*Sit yourself down, there's plenty,' Martha offered.

Before the boy shut the door, Eppie noticed Jaggery propped on his rake, sneering, jealous of Dick being let off work.

*Fanks, missus!' Racing to the table, Dick snatched up a spoon.

Martha passed Eppie her portion. *It's hot, mind you don't burn your whiskers.'

Dick crammed in mouthfuls of sponge and dripping. *Never in me life have I tasted o't so good!'

Eppie was struck by the thinness of the boy. *You can have mine if you like.' She added, untruthfully, *I'm full.'

*It's worked!'

*What has?'

*The crooked farthing I found in a pothole. I bit it and waited for summat lucky to happen. It's got me a double dollop o' treacle pud.' He slapped the coin on the table before her. *You have it.'

*It's yours.'

*It only works once for each person.'

*Is it true that jailers force prisoners to pay them protection money?' Gillow asked Sam.

*Some, although Boyle's a good man.'

*If a jailer don't like a prisoner, he'll torture him to death to get money off him, even if he an't got none,' Dick said.

*It'd be better if guards were paid regular wages,' Gillow reflected. *Wringing money out of prisoners by force is ludicrous.'

*The trouble is that jails are farmed out,' Sam answered. *The government doesn't want the bother and expense of maintaining them.'

Dick puffed out his cheeks. *I'm stuffed! In the poorhouse they fed us skilly. After our ma died, me brother Jake and I lived on the streets of Malstowe. One day this fella shoved us into a wagon and took us to the poorhouse. Mrs Grieve, the matron, ranted on about how it was our fault that we was beggars, and how we was gonna be made to work hard for us punishment. We were taken to this chapel-like place with a high ceiling. Boys were crammed in, oakum picking.' Seeing Eppie's puzzled face, he explained, *That's where ya rip tatty ropes. They're plastered onto ships to stop *em sinking. I hated picking. Me fingers was shredded.'

Martha served the men flagons of ale. A rich smell of tobacco filled the parlour.

*Me, Jake and this other lad, Dawkin, shared a bed. After a few weeks, the boys in our ward started itching.' Proudly, Dick said, *I once had ten ulcers under me armpit. They'd swell, bust, and blow out again.

*We was made to whitewash the ward windows. Mrs Grieve reckoned that if the sunlight were kept out we'd stop itching. We din't.'

He slurped from his mug of milk, revelling in Eppie's absorbed face. *One morning, Mrs Grieve made us line up at the end of our beds. She whiffed each of us. Grabbing Jake by the ear, she rushed him to the scrubbing room. On the way down, me and Dawkin heard him yelling. I didn't think o't of it. Jake weren't used to being laundered. Still, we decided to take a look. Mrs Grieve had Jake inside a barrel. Each time he came up for air, she forced his head under.'

Padding up, Twiss placed his head on Dick's lap. The men had drifted into solemn silence; hanging onto the boy's every word.

*When Jake went still, the master shouted that they'd drowned him. Jake always liked a jest. I had this idea that if we could topple that barrel over he'd slither out like a fish, alive as could be. So me an' Dawkin put our backs behind that barrel and shoved for all we was worth. It din't budge.'

Tears shimmered in Dick's eyes. *At the assizes, Judge Baulke told Mrs Grieve the only thing he could accuse her of was being too keen on her duties. He let her go free, saying she ought to get used to the stench of paupers. I weren't sent to jail for trying to help me brother though. After Jake died I was so angry that I set fire to the privy in the boys' yard. I almost sent the poorhouse up in flames.' Mournfully, he added, *I wish I had.'

Boyle looked in. *Work first thing, Sam. Dick, I want a few more hours out of you.'

Dick kicked his heels as he left.

Gillow went to tidy the yard before bed.

Sam followed. *I'll give you a hand. After such a pleasant evening my head doesn't ache so much.'

Months earlier, Wakelin had fixed another swing for Eppie from a goat willow that bordered the stream. Cooling air rushed about her ears as she threw her head back, tracing the ever-changing hue of the sky, ultramarine watering to silvery blue. From the orchard came the rhythmical slash-slash of the scythe. *Look at me, Pa. I'm flying to the stars!'

She watched the men, their figures silhouetted, heaping brambles beside the earth toilet.

*Do you see much of your son?' Sam asked.

*He sometimes walks home after the evening market of a Saturday and returns to Litcombe on the Sunday night. To be honest, I'm not sorry to see less of him. There's no love lost between me and the lad. He's as hard as nails and has a knack of exasperating me.'

*I feel the same way about Jaggery.'

*Why'd he end up in jail?'

*He was taken on by a brewer, name of John Basset, and Jeremiah Grimley, a mill owner. They'd set up a bank. Jaggery was paid to protect mail coaches carrying their money. There were a spate of robberies involving money from Basset and Grimley's bank. Basset accused Jaggery of being involved. The next morning, Basset's various body-parts were found in the oddest places around the town. Jaggery burst into the mill office, threatening Grimley with a blunderbuss. Longbotham, the clerk, fell off his stepladder. He tumbled onto Jaggery, who shot himself in the leg. That's why he walks with a limp.'

*I'm surprised Jaggery wasn't hung for attempted murder.'

*Even murder may be lightly punished. Money buys privileges. If Jaggery had enough robbed money put aside I'm sure he'd have paid someone to do his jail sentence for him. What money he has he squanders in the gambling den and on gin. Dick was fortunate. Judge Baulke sentenced him to death but later reduced his punishment to imprisonment.'

*Thank the Good Lord for that! He seems a pleasant lad.'

*He is, though he sometimes looks on the grim side of life. Sam, he says, we'll never get out of this Inn from Hell. If we don't die of jail fever, we'll be eaten alive by these flesh-eating beetles.'

Eppie bounded to where the men toiled. In a jocular mood, Sam tugged a bramble with his gloved hand. *This is the winner. It has to be eight feet long.' The bramble resisted, clawing his shackles.

*It's a sea monster got ya!'

Gillow chopped it with a billhook. *This area gets overlooked. Beneath your feet there's an arsenic pit.' Startled, Sam stepped away. Gillow jumped on the piled brambles, crushing them. *All the land around here used to be sheep country. When an animal plague struck, the pit was dug for use as a sheep dip. Now it's mostly filled with sludge.' Taking dried fungus from his tinderbox, he struck the flint. Flames sputtered, smoked and burnt brightly. Eppie cast twigs into the inferno. Brambles twirled red and died ashen white.

*If you ask me, the whole judicial system could do with a shake up,' Gillow said. *Those of superior standing have too much power. It's not right they should influence lawmakers, bringing in whatever Statutes or punishments they deem fit. At manorial courts, Lord du Quesne is able to decide whether a person hangs or is lightly punished for what he considers to be a crime.'

Billows of smoke wavered and floated towards them. They backed off. Crackling flames flickered, bright against thickets of fruit bushes.

Wilbert and Sukey were quarrelling again, their raised voices from the Hix homestead cutting through the chill air, sharp and clear.

Eppie yawned.

Gillow stirred ashes. *Bed, my little maid. Go and find your ma.'

*I've been glad of your friendliness,' Sam told Gillow.

*Same *ere,' he answered, abashed. *Reckon I'll take a stroll. Get the smoke out o' me chest.'

Moths flitted toward the lantern light as Sam opened the door. *Is it all right if I step in?'

*I've put Wakelin's sack back in the loft for you, with an extra blanket, should you feel the cold.' Martha's hand shook slightly as she handed him the candle sconce. *First thing tomorrow I'll fix you some tack.'

*I don't want to put you to any trouble.'

*It's no trouble. I've the cream to take from the milk.'

The oil lantern was set upon the windowsill. Martha turned down the wick. *I only wish you didn't have to go back.'

Sam stepped close behind her. They gazed into one another's mournful eyes, reflected in the shining blackness of the pane.

Martha trembled at the warmth of his breath on her hair.

*I know,' he whispered. *Though, hopefully, it won't be forever.'

He trod to the loft, a caged animal, shackles clanking.

Gillow's rumbling snores greeted the early day.

Martha removed the metal couvre-feu and tossed a handful of moss and wood chippings onto the warm embers. She puffed the bellows until a cheerful blaze flared. Soon a mouth-watering smell drifted from the pan.

Sam tried, unsuccessfully, to tread quietly down the ladder.

Pouring steaming tea into a mug, Martha whispered, *I've fried you some bacon rashers, sausages and a couple of eggs.'

*This is as much a banquet as last night,' Sam said appreciatively, breaking off chunks of bread and mopping runny yolks.

All too soon it was time for him to take his leave.

Cushioning lilac clouds, lined with silver, concealed the early sun. Martha and Sam stood beneath the porch, neither wishing to move away from the other. Martha let herself believe in the romantic notion of a loving life spent with this gentle man, once he was let out of jail, of course.

With a slash of silvery yellow, like a shining sword, the sun rose from its nest of verdant green hills. Blackbirds ricocheted from the blast like burnt sparks. Rapidly, the clouds changed to grey, the colour of a dirty dishrag, bringing Martha back to reality.

A ghastly feeling of loss caught at Eppie's heart. Diving out of bed, she ran to Sam and wrapped her arms around his legs. *Don't go back. Run away!'

He stooped so that his face was level with hers and light-heartedly rapped her nose with his finger. *Boyle trusts me. I wouldn't want to get him into trouble. Besides, if I were caught I'd hang.'

*Wait, don't forget.' From a shelf Martha fetched the pipe and tobacco that Gillow had put aside for Sam the previous evening.

Accepting the gifts, his hand touched hers. In that instance, Eppie sensed something important pass between them for, their faces anxious, they no longer smiled.

Turning swiftly, Sam was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

FOWL GOINGS ON.

Whilst Martha went to sort a few tasks in the garden, Eppie dived back into bed for a little more rest. Above her head, sparrows scratched in the thatch and hopped along tunnels to their nests. The birds were as much part of the cottage as the stones and mortar. She was glad that Gillow, who also enjoyed their cheerful antics, turned a blind eye to Lord du Quesne's demand that, because the sparrows scavenged in his wheat fields, the cottagers should kill them in their nests. She had watched others lay ladders against their eaves and, climbing with a soft tread, catch the birds by surprise and dash their heads against the ladders. To her mind, it was senseless cruelty.

Dragging on his clothes, Gillow sang a maddened, hurried ditty. It came to an abrupt halt. *Not again, Eppie!' When she mended the hole in his shirt, she had accidentally stitched the front and back together. *How am I supposed to put this on?'

His shirt covering his head he dropped to his knees and crawled towards her bed, a grey snail hiding in its shell.

Despite her guilty nervousness, Eppie giggled.

*At least you do giant stitches; it'll be easy for your mother to unstitch. Outside is she?' Fumbling with the shirt, intent on finding a way for his head to poke out, he stepped into the garden. *Martha! Come and fix my belly-timber.'

Eppie was disturbed by the anger in his voice.

Sam, also perturbed, turned fleetingly towards Martha. Before she became aware of his concerned look, he resumed his work.

She traipsed indoors, milk from her bucket slapping onto the earth-pressed floor.

Eppie noticed her sad, tired eyes. Gillow saw only the stains of pulped apples splattered upon her apron. *You ought to rise before dawn every day; that way you'd get more chores done.'

She ignored the bitter tone in his voice. *How many eggs would you like?'

*My usual, of course, five, and a dozen rashers. I need setting up for a hard day. I'm riding over to Mulberry Farm this afternoon. George and I are taking out his rowing boat for a spot of fishing on Lynmere.'

Munching, his head was bowed so low that his nose was almost buried in the eggs.

*Sheep and badgers have babies, but they don't go to jail for not getting married,' Eppie reflected.

Gillow eyed her gravely. *Things are different with people. Lambs soon fend for themselves.'

The carrier drew up.

Wiping his hands down his trousers, Gillow peered over the pot of red geraniums set upon the windowsill. *Reuben Shaw's here, if you're sending that stuff.'

The cheapjack's bell rang.

*Harvey Elmer, an' all!' Eppie cried.

Hurriedly, Martha untied the plucked ducks from the rafters and fetched the money jar. *Go and ask Harvey for four pence worth of lantern oil, Eppie.'

In the cheapjack's cart were stacked boxes of assorted goods. Dropping the ducks into a pothole, Eppie rummaged through the wares.

Betsy thrust a coin at the cheapjack. *Two foot o' string.'

Clunking his jaw, Harvey wielded his scissors. *Here ya go. Just don't go hanging yerself with it.'

From the distance came the blast of guns. *They're rabbit shooting in Sickle Field,' Jacob said. Though bald, tufts of hair stuck out behind his ears. *When the wheat's cut the coneys is easy targets. It'll be rabbit pie every night for the next few weeks. I'll get our Edmund to bring you a couple o' good un's, Mrs Psalter. Six penny worth o' snuff and a candle, Harvey.'

Reuben loaded baskets of food to be taken to market. Eppie tossed in the dusty ducks. *Mam wants *em took to Alicia Strutt's dressmakers.'