Eppie (30 page)

‘Why are they here?’

‘Skulls give a better rhythm when flailing the barley for malting.
Spellbound died a few days after Talia drowned. Mother insisted the men dug a
grave for the pony. She didn’t want him to be beheaded and end up here.’ 

Eppie climbed the ladder to the platform. ‘Did Spellbound
die of a broken heart?’

‘He was sick with strangles. Clem found the pony dead in Miller’s
Stream. It runs through the fields. The hide of Talia’s rocking pony used to be
stuffed with straw, until the night Spellbound died.’   

‘When I was in the Swan Chamber I felt the pony’s bones. He
had a cob under his throat.’

‘That was the abscess Spellbound had beneath his jaw.’

‘So, because Spellbound died in the stream his spirit has floated
away to be with Talia. That’s wonderful!’ She reached for the swing.

‘I wouldn’t try that if I were you. It’s probably frayed.’

Unheeding, she gripped the rope. Shrieking with
exhilaration, she soared through the air and, letting go of the rope, tumbled onto
a hay bale. ‘I’m having another go!’

‘I think we ought to get back and see if Mrs Dunham is
rested. She’ll want to set off for home.’           

They had just entered the stockyard when they noticed Clem
standing before a loosebox, pointing agitatedly over his shoulder, a warning
look in his eyes.

Over the top of a lower stable door they spotted Ranger’s
flowing white tail and grey rump.

From du Quesne’s raised voice it was clear that he was
infuriated by Fulke’s dilatory manner of delivering news.

‘Her lassie was soused from head to foot in mud. Not a
thought did Master Gabriel give to me padding, what’s me pride an’ joy, sir.’

‘Never mind your confounded carriage. What do you mean my
son went up a chimney?’

Gabriel groaned.

Clem waved them onward.

Cautiously, they picked their way past ambling pigs, hoping du
Quesne would not glance round.

‘What woman nearly gave birth in my carriage?’ du Quesne
raged.

‘’er as lives by the tollgate.’

‘Mrs Betsy Psalter?  She must be all of five and sixty years
of age.’

Eppie lingered to listen.

‘I told her lass to clear off. Did she heed me? No. Let
herself into your home as easy as swotting a fly. Trailed mud all over your rugs
an’ all, I’ll be bound.’

‘Eppie!’ Gabriel cried in a hushed voice, hurrying her. He
waited at the paved court before the brewhouse where refuse from the dairy was
tipped into a hog-tub.  

She had just caught up with him when she stood on the hem of
her over-sized scullery maid frock. Losing her balance, she squeaked in alarm.

‘What’s going on out there?’ du Quesne yelled.

Dashing to her aid, Gabriel hoisted her up.

Together they scurried into the brewhouse. Gabriel threw the
bolt to behind them.  

Du Quesne thundered on the door with his fists. ‘Open up
immediately!’ He peered through a window festooned with trembling cobwebs. 

Dejectedly cradling his sling-strung arm, Dawkin was slumped
beside a barrel, his inquisitive eyes fixed on them.    

Eppie and Gabriel ran into the adjacent kitchen, surprising
the servants by their sudden appearance, and out along the passage that led to
the vestibule.

Taking two steps at a time they had almost reached the top
of the open-well stairs when du Quesne stormed in at the garden door. Stopping
dead in his tracks, opposite a shiny yellow vase his own height, he stared
straight into Eppie’s frightened eyes. ‘Strawhead! I might have known.’ 

Gabriel grabbed her by the hand and pulled her onwards.

Having heard du Quesne shouting, Martha and Molly waited
anxiously in the shadows further along the passage.

‘Try and get rid of him,’ Gabriel told Molly.

‘Me? How? What shall I say, sir?’

‘I don’t know. Make something up.’

Hands shaking, he thrust the key into the door of the Swan
Chamber. Seeing Gabriel glance beseechingly at her, Martha nodded, realising that
he meant her and Eppie to hide until they could make their escape.

Quietly, he closed the door behind them.

Afraid to face du Quesne, Molly pressed herself into the
recess of a doorway.

He spotted her anyway. ‘You there, where’s my son? Tell me
quick, or by the deuce I will not be responsible for my actions.’

‘Dreans, sir.’

‘Drains?  Whatever are you talking about, you feeble-minded
girl? ’

Eppie gripped Gabriel’s arm. ‘You’ve left the key on the other
side of the door. If he comes in here, he’ll find us.’

A tortured look came into his eyes. Having scanned the
chamber, he motioned Martha to hide behind a Chinese folding screen decorated with
birds of paradise, a snake creeping up on them.

‘When I went to fetch kindling,’ Molly explained nervously,
‘I heard Master Gabriel telling Wilbert Hix’s pa about how to make gutters from
hollow spruce poles. He said they’d be good to run rain away from the cow muck
in the yard. He’s very clever is Master Gabriel.’

‘That is a matter of contention,’ du Quesne answered frostily.

‘Let’s hide under the bed,’ Gabriel suggested. They swept
back the drapes which were drawn around the four-poster rosewood bedstead.

To Eppie’s surprise, Lady Constance lay on top of the bed,
the features of her placid face waxen. Her eyes were closed, with touches of
greyness around the puffed crescent skin, her breathing shallow.

Gabriel stooped over her. ‘Mother, are you feeling worse?’

A miniature medicine chest stood upon the bedside table. The
lid was raised, revealing black velvet casing, cushioning several gallipots. One
stoppered pot was labelled
Quinine for Head Fever
, whilst the other,
Antimony,
a Calmative Tincture for Hysteria
, had tipped over and was empty.

Du Quesne relentlessly grilled Molly. ‘You must have seen where
he went. He ran down this corridor only moments ago. He had that despicable
girl with him. She was dressed in scullery maid garb. I hope Mrs Bellows has
had more sense that to take Dunham on the staff.’

‘I telled ya, I saw nowt, sir. God strike me dead if I’m
tellin’ a lie.’

‘Be careful what you wish for,’ he answered derisively. ‘Ah,
ha! Do my eyes deceive me or are those muddy footprints leading to the nursery?’

‘Oy, they in’t in there, sir!’ Molly cried in a high-pitched
voice.

In his mother’s open palm lay Talia’s miniature portrait.
Knowing that it must remain hidden from his father, Gabriel snatched it, and he
and Eppie dived beneath the bedstead. 

The door crashed back against the coffer. Du Quesne sounded
as dangerous as a powder keg. ‘I know you are in here, boy.’

Eppie and Gabriel exchanged wide-eyed, frightened glances.

In response to du Quesne’s bellowing, the baby cried.

‘Caught you!’ he roared triumphantly. Martha’s place of
concealment discovered, he hauled her out.

Dreading what punishment he would contrive for them, the
children froze in horrified anticipation.

Turning his attention to the bed, an obvious hiding place,
he almost ripped off the bullion fringe as he tugged the drapes aside. He was
unconcerned about his thoughtless action in disturbing his wife. ‘It’s only you,
Constance. I thought somebody was in here.’

Mrs Bellows stomped along the corridor to investigate the
commotion. ‘What’s to-do, your lordship?  Have you disturbed a burglar?’

‘I would sooner discover a score of burglars than that
contemptible sneak, Eppie Dunham.’

Still expecting trickery, he dropped to his knees and glared
beneath the bedstead, his irate, bulging eyes looming unnervingly close to
Eppie’s.

Eppie felt as though she was looking at the reflected image
of the man viewed beneath the wind-blown waters of a lake. There was also something
peculiar about his voice, which sounded strangely far off. Water, for she was
sure it was that, as she felt it when swimming in the plunge pool at Shivering
Falls, pressed around her body. It was not cold, it was comfortingly warm.

It was then that she and Gabriel became aware of another
presence. Frail, like an aged veil about to fall into dust, Talia also rested
on her elbows beneath the four-poster, her body gleaming with a quivering
light. In her eyes was a mischievous glint as she grinned at their startled
expressions.

Vexed at not having laid his hands upon the children, du
Quesne furiously cast back the hangings, leaving Eppie and Gabriel staring at
the agitated movement of his silver-buckled boots beside Martha’s motionless feet.
The ghost vanished. The musty smell of the Swan Chamber returned.

‘I want this house turned upside down,’ du Quesne yelled. ‘I
will not be made to look a fool by my son. Until I have caught this woman’s infernal
daughter and rung her neck, you will lock this woman in the scullery.’ The door
slammed. The latch clicked.

‘What about her ladyship?’ Mrs Bellows asked. ‘You’ve locked
your wife in, sir.’

Du Quesne had an inkling that his wife believed that, if she
rested in the nursery, she would be close to her daughter’s spirit. It was a
conviction that annoyed him intensely. ‘After, and not before my wife has spent
an hour or two trying to batter down the door you may let her out.’

‘I must help mam,’ Eppie whispered.

Gabriel nodded, filled with a wave of empathy for her
predicament.

Creeping to the door, they listened.

‘What I can’t understand,’ du Quesne said as they made off
down the corridor, ‘is why Gabriel would want to be friends with this Dunham
girl. She is an abominable, prying child.  Can you think of anywhere they might
be hiding, Mrs Bellows?’

‘They may have gone into the wood, sir. I sometimes see
Master Gabriel run in there early in the mornings, before his studies.’

‘How are we going to get out?’ Eppie asked.

Gabriel turned to look at the wainscoting at the far side of
the chamber. ‘There’s a secret tunnel that runs beneath the manor. Cut
centuries ago, as a means of escape for Catholic priests, it leads to Shivering
Falls.’ At his touch, the panel shifted silently. ‘This is where Talia went
when she tried to rescue our kittens from drowning.’

Eppie could only see the top steps of a wooden staircase,
the remainder disappearing into the gloom.

‘You go first,’ Gabriel said.

Once he had replaced the panelling, enveloping them in an
eerie blackness, Eppie was glad that she had already descended to the hewn
stone.

The tunnel was so icy cold that it sucked away the seasons. Stumbling
along, she threw out her hands, feeling her way. ‘I can’t see where I’m putting
my feet.’

Lustre of moonlight in their darkness, Talia appeared. Her
dress was of such diaphanous silver-blue that Eppie could see through it, from
the floral ribbons at the front to the purple bow which adorned the back.

Guided by Talia, they quickly reached the end of the tunnel
and squeezed their way out.

Dropping to their knees, they crawled across the natural
bridge which divided the rock faces. Spray pounded up from the foaming waters,
dashing upon their backs.

Safe on the other side, Eppie shook water from her face and
glanced around, disappointed that Talia was nowhere to be seen.

Stabbing toes into grooves and seeking handholds on the
boulders, they scurried down. In the distance they heard du Quesne riding in
the woods, yelling for Gabriel to show himself. 

‘Now what?’ Eppie asked frantically as they reached the
pool.

‘Any ideas?’

‘What if I fetch Dusty? Mam could ride her home.’

‘We’re closer to the manor house. Let’s sneak back and find
a way to let Mrs Dunham and the baby out before father returns.’

They plunged through the woodland. Dappled light flickered on
leaves in the closing rays of the sun.

Their racing feet, crushing leaves and cracking twigs, was
the easiest give-away du Quesne could wish for.

Eppie spotted Talia waiting for them beside the gate that
led into the garden. ‘There she is!’

Alf nowhere in sight, they pelted across the lawn, only to
come to a jolting halt, noticing that the garden had undergone a peculiar transformation.
Wildwood beasts: a badger, fox, rabbit and frog, all shaped from yew trees,
towered around them. 

When Gabriel spoke his voice was almost a sigh. ‘It’s Talia’s
garden, as I remember it.’

A thrill quivered through Eppie at his words. Beneath her
feet she felt the silent pulse of the earth. It was not their earth. This was
another world, an enchanted water-world soaked in a myriad of stars. Pink
clustering flowers of a calico bush, creamy-lemon gladioli, and red cockscomb swayed
in an ever-changing flow pattern.

Eppie brushed away strands of hair which floated before her
eyes. ‘How can we be here?’ she asked, filled with caressing warmth, like the
tender love of a sister.

Hooves thundered, drawing close. Ranger leapt clear over the
woodland gate, du Quesne leaning over his horse’s neck.

Grabbing Eppie by the hand, Gabriel dragged her behind a
yew-clipped squirrel, just as du Quesne jumped from his horse.

‘Now I have you, boy!’ Whacking his leather boots with his
riding crop, du Quesne stepped briskly towards where he saw the frightened children
crouching behind a topiary stump, their shadows streaking across the lawn. ‘I
will make you pay for your disgraceful behaviour, boy.’

A flash of anger crossed Talia’s face. Not only had this
bombastic man ruined her happiness in life, he was intent on making the lives
of her brother and sister unbearably miserable. Pursing her lips, she sent a
breeze through Alf’s two-spouted watering can, directing a jet of water
straight at her father.

His fine powdered-wig
inexplicably blasted from his head, he let out a cry of woe. Hurtling after it,
he tripped over a topiary stump and plunged headfirst into a holly bush.