He sucked on his pipe. *Will do.'

Ranger's hooves clattered, cold and hard, as Robert du Quesne rode over Miller's Bridge. A ray of sun cut through gathering clouds, glinting on the shiny buttons of his waistcoat. He scowled at the prisoners toiling before Samuel's cottage. *I've a herd of longhorn oxen coming through today, around mid-day.' He pointed agitatedly at stones, buckets and tools littered about. *I want this clutter out of the way before then. Can't you work any faster?'

Jaggery leant on the wagon. *You release us from our fetters, we'll go quicker.'

*I have no sympathy for the plight of the criminal class,' du Quesne retorted.

Eppie dawdled, hoping Sam would notice her. He didn't glance up.

In the cottage, she found Martha lying on the bed. *Sorry Eppie, I've a rotten head cramp.'

*Any tasks want sorting?' she asked sympathetically.

*There's *em pig's pettitoes been salting in the bucket for four days. You can put them on for your pa. They'll need a couple of hours. I've set the water on. After you've fetched a scoop of corn and fed the hens, the hutch could do with a sweep. There's the pigsty to shovel. I'll come and help out in a bit.'

Eppie drew back the doorway sacking so that the bright sunlight would not hurt Martha's eyes. Nipping into the garden, she plucked a sprig of mint. Plonking it upon the table, she was about to slice it when a meadow butterfly fluttered indoors. She watched as it flittered about and became trapped on the inside of the windowpane. Cupping her hands over it, she smiled at the feel of it tickling her skin. Released, it trembled delicately over the heads of the prisoners. They were talking loudly to one another. Only Sam worked in silence.

Having tossed several mugs of dried peas into the pot alongside the meat and steaming water, Eppie chucked more logs onto the fire.

She skipped into the garden to play in the stream. Gillow was tinkering with rhubarb.

Shortly afterwards, remembering the stew, Eppie ran in and heaped further firewood beneath the pot. Climbing to the loft, she stretched one of Gillow's woven blankets over sacks of finished broad cloth to make a den.

Gillow strode in, muttering angrily to himself. He had not uttered a word to her since breakfast. Now and again, she sneaked a look at his bent, treadmill attitude as he worked the loom, using the picker with more force than seemed necessary to knock the flying shuttle to and fro. Adjusting an irregularity in the thread he became aware of the stillness in the cottage. He glanced up to where Eppie played with her doll. *Is your ma in the wring-shed?'

*She's in sleep.'

*Asleep? Here am I slaving at this wretched loom, not to mention killing myself in the garden, just to keep a roof over our heads, and there's your mother sleeping.' He rubbed his aching back. *Stick out my tack whilst I go to the privy.'

Eppie sprang to her feet. *Trotters!'

Meat and peas stuck in a lump at the bottom of the cauldron. Frantic, she threw a cup of water onto the mixture. A hiss of steam shot up, the contents sizzled.

Martha emerged, pinning her hair into a bun. *Eppie, you should've waked me.'

*Are you better?'

*Not much.' She stared askance at the contents of the cauldron. *That doesn't look appetising. Fetch a pot of blackberry jam. You and I best have bread n' sugar.'

Eppie laid the knives and spoons and stodged a plateful of stew before Gillow.

*You didn't do the yarn,' he grumbled at Martha. *You know I don't like going short.'

She scraped the cauldron, ignoring him.

A knife held in his fist like a candle in a sconce, he muttered nastily, *Don't think I don't know.' He caught Martha's startled, backwards glance. *This morning I was looking through the gap at the door curtain after Eppie ran out. I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.'

*Believed what? Seen what? I wish you wouldn't go on at me so. What with you and all that clattering an' hammering on the lane, my head's splitting in two.'

Gillow noticed the reserve in her glance and the restraint upon her mouth. *You slept right through it this morning, no trouble. What's ludicrous is how you think any man could find you attractive? You never see your sister wearing the same frock day-in and day-out with dozens of mismatched patches sewn on. She takes pride in her appearance.'

*Claire has money. I have to make ends meet.'

*So you're implying it's my fault are you? Don't make excuses. Not only are you slovenly, you are a deceiver. I would have to be a pin-head not to know what's been going on between you and Sam.'

*And what, precisely, do you mean by that?'

*Every time I looked your way last night you were gazing at him like a soft-eyed doe.'

*By, you're rare and ugly this morning. I was only concerned for Sam's well-being.'

Aware of Eppie's troubled eyes fixed upon him, he spoke with a note of finality. *I shall say no more in front of my daughter. I will speak to you later.'

*She's my daughter an' all, remember.'

*Then you had better start acting like a mother, instead of some cheap woman of the streets.'

*How dare you speak ...? '

Gillow thumped the table with his fist. *Hold your tongue, woman. I will speak to you in any manner that I deem fit.'

After a moment's reflection, Martha spoke quietly. *You're not usually like this.'

*You don't usually make eyes at strange men, at least not to my knowledge.'

*I wasn't making eyes.'

*What does making eyes mean?' Eppie asked, intrigued.

Gillow let out a long breath, seeking to control his rage. *I like Sam, but there's only so much that a man can take.'

Hunched over the table, Eppie and Martha sucked tasteless bread.

*You might not have noticed, but I have feelings too,' Gillow said. Chewing the meat, his thick lips curved down like a dour fish. He spat out a mouthful. *Whatever is this you've served me? It tastes foul, like mouldy offal mixed with sour milk.'

Eppie whimpered. *I didn't mean to burn it, Pa!'

*It's foul! How dare you feed me such hash, Martha? I might as well be in jail with your good friend Scattergood. This is no better than he'd get.' Angrily, he scooped up the wooden bowl and slammed it onto the wall. Lumps of meat ricocheted off the loom. Globules of gravy dripped from the fowling gun hanging above the fire beam.

Martha was aghast to see her freshly-washed clothes speckled with greasy, brown spots. *That was a stupid thing to do.'

*Rare and ugly isn't enough for you,' he fumed. *Now you're calling me stupid.' He thrust his fists into his jacket sleeves. *I'm off to George's. Don't expect me back. Ever!'

Sidling in, Twiss wolfed the unexpected treat of strewn meat. His tail between his legs, he bounded outdoors, retching.

Eppie and Martha sat in silence, neither daring to move. In relief, they listened to Jenny trot off, at an unusually rapid pace for a hock-kneed horse.

Eppie gazed at the whitewashed stone spattered with oily stains. *Uh, oh.'

Martha put her nose to a lump of meat which had stuck on the fire-crane. *Pooh! No wonder Twiss was sick.'

*When I went to sweep the coop, Connie fluttered and knocked the pettitoes into a pile of chicken droppings. The trotters were hard to fish out; they kept slipping back into the slime and grit.'

*My head is cracking with all this laughter. Do you reckon, Eppie Dunham, that if I left you to muck out the loosebox, I could get some more rest? Your father will be in a fowl mood when he gets home. I'll need all my strength to deal with him.'

*What about the mess?'

*I'll scrub it later. By then it'll have stuck like a blackberry flap, but who cares? Your pa obviously doesn't.'

Chucking the fox-cushion upon the step, Eppie settled to enjoy the warmth of the sun. Mucking out could wait. How she loved this cottage - the woodbine cascading over the hazel-lattice porch, and the wallflowers, hollyhocks, sweet peas and columbine thriving beneath the window.

She watched a bumble bee hovering around the ventilation hole of the potato storage clamp that Gillow had made from straw and ash. Twiss leapt, trying to catch the insect in his mouth. *Bumbees have a nasty sting, you silly mop head.' Tipsy rubbed against her knees. *Would you like some leftover cream from mam's yellow jug?'

Fetching a rose-patterned saucer from the crockery set reserved for visits from the parson, she poured out the cream.

Martha kept the cake tin on the highest shelf in the larder, supposedly out of Eppie's grasp. Climbing the lowest shelves, she fetched it down and reached for the shortbread. Familiar with the clunking lid and Eppie's mediocre table manners, Tipsy sprang between her feet and licked the brown sugar topping that had sprinkled onto the floor. Stowing slices of shortbread in her pinafore pockets, Eppie scurried out.

*Jarman, did you know about this?' du Quesne cried, as he and Squire Obadiah Bulwar rode over Miller's Bridge. *I left you in charge.'

*Beg pardon, sir?' asked the bewildered bailiff.

*Are you blind, a blockhead, or both? Haven't you noticed that wagon obstructing the packhorse bridge?'

*Wagon, sir?'

*Like the one with the wheel missing?' Du Quesne emphasised each word lingeringly as though Henry was dull-witted.

Too nervous to speak to du Quesne, Boyle told Henry, *That wagon's had a lot of rough treatment. We was hurrying, like his lordship sez, so we shovelled on extra stones. It proved too much.'

*Stop blabbering, man,' du Quesne growled. *The arrival of the cattle is imminent. Is that nag by the medieval granary yours?'

*We let Kindly graze when the wagon's at a standstill,' Boyle answered. *He gets brangy if he's left in his traces for too long.'

*You, boy, hitch that horse,' du Quesne shouted to Dick. *Henry, you're useless. Ride back to the manor and make sure Cordwainer's cleared the yard in readiness.' He pointed to Sam and Jaggery, the prisoners nearest to him. *Shift that wagon!'

Du Quesne and Bulwar slipped into easy conversation.

Standing at Ranger's forelocks, Eppie craned her neck to listen.

*I imagine the turnpike road will prove invaluable to your nephew,' Bulwar said.

*Thurstan intends setting up an express carriage service with twenty-five pairs of post-horses. Flying coaches he's going to call them. His main concern is that he's likely to face stiff competition from Hurry Eades, the landlord of The Black Sheep. Diversification is the key. That is what I instil in my nephew. Spread your capital widely. Develop other ventures, other businesses, and you cannot go wrong.'

*To my mind, aristocracy and commerce should not intermix. Farming has always been my way and always will be.'

*With this war against France the price of corn is fluctuating wildly. A bad harvest will set you back.'

*More like you'll get into difficulties,' Bulwar answered.

*I can handle my money.' Du Quesne became aware of Eppie eyeing him up and down, from his white powdered wig to his silk stockings and royal blue garters. *Might I enquire as to what you are staring at, Strawhead?'

*Yer shiny buckles, sir. Harvey was selling some like *em for tuppence.'

Also listening in, Wilbert said, *I'll warrant *em buckles cost more than my pa's yearly wage.'

Du Quesne glared at Eppie. *Have you no work? Where is your mother?'

*She's paltry and canna do much today, sir.'

*The malady of the asinine,' du Quesne muttered scornfully.

Seeing his lordship continue to glare at her, exasperated by her presence, she ran off and proffered Dick a slice of shortbread.

His eyes lit up. *Is that for me? Fanks!'

Sam was trying, in vain, to lift the rear of the wagon.

Dashing up, Eppie wafted the shortbread. *I've brung you this.'

Sam gazed in surprise at the biscuit. *That's mighty kind. Hold on to it a moment. Make some effort, Jag. I can't do this on my own.'

Jaggery cast Eppie a cold look, wondering why he had been denied a slice.

*Come on, Jag,' Sam said. *Give us a hand.' He shouted to the others, *We need spades. We'll have to shovel off the remaining stones.'

Men on horseback whooped. Dust clouds billowed. Oxen cannoned along the road *They're here already!' Sam said, alarmed. *By, they're going it a pace.'

Du Quesne cantered up on Ranger. *Lift that wheel back on. It'll hold temporarily.'

*You're wrong, sir,' Sam answered. *Surely you can see the axle's shattered?'

Bulwar cast Sam an acid look. *We'll take no impertinence from you, Scattergood.'

Bellowing cattle loomed closer. At the sight, Kindly took fright, whinnying and plunging in his traces.

Du Quesne vaulted from his horse. *Get this wagon off the lane. That's an order.'

Feeling the lash of du Quesne's riding crop on his back, a cloud of pain passed over Sam's face.

*'ere, you stop that!' Eppie shrieked. *Sam's poorly!' She recalled Gillow telling her that, in summer, Robert du Quesne had his hair shaved. *You ought to go to jail for hitting Sam so hard, you sweaty-headed guinea pig.'

Du Quesne turned on her, dangerously roused. *What did you call me?'

She stamped her foot at him, eyes blazing. *You heard.'

Several oxen shot between them, their bulky, lurching flanks barging the wagon.

Wilbert and Sukey jumped and cheered.