Eppie (28 page)

Excitedly, Molly dragged Eppie off the pony. ‘What d’ya
reckon to this?’

She had unlocked a linen cupboard which, to Eppie’s surprise,
was a baby-house, furnished and decorated as a miniature version of Tunnygrave
Manor. Inside were wax effigies of the du Quesne family. Mrs Bellows and the
servants were hewn of wood.

The toy Robert du Quesne sat at his desk. Ranged above him
on the wall were the miniature heads of a bison and a hippopotamus. Tottering
piles of books and drawings depicting mythical beasts were strewn around the
tiny four-poster in which Gabriel’s figure slept. In the Swan Chamber the
bewitching figure of a toy Talia rode upon a white pony. 

Eppie threw open drawers, discovering bed linen, curtains
and clothes for the dolls, all lovingly hand-sewn by Talia. ‘It’s sad that Genevieve
died. She’d have loved these.’

Molly reached into the lying-in room. Fetching Lady
Constance out of bed, she was about to blow away the dust that powdered her ladyship’s
head when, from behind, the door creaked open.

Eppie and Molly glanced round in horror. Expecting to see
the corpulent figure of Mrs Bellows march in, Eppie’s stomach heaved in fright.
Like butterflies caught in a spider’s web, she and Molly were trapped. Lady
Constance had been compassionate in suffering Martha and herself to be taken into
her home. Now, her ladyship was sure to think of her as a rude, unruly child, for
here she was, in a chamber sacred to her ladyship, attired in her late-daughter’s
frock, amusing herself with her play things.

Panicking, Molly snatched up her feather duster and shoved
Eppie to the side of the baby-house. To Eppie’s amazement, upon peering round, she
saw Gabriel stride in.

‘What are you doing in here?’ he asked Molly crossly.

‘Having a spit an’ polish, sir. Please sir, you won’t tell
Mrs Bellows I came in here will ya?  Ma relies on me money, sir.’

Eppie knew she must make her presence known, to support Molly.
She crept out, sheepishly. 

‘Eppie?’ Gabriel cried, startled. ‘For a moment, attired
like that, I thought …’ He stopped short, aware of the inquisitive eyes of the
chambermaid fixed on him. Turning his attention back to Molly, he said, ‘I am
prepared to forget your transgression as long as you promise never again to ransack
my mother’s dressing table. It is an evil thing to sneak about the house of
your employer, pinching keys.’ 

Placing the key into his outstretched palm, Molly curtsied
again and again like a marionette.  ‘I’m much obliged to ‘ee, sir, but I was
only borrowing it.’

‘Yes, yes, go now.’ Irritably, he pocketed the key.

Left alone with Eppie, he paced to the window. ‘Dawkin has a
fractured arm. Doctor Burndread is seeing to him.’

‘Dawkin? I remember him. His friend Titcher was hung for
stealing a spoon. I’m so glad that awful Mr Crowe didn’t take him back.’ In a
mood of gaiety, she pirouetted in Talia’s frock. ‘How do I look?’

Despite himself, he laughed at her exuberance.

Skipping into the turret she threw back the window. The
invigorating air of the countryside drifted within. Everywhere was peaceful bird
song. ‘I love your house!’

They gazed upon the garden, their hands resting on the
windowsill. Rose bowers, edged with delphinium and white peony, softened the
starkness of the topiary lawn, whilst thorny shrubs lent a waxy lustre to the
barren wilderness.

In a mood of contentment, Eppie gently touched his hand. ‘We
will always be friends, won’t we?’

At her words the smile died on his lips. Heaviness settled
upon him, a mood of blackness, near despair.

It alarmed her to see the sudden change in him.

Longingly, he gazed into her eyes. ‘We are more than
friends, Eppie. Yet, though we are close, we will always be so far apart.’

‘It’s because my pa’s a weaver in’t it?’ she said miserably.

Molly tore along the passage. ‘The bairn’s here! Your ma
says come and look!’  

‘Wait, Eppie!’ Gabriel called brusquely, grabbing her by the
hand as she made to dash away. ‘You can’t go to see Mrs Dunham dressed like
this.’

Molly flashed him an acid look. ‘Why ever not?  Miss Eppie
looks a treat.’

‘I said no!’ Seeing Eppie shocked by the vehemence in his
voice, he added softly, ‘Find Miss Dunham something else to wear, something
simple, and cover her hair with a cap.’

‘Back to being a scullery maid,’ the chambermaid said
downheartedly.

Running swiftly with Molly on their way to the servants’
garret, Eppie turned to see Gabriel cast a disconsolate look at her, as though
all the worries of the world rested upon his shoulders.

Lady Constance disdainfully scrutinized
the garments in which Molly had attired Eppie. ‘Couldn’t you find the child
anything better to wear?’

‘Begging yer pardon, m’am,’ Molly said, bobbing a rapid
curtsey. ‘I had Miss Eppie all …’  She turned to see Gabriel approaching, his
cautioning eyes fixed upon her. 

‘You had Miss Dunham all what?’ Constance asked impatiently.

‘Nuffin.’ Spinning round on her heels, she tore off,
coughing along the corridor.

Constance tutted. ‘Mrs Bellows really needs to take that new
girl in hand. Eppie, my child, my physician informs me that your mother has
come to bed of a daughter.’

Eppie clapped joyfully.  ‘Lottie’s here!’

‘Mother, do you think you ought to visit the baby?’  

‘If Mrs Dunham has no objection, I will see the child.
Onwards Agnes.’ 

Eppie imagined Constance must have eyes in the back of her
head for she sensed her son turn abruptly. ‘You will accompany me, Gabriel. We
shall not be long. I do not wish to tire Mrs Dunham after her appalling
accident.’

‘If you’ll pardon me saying, my lady,’ Agnes said, ‘I do not
believe that you should be on cordial terms with the weaver’s wife. Frequently
I have glimpsed the woman in her yard. The only clothes she appears to own are
a patched red and blue striped frock and a green shawl with more holes in it than
there is wool.’

Incensed by Agnes’s scurrilous words, Eppie cried, ‘We may be
poor, but at least my mam doesn’t go around like you, dressed as a muddy pig
puddle.’

‘Though clearly you do,’ Agnes retorted, her gaze taking in
Eppie’s brown scullery dress. She spoke in a confiding tone to Lady Constance.
‘That is not the worst of it. I believe the woman to be unhinged. Upon perambulating
past her cottage one spring morning I found myself bombarded by eggs. The woman
stood beside her coop throwing them over the roof.’

‘Mam always does that with the first eggs of the season to
ensure we have good clutches of eggs during the year.’

‘That sounds entirely logical to my way of thinking,’
Constance said.

Agnes was unperturbed. ‘I was only expressing my view that
it is not seemly for you to admit such a common woman into your husband’s home.’

‘I will thank you to remember your position in this
household!’ Constance almost shrieked.  ‘It is none of your concern as to whom
I show amity.’

Haughtily, Agnes jutted out her chin.

‘And kindly do not sniff behind my back,’ Constance snapped.
‘My son informs me that Mrs Dunham is a loving mother. That is enough for me.’

Gabriel traipsed reluctantly along the wide passageways
after them.

‘Come, Eppie, tell me a little about yourself,’ Constance
said.

Eppie readjusted her over-large cream cap, which kept
slipping over her eyes. ‘There ain’t much to tell. I’ve gorra donkey called
Dusty. I saw her being born. When she stood up her head was so big that she
toppled over. Pa uses her to plough our plot. Sometimes she gets bored doing it
and goes stiff. Then pa hops up and down and says rude things. Pa gets annoyed
lots, especially when I’m singing myself to sleep. He says I sound like a screeching
squirrel and if I don’t hush up he’ll take the fowling gun to me. Twiss is my
brother’s dog. Wakelin eats raw onions. They make his breath stink. He made a
wicker post-trap for Dusty so we can sell carrots. Me and Dusty fetch faggots
for Betsy. She’s gorra mouldy ankle.’

‘That does not sound at all pleasant.’ Constance rapped with
her stick upon the door of the lying-in room. Without waiting for a reply, she motioned
Agnes to wheel her in. Expecting Martha to acquiesce to her unheralded arrival,
she loftily informed her, ‘You will excuse my intrusion.’

Martha lay with her head propped upon several pillows in the
half-tester bedstead.

Eppie bounced onto the bed and hugged her. ‘You look like a queen!’

Martha laughed to see Eppie’s joy.

‘She’s so wrinkly!’ Eppie cried, gazing adoringly at the
baby.

Wheeled to the head of the bed, Constance commanded, ‘Pass
the infant to me.’ 

Martha did as requested, and turned her attention to Eppie.
‘You look dainty in this little outfit.’ 

Lost in her thoughts, Constance murmured, ‘Genevieve …’  

The on-lookers waited for words that never came.

Martha broke the silence. ‘I am most grateful to you for
letting me come to your home, your ladyship … ’

‘Think nothing of it, my good woman. Since my nephew’s
carriage was involved in some ridiculous race, I feel my family is entirely to
blame for the calamity. To my way of thinking my husband made a grave mistake
in indulging his nephew. Thurstan’s manner partakes of insolence. Agnes, hand
the child back to its mother.’

Martha continued, ‘I think it would be best if we return
home.’  

‘All in good time. If you would care to partake of
refreshments you will feel better prepared for your ride. Like yourself, I was
blessed with two daughters. Now I only have Gabriel.’ She glanced cursorily
about. ‘Wherever is that boy?’ Peering around the bed drapes, she looked
askance upon her son, slumped in the corridor, his arms dangling over his bent
knees. ‘Goodness, Gabriel, that surely can’t be you? Why ever are you hanging about
like some drunken footman?’

Lady Constance smiled at Martha. ‘Boys of his age find it so
hard knowing how to react to babies. I am the eldest daughter of aristocratic
parents. Robert acquired the manor when my parents compelled me to marry him. I
remember Geralt, my brother, who has now departed this earth, feeling quite at
odds when mother brought our sister into the world. He was so clumsy with the
child that mother said he could not tell which end of the baby was the head and
which the end. Gabriel, it would seem, is the same.’

Eppie felt embarrassed for Gabriel having to endure his
mother’s jovial words.  Dashing out, she tugged him by the arm. ‘Come an’ take
a look at Lottie, muttonhead!’

‘Your ladyship!’ Agnes cried. ‘You cannot allow this
miserable specimen of a girl to speak to Master Gabriel in this disgraceful
manner.’

Eppie glared at the sly-eyed invalid-aid, to whom she was
experiencing a growing sense of antipathy.

‘If Gabriel has no objection as to how his young friend
addresses him,’ Constance retorted, ‘I declare it causes me not the slightest
unease.’

‘Young friend?’ Agnes sniffed.

Gabriel paced in an agitated state from one bay window to
the next, the timbers creaking in agony beneath his feet.

Constance was irritated by the noise. ‘Gabriel, whatever is
the matter with you?  These days you are becoming as moody and reserved as your
father. Do take a seat! Agnes, fetch me another lap blanket. I feel the cold
terribly today.

‘My son, as you will no doubt appreciate, is a sensitive
child,’ Constance told Martha. ‘My husband heralds from a humble background, his
father having made his money from the export of cloth. Robert is not content
merely to live the life of an aristocrat. His life force is bent upon commerce
and speculative ventures. He is an intense, determined man who thinks ahead. He
gets twitchy and morose if he does not have enough mental stimulation. Striving
hard, he expects his son to do likewise. Though Gabriel tries to meet his father’s
demands, he lacks the desire to wield power and accumulate money so evident in
Robert and Thurstan.

‘It is my belief that Robert sees his own heightened
sensitivity reflected in his son and cares not to acknowledge it. Whatever
Gabriel does he is doomed not to live up to his father’s expectations. As a
child, Robert was rule-bound. It left him feeling unwanted and wary of any show
of emotional expression, even to his own children.’

A spell of dead silence permeated the room following her effusion
of words. 

Glancing at Constance’s funereal figure, Eppie observed that
she had withdrawn a gold framed locket from her black silk reticule. The rosy-cheeked
girl in the picture gazed up at Eppie. She had a delicate demeanour. About her
shoulders she wore a lace mantle. Pearls, a pompon of flowers, and ribbons
decorated her hair. 

‘This is a miniature portrait of my daughter.’ Constance
flipped open the locket. ‘Trapped inside, in a slither of amber, if you look
closely Eppie, is a plant beetle.’ Eppie stared in amazement at the locust-like
insect, its protuberant red eyes set wide apart. ‘Talia was wearing this locket
when she broke her back in the ravine. It is fortunate that I took it from her
body; it is the only portrait of her that I possess. My husband hates any
reminder of Talia. I believe that it stirs within him remorse about his pernicious
treatment of her as a mute. He would destroy the locket if he discovered it. Everything
that irks him he destroys: Talia’s garden, the family portraits … me.’

Dipping into the locket, she released the catch of a panel and
fetched out a ringlet of blonde hair, bound with silver thread. ‘This was from Talia.
This other wisp I took from Genevieve’s body.’

Martha let out a cry of woe and instinctively reached out, taken
aback that a tangible link existed between her and her dead child. Almost in
the same instance she fell back, staggered to realise how close she had been to
stimulating suspicion in the minds of others. ‘Sorry! A sudden pain.’