Eppie (59 page)

Acrid-smelling smoke belched from the kitchen into the
hallway.

Coughing, Priscilla emerged, having retrieved the cauldron.

In Loafer’s voice was a note of hilarity, revealing that he
was not taking the disaster seriously. ‘Typical woman, the whole house might
burn down and your only concern is to salvage Captain Grimley’s dinner.’ 

Placing the stew on a side table, Priscilla shoved Sukey.
‘Skitter, fetch help! There’s a sweep’s cart standing before The Wolf and
Child.’

Moments later, a man in soot-grained clothes, on his head a red
woollen cap, galloped up the steps to the house. He was trailed by three climbing-boys.
Turnips and Jack bounded around, thrilled by the commotion.

Eppie felt as though she would faint away with delight and
astonishment. She pressed her sleeve to her mouth so that she might breathe
more easily through the smoke.  ‘Dawkin!’

He wheeled round. ‘Ep!’ Grinning into her stunned face, he
took her in his arms.

To have him near, to feel the warmth and sturdiness of his
body sent a quiver through her. 

Seeing her disfigured ear, a frown puckered his brow. ‘What’s
happened to you?’

‘Fire!’ Priscilla cried from further along the hallway.

‘Oh, that, it was a long while ago, at Dank Cottage,’ Eppie
answered, mortified lest he think her ugly. ‘I exploded the jam.’

‘You always were a little carefree with your cooking as I
recall!’

 She rushed on. ‘I thought you were living in London?’

‘Fire!’ Priscilla shrilled.

‘I was. After I’d grown too big to climb chimneys I
convinced Mr Crowe that it’d be better if I managed things so that he could
take life easy. Really, I didn’t want Brodie and the other boys to have to suffer
years of bullying, like I’d endured.’

‘Where’s Wicker?

‘I never saw her again, not after Mr Crowe grabbed me at the
ice market.’

‘Poor Wicker, I wonder what could have become of her,’

‘FIRE!’ screamed Priscilla.

‘Take it easy, missus.’ Reluctantly, Dawkin took a step away
from Eppie. ‘Brodie!’ he called to a boy of about six years of age, his legs
almost as thin as those of a sparrow. ‘We need to slacken the flames.’

Clutching a stick to dislodge any congealed substance in the
chimney pots, Dawkin clambered out of a gable window and carefully made his way
up the broken-tiled roof. Eppie and Rowan grabbed every leaky-roof pail in
sight. Loafer shot upstairs for more. Working in relay from the river they
passed bucket after bucket of sloshing water between them. Tied to a rope, each
pail was hauled up by Dawkin, who threw the contents down the chimney. Finally,
the flames were quenched, the kitchen awash.

Thurstan let himself into the house. ‘My, aren’t we having an
entertaining afternoon. Fire out?’ He cast Dawkin a resentful look. ‘I see you are
still with us, more is the pity. Rowan, surely you have not lowered yourself to
charge around with these coarse folk? I will not tolerate such conduct.’

Disgraced, she picked up Turnips and went upstairs to change
her frock and to wash.

Thurstan flicked water from his crisp white shirt. ‘Grimley
really must do something about his waterworks. One ought to be able to recline
beside that festering puddle of a pond without having several fish flying out
at one.’ Something wriggled inside his damp coat.

‘Pirate Fin!’ Eppie cried, spying a blue and white flopping
tail.

She dug her hand into Thurstan’s pocket and clutched the
fish, with difficulty. ‘Have you flung the rest back?’

‘Why, I ask you, would I want to handle the revolting
creatures?’

Eppie dashed out of the side door, intent on rescuing the
fish. ‘Mam and I’ll be at The Leaking Barrel tonight.’

‘See you there,’ Dawkin shouted back. ‘I’m lodging at 36 Dog
Lane.’

‘Gracious!’ Mr Grimley cried, stowing away his walking cane.
‘Whatever has been happening here?’

Dawkin doffed his cap as he left. ‘I reckon your flues could
do with a blow-out more regular like, guv’nor. There was three bucket loads o’
birds’ nests down yer pots.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Mr Grimley replied. Paddling into the kitchen, he
surveyed the mess, and then stood stock-still, his eyes widening.

Priscilla grasped his wooden arm. ‘Sir, are you having another
funny turn?’

‘That querier. Did he leave his name?’

 ‘Dawkin I heard Miss Eppie call him.’

‘Well, well, let us hope, Dawkin, that you have not come too
late.’

‘Sir?’

‘Nothing, Miss Scratchings. Just
the ramblings of a confused old man.’

Sukey sounded the gong.

Rowan lingered outside the poop deck with her uncle. ‘Are
you sure we can’t send Thurstan away?  Tell him you’re ailing.’

‘I am fine, my dear, though I must confess that I find
myself in somewhat of a predicament.  I meant no harm to come of it.’

‘To come of what?’

‘I have kept something from you, not wishing to distress
you. Now I feel compelled to admit all. For years I have been, for want of a
better word, swindling Lord du Quesne. I have been using the mill fines money to
help workers who are sick, to pay for their medicine and food, and the
occasional funeral. Thurstan has found me out. I had Mr Longbotham write up
only half the number of fines in the book that Robert du Quesne peruses.
Thurstan, it would seem, has appropriated both copies, thus incriminating me.
Today, Thurstan threatened me. He is trying to force me to give my word that
you will marry him. Do not fear. I am prepared to make the sacrifice. I would
rather languish in jail for my transgression than see Thurstan have his way.’

Eppie and Loafer looked on helplessly.

‘Uncle, you must not. It is such a bitter thing to blackmail
someone for doing something so praiseworthy. Besides, even if you went to
prison, Thurstan would force me to marry him without you here to protect me. I
do not think highly of myself. It is right I should wed Thurstan rather than
inflict any suffering on you. Why will he not leave me alone when there are so
many others, by far my superior, whom he might
wed?
 
He must
realise that I do not care for him.’

‘He purports that he craves you for your beauty, but I
believe I can read his mind, see his little scheme, though I do not think he counted
on a reunion with the chimney sweep.’

‘The sweep? What has that man to do with anything?’

‘Come along!’ Carrying the stew pot, Priscilla ushered everyone
in. ‘I’ve kept the lid on. Can’t waste good food as my old mother used to say,
bless her worsted stockings. Loafer, make yourself useful. Napkins, if you would,
and the silver salver.’ 

Thurstan sat at the head of the table, clinking coins.
‘Really, Grim,’ he said caustically, seeing Eppie take her place beside Rowan, ‘it
is bad enough that I have to contend with a rat catcher in this house. Do we really
have to have Dunham’s sister here as well? Next, you will be asking every
befouled mill worker to partake of dinner with you.’

Eppie smiled genially into her cousin’s smarmy, embittered
face
. 

Thurstan took a sip of wine. ‘Found what you were looking
for in the office?’

Eppie was aware of a pained silence, during which Rowan and
Mr Grimley glanced at one another across the table, their eyes filled with apprehension.

Loafer, by contrast leant against the wine cabinet, grinning
smugly. 

‘I presume not,’ Thurstan said, a victorious note in his
voice.

‘Go on, girl, dish up,’ Priscilla said, rummaging in a
cupboard for a cruet. ‘I must apologise, Mr du Quesne.  What with the chimney
fire we’re in a bit of a muddle today.’ 

Sukey lifted the lid off the cauldron. A peculiar smell
wafted out. 

‘I apologise if it tastes a bit smoky, sir,’ Priscilla said.
Looking askance, she prodded the stew with a fork. ‘You’ve put too much garlic
in it, Sukey. And it looks raw; it’ll give everyone a bad after-taste for days.
You really are such a feather brain.’

‘Hey, who you callin’ a feather brain, you bloated scratch
pot?’

‘Do you always allow your domestics such liberal conduct,
Grim?’ Thurstan remonstrated. ‘In my household the servants are hardly ever
seen and certainly never heard. Back to the matter in hand, I believe that you
have some capital news to impart to Miss Grimley.’ His lips broke into a thin
smile. ‘A little matter of your blessing.’

Mr Grimley clenched the handle of a knife so hard that the
end cracked the varnish of the walnut table. Whatever response he gave, he knew
that either he would be doomed to fester in jail or Rowan to be chained to
Thurstan forever. 

Rowan intervened to save Mr Grimley the distress of voicing
his decision. ‘I thank you for your proposal, Mr du Quesne …’ Her nerve gave
way and her face paled. Appalled by the repercussions of acceding to Thurstan’s
demands, she fidgeted with the stiff tablecloth.

‘Yes, go on,’ Thurstan said.

‘I …’

 Sukey placed a plate of stew before Rowan.

‘Thank you,’ she said meekly.

‘Mr du Quesne is our guest,’ Priscilla said. ‘You should’ve
served him first.’

‘And Mr du Quesne deserves the choicest cuts,’ Loafer added.

Eppie wondered at Loafer’s thoughtfulness.

‘All right,’ Sukey retorted, ‘don’t blow yer ears off.’

‘Really, Grim,’ Thurstan said, ‘it is bad enough being
served inferior fare such as mutton stew without having your underlings clucking
around like demented roosters. Why do you not enforce discipline? Are you a man
or a slavering fool? And for goodness sake, Rowan, extricate that mangy hound
from your lap. Have you not the least sense of propriety?  I will not allow such
behaviour when we are wed.’

‘Turnips has had a terrible time, sir,’ she wheedled. ‘The
smoke … ’

‘Down!’

Grudgingly, Rowan placed the dog on the floor.

‘Good, you are learning. Now, you were saying?’

Not wishing to offend Priscilla, Mr Grimley prodded stringy
parsnips and nudged them around the bed of greasy stew.  

Sukey approached Thurstan with his serving. Her toes
catching on the raised board beneath the rug, she stumbled and hastily plonked
the brimming plate before him. A drop of stodgy gravy splattered onto his white
shirt.

Priscilla rushed forward with a napkin and fussed around
him. ‘Here, let me dab you. The juices is all down your front.’

Thurstan’s colour was alarming. ‘Call me sir! And take your
hands off me, you strumpet.’

‘There’s no cause for name-calling,’ she reprimanded. ‘I’m
only trying to help.’

Thurstan attempted to stab the meat with a fork. ‘By the
lords, Grim, from where do you acquire your meat? This is so tough that the
sheep must have died a century ago.’ He looked Mr Grimley straight in the eyes.
‘I am not the fool you take me for. I realise that you are serving me this
inferior repast so as to deter me from calling. I expected as much. The last
time it was humble pie.’

Distraught at being forsaken, Turnips yapped and bounded
about trying to regain the warmth of his mistress’s much-loved lap.

‘Keep that dog silent!’ Thurstan demanded. ‘As to the
creature’s name, I insist that it is altered when we are married. I will not
have you perambulating the thoroughfares, shouting, as I have heard you in the
garden, Turnips! Turnips! You sound like some common street hawker.’

Rowan looked shamefacedly at her untouched meal.

‘If none of you will eat your mutton, can I interest you in
something else?’ Priscilla asked. She fetched plates from the sideboard, where
Loafer had arranged a selection of fruit and cheese.

Determined not to give in to Mr Grimley’s attempt to
dissuade him for visiting, Thurstan ignored the revolting smell of the
custard-coloured durian, which Sukey set before him. The smell reminded Eppie
of Lottie’s urine-soaked pilchers which, in winter, Martha used to dry on the
wooden clothes-horse before the fire, ready to be used again.

Pushing the durian aside, Thurstan picked up a fork and, helping
himself to a cube of white cheese, sat chewing. ‘This is quite a delicacy. Tangy
with a slightly soft consistency, rather like Cheshire.’

‘Frigate cheese is that,’ the rat catcher answered. ‘To help
Captain Grimley along, seeing as how hard up he is, I catch plump lady rats and
milk ‘em. It takes a few months to ripen the taste of the cheese, but it’s
worth the wait.’

Thurstan trembled with indignation. ‘You trifle with me,
Grim! This is nothing short of treachery!’

‘Believe you me,’ Mr Grimley answered anxiously, ‘I knew
nothing about the source of the cheese.’

Thurstan rose from the table. ‘You have not heard the last
of this, Grim. Nothing will stop me from getting what I want. Nothing!’
Determined to retain what dignity he could preserve intact, he thrust Priscilla
out of his way and hastily departed the poop deck. 

‘Is it really
rat
cheese?’ Eppie asked moments after
the front door had slammed.

Loafer’s response was merely to smirk and raise his eyebrows,
letting her decide.

Dawkin
wove his way through the packed parlour of The Leaking Barrel. Seeing him,
warmth flooded Eppie’s body. He was tall and handsome, so that every woman
gazed upon him with pleasure. Though his clothes were plain he looked more a
gentleman than a chimney sweep. 

‘Where were you last
night?’ she asked.

‘I couldn’t make it. It’s
good to see you, Ma.’

Martha took his right hand
in both of hers. ‘It’s a blessing to have you back with us.’

Eppie shifted along the trestle bench and Dawkin stepped in
beside her.