Eppie (29 page)

Gabriel sought to shorten this unnerving gathering. ‘We
ought to be going, Mother.  There’s the gong.’

‘Really? My hearing as well as my eyesight must be waning. Of
course, we must.’

Agnes returned with the coverlet. Tucking it about Lady
Constance’s lap she spotted the locket which her ladyship was returning to her
reticule. ‘I never knew you’d kept that, your ladyship. That is most peculiar!’
She snatched the locket from Constance and glanced sharply at Eppie. The colour
drained from her cheeks. ‘Oh! Your daughter!’

‘No!’ Martha exclaimed, pulling Eppie towards her, horrified
that Agnes had somehow guessed the truth about her theft.

Gabriel leapt to his feet. ‘How dare you snatch my mother’s
property?’

‘But your sister!’ Agnes cried in fright, pointing a finger
in Eppie’s direction.

Kizzie entered with Martha’s tray of tea and cakes. ‘’ere you
lot’s having a fine scrimmage,’ she cried, forgetful of her position.

‘Leave this room immediately!’ Gabriel ordered Agnes.

She flashed him an uppish sneer. ‘You will not bawl at me in
such an uncouth manner, for if you do, you spoilt boy, I will inform your
father that you scrambled up the chimney like some worthless climbing-boy.’

‘Such wicked lies against my son,’ Constance cried. ‘I
dismiss you from my employ, this instance.’

‘You can’t …’ Agnes objected.

‘Go!’ cried Lady Constance.

Her nose in the air, Agnes departed, but not without a
doubting glance back at the bed, wondering whether she had imagined seeing
Talia’s ghost seated beside Eppie.

Kizzie stood with the silver tea set rattling in her hands.

‘If you please, leave the tea and aid my mother.’

‘I’ll help push!’ Eppie offered, leaping down,

With not another word, Lady Constance let herself be borne
away by Eppie and Kizzie.

Left alone, Martha told Gabriel, ‘It was kind of you to
bring me here, though I guessed it would lead to trouble.’  

‘That’s nothing new. A lot of my bright ideas have a way of
going awry.’ He stroked the baby’s cheek. ‘She is beautiful, Mrs Dunham and sure
to love you.’

Something caught between them as their eyes met, something
tragic, something so terrible that neither could bring themselves to voice. 

Quietly, he added, ‘As I know Eppie loves you.’

‘All is set, children.  Come and eat
your fill.’ 

Set upon a side table was a feast of cakes, biscuits,
pastries and savouries.

Helping herself to a syllabub, Eppie thudded onto the settee,
and scooped out the delicious pineapple ice with a silver spoon.

Sedately, Gabriel took his seat beside her.

‘You say you saw your father in Litcombe?’

‘He was on his way to his Gentlemen’s Club.’ Digging out a book
and pencil from his pocket, Gabriel continued with a sketch. Eppie had got used
to this habit of his whilst they sat in the Crusader Oak. His sketch book
contained drawings of churches, street scenes and ships, but it was his
sketches of curious beasts that she loved most: the dragons, animals with human
faces, and humans whose limbs had turned into foliage.

‘You draw real well,’ Eppie said glowingly.

‘Talia loved painting,’ Constance said. ‘I have kept little
oil paintings that she made of insects and butterflies. Would you care for
potted meat rolls, children?’

‘I’d rather have one of them cakes,’ Eppie answered.

‘That is an excellent proposition. I have no compunction
about forsaking established customs. It is a stance that has driven a wedge
between Robert and I.  He insists on strict adherence to formal rules about the
house, whilst I do not.’

‘Is this brown filling chocolate?’ Eppie asked, helping
herself to a slab of cake.

‘It is. Kizzie bakes me the most superb cakes. Chocolate is
rather moreish and one of my chief indulgences, although I regret it adds
rather to one’s figure.’ She raised her feet upon a footstool, groaning
slightly with the effort. ‘As to the exact quantity of such dainties Kizzie has
provided that I cannot tell. Owing to declining health I have an infuriating
problem with my vision. To my mind there appears to be a plethora of cakes upon
the stand, although I am sure I must be seeing double of such delights.’

Eppie grinned. ‘I’d love to see twice the amount of cakes.’

‘The problem for me comes in deciding which are real and
which are not, so Eppie, my child, it would gratify me if you would kindly fill
my plate with what you consider to be the most delectable of the remaining
cakes.’

Having served Lady Constance, Eppie sipped a glass of
almond-flavoured ratafia, and went for a closer look at one of Talia’s oil painting
which hung above the mantelpiece. It showed the manor house in a snowstorm. Her
cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire, she stepped back, noticing at her
feet what could only be Dawkin’s tatty shoes. He must have left them there before
climbing the chimney. Spying a broad ribbon dangling at the hearthside, she reached
up to tug it. 

‘Don’t ring that,’ Gabriel warned. ‘We’ll have Duncan trudging
up when we are only half way through. Mother always prefers me to serve
afternoon tea.’

‘It is much more intimate that way,’ Constance said. ‘Then I
relax, whilst Gabriel reads to me.’

Biting into a heavily-buttered crispy roll, Eppie wandered
about the room.

Gazing out of the window she saw Alf, his balding head
shining like polished copper. Kneeling beside a lightweight four-poster garden
bed, he was planting delicate flowers.  Beside him was a burlap bag of weeds. He
sprinkled the blooms with water from an odd-looking watering can that had
spouts set on opposite sides, and drew the lacy drapes to protect the plants
from the sun’s fierce rays.

Constance stared drowsily into the fire. ‘Ever since Gabriel
told me that you encounter the spirit of my daughter I have harboured a secret
desire to meet you, although I find myself at a loss to understand why her
ghost manifests before you.’

Eppie returned to the settee. ‘Betsy said I was born with
the eye. When I was little I told her I’d seen Talia dancing before Shivering
Falls. She said I must keep my secret, else it’d upset mam. She said that, when
the time came, I should only speak about Talia to you and Gabriel.’

‘How could this woman have known I would have occasion to
converse with you about my daughter?’

Eppie wiped her sticky lips on her scullery maid apron. ‘Betsy
knows everything. She’s a witch.’

‘For your neighbour’s sake, I would refrain from describing
her as such.’

‘How is it that we can see Talia
when she should be in heaven?’ Eppie asked.

‘I have often wondered that,’
Constance said. ‘Logically it makes no sense. Human beings are composed of physical
and spiritual parts. It is her spiritual part which seems to have survived her
death and lodged itself in a ghostly watery world. Perhaps she resisted going
to the light of the moon, the halfway abode to heaven.’

‘If Talia is under the
water, how d’ya reckon she breathes?’ Eppie asked.

‘Once I became fascinated by
a spider,’ Gabriel said. ‘It had made its home underwater by spinning a silk
nest and filling it with air bubbles. Perhaps Talia breathes in a similar
manner?’

Eppie helped herself to
another cake. ‘Maybe her heart doesn’t beat? When I’m in sleep I don’t breathe.
My heart only starts again when my body wakes up.’

‘Do you recall, Gabriel,’ Constance asked chirpily, ‘shortly
before Talia went from us, she fetched that hideous head from your father’s
study. To think about it brings tears of laughter to my eyes. She placed it
upon the sofa and we listened to your father grumbling to the gruesome thing
whilst he was writing at his desk, quite believing it was me. You would think
he would be able to tell the difference between me and a wild boar. For a
start, I don’t have tusks, at least not to my knowledge.

‘When he heard us tittering he went quite out of his senses,
complaining about the trillions of beetles that must have dropped from it and
were scurrying over the upholstery.  He worked himself into such a state that
he took himself off to his chaise longue in the Brown Room. Now that
must
be
riddled with insects, with all those pitiful beasts residing in there. It would
do Robert good to see the comical side of life occasionally.

‘Not long after the wild boar frivolity, Talia found that
dreadful beetle set into her locket. It gave me quite a turn to behold. I am certain
Robert put it there as punishment for her prank. I find it quite amusing to
think that his little ploy miscarried for she was charmed by the ghastly
creature. Often, I would see her wander around the Brown Room and gaze upon the
stuffed creatures. Her father thought she was interested and, when he was in
one of his better moods, he would tell her about the animals and where they had
lived. However, it is my belief that Talia felt captivated by the creatures
because she felt like them. Entombed.

‘The night Talia drowned, Thurstan
returned, carrying her body. He maintains that she stumbled at the cliff edge
and fell to her death. I am no dullard and can see through his ruse. He was
forever pestering her, especially if he found her in the Brown Room, when he
would ridicule her. She loathed him for it. Since my daughter’s death I refuse
to speak or even look upon Thurstan, although my fool of a husband continues to
entertain his company.

‘My one gratification is
that, whereas we three can see Talia, I do not believe that Thurstan can. The
first time I saw her ghost, he was strolling in the garden. She pulled back a
branch and, as he passed, she released it, slapping him in the face.’

Eppie licked her plate, and stared at Lady Constance’s lap. 
‘You’ve left half a cake.’

‘Have I? Well, that is good. One should always leave a
little for manners.’

‘That’s a saucy plate, real wasteful.’ Reaching over, Eppie
swiped the remains and crammed them into her mouth.  ‘I don’t give a hoot about
manners.’

‘That much is apparent,’ Constance said, amused. ‘Doctor Burndread
advises me to cut down on the quantity of rich food I consume. Can you believe
it?  Food is one of the few luxuries left to me.’

She added a drop of lavender essence to her glass of port wine.
‘I feel the rumblings surging. Hysteric wind colic plagues me constantly. It is
most troublesome.’

‘My pa’s got the same problem.’ Eppie had had a tiring day
and yawned, noisily.

‘Enough of me,’ said Lady Constance. ‘My chatter must seem
most tiresome to your young ears.’ 

‘Not a bit.’ Hugging her knees, she snuggled back into the
plump cushions.

‘What about a little entertainment? I understand my son has
been teaching you to play the flute. Be so good as to grace me with your talent.’

‘I’m no good.’

‘I will be the judge of that.
Now
you may pull the
bell ribbon. Stand before my chair so that I can see you.’

Eppie’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as she played
With
Drooping Wings
from memory. After an unpromising start she braced herself
and, concentrating upon the crumbs scattered where she had wandered around the
fireside, she finished the melody with a faultless flourish.

Kizzie and Molly clapped enthusiastically. Eppie, who had
not been aware of them slipping into the room, smiled back radiantly.

‘Charming, quite charming,’ Constance said. ‘I fear that
my
wings are drooping with fatigue. I feel strangely giddy and in dire need of
repose. Molly, be so good as to ask Fulke Clopton to drive Mrs Dunham and her
family home in my curricle.’

‘If you please, your ladyship,’ Kizzie said, curtseying. ‘I
looked in on Mrs Dunham when I was passing to come and hear Miss Eppie playing
and noticed that she had dozed off.’

‘In that case, leave her and the baby a short while. Ask Mrs
Bellows to come to see me in an hour’s time. I need to discuss with her the
pressing matter of engaging a suitable invalid-aid.’

Gabriel pocketed his sketch book. ‘Right, Eppie, there’s
time to show you something of interest in the threshing barn. I warn you, though,
it is pretty frightening and only to be witnessed by those of an intrepid
disposition.’

‘That’s me,’ she said, grinning, ‘as long as it ain’t an
adder out of a muck heap.’

‘This is it, a smelly sheep in a
wheelbarrow?’ Eppie asked. ‘That’s scary?’

‘Edmund doesn’t know what it’s died from.’

She stared at the roof of the thatched cruck-barn. ‘It’s so
big in here, I feel like I’ve been swallowed by a giant fish and am staring up at
its bones.’ A ladder led to a raised platform where corn was stored in sacks. ‘Is
that a swing?’

‘When I was young I played up there.’

Clem, a stable lad with a close-eyed varmity expression,
made the more fox-like because of his mop of red hair, strode in, holding a
bunch of rats bound by their tails. ‘I thought you’d like to take a look at
these, Master Gabriel. I found them in the stables.’

‘Adult male rats occasionally eat their young,’ Gabriel said.
‘Perhaps the mother tied their tails to stop their cannibalistic activity?’

‘I’ll stick them in your father’s study shall I?’ Clem asked,
sauntering off. ‘Add to his beasts of curiosity.’

‘You’d be risking your life if you did.’

Gabriel turned to Eppie. ‘This is what I really brought you
here to see. Father has invested in a corn threshing machine. It imitates human
flailers. When the men were digging up the floor to lay the cogs and pulleys
that run from the wheelhouse they exposed hundreds of these horse skulls. They
had been packed under the earth.’