*Here's your little sister,' Ezra said. *She's brought us something tasty.'

A besom stood against the stone wall. Wakelin prodded its handle into Eppie's stomach. *Seeing as you're here, ya might as well make yersen useful.'

Alicia looked sharply at him, annoyed with his rudeness. *Kindly leave Eppie alone and get on with your work.'

*Aye, Miss Strutt. Straight away, Miss Strutt, anyfin ya say, Miss Strutt.'

Alicia motioned Eppie to follow her through the adjacent door into her dressmaker's shop. In the window was a display of fashion dolls; when a lady visited the shop she could see a miniature version of what her frock would look like before it was made up. Several girls sat sewing in the room behind, including Jenufer, Alicia's sister.

Alicia took up her embroidery and set about couching the silver and gold threads. *That brother of yours is so ill-mannered. I suspect he's been drinking again.'

*Hey!' Wakelin yelled. *What's going on?'

Alicia huffed. *Now what?'

People shouted to one another as they fled up Charlotte Street. The sewing girls gathered around to watch. *I imagine it is a protest about the dearness of wheaten bread,' Jenufer said. *It's cheaper to eat meat.'

*Wakelin, the riot has nothing to do with us,' Alicia scolded. *Close that window. Your work is waiting.'

*Stuff us work.'

*My brother left strict instructions for you to have that order finished before he returns.'

*Let it wait. Cropping's borin', borin', borin'.'

A chimney sweep boy rushed past. Wakelin grabbed him.

The boy wriggled for freedom, tears streaming down his sooty cheeks. *Get off me, guv'nor!'

*First tell me what's going on.'

Gilbert Crowe, the chimney sweep, bore down on the lad. His face was paralysed down one side. This lent to him the appearance of a permanent scowl, which appeared all the more pronounced by the soot engrained into every crevice and pore. Crowe rented a couple of rooms down the road and so was well known to Wakelin. Eppie often saw him and his climbing-boys about the parish. The boys were painfully thin; it was not in the sweep's interest to keep them well-nourished, their slender stature making them perfect for cleaning narrow chimney flues.

*Whether you like it or not, Dawkin, I'm going to make you and the lads watch Titcher swing. That'll learn ya not to whine about yer empty bellies. Wake, are you and Ezra coming to watch? Du Quesne's hanging one of my lads for stealing.'

Septimus Strutt stormed into the finishing shop. Anger surged in his contorted face like molten ripples of pig iron. *I was hailed by Mr du Quesne on his way to the sessions. He complained that last night you, Wakelin Dunham, acted in an excessively drunken and disorderly state at his hostelry.'

*Nop, weren't me. I went to me sack early, din't I lads? I had a rotten gut.'

Wakelin slept in the same room as the other apprentices. Even to Eppie, the startled look that passed between Ezra and Simon spoke all.

*I know it was you,' said the master cropper, *for when you returned to these premises at two o'clock this morning you made such an intolerable clamour, cursing in a manner so abysmal and in such a sway that it disturbed me out of my sleep. Legally, I could have you imprisoned for being drunk on my premises.'

*Why can you not be more like Ezra?' Alicia implored Wakelin. She was full of high hopes for Ezra, who was engaged to Jenufer. *He is most industrious and steady, certain to make his way in the world. Some day you too may wish to marry. Is it not better to save than to squander money on liquor?'

Ezra was embarrassed for Wakelin's sake. *I'm nowt special, Miss Strutt.'

*How'd you like to be chained to this toilsome work with nothing in life to look forward to?' Wakelin asked. *It's my concern what I do with my nights, not some interfering busybody.'

*Kindly do not address my sister in so impudent a manner,' Septimus fumed. Agitatedly, he strode about the shop floor. *It is to be lamented, Wakelin Dunham, that you are a dissolute character, a miserable sot who has given my premises a bad name by beating another boy about the head. In Mr du Quesne's words, you used violence that bespoke inordinate passion and a cruel, malignant disposition. What have you to say upon this accusation?'

*That namby-pamby Thurstan du Quesne ought to keep his *tatie-trap padlocked. That you oughta, come ta that. How d'ya think I feel when folk make fun o' me thumbs? I'm sick of you forever telling the apprentices Stumpy will show you this, Stumpy will show you that.'

*Surely you can take a little joke? You call others names, and not so innocuous might I add. It is precisely because you are a good worker that I have not spoken against you before. In recent months, however, you have become something of a grizzle.'

Wakelin turned a sullen eye, making pretence of not listening.

*Your attitude to your learned work has always been shabby. You set a bad example to the novices. Full well you know that skilled croppers are expected to be efficient at reading and writing.'

*Learning's for thickheads like Thurstan du Quesne who know nowt.'

*Now, all this trouble with this distinguished gentleman of the town,' Septimus went on.

*Distinguished? Thurstan du Quesne don't know a B from a bull's foot.'

*Having considered the matter,' the master cropper said in a judicious tone, *I have arrived at the conclusion that your continued presence is injurious to the morale of my other apprentices. Consider yourself removed from your present sphere of life.'

In an act of defiance, Wakelin withdrew from his leather waistcoat a spirit flask, which he called his pocket pistol, and downed its contents.

Septimus's wrath soared at the sight of such insolence. *I do not want to see your face in my shop a moment longer. Fetch your things and go.'

Grabbing his jerkin from a peg, Wakelin slung it on and tied the waist with rope. *What tuts have I but what I stand up in?' He took Eppie by the hand. *Come on. I'm that clam I could sup a gallon o' gin. Be seeing ya, Ez.'

Eppie pulled back. *I'm staying with Alicia. I want to look at the dressing dolls.'

Wakelin was in no mood to listen to her excuses.

She squealed and thumped him on the back as he stomped out, carrying her over his shoulder as though she were a roll of cloth.

They had almost reached The Black Sheep Inn when the roar of a crowd rent the air. Wakelin's strides faltered. Overwhelmed with curiosity, he headed back along Castle Street. Before them the swelling multitude blocked the road.

*Let me down, Wakelin!'

*I'm sick to death of noddies telling me what to do. I'll do what I want for a change.' He hoisted her up and dropped her upon his shoulders.

Outside the castle walls a rough scaffold was rigged. Upon it stood a man, a black cowl over his head. Before him was a boy, his hands tied behind his back.

Wakelin stood with Crowe at the rear of the crowd. *So he's one of yorn?' he asked conversationally.

Eppie stared over the sea of heads. Few, except Dawkin and the other climbing-boys, reflected in their faces her sense of revulsion. Was this mob the same cheerful, carefree customers she had seen milling around the marketplace only a short while ago?

*Always been a trouble, that Titcher,' Crowe answered. *He was set on running away and stole to buy food. You'll have to take your sister to see the pirates in London. After they're hung their heads are stuck on poles. She'd like to see that.'

Eppie shrank from the man's hideous features.

The hangman dropped the noose about Titcher's neck.

Defiantly, the boy yelled at the crowd, *It's Crowe who oughta hang! When he gets drunk he beats us lads raw to the bone. He makes us sleep in the cellar. When he gets mad he shoves our heads into the soot so's we can't breathe. I only took the spoon ... '

*Admits his guilt!' Crowe cried exultantly. *Hang him!'

A mass chorus echoed his words. The trapdoor thudded.

Titcher lashed out wildly. Kicked for life.

The crowd cheered and tossed their hats into the air.

Crowe looked on eagerly. *Let's take a closer look.'

Weaving his way through the thinning crowd, Wakelin ignored Eppie's slaps on his head as she squirmed to be let down.

A man rushed up to the hangman. *A token off the villain?'

Eppie recognised him as the fishmonger.

*It'll cost ya,' the hangman answered, dragging the body onto the platform.

Eppie shuddered at the sight of the congealed veins on Titcher's neck.

*It's no less than he deserved,' Crowe said.

*My thoughts entirely. Indeed, I would venture to say that every member of the criminal class ought to be brought to justice at the end of a rope.'

Beneath her knees, Eppie felt Wakelin stiffen at the sound of Thurstan's loathed voice.

A handful of immaculately dressed dandies, including Cudbert Catesby, stood around Thurstan, their dashing ringleader.

Wakelin set Eppie on the ground. The gang surrounding him, she took this opportunity to slip away.

*Justice is a wonderful thing, would you gentlemen not agree?' Thurstan asked. *I caught this turkey making off with a silver spoon from my inn. Which reminds me, Dung Heap, you have as yet denied me the pleasure of seeing you swing for your crime. There is still that matter of the samurai sword you tried to steal from me.'

Wakelin glowered. *I din't do no such thing.'

*Temper, temper. The fact that you are here, revelling in the entertainment, instead of cropping, leads me to surmise that Mr Strutt has taken my advice and cancelled your indentures. Sensible man.'

Their backs to Eppie, the hangman and the fishmonger stood at the rear of the scaffold, arguing the price of a memento. Filled with an overwhelming wave of pity for the boy, she climbed onto the platform and crept towards him. Titcher's eyes glistened, lending to him the impression that he was staring in the direction of Wakelin and Thurstan, listening to their squabble which, to Eppie, seemed trivial compared to what Titcher had suffered. Desperate that the boy should not go to hell for his theft, she fetched out her crooked farthing and popped it into his pocket. *That's for luck, to get you through the Gates of Heaven.'

Resting his hand on Wakelin's shoulder, Thurstan spoke in a mild tone, as to a child. *Oderint dum metuant.'

Wakelin shrugged away Thurstan's hand. *Stuff yer Latin drivel.'

*You not being an educated man, as I am informed by Mr Strutt, will not know that those words mean Let them hate, provided they fear. Education is a splendid thing, would you not concur? It emboldens power over the common herd.'

*I hate you,' Wakelin spat out.

*Tut, tut. Where is your dignity? Your repose?'

Eppie knew Titcher was dead. Already his face had a translucent sheen. But she was consumed by the idea that the rope was hurting him. His face exhibited a haunting grimace from his death pains. At least she could do something to make him look peaceful.

*I am sorry to break up our delightful meeting,' Thurstan said. *My talents are required elsewhere. Mr Melchoir, the chief magistrate, requests my advice on pressing matters. Matters of life or, more satisfactorily, death. By the way, my churlish fellow, I should keep an eye on your giddy sister. She seems intent on reviving the dead.'

Spinning round, Wakelin saw Eppie tugging at the noose. *What ya doing?'

*He can't speak!' she cried in anguish. *He don't want this on.'

*He's dead!' Wakelin screamed into her face.

*You never understand!'

The hangman pocketed his coin. *Here, what's going on? No money, no token.'

*We don't want nowt!' Wakelin jerked Eppie off the scaffold.

*Ow! You've hurt my wobbly tooth!'

He vent upon her the pent up fury he felt towards Thurstan. *Yur, an' I'll hurt ya even more. You're nowt but a rattle-dull, like *em. You hear?' Forcing a thumb stump into her mouth, he gave his wrist a sharp twist.

Eppie squirmed from the piercing pain.

Before he could hurt her again she sped away, gulping back the gush of sickly blood.

Reuben shook his head at the sight of Eppie's bruised lips and blood speckled down her frock. *That hanging weren't a sight for a maid. In any case, I spotted several pickpockets at work in the crowd, stealing stuff worth more than a silver spoon.'

Though distraught by the incident, Eppie would not blame Wakelin. She had simply told Martha, when she asked what had happened, *I tripped and went ploughing on my face. My tooth ain't there no more. I must've swallowed it. Now the faeries won't come.'

*Gillow was expecting Wakelin to become a master cropper and keep us in our old age,' Martha fretted. *There'll be no peace now.'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

STICKING UP FOR MARTHA.

Gillow stormed indoors, his face screwed up with rage. *I'll wring his ears!'

Martha and Eppie were dipping dried apple rings in batter. *Whose?' they asked in surprised chorus.

*I'm sick to death of him. After all my work, all the effort I've put in.'

*What's up, Pa?'

Gillow shook his fist at Eppie as though it were her fault. *I'll tell you what's up. He's eaten half my wintergreens. Bounded off as I crept up on him.'

Martha had become accustomed to her husband's short temper since Wakelin had lost his apprenticeship a year ago. *Don't take your anger out on Eppie.'