of
the cliff into the gorge, his voice was icy, accepting. ‘I don’t think so. Ma
knows we can’t go on.  She’ll understand why I had to put an end to it.’

Drenched, Eppie’s teeth
chattered as she spoke, though more from fear than cold. ‘Put an end to what?
Why are you acting so peculiar? Are you pilking-drunk?’ Though she thought it unlikely,
she added, ‘Wilbert said you’d got summat to show me. Is that why you brought
me here?’ She summoned a false sense of interest, hoping she could distract him
long enough for her to escape. ‘Give us an eyeful.’