Eppie (76 page)

Gabriel was more than accommodating. ‘Please, Wakelin, empty
my kitchen, take all my horses. Only, let me get to my bed.’

Something about seeing Wakelin
roused Gabriel and Genevieve to seek out one another. Despite the chill of the
autumn morning, fog rising off the woodland’s marshy places, they rode together
to the Crusader Oak. 

Ever since they had met as children, the oak offered a
sanctuary where they could escape. Stepping into the secret entrance always
felt like entering the door to a magical world. As adults, the tree had taken
on a deeper, spiritual resonance. It was the centre of their universe, its
weary arms sweeping through the dappled light to heaven, its roots stirred by a
breeze in the underworld, the realm of the faerie.

Fresh cushions had replaced old, a new tin of biscuits
offered sustenance. Resting together, high in the tree’s hollow, its sacred
womb, they at once felt comforted, touched by the silence within their minds
and bodies.

Save for a wren, inconspicuous and skulking, its warble
vibrating as clearly as the plucked strings of a violin, the woodland was
utterly quiet. So, the thudding of hooves as a horse was ridden hard towards
the tree, sounded especially loud. 

Genevieve stared out of the window. ‘How did you know we
were here?’

Wakelin pulled sharply on the reins. ‘Mrs Bellows.’

She could tell by the stern look upon his face that something
was wrong.

He spoke anxiously to Gabriel, who was peering inquisitively
at him over the top of Genevieve’s head. ‘When I was sick I heard that Thurstan
was in hiding. So, soon as I were on the mend I tried to find out where he’s
at. That’s why I needed this berra nag.’

‘Are you saying that you’ve tracked Thurstan down?’ Gabriel
asked.

‘Where?’ Genevieve persisted. ‘Tell us!’

‘I got to thinking, if I was him, which I wun’t wanna be, no
way, who would?  Anyway, if I was and I wanted to lie low, I’d hunker down at
the caves.’

‘When Genevieve and I arrived home Dick told Colonel Catesby
there was a possibility that Thurstan might be there. Though the yeomanry
searched, they found no trace of Thurstan or his gang.’

‘How come?  I’ve seen Thurstan with me own eyes.’

‘Maybe Catesby wasn’t telling the truth?’ Genevieve said.
‘I’ve always doubted his incorruptibility. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s
still on good terms with Thurstan.’

‘Could be,’ Gabriel said. ‘When Dick offered to accompany Catesby
he was pretty insistent that he didn’t.’

‘The caves ain’t a place Thurstan would choose to stay, but
he’s a desperate rat. From the snatches of conversation I’ve overheard, Thurstan’s
mind ain’t all there, not that it ever were to my way o’ thinking and Rowan’s
life is in danger.’ 

Urgency mingled with excitement in Gabriel’s voice. ‘Rowan
is
alive
?’

‘You deaf? I’ve just said ain’t I? Anyhow, from what I’ve
seen, things have turned nasty, and it’s my reckoning they’s gonna turn nastier.
We need to round up yer best pigeon-shooters, the more of us the berra.’

Gabriel leapt down the hollow of the tree, and rapidly
unhitched his horse. ‘Many of my labourers have succumbed to the sickness which
is sweeping the countryside.’ The bridle jingled as he turned his horse’s head.
‘The longer we delay the worse it will be for Rowan.’ 

‘Gabriel, stop!’ Wakelin bellowed, watching him gallop away.
‘We ain’t a weapon atwixt us.’ He was further riled by Genevieve’s look of
determination as she remounted. ‘No way, Eppie. We need to go quiet, the caves
in’t no place for a loud-mouth like you.’

‘What is it about men, always reckoning they have the right to
tell women what to do? All my life you’ve pestered me like I’m some stubborn chicken
what’s laid its eggs in a hedge. Pa was the same with mam, thinking he was better
than her.’

‘Ah, give over grizzlin’.’ He hastened after Gabriel. ‘Do as
I say!’

As a child there had been wilfulness in Genevieve’s
character that made her determined to do whatever he told her not to do. This
had not changed in womanhood. Crying an encouragement to Goddess, she followed.

This was an extraordinary journey. Sped by the dread that they
might be too late to save Rowan, it was strange to see people going about their
ordinary day-to-day lives. Busy in his smithy, Ebernezer paid them no attention
as they rode past. He dipped a red-hot shoe in water and held it against a horse’s
hoof, steaming. Children were leapfrogging headstones in the graveyard.

In Litcombe it was market day. Fog coiled around the houses.
Shouts cut through the blind streets: ‘Get yer hot ‘taties here!’ ‘Buy a dish
o’ eels!’ Carriages rattled past as though invisible. People coughed.

‘So,’ Wakelin asked Gabriel, as they slowed their pace
through the town, ‘how’d life in jail suit ya?’

Clearly worried, Gabriel had not spoken a word throughout
the journey, nor did he appear inclined to indulge Wakelin in his cheery
banter. 

Not long after, they left the road, just beyond where Jenny
was buried, and headed into the forbidding forest. Frozen into stillness, trees
seemed to listen as the horses picked their hooves over fallen branches and
around rocks that littered the ground. Dead crows dangled from branches,
forewarning unsuspecting travellers to keep their distance. 

Wakelin spoke quietly to Genevieve, as though afraid to
raise his voice. ‘The caves have a fearful reputation with townsfolk. Few
venture there. Them what do never return.’

She knew he spoke truthfully, but also knew that he was
doing his best to impart a mood of terror.  It riled her.

By now the fog had lifted and the sun shone strongly, giving
them no cover from furtive observers.

A river murmured. The scent of pine trees filled the air.
This would be a pleasant ride were it not for the dread of the unknown, of what
lay ahead.

Gazing around, Genevieve shivered. Who knew what, or who, might
be lurking behind the thick, rustling wall of leaves? 

Frequently, Wakelin glanced about anxiously as though expecting
them to be jumped upon by Thurstan’s gang. ‘We’re getting close now. Go as
quiet as silverfish. Eppie, this is me last warning. There’s sights you’re
better off not seeing.’ Exasperated by her frowning face, he threw up a hand in
frustration. ‘Gabriel, can’t you tell her?’

Turning his horse’s head, Gabriel waited for her to draw
level. ‘Maybe you ought to wait here?’ He knew by the look in her eyes that he
was wasting his breath.

Goddess descended a slippery dell. ‘I’ve seen many a ghastly
sight in my life,’ Genevieve said crustily. ‘Nowt shakes me.’

‘Don’t she get on yer wick with all her rattling? I ain’t
sorry she’s your sister, and not mine.’ Wakelin slewed in the saddle so that he
could gaze at her over his shoulder. He could not refrain from grinning. ‘Here’s
summat that might give ya the quivers.’

In a clearing before them lay a body, partly covered by
leaves. By the look of Kenelm, still wearing his soldier’s uniform, he had been
dead for some time.

‘Now see why you shouldn’t have come?’ he asked.

She bit her lip, stunned into quietude.

‘When you two bumpkins have done with staring at Kenelm, come
and tether yer nags alongside mine. We’ll hoof it from here.’

Every sound, the scurry of creatures in the undergrowth, the
whirl of a disturbed pheasant, was heard with startling clarity, enhancing
their jumpiness.

It was not long before they alighted upon another body, slash-like
bruise marks from a constricting rope shining dark around swollen veins. 

‘They’re going down faster than Ed’s skittles; Molins
weren’t hanging around here yesterdee.’

A carriage used by the Resurrectionists rested at a tilt.
Still tethered before it, the horses had starved to death in their traces. Empty
seed plumes quivered faintly as Genevieve thrust aside grasses. Pinecones and
twigs sprinkled upon his corpse, Fulke was dressed in his coachman’s cape, the
whip still clutched in his gloved hands.

Without further word, they pressed on, aware of the need for
increased vigilance.

Rocks loomed, mysterious, above the treetops. They were the
rocks Genevieve recalled seeing in the distance, several years ago, when they had
trudged to the marl pits. 

Swooping crows uttered ugly, raucous cries, warning of their
approach. 

Gabriel stared up in trepidation at the cliffs. ‘Do we have
to go up there?’

‘It’s your choice,’ Wakelin answered. ‘If you ain’t got the
guts, stay here.’

Gabriel’s frown matched Genevieve’s.

Higher and higher they climbed, the rocks rising steeply,
culminating in craggy crests.

Circumspectly, they trod along a sinuous ledge, wide enough only
for them to walk in single-file. They scrambled where the outcrop had worn
almost to non-existence. To keep their footing, they clung to stunted, curly
trees that grew in crevices.

Every now and then tunnels opened up.

‘It’s higher than I imagined.’ Gabriel was unable to disguise
the panicky rattle in his throat. ‘There must be an easier way.’

‘Stop screeching like a kicked hog,’ Wakelin berated. ‘I figured
you’d prefer to go the back way, especially if you wanna keep that tongue of
yours and the head it flaps in.’

‘All right, you’ve made your point,’ Gabriel replied. ‘Let’s
get it over with.’

Reaching an entrance hewn into rock, Wakelin withdrew his
jack-knife. His tone became serious. ‘Go careful. Go quiet.’ 

Genevieve glanced back at the stunning vista. The patchwork
valley of silver-greys and mauves stretched countless miles to the swoop of the
skyline. Here they stood higher than the loftiest treetops. Leafy boughs licked
their feet.

Wakelin lingered to light the lantern he had taken from the bodysnatchers’
carriage. ‘Having second thoughts is we?’ he teased.

The chilled air of centuries past filled their lungs as they
made their way, painfully slowly, along the dank, salty-smelling tunnels. Water
oozed down stone, slippery to the touch like the hide of a horse caught in a
rainstorm.

‘What is this place?’ Genevieve whispered nervously.

‘An old copper mine. The caverns are so cold they made the
ideal stopping off place for packing bodies before they were taken to London.’

To the strangeness of the rocky maze were added thoughts
about the ghosts of miners long gone. ‘How do you know the way?’ she asked,
groping through the dripping darkness.

He held up the lantern. ‘See ‘em secret markers at each
turn? Them tells me.’

An icy draught blew across their faces as they passed a
tunnel leading off to the left. 

Wakelin checked their position on the carved notches. ‘We’re
about half way there.’ He set off again, but stopped short. So closely were
they following Wakelin that Gabriel thumped into him and Genevieve thumped into
Gabriel.

‘What is it?’ they asked apprehensively.

‘Be quiet for once, ya blundering numbskulls.’ Wakelin strained
to listen. ‘Can’t you hear it?’

Seeping water sopped the tunnels so it was easy to hear feet
slapping into puddles. It was one of Thurstan’s gang, approaching from the
direction they had entered, a man so familiar with tunnels and darkness that he
tramped swiftly towards them. Too quickly! They would be caught!

‘Back to that last side tunnel!’ Wakelin urged. ‘Our
ownee chance is to hide n’ hope he goes past.’ He blew out the lantern light.

Panic
rose, black and hard, inside Genevieve.

This
part of the tunnel was so constricted that she was forced to take the lead,
Wakelin cursing her for her slowness. ‘Get going, Eppie!’

‘I
am
going!’ she exclaimed, the words bursting from her.

‘Be
quiet you two,’ Gabriel warned.

Coming
closer, louder, the beat of steady footsteps.

Blood
pumped fiercely in Genevieve’s temples. Her heart lurched painfully against her
ribs. ‘Where’s that tunnel?’ she screamed in her head. She wanted to break into
a run. Could only creep.

‘Eppie,
get a move on!’ Wakelin hissed.

‘I
can’t find it!’
she cried in terror.

The
man was almost upon them, his breathing amplified in the darkness. He must have
been nearer than she imagined, or marching faster than she would have believed
possible for, without warning, she thumped into the chest of the hurrying man.

‘No!’
she gasped in horror.

‘Ep!’ 
The man drew her close, circling his arms around her waist.

Stunned
to hear Dawkin’s voice, her world shivered into silence. All the heartache and
loneliness she had felt at not being with him these last few months melted in
that moment.

‘You
scared the wits outta us there,’ Wakelin said.

It
seemed uncanny to Genevieve that she should be clasped in the arms of her
lover, yet not able to see his face. A tone of incredulity was in her voice as
she put the same questions to Dawkin that she had asked Wakelin when he had
stolen into the Swan Chamber. ‘What are you doing here?  Where’ve you been?’

‘Keep
your honking down,’ Wakelin growled. In a hushed tone, he explained, ‘Daw
dragged me outta the river after Thurstan shot me. We’ve been hiding out on a wrecked
barge.’ 

‘How
many men have you fetched?’ Dawkin asked.

Despair
was evident in Wakelin’s voice. ‘We’s alone. Guns might as well be at the
bottom o’ the canal.’

Gabriel
realised the folly of his rush. ‘It’s entirely my fault.’