Eppie (25 page)

Irritated at seeing smallholders doing a fine trade selling
vegetables, poultry and eggs, Martha said, ‘I feel guilty about not selling
today.’

Gillow was keen to put her mind at rest.  ‘You deserve one
day off a year.’

Labourers and domestic servants mulled around the market
cross, offering themselves for employment.

‘That’s a housemaid,’ Eppie said of a lady who had tied blue
ribbons onto her broom. Red ribbons were tied around a cook’s basting ladle,
whilst whipcord was twisted around a carter’s hat. Some people carried mop
heads indicating that they were servants with no particular skills. A few wore
bright ribbons to show that they had already been hired by farmers or other
employers.

An express coach rumbled into the yard of The Black Sheep,
Hurry Eade’s inn. Banners draped from its upper windows illustrated
dog-fighting and bare-knuckle boxing, events taking place throughout the day.

‘I’m off to them,’ Wakelin said, almost drooling at the
thought.

Crates containing live cockerels were being unloaded for the
cockshy in the yard of The Rogues’ Inn.  

A platform before the Town Hall was decorated in a sea of
flowers in readiness for the re-inauguration. Set before this was a roundabout.
In the middle of the wooden ring men span riders. 

Eppie made to leap from the cart. ‘A giddy-go-round!’

Gillow held her back. ‘All in good time. We must find a tethering
post.’

Huffing, she sat with her chin in her palms, staring at pigs,
calves and sheep fastened to iron palings. Heads locked together, farmers were
agreeing the sales and purchases of beasts crushed into pens set alongside the
road.

Their cart drew to a standstill behind a herd of cattle
being driven down the street. A cow with a crumpled horn bumped them. Wakelin
clouted it on the poll. ‘Outta it, ya dribbly mutt.’

Oss Cordwainer, on horseback, brought up the rear. ‘Watch it
Wake, else you’ll be paying damages to his lordship for assault.’

The stalls at the fairground stretched as far as Eppie could
see, selling confectionery, wooden toys and novelties, cheap manufactured
goods, drapery and crockery. The whole world seemed compressed into this one
festive venue. ‘Roll up, roll up!’ Harlequins danced. Minstrels played. Carefree
people laughed loudly as they met old friends. Wagging tongues gossiped.

Eager to explore, Eppie tugged Martha by the hand, undecided
where to go first. 

‘Stop that!’ Gillow cautioned. ‘Your mother needs a relaxing
day if she’s to keep going until nightfall.’

Martha cast him a startled look. ‘I never reckoned on staying
that
long. I was worn out before we set off.’

‘Do come on!’ Eppie pleaded. ‘Adults are so boring, always
wanting to stand around talking.’ 

A fire-eater passed by, forks of blue flame shooting out of his
mouth.

Beside an open-air theatre, where strolling players
performed
A Midsummer’s Night Dream
, Wakelin spied the ale tent.
Gleefully, he wrung his hands. ‘First things first.’

Eppie hastened over to a group of children who were sneaking
a look beneath a tent.

Peering into the musty-smelling interior she was appalled to
see chopped-off human arms and legs, even a baby with one eye in the centre of
its head, floating in jars of brownish liquid.

Nudging her, a boy pointed to rows of human heads encased in
a glass cabinet. ‘Bet ya ‘em’s stranglers, slashers an’ chopper-uppers. Ya can
tell by em’s shaggy eyebrows.’

Returning, she stood on the side of Martha furthest away
from Gillow, staring aghast at his beetling brows.

Claire craned her neck, marvelling at a stilt-walker
juggling balls. ‘Are you having a good time, Eppie?’

‘This is the best day of my life! I wonder what’s in that
tent with the scary roaring.’

‘Why don’t you go and see?’ Eppie’s eyes sparkled as Claire
held out coins. ‘Here’s something from Uncle Henry and I for you to spend.’ 

‘When you’ve finished, we’ll be in the refreshment tent,’
Martha said. ‘I’m desperate for a sit down.’ She patted her lurching womb.
‘This little one is riding swing-boats in here.’

Inside the enormous tent were ranged bumped and rusty cages
of all dimensions. For a while, Eppie was unable to catch more than a glimpse
of the travelling menagerie because of the press of people leaning over and
around one another, heads swaying as they goggled and giggled at incarcerated
victims.

Pursing their lips in disgust, Lady Sophia Wexcombe and her
young daughters, Hortence and Permelia, strolled about, daintily wafting their skirts
above the fouled straw, lacy-edged parasols swaying upon their forearms.

Cautiously, Eppie drew to the nearest cage, anticipating the
thrill of her first sight of wild beasts. Within was an Asian tiger like the
ones she had seen in Gabriel’s natural history book. She had never imagined it
would look so immense, so noble. Yet, as she stared into the dull eyes of the
tiger lying listlessly upon a table, she sensed its princely bearing, its
dignity, had been beaten out of it or simply drained away throughout its captive
years. Lumps and sores punctured its coat. 

Bactrian camels gazed candidly back at her as she stood
mesmerised by the whirling, chewing motion of their mouths. Disconsolately, she
looked upon an orang-utan, its golden-brown fur matted and crawling with
parasites. Children clowned around, seeing who could pull the most frightful
face at the torpid ape.

A surly black Himalayan bear, its face scarred from baiting,
lamely pounded before the Wexcombes. Miss Hortence, who had a habit of chewing
her lips to redden them, like a sparrow pecking at seeds, stared at the bear, a
vacant look upon her face.   

With a heavy heart, Eppie turned away. She was about to
leave when she caught the gentle sound of a lamb bleating to its mother.
Joining farmers and their families at a palisade, she peered over. James Leiff,
Sarah’s youngest, sat on a hay bale, a shepherd’s cruck in his hands. She was
baffled as to why there was such an interest in the bewildered sheep and its
lamb. In a twinkling, she realised. ‘The lamb’s got six legs!’

Beside her, a man chewed a lark pie. ‘Nar, missy, there’s
some trick. ‘Them legs is sewed on.’

Trumpeter and Drummer, Samuel’s sheepdogs, thrust their damp
muzzles into her hand.

‘Now ‘en, One-Quart,’ said Samuel. ‘Martha asked me to look
in on ya. The whole tent is in an echo about my lamb.’   

‘She’s wonderful, Grumps. She’ll run so fast that the other
lambs will never catch her.’

‘Fancy a trot around the fair? I’m not stopping long; I need
to check on Edmund. I’ve left him behind to keep a watchful eye on any ewes
that might uppan their lambs.’

Cooking odours replaced reeking animal dung as they emerged
into the sunlight. Chattering on at a rapid pace, Eppie stared in awe at
everything from human skeletons performing cartwheels, to a bearded woman, daubed
the world’s strongest dwarf, who was shouldering a cannon.

Eyeing Samuel’s white beard and moustache, the fastest demon
barber waved his cut-throat razor. ‘Step up here, my good man. I must reach my
record of one hundred shaved in an hour.’

Samuel took one look at the blood-speckled shirt of the last
volunteer and steered Eppie away. 

Clutching a soggy paper bag, Wakelin burst upon them. ‘I’ve
been looking all over for you, Eppie.  Here’s yer cake. Sorry it’s mangled;
Twiss took a bite outta it.’ 

His grandfather chuckled. ‘You been buying up the fair?’

‘Huh?  Oh, yur, this is for Twiss.’ 

Eppie draped the frill over Twiss’s neck. ‘You look like one
of them dancing dogs.’

They laughed as Twiss, unimpressed, span round madly, trying
to bite it. He cheered up when Eppie put dollops of sticky sponge on her
fingers and let him and Samuel’s dogs lick it off. 

‘When you’ve finished squirting cream all over your face, I’ll
give ya a cocky-necky to the roundabout.’ Whinnying like a wild horse, Wakelin
tore through the crowd at a terrific pace, Eppie carried on his shoulders,
crying out for him to gallop faster. 

The giddy-go-round whirled. Eppie straddled a legless horse
that drew a wheel-less carriage. ‘Wakelin, where ya going?’ she cried, seeing
him slink off.

‘Cockshy.’ 

‘I wanted you to watch me!’

She caught up with him in the yard of The Rogues’ Inn. In
his hand he carried a squawking cockerel. He had won it by knocking it down
with a cudgel and catching it before it was up.  ‘Come away,’ she pleaded. ‘This
is cruel.’ 

He was embarrassed by the looks and sniggers he received
from other men who had caught her words. ‘Stop prattling, numbskull. I’m off to
the prize-fighting.’ 

Despondently, she wandered off.

‘Eppie!’ a boy hollered from beside the stables of The
Rogues’ Inn. Horse tackle was draped over his shoulder.

Her face kindled with recognition and surprise. Though
taller, Dick Pebbleton looked the same as she remembered, his cheeks covered in
freckles. He let her into the stable block. Beneath the cobweb-festooned rafters,
horses stood in a row, peering over loosebox doors.

‘Do you work here?’ she asked.

‘After I was let out of jail I went to the mops. The ostler
gave me a fastening penny, so I got to be a stable lad.’

‘It must be awful working for Thurstan.’

‘He’s been a misery of recent, that’s for sure, and takes it
out on us lads. Hurry Eades is trying to drive him out of business. Thurstan’s
had to slash his fares to compete.’

‘Why isn’t my horse tackled?  Dick?’

Through a grimy window they spotted Thurstan swaggering
across the yard towards the stables.

‘Quick!’ Dick whispered. ‘You ain’t supposed to be in here.’

Together they pattered along the quarry-tiled passageway and
dived into an empty stall.

A light step was heard as a woman trailed Thurstan into the
stable block. ‘Mr du Quesne?’ Eppie recognised the voice of Jenufer Shaw.

‘Not now. I am busy.’

‘My brother informs me that Alicia did not come home last
night.’

‘What has that to do with me?’

‘She was with you last night, was she not? You took her to see
The Provoked Husband
in Malstowe?’

‘Indeed, a most entertaining evening.’

‘You drove back together?’

‘Most certainly.’

‘Why did she not return home?’

‘How should I know? I bid you a good day. I have a pressing
journey ahead of me.’

‘It is only a step to her home.’

‘She probably rose early to look around the fair.’

‘Her bed has not been slept in.’

‘Dick! Where is that chucklehead?’

‘You are hiding something from me, Mr du Quesne, that much I
know.’

‘What are you implying?’

‘Shortly before you called to take her to The Prince’s Theatre,
Alicia confided in me that she was carrying your child.’

Thurstan hustled Jenufer along the passage so that they were
out of earshot of the jostling crowd in the yard. However, to Eppie and Dick,
who crouched in the gloom, their voices were clearly audible.

He seemed taken aback by her words for he spoke uneasily. ‘She
admitted this to you?’

‘Now she has gone. You know where she is, I am positive.’

‘All right, keep your voice low. I shall tell you the truth.
We argued.’ There was a lull, after which his voice sounded softer. ‘I told
Alicia that I love another, a girl who has forsaken me. But one day we shall be
reunited. I am certain of this.’

‘Surely your duty is towards Alicia?’

Thurstan’s voice hardened. ‘Alicia was afraid of the scandal
that being an unattached mother would bring upon her. We discussed arrangements
for her to journey immediately to London in one of my flying coaches, to seek
lodgings. She was distressed, though content in the knowledge that she will
have no financial difficulties since I will provide for her and the child. She
thought it prudent to live under an assumed name and maintain that her husband
is deceased. Because of the delicate nature of the situation she asked that her
whereabouts remain undisclosed to her closest kin.’

‘She said that? Went off without so much as thinking to wish
Septimus and I goodbye?’

‘Willingly, it is true. Now, excuse me, I must search for
that nauseating stable lad.’ In an attempt to give Jenufer the slip he headed
into the thick of the crowd.

After they had gone, Dick turned to Eppie. ‘I sleep above the
carriage shed, and the oddest thing is that, after Thurstan and Miss Strutt
returned from the theatre, a coach never went out.’

Martha was reluctant to return home
early, especially in Samuel’s bone-shaking sheep cart. Reticent about
mentioning it, not wishing to spoil the day, she was experiencing the pangs of
early labour. She had simply told the others that the cramps in her legs were
worsening.

Hearing the worrying news about Alicia and seeing the caged
animals had crushed Eppie’s enthusiasm for the fair and she leapt at the chance
to go home. She planned to spend the hot afternoon dabbling in the stream.  

As they journeyed along, Samuel played a tune on his
harmonica. Squatting on a bag of itchy fleece in the back of the cart, Eppie
gazed dreamily at the hills rising and falling like a wide green sea. Along the
roadside, the shallow brook glittered in the sunlight.

‘I wonder what time Gillow and Wakelin will turn up tonight,’
Martha mused.

Reaching for a leather flagon, Samuel took a sip of ale. ‘They’ll
get caught up in the late night entertainments, jiggering and the like.’

‘Jiggering?’ Martha repeated doubtfully. The last time I saw
Gillow dancing was at the May dance outside The Fat Duck. That was when he asked
me to marry him. I’ve never seen him as drunk as on that night.’