Martha could hardly believe that she was sitting beside Eppie. Her presence warmed her heart. *I thought you were fast asleep when I left. Goodness, you've nowt on your feet.'

*Did you see that enormous puffball? It looked like a sheep lying down. There were some little ones, like eggs. They'll be nice toasted over the fire. We could collect them on the way home.'

It was all Martha could do to bring herself to gaze into the child's gentle eyes. *Would you be sad if I never came home?'

*Don't be daft, you were coming back. Why did you want to come all this way just for a ride in Ella's boat?'

*Eppie, tell me the truth. You think me worthless and plain compared to fine ladies like Mrs Bulwar and Lady Wexcombe?'

*You do ask daft questions sometimes, Mam. I love you. You're funny and kind, and as lovely as those little white and blue speedwell flowers I put on Grandma Euphemia's grave.'

*Very apt, I used that plant to line Gillow's smelly boots so that his broken blisters didn't become infected.'

The sun shimmered through shredded patches of cloud. Eppie lifted her face to its golden rays. *I like playing mutineers. We ought to do this more often.'

*Ahoy there!'

Eppie span round and shielded her eyes. A man stood on the shore.

*It's George,' Martha said, stung with guilt. *He'll think we're a couple of ragamuffins making off with his boat.'

*There are oars you know!' George yelled.

*Sorry!' Martha shrilled. *We didn't mean to take it.'

*He'll never believe that!' Eppie said, chuckling.

*No problem. Leave her tied to the jetty, shall I?'

*Wait on,' Martha shouted, *I'll row us back! Here, Eppie, wrap my cloak about you; for sure George will think us barmy if he sees you wearing nowt but your nightdress.'

*What's he talking about, Mam? Why's he got Dusty tied to his cart?'

Martha breathed heavily with the effort of rowing against the wind. *George mentioned it after church last Sunday. He said he can't afford to feed all his beasts through the winter. I'm fed up with Gillow twittering on about his aching back. I thought a donkey would take the hard work out of the garden. He's forever saying that if the plot were used more efficiently we could earn extra money from selling our vegetables. If you take care of her, she's yours.'

George gave them a hand out. *Chilly day for a sail.'

Cooing over the donkey, Eppie stroked its black coat and gazed lovingly into its wistful eyes.

*It's all right for the likes of du Quesne,' George grumbled to Martha, as though in the midst of a conversation. *He's got enough cash to buy in wagonloads of protein-rich oilcakes from the Americas. No need to cull his animals come the snow. His cattle will parade their tonnage right through winter. They'll not go short of fresh meat up at the manor house. Don't think me sentimental, I know I could get a shilling or two for Dusty at the market, but I'd rather know she's gone to a friendly home. Seems you've had a fair trot, ladies. Like me to give you a run home?'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

THE CHURCH CONCERT.

*Hurry up!' Eppie cried gaily to Jenny.

She and Martha were on their way to the church concert.

*Let her take her time. You wouldn't be tearing along if you had hock-knees.'

*I like her funny legs.'

*Sit still, can't you? You'll wear a hole in the seat.'

During a break in the rainstorm they had made a dash for it. Though only early afternoon, the sky had darkened until it felt as though night were closing in.

*It's a shame pa and Betsy are too unwell to come.'

*This damp weather creeps into Betsy's bones. I asked Wakelin to chop those logs Gillow bought her from Litcombe. He never did.'

*I hope Dusty will be all right without Jenny.'

*Claire reckons we could earn a little from hiring your donkey to folk who want their plots furrowed. She's booked Henry in as your first customer.'

*Dusty will be a nice surprise for pa.'

*You said that about your stuffed rabbit and look what trouble he got us into.'

*If Wakelin comes in late, his bacon hotpot will be as tough as a leathery bat. I wonder why he went off so angry.'

*I wonder too.' Quietly, Martha added, *I only wish I knew what's in his mind.'

Apricot-hued candlelight shone through the arched windows of the church, bright and inviting. Villagers packed the path to the door.

Leaping from the cart, Eppie dashed towards the throng.

Having secured Jenny, Martha ambled after Eppie. *Can't we go in?' she asked her sister. *Not that it's much warmer in there.'

*Parson Lowford says he's under strict orders from Lord du Quesne to keep the villagers waiting until he and his guests arrive,' Claire answered. *His lordship calls it etiquette.'

*I call it downright idiotic,' Jonas grumbled. *If I'd known we'd be stuck out in this raw mist I'd have brought a barrel of brandy to shut out the bitterness.'

Samuel blew on his cupped hands. *I hope we don't have snow this winter, One-Quart.'

*I hope we do, Grumps. I love to see the frost-candles dripping off the eaves. It was funny last Christmas. Pa stood beneath a heap of snow that had puffed on top of our porch. When he stamped his boots, the snow tumbled down his neck. Listen! They're rehearsing.'

*Henry has been perfecting his serpent horn for weeks, though he still sounds like Oss calling the cows in for milking,' Claire said, laughing.

*I once had a donkey called Cross-Eyes,' said Jonas. *He acquired a taste for ale.' The sagging jowls around his mouth shook as he chuckled at the memory. *No matter where he was in the field, he'd race across at the clank of a jug. One day, the yeomanry were sat around on benches, taking bets as to whether that donkey could sup a pint without taking his lips off the tankard. That was the last I saw of the old fellow. He must've trotted off after the soldiers' wagons.'

*Donkeys are useful creatures,' Ebernezer said. *Lord du Quesne once asked me if I had a donkey's hoof hanging around. Tied to a bloated ankle it's an excellent cure for gout. Oh, here they are.'

Relieved muttering consumed the villagers.

A carriage stopped before the lychgate. A footman stepped down and opened the door for the gentry.

The villagers fell into silence as du Quesne, Obadiah and Sapphira Bulwar trod sedately past them.

Forming a tidy body, the cottagers filed inside.

*I'm glad Thurstan hasn't come,' Eppie whispered to Martha. *That would've spoilt things.'

The parson beamed at Sarah Leiff who passed into the church with her sons, Edmund and James. *A good afternoon to one and all. I am delighted to see so many of you. Eppie, might I make use of your donkey for the nativity play? You shall be Mary and ride down the aisle. Samuel, you must lend us a sheep, although you must choose one that is biddable. After all his work in decorating the church, the sexton was most perturbed to see Carronade tear down the berried branches which festooned the ends of the benches.'

Martha and Claire shuffled along a bench, their voices lost in the hubbub of nattering neighbours.

Ensconced in the box pew, du Quesne and his guests warmed their hands before the coal stove, receiving jealous glances from shivering villagers.

The bassoonist, tenor-viol, flute, drum, tambourine and clarinet practicing together resulted in a cacophony as of mice screeching behind wainscoting.

Children sidled to the front to get a closer look at the instruments.

Wilbert raced up to Eppie. *'ere, yer bruver says he's got summat to show ya. He's at that split yew.'

*I ain't bothered.'

*He give me a farthing to send you.' He shoved her. *I ain't giving it back.'

Eppie shouted to Martha to let her know where she was going. The noisy buzz of anticipation in the audience drowned her words.

Not that Martha would have heard her anyway. Abstracted, she was scanning du Quesne's serious face, trying to see in him the father that Genevieve would have known. He appeared perpetually ill at ease, like a tightly bound twist of wire that would, at any moment, spring open. Clearly not in the best of moods, he was frowning at the black-whiskered oboe player.

Eppie hastened through the shifting swell of coats and legs of latecomers.

Like a stoat amongst rabbits, the parson ushered scurrying children. *To your seats, if you please. Hurry now.'

The fringing arms of spruce trees dripped along the path like ragged phantoms. Straying mist curled around weather-blackened gravestones.

Startled by the screech of an animal in the shrubbery, she sprinted to the ancient yew, desperately seeking Wakelin's mortal familiarity. Stealthily, she paced around the tree, its bark spongy beneath her fingertips.

*D'ya wanna know why that old yew's gorra split?' Wilbert had asked the children during vestry school. *Jelly got stuck inside. A toad grew up from it, as tall as a man, his flesh as black as tar. When you ain't looking, he twists outta that tree an' grabs ya.'

Eppie could not get Wilbert's voice out of her head. Clasping her clammy hands together, she stared at the hollow mould in the yew, the exact shape of the giant toad that had lain inside. She shot a nervous glance around. *Wakelin, what d'ya want? I ain't got all day!'

Redolent of fluttering snowflakes the melodious notes of Gabriel's flute drifted through the wintry air, accompanied by the tender strains of Jacob's bass viol.

*Wilbert Hix, you told me a tale so I'd miss the start of the concert!'

Racing back to the church, now almost obscured from view by the mist, she tripped. Looking up, she found herself lying beside Aunt Zelda's grave, shaped like an upturned rowing boat. At one edge was a hole, presumably a rat tunnel. She imagined Aunt Zelda's bony, dead fingers shooting out and grabbing her pigtail.

Lingering over a semibreve, Gabriel beheld the rapt listeners only to realise that the friendly face he most longed to see was missing. Moreover, unlike the tranquil countenances of the congregation, Martha was nervously staring around at the audience.

With no time to ponder the reason for Eppie's absence, his gaze fell back upon the notation. In his mind, concentrating on a bar of high octaves, he imagined villagers waving jovially to him as they cleared snow-heaped paths with besoms. Softening from presto to diminuendo, he was startled from his quiescent state by an almighty crash.

Bustling amongst the flock, the parson had been handing out threadbare cushions to those unfortunate not to have found a bench upon which to repose. *Oh, my! Genevieve's body has gone!'

Shooting from their benches, neighbours swarmed around, jostling one another for a glimpse into the tomb.

Henry fetched out the stone head of a kitten, its ears smashed.

Gabriel hoisted Flip out of the tomb.

*I weren't doing nowt wrong, sir, honest,' the boy whimpered. *I couldn't see you playing yer whistle, so our Pip give me a shove up. When I stood on top o' the tomb the stone cracked. It looked already broked.'

*It is my opinion that the child's body has been snatched,' Jonas said huskily. *It's going on all over London and spreading to country villages of late. Resurrectionists are paid twenty guineas for a body, though shorts like Genevieve wouldn't fetch much.'

Du Quesne pushed through the wailing listeners. *How dare you speak in such a coarse manner about my deceased daughter? If you say another word I will declare you to be the culprit for it is obvious to me that you have a suspiciously prodigious knowledge of the subject.'

*Father, it cannot be true what Jonas says? Genevieve has lain here over seven years. No surgeon would have any use for her body after such a long time.'

*What do you take me for, boy? Only a fool like Jonas Lathy would utter such a preposterous notion.'

*I didn't mean ...'

*I don't care what you meant,' his father answered cuttingly.

A gleam sprang into Sapphira's eyes. *Three days after Jesus was crucified he rose to life. Do you think, Robert, an angel has taken her?'

Plunging his hand into the tomb, he drew out something and emitted a bitter snarl. *I have my doubts as to whether even an angel would have resurrected Jesus using a Great Enoch sledgehammer.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

A PLACE TO BELONG.

The cart thundered along at a reckless pace, Jenny's hooves beating like hammers along the lane. With every jolt, Eppie's head bashed upon timbers. Drizzle quickly turned to driving rain. Wet seeped into the stuffy sack in which her head and upper body were tied. Her hands free outside the sack, she traced the firm, sharp edge of an object beside her: a shovel.

Only when the horse tired did she realise the heinous creature which had grabbed her when she fell next to Aunt Zelda's grave was not some abhorrent toad.

*Get a move on, ya clapped out lump o' lard!'

The possessor of that voice was unmistakeable. A surge of relief swept over her. *Wakelin, don't yell at Jenny like that! You know she's got hock-knees.'

Above the painful pounding in her ears came the sound of Twiss barking and the jangle of the chain with which Wakelin had left him tethered. *Twiss, wake pa!' she cried hysterically. In response, she received a blow from Wakelin as a warning for silence. Ominously, the dog's ecstatic welcoming call changed to a pitiful howl like that of a wolf. The sound sent a shudder of foreboding down Eppie's spine.

Finally, the cart bounced over rough ground for some distance, and came to a halt.