Eppie (33 page)

Dawkin scrambled onto the lowest branch of a gnarled maple,
its roots twisting down the steep riverbank. He peered through the autumnal
canopy. ‘They must be roast chestnuts at the manor; every one of their chimneys
is smoking. Want to see a pixie twirl?’ Whooping, he toppled backwards and landed
with a thud beside her in the cushioning leaves.  ‘That scared ya!’

‘Didn’t.’ She felt ashamed of her display of fright.
‘Anyhow, you can only twizzle once before reaching the ground; I can twizzle three
times.’ Before he could dare her, she snatched the catapult from his hand.
Whirling her arm like the sail of a corn mill in a gale, she let loose. To her
dismay the stone fell short of the crow nest they had chosen as the target. 

‘Remarkable,’ he said, resisting a grin.

‘Let’s see you do better,’ she goaded.

It was all she could do not to giggle at his deadly serious
face as, eyes narrowed, he sized up the distance to the nest. Dexterously, he
wielded the weapon. The stone hit dead centre with a resounding thwack. Twigs
spiralled down through the canopy. 

‘Ouch, that hurt,’ he said, having jerked a muscle. ‘I’m
surprised my arm gives me trouble after all these months.’

‘How come you’re so good at slingshot?’

‘Practice. At the poorhouse I made a sling out of rags.
There was this walled yard where lads took their exercise. I used to aim at the
spikes along the top. Once, I saw Mr Crowe on the roof.  He’d tied a rope
around the neck of a live goose. He kept dropping the bird down the matron’s
chimney and dragging it back up to dislodge the soot. It seemed a mean thing to
do, so I ran off to see if I could rescue it.

‘I reached up the chimney and gave the rope a tug. When Mrs
Grieve stormed into the room to find out why there was all this honking, the
goose flew straight into her face. She told Mr Crowe he’d be doing the parish a
favour if he took me off her hands.

‘I was in the soot cellar when this gentleman came to the
house. I knew his voice. He visited folk at the poorhouse and often brought me
a morsel of cheese. Later, in the dormitory, I’d share it with Dick Pebbleton
and his brother, Jake.

‘I couldn’t believe my luck when I heard the gentleman ask
Mr Crowe if he’d sell me. He said he wanted to offer me a better life. Mr Crowe
told him that if there was anything he hated more than a meddlesome do-gooder,
it was a lad with a smile on his face, and saw him off. Hey, what are they doing?’

Wakelin and Molly stood upon the packhorse bridge. Away from
interfering elders, Wakelin’s countenance mirrored his inner happiness. With
pride he embraced his love and placed a kiss upon her cheek. Taking him by the
hand, Molly led him away. The last tantalizing glimpse the children had of them
was when they disappeared into the derelict granary.

‘Let’s creep up on them,’ Dawkin suggested. ‘See what
they’re doing.’

‘That wouldn’t be right.’

He sped off.

Picking up her basket, Eppie trotted reluctantly across the
bridge after him.

Through a gap, where the wattle and daub had crumbled, they
spotted the lovers.

‘Why won’t you shave off your stubble?’ Molly asked.

‘A wench-faced fellow don’t look like a man. Ya wun’t want
to marry a wench would ya?’

Eppie tripped away. ‘This is tiresome.’

‘Wait on, Ep. It might get exciting.’

Huffing with irritation, she returned and resumed her squatting
position.

‘I’ll be glad when we’re wed,’ Molly said, ‘then I’ll never
have to work at the manor house no more. I’m that a-feared of his lordship. He shouted
at me summat rotten after I broke his duck platypussy. I were ownee dusting the
thing when its beak dropped off in me hand it were that old. He threatened Ben,
one of Alf’s garden lads, with hanging after he caught him wolfing
strawberries, so for sure he’ll have Tom string me up if he catches me cob-nobbling
any more of his beasties.’

Du Quesne had made Tom and Jonas fix a scaffold in one of
their barns.

‘Tom would never do no hanging,’ Wakelin reassured her. ‘Henry
says that ramshackle gibbet is only there to worry the labourers into behaving
so we don’t go poaching or demanding higher wages.’

‘It’s lucky his lordship’s staying overnight in Malstowe
next Saturday.  I’ve got the night off.  I’ll be able to see you.’

‘Nay, I’m off to the baiting.’

‘Surely you can miss it this once?

Wakelin toyed with the trinket around her neck. ‘I wouldn’t
have been able to fetch you this off Harvey if I hadn’t won me shilling.’

‘I know, but I’d rather see you. Besides, badger baiting’s
cruel.’ She encircled her arms about his waist.  ‘Say you’ll give it up, for me?’

‘Stop wittering on, you’re as bad as my old ma. You should
be pleased I’m not at The Duck right now. At any rate I’m going this Saturday. Tom
and me bagged some good un’s. Most of ‘em was ripped to tatters in last week’s
baiting, but a couple of the females he’s locked in the barn look spirited.’

Eppie spoke in a hushed voice, ‘Wakelin can be so pitiless
at times. I’ve a good mind to …’ A determined glint came into her eyes, and she
set down her basket. ‘Right, that’s it.’

‘What’s it?’ Dawkin asked, intrigued.    

Without hesitating to explain, she charged off.

Bill Hix and other farm labourers, their
heads bent together in conspiratorial confabulation, were so engrossed in their
earnest plotting in the parlour of The Fat Duck that they failed to notice a
golden-topped head and a shaggy brown poll appearing as Eppie and Dawkin, prising
back a rotting window frame, sneaked a look in.

Eppie’s quick eyes picked out Gillow and Henry cosily ensconced
in the inglenook with Samuel.

‘Looks like this estate manager has some kind of skin
disease,’ Samuel said. ‘Not so much as a please and thank you about him. Shepherd,
he says, don’t ya know nowt about black liver and how to cure it? I told him that
only that morning Edmund and I had mixed a pudding of tar and oil to salve the
flock. Scratching ‘emsens raw they’ve been. Glad to hear it, he says. From now
on, though, every dead sheep will come out of your pocket, he says. How can I
afford to pay for dead sheep out of my wages?’

‘What I want to know is why his lordship had to bring Maygott
in in the first place,’ Gillow said.

‘Du Quesne’s latest venture is buying up failing businesses,
so he has less time to organise the farm,’ Henry answered. ‘The estate manager
soon made himself at home. His lordship gave him the choice of rooms in the
manor house for his personal use. He chose the former nursery. He reckoned it
has a pleasant view, especially now those yew stumps have been dug up and the garden
redesigned. His lordship had Talia’s things taken out. He ordered Alf to burn
them before he returned from Malstowe.’

‘How could he!’ Eppie whispered in shocked disbelief. ‘All
of Talia’s beautiful dresses! And Spellbound! He was alive, sort of. And oh,
the baby-house!’

With a resounding clonk Edmund’s ball smacked into the skittles
sending the lot spinning.

Jacob was joyous at his son’s success, ‘Quart o’ ale for each
of the winners, Tom!’

Edmund held coins aloft. ‘And a round for the losing team.’

‘It’s all right for the likes of you flinging your money
about so freely,’ Bill grumbled. ‘You don’t give a thought to me having to
scrape together every farthing. I’ve three children to feed and on what?’

Tom’s pewter tray of tankards rose and fell as he wove
between the regulars. ‘Hush it, Bill. The only thing we want brewing around
here is ale, not trouble.’

Jonas stood behind the counter, wiping tankards. ‘You can’t
hold it against Edmund how he spends his lot. Besides, him squandering his pay
on ale is good business for me.’

Bill was not pacified. ‘Now I’ve lost the missus what’ve I got
to look forward to in life?  At dinner last night all I got stuck before me was
a woody half-stewed turnip what Wilbert found lying around.’

Jonas made a guttural, ‘Hmm.’ Yesterday he had caught
Wilbert sneaking about the inn yard, pilfering root vegetables.

‘And things is sure to get worse now Maygott’s watching over
us,’ warned Percy, Bill’s friend. ‘He’s threatened to fetch wandering labourers
in if we don’t put our backs into it.’

‘His lordship sucks our blood drier than horseleeches,’ Bill
said. ‘There’s no security in being paid casual. Measly parish hand-outs don’t
help. Winter’s not far off.  We need shoes for our bairns and summat warm to
put on their backs. Let’s show du Quesne we mean business. I say we force him
to pay fair wages. Tonight we’ll slit the throats of every one of his precious
sheep. That’ll make him listen.’

Samuel leapt from his seat, horrified. ‘You’ll do nowt o’
the sort, ya scoundrel! Them sheep’s me own kith an’ kin!’

‘You can rest easy,’ Bill scoffed. ‘Milk and grain’s sold to
you cheap on account of you being shepherd.  You even get yer ‘tatie patch rent
free.’ 

‘That’s as much as you know. ‘Them gains have been fetched
away by Maygott. Says he’s saving pennies.’

‘An’ ya can bet ‘em pennies ain’t coming our way,’ Paxton Winwood
said. ‘Du Quesne’s draining land and seeding cornfields like there’s no
tomorrow. All he cares about is raking in a fat profit for himself.’

‘Winwood’s right,’ Bill said. ‘We have to make du Quesne
realise how badly off we are. I stick by what I say; using violence is the only
way to force him to heed us.’

Gillow eyed Bill critically. ‘Didn’t you listen to the
parson’s sermon this morning?’

‘Did I heck. I can’t understand half the words he spouts.’

‘He was speaking about revenge and evil acts being the
vermin of our community. Killing and rampaging will serve no purpose other than
ill. When you believe something is wrong you must fight to achieve your aims. Not
with bludgeons and pickaxes, but with peaceful, passionate protest. That alone
will secure your objective.’

Henry surveyed the solemn faces. ‘Gillow’s right. You’ve
listened to me before. I want you to listen now. Like you, I’m finding things
tough bringing in a low wage. I’m thrown back worse than when I started. If
it’s fair wages we’re after, we need straight talking, and a harmonious
solution, then I can speak at the next court-leet. Let’s toss a few ideas
together. Come to some agreement about how best to get what we want.’ Heading
towards the window, he grabbed a chair and motioned the labourers to gather around.

Ducking, Eppie and Dawkin scurried to the back of the inn.

Compared to the picturesque facade of the inn, in summer
festooned with baskets of flowers, the yard was a shambles. In the middle of a
fenced area, pigs rooted, their trotters sinking into mud around a feeding
trough.  Horses wandered freely between a bale of hay and a pail of water
pumped from the well. Their feathers matted and miry, ducks dabbled in a
shallow puddle from which arose the stench of stale from inn-goers horses.

With a sense of disappointment the children, upon searching
for the badgers, found the nearest shed was simply a store for barrels and horse
tackle. Behind an open horse shelter was a barn. Raised upon a brick plinth to
keep out damp, the walls were constructed of wattle and daub. Where this had
crumbled, slats of timber were nailed haphazardly. Dawkin leapt to the door bolt,
trying to knock it back, without success. Though Eppie was taller than him even
she could not reach it. So engaged were they in their quest that they failed to
notice Bill, resenting Henry’s interference, step into the yard.

Eppie squinted through a hole in the timbers. ‘I can see
them!’

‘And what do you think you’re up to?’

Eppie span around. It was with immense relief that she gazed
upon Samuel’s white-bearded face. Bill glared disdainfully at the children as
he led his nag away.

‘You know Jonas don’t hold with young un’s skulking around
his yard, One-Quart.’

Eppie did not want to lie, nor did she care to admit that they
were attempting to break into the innkeeper’s property. Biting her lower lip,
she stared at her shoes, now muddied and covered in so much straw that it
looked as though she was wearing a pair of bird’s nests.

‘What about you lad? You ain’t encouraging One-Quart to go
stealing, is ya?’

‘No, sir!’

‘I know. You’re thinking of letting ‘em badgers go ain’t ya?’
Samuel said shrewdly.

‘It’s awful what the dogs do to them!’ Eppie cried.

‘Ain’t it thieving? Like when your brother stole his
lordship’s firewood.’

‘It can’t be the same, Grumps.’ Dawkin was aware of the
beauty and sadness in Eppie’s face as she reasoned, ‘Badgers shouldn’t be stuck
in filthy cages. They live in the earth. I love all the creatures in the woods.
Folk like Tom and Wakelin only find pleasure in tormenting them. Wakelin told
me that sometimes the men break the badgers’ jaws or limbs to give the dogs an
advantage. You’re not going to tell Jonas what we were up to, are you?’

‘As if I would. I feel the same way you do about the wild
things. I heard Dawkin say you can’t shift the bolt. Let me give it a go.’

Eppie’s face flickered with relief.

Try as he might, he could not budge it. ‘This ain’t seen
grease in a while.’

Eppie was determined that her plan should not fail. ‘You’ve
got to do it, Grumps.’

With a clang, the bolt shot back. ‘Ho! I’ve done it.’

Planks of wood, logs, ropes and a wooden platform filled
most of the open-beamed barn. In the furthest corner were cages.

The children scurried inside.  In a hushed voice, Eppie told
Samuel, ‘Dawkin and I will set them free. You run off home before anyone
catches you.’

Samuel chuckled at his role in the plot. ‘I feel young all
over again.’ The inn door banged. ‘I’d better go,’ he said nervously. Hastily,
he closed the barn door and lodged it with a half-brick so that the children
could easily escape.