*It's time I did something about the enemy,' Gillow said. *Something final.'

Martha was keen to have a respite from his ranting. *Let's gather them sloes, Eppie.'

Eppie set to, picking from the tree beside the cart gate. Tom strolled up with his dogs. Wasp, a murky-brown terrier, swaggered into the garden, growling so ferociously that Eppie was relieved she stood on top of the stepladder.

Tom grasped Wasp by the scruff. *Sorry about him, Mrs Dunham.'

Wakelin emerged from the cottage and sauntered off with Tom.

*No more rabbiting near the manor,' Gillow hollered. *Remember du Quesne's rule.'

Wakelin threw the fowling gun upon his shoulder and fired at a flapping pigeon. *When I bring back your culprit make sure you've gorra plateful of greens for his dinner.'

*He thinks he's funny.' Irritably, Gillow plunged his spade into the soil. *Now look what the nincompoop's made me do! I've gashed my prize beetroot.'

Raising her eyebrows, Martha cast Eppie a look that showed her mixed feelings of frustration and amusement. Both restrained giggles.

*Is this enough?' Eppie asked.

*That'll be fine with my lot. Once the frost has nipped the rosehips we'll bottle the syrup.'

Seeing Gillow hammering an iron stake deep in the earth, Eppie asked, *What ya doing?'

*What does it look like? I'm making a wire noose for that rabbit. If he gets it into his brain to dine on the rest of my greens, he's in for a surprise.'

*I don't think snares are nice. I'm sure God doesn't mind Mister Rabbit having just one or two of your leaves.'

*I agree,' Martha said. *When I was little, your Gramps took me into the woods. He sometimes did a bit of poaching. We came upon a trap that had a deer's foot in it. Gramps said it had gnawed off its hoof to escape.'

*Have you two nothing better to do than stand there chirruping on?' Gillow asked.

*I get the feeling we're not wanted here,' Martha said, smiling.

She fetched a crock from the dresser. *After you've pricked those sloes you can put them in here.'

Methodically, Eppie spiked the blue-skinned fruit, and set to with the pestle, pummelling sugar lumps.

Martha poured warmed gin over the fruit, tied a cloth on top, and lugged the vessel to the larder. *Come Christmas, I'll strain off the liquid. You can have the messy job of stoning the fruit.'

*Cooee, is it safe to come in?' Betsy cried. *I heard shouting and thought it best to lie low a while.'

*Pa's mad with a rabbit for munching his greens.'

*It never fails to amaze me how grown men get worked up about one rogue rabbit. My late husband was the same. I've finished sewing this for you, Eppie.'

*How lovely!' She pranced around with the yellow, ribbon-trimmed frock.

*I've been collecting oddments.' Onto the table Betsy tipped snippets of fabric, a chopped-off lace collar and brass buttons imprinted with the design of a galleon. *You could make a rag doll and stuff it with the cut-offs from your father's weaving, and carding fluff.'

Eppie's eyes shone, her mind filled with delightful images. *These frills will look beautiful on sleeves. I'll cut the royal blue cotton into a tailcoat.'

At dawn, a couple of days later, Eppie ambled through the backyard on her way to Shivering Falls. Beside the pigsty grew the whip of a tree.

*That oak I planted from an acorn is almost as high as my knees,' she said proudly.

*It's done well,' Martha said, *though I don't think that's the best place to have planted it.'

Gabriel waited for Eppie in the clearing before the Crusader Oak.

Gutted fish smoked on a hazel wand rack.

As they ate, Eppie thought about her thrummy doll's new clothes and longed, somewhat guiltily, to snip material off Gabriel's olive-green jacket, and pinch a couple of his gold buttons.

The meal over, he kicked the cooling embers. *Yesterday, at dinner, my father and Thurstan decided that villagers will no longer be allowed to gather fallen branches for firewood from Copper Piece Wood. Father wants all the fuel for the manor.'

*Mam won't be pleased.'

They tramped back to the waterfall.

*After the church concert, mother and I are going to Bath for the winter to stay with my aunt. Bath is an excellent place for invalids like mother. She benefits from the curative powers of its hot springs. She's content with her sister, away from father.'

*Why does she hate your father?'

*Because of the harsh way he treated Talia. And the fact that father hates mother. On the night of Genevieve's birth, mother was in the lying-in room. I'll never forget her screams of pain. Later, she told me she'd overhead father tell Doctor Burndread that, if it was a choice between her and the baby, he was to let mother die. She's never forgiven him for his heartless words.'

*I don't blame her.'

*Ah, just the person,' Gillow said, seeing Eppie hop across the stepping stones in the stream. He tore open a bean pod and dropped the seeds into a rag bag, storing them for next year. *I was throwing foliage from these beans onto the rot heap, and guess what I found?'

*What?' She expected to hear something fascinating.

*Diseased potato leaves.'

*Oh.' She guessed she was in for a telling-off. *I saw them on the ground after you'd dug the *taties. You're always shouting at Wakelin for not helping, so I thought you'd be glad if I did some work.'

*They were from bad potatoes. You should never put anything diseased onto the heap. It'll poison the lot. Then where will we be? Before we know it all the vegetables will be dead.'

*I was only trying to help.'

*Well, don't do it again.'

*I won't,' she answered gloomily.

Smoke curled from the bonfire.

*Where's my oak?'

*Your what?' he asked gruffly, not looking up from podding.

*Where is it, Pa? My baby oak?'

He tossed stringy roots onto the fire. *How should I know?'

*It was here.' Frantic, she pointed.

*There was only rubbish there. Now we've lost the common I need to extend my plot to grow more fodder for the animals.'

Her face was hot with anguish. *It wasn't rubbish! It was my little tree.'

Gillow trudged in for something to eat. *Where's Eppie?'

*In the loft, sobbing bucketfuls,' Martha answered. *She says you've burnt her tree.'

Slumped upon weaving sacks, Eppie forced herself to stop crying and listen.

*She's blubbering about nothing,' he said nonchalantly. *What does one tree matter? They're everywhere you look.'

*It was her special tree. She loved it.'

*I am sick to death of this bickering. Sick. Do you hear? She's getting as bad as her brother.'

Martha scraped the frying pan. *Eppie! It's your favourite: cheese and egg fritters.'

*You mustn't give in to her stubborn nature, her hysterics,' Gillow said.

*Don't be silly. She's only a child.'

*She will not make a fit wife for any decent man if you allow her to run wild, letting her have her own way all the time.'

*She doesn't have her way all the time.'

He slammed his fist on the table. *She has to learn her proper role in life.'

*And what might that be?'

*Servitude. Women are only placed on this earth to help men.'

Martha shot him a look that could kill.

He pointed a knife at her. *Don't ever glare at me like that. Sit and eat. Let hers go cold.'

Dutifully, she settled opposite him. Eppie wept afresh. *She's crying again. I'll have to see to her.' She made to quit the table.

*Leave her be, you obstinate woman!'

Eppie scrubbed away her tears and glared at Gillow through the loft access. *Why do you always have to make the rules? Why should women always have to serve men? Sometimes you talk to mam as though she were a slave.'

Eyes bulging, he thumped up the steps. *And what, my little maid, would you know about slavery, or anything, come to that?'

Never before had she felt such strong emotion raging in her. *I know that in America a master will put a sharp iron spur into a slave's mouth, or chop off half a slave's foot. You're not that bad to mam, but you could talk nicer to her.'

There was a moment's silence whilst he glared at Eppie. Gradually, his features softened. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned to his wife. *Forgive me, Martha. I guess I'm still upset about the loss of my beetroot. I sometimes let my anger get the better of me.'

Wakelin strode in. *'ere's yer villain!' In his upheld hand swung a dead rabbit, alongside three pigeons. Dispirited, Twiss plodded in, tongue lolling.

Eppie stared at the top of Wakelin's spiky fair hair and at the dirt trailed indoors from his mud-plastered boots.

His mouth full of fritter, Gillow garbled, *Thar's not *im. Too young an' skinny.'

Wakelin was unperturbed. *Never mind. He'll make good eating. Guess what! Wasp bit Spurt's neck when they fought over the rabbit. When Tom went to drag Wasp away, he took a chunk outta his hand. Tom's gonna hang him in the barn.'

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

STOKING UP TROUBLE.

The following morning, absorbed with thoughts about her scheme to make a costume from Betsy's left-overs for her stuffed rabbit pelt, Eppie set off with the pigs, to let them guzzle acorns in Copper Piece Wood.

*Come and take a look at this *un,' Jacob hailed her. *Your father and I have a competition each year to see who can grow the biggest vegetable.' He knew she knew, but liked to remind her. It made the occasion special. *This year it's the beefiest beetroot. We're taking them to The Duck tonight. There's a tankard of ale for the winner.'

*I'm sure you'll win, Mister Jacob.'

There was a crunch as he twisted the leaves off the enormous beetroot. *That'd make a change. Hadn't you better keep an eye on your pigs? They're making off.'

A red mail coach bowled down the lane. The guard blew a warning on his trumpet and Jacob scurried to the tollgate to let it pass.

Eppie watched the four-horse team career towards the packhorse bridge.

*This *ere gatekeeper job will be the death of me. If it ain't a body-breaker, it's a yellow-bounder. Folk never give a thought to the trouble they cause me with their out-comelings.'

*Why don't the mail coach never stop, like the carts?'

*Them and these *ere express coaches travel toll free.'

A brewery wagon rumbled over Miller's Bridge; before it tramped a pair of draught horses.

*Morning Jermyn,' Jacob called to the wagoner. *It's another damp *un.'

The wagoner drew up at the brick-pillared gate and dipped into the commodious pocket of his coat for the toll. *Your Tobias left to work on the flyboats yet?'

*Aye, Sarah sore misses him, and our Molly. She's gone to be a maid-of-all-tasks at Bridge House in Malstowe.'

A shiny blue carriage, drawn by white horses, swept over the packhorse bridge.