The next moment, Eppie was hoisted into the air and slapped onto her captor's shoulder. *Wakelin put me down! What do you think you're doing?'

Her ribs hurt from rhythmical strikes against his collarbone. She yearned to be set down, yet feared this very act, knowing he was in one of his irate moods.

Dropped to her feet, she felt him tug at the rope. The sack whisked off, a rush of bitter air swirled around her body.

She immediately recognised where he had brought her. Trees with twisted roots grew scantily upon the opposite embankment where the confluence of Miller's Stream tumbled over the crag to join the swift current of its tempestuous sister.

After the clamour and bustle inside the church, Gabriel felt keenly the stunned silence of the adult members of the community driven away by his father.

Sensing the boy's heavy-heartedness, Jacob left a huddle of families, drawing his jacket collar up against the rain. *What d'ya reckon's happened to your sister if it weren't bodysnatchers?'

*I haven't the faintest idea, Jacob. Ebernezer maintains that the sledgehammer was stolen from his smithy this morning.'

*O, Jacob!' Sarah shrilled from the lane.

*Got to go; the old woman's calling. The missus and I enjoyed your playing, short though it were.'

Gabriel was about to make his way to the stables behind the parson's cottage when he glimpsed Martha weaving her way through the bleakness of the graves.

Swiftly, Martha sought to piece together what had become of Eppie. Reaching the resting place of her beloved children, the truth dawned. Apart from the empty ale bottle it was the small details she discerned. Boots had trodden recently shovelled soil. Blades of grass were crushed by the relaying of the coffin-shaped marker.

She recalled her words to Wakelin as he sat ensnared in the stocks. *How can I rest easy knowing that Eppie is lying in Genevieve's tomb?'

A wave of love for him flooded her body realising his meritorious act in risking his neck for her, placing her daughter's body where it should be, sleeping amongst her kin. Despite this, she was consumed by misery at the sin he had perpetrated in raiding the tomb.

*Mrs Dunham?' Eppie had told Gabriel that Martha had worries at home so, seeing her hastily conceal the bottle behind her back, he assumed she had come for a furtive tipple. *Pardon me, I did not mean to disturb you.' He made to turn, but the wretchedness in her eyes arrested him. *Did Eppie come out here?'

She gazed upon her children's grave, in her voice a haunting tone. *When I saw Genevieve's tomb broken I dreaded, no, I longed for Eppie to come here. It's where she belongs.'

*So she's around?'

She tore herself away from her cogitations. The glazed look in her eyes faded. *No. I thought she'd gone to use the church privy. When she didn't come back I went to see if she was waiting for me in the cart. It's gone.' She made to step past him. *Please, I must go.'

He pursued her. *Mrs Dunham, is something amiss?'

*Nowt.'

*I overheard Wilbert shouting to Eppie. He said Wakelin had something to show her.' He leapt before her. *Have they gone somewhere? I wouldn't ask, only it seems odd when she was so set on attending the concert.'

*I have a tongue to boil.'

*Of course, forgive my impertinence. Your affairs are none of my business.'

Struck by the aristocratic appearance of the boy, her eyes drifted over his black boots and cream trousers, his crimson jacket with its silver buttons and high collar. The richness of his apparel symbolised the lifestyle to which Eppie should be assigned, her birth-right. She was acutely mindful of the details in his features that mirrored Eppie's: the delicate nose, the brooding gaze of the eyes.

In spite of her reservation of revealing to Genevieve's brother what she feared had occurred, driven by despair, she spoke from the heart. *I believe, Gabriel, that Wakelin's mind has been disturbed by your father's harsh treatment of him. This morning, after Wakelin was let out of the stocks, he raged at Eppie, saying how much he hated her.' More quietly, she added, *Something worse happened, something worse than all the fury he could spout.'

*What?'

*Quietude stilled him. A look came in his eyes, as though he were resolved to some dreadful deed.' Her composure crumbled. *He has taken her, I am sure of it. I believe ...' She wrenched her eyes away from his steady gaze, and stared at rain gushing from a gaping-mouthed gargoyle.

*Go on.'

She turned to face Gabriel. *Wakelin is vulnerable. That makes his behaviour changeable. I would say even ... dangerous.'

He was dazed by her words. *You are surely not implying that Wakelin intends to harm her?'

She did not answer.

*Why?' he pursued. *Please tell me, Mrs Dunham.'

She chose her words carefully. *My son is convinced that Eppie does not love him ... as a true sister ought.'

*I can hardly believe that. Eppie often talks about Wakelin with tenderness in her voice, although she says she can't always make sense of his changeable behaviour.' He contemplated Martha's earlier words. *If what you say is true, we must find her, and fast. I'll call some of the labourers together. We'll spread out and search.'

She grasped his hand as he made to hasten away. *No, Gabriel! No one else must know.'

Staring into Wakelin's emotionless eyes, a deadly chill caused Eppie to shiver. Her reaction, though, was one of irritation. *When mam finds out what you've done you'll be in big trouble.'

Gazing over the brink of the cliff into the gorge, his voice was icy, accepting. *I don't think so. Ma knows we can't go on. She'll understand why I had to put an end to it.'

Drenched, Eppie's teeth chattered as she spoke, though more from fear than cold. *Put an end to what? Why are you acting so peculiar? Are you pilking-drunk?' Though she thought it unlikely, she added, *Wilbert said you'd got summat to show me. Is that why you brought me here?' She summoned a false sense of interest, hoping she could distract him long enough for her to escape. *Give us an eyeful.'

He shook away his stupor. *Oh, yur. Stay here. I've found summat yu'll like.' He strode off. *Knowing I was gonna bring ya here, I fetched *im along earlier.'

Unable to believe her luck, she did not linger. *He really is such a guddy-ho at times,' she thought. The footing treacherous, wet with rain, she slipped almost immediately.

In a trice he was upon her. *No running off, ya clodhopper.'

Prodding her in the back, he forced her to walk in front of him.

In a clearing, she recognised Martha's earthenware jar, stamped with the words Captain Green's Mulligatawny Paste.

He levered off the wooden top. Pieces of straw popped up. A zigzag along its slippery ribbon body, the snake slithered to the ground, hissing. Eppie could not take her eyes off the forked tongue darting in the adder's swaying head.

*I found him sleeping in pa's manure. He could kill ya with one bite. It'd be a long, sore death.' Thrusting a y-shaped twig over the snake's neck, he whisked it towards her face. Seeing her tingle with trepidation, he sniggered cruelly. With a sweep of his arm, he hurled the creature into the torrent. Grimly, he stepped towards her. *Now it's your turn.'

An overwhelming feeling of rejection swept through her. She spoke in a quiet, choked voice. *Ya loved me once.'

Taken aback by her words, he stared deep into her eyes. *I still do. Yet, I've never dared love ya too much. I always knew yu'd come to hate me, in the end. Yuv gorra understand that's why this is so hard.'

*You ain't making no sense, Wakelin. How can I understand what I'm meant to understand if I can't understand what I'm meant to understand? You've got me all of a quirl.'

*It's you what scares me.'

To her surprise he slumped to his knees. Shoulders heaving, he sobbed.

She stared round at the autumnal canopy of trees ruffled by the buffeting rain. This was her second chance to flee, and this time, she thought, *I will not make a boffler of things.'

Yet, an overwhelming wave of pity rooted her to the ground. Wakelin was so much a part of her life. How could she leave him here without at least trying to understand him? Always, she longed to be close to him, craved this more than anything. Only rarely did he desire her friendship. Even then, he would clam up, or shout at her and slink off, leaving her wondering at his volatile nature.

Though there had been bad times, there had been good. It was the better times she recalled. Like when Wakelin, so clever with his hands, had crafted toy boats from wood. One spring morning, leaning over the packhorse bridge, they dropped them into the swift current to see which would be the first to reach the opposite side.

She pictured a day last summer when she and Wakelin had spotted something slithering beneath the lettuce leaves on Gillow's platter. The same emotion bubbled inside now, remembering how hard it had been holding back the laughter, both of them dying to know if he would eat it. Absorbed in conversation with Martha, Gillow pronged, heartily chewed and swallowed the slug, mistaking it for a slither of sliced boiled egg. The mere sight of him glaring at them, poker-faced, unaware of the reason for their hilarity, caused them to rupture into convulsed laughter, tears tearing down their cheeks.

She turned her smiling face towards Wakelin. He had stopped crying and was glowering, a look of vengeance in his bleary, unblinking eyes.

Her blood froze.

Jaw hanging open, he rose to his feet, breathing in sharp, laboured gasps.

Petrified, she took a faltering step backwards, realising her chance for freedom was lost.

Leaving lagging wagons behind, unaware of the baffled looks of their occupants, Gabriel galloped on Wayward. In the whirlwind of his dash, rain lashed his eyes and showered from his hair. Far off, he caught the sound of Twiss's distressed howls.

Dismounting, he hammered on the cottage door. *Eppie!'

He did not await a reply, but burst in.

Finding the loft deserted, he vaulted to the ground.

Gillow was dead to the world, lying with his arms flung over his head, his snoring sounding like the creaking of an unoiled door.

Twiss jerked on the chain as the boy approached. Trusting to his split-second judgement that the dog would not attack, he released him. *Go Twiss, go find Eppie!'

Eppie's eyes fixed on the hilt of the jack-knife projecting from the leather sheath inside Wakelin's ploughman's boots.

He took a swig from his pocket pistol. *I can't do this in cold blood.' He thrust it at her. *'ere, you tek a nip.'

*What is it?' she asked, startled by the request. *I mightn't like the taste.'

He stood with his legs straddled, tense. *It don't marra if you like the taste or not, ya dunderhead. Drink!'

*Won't, *less ya tell me what it is.'

*It'll mek ya sog.'

*I don't wanna go to sleep! I want mammy.'

*Yur, I bet ya do, ownee ya don't know what yer asking for.'

*Why do you always talk in riddles?'

*Just drink! You don't like it when I get angry with ya, ya obstinate little girl.'

*Don't call me a little girl. Call me by me proper name.'

*Yur, you'd like that, wouldn't ya,' he asked scornfully.

*Of course I would. The way you rattle on, you make it sound like I'm a nowter.'

In his wild fury, terrified of what he must do, he shook her violently by the shoulders, slopping some of the liquid over her clothing. *Drink! Drink! Drink!'

*No!'

*You half-wit girl, can't ya see that you are a nowter! You'd have been a nowter if you'd have been one of them nowters. Not being a nowter, you're still a nowter. Understand?'

She opened her mouth to argue back, but instantly found his hands gripping her chin in an attempt to pour the laudanum-gin down her throat. The taste was foul. Bitter.

Giving up all hope of salvation, she sank upon a rock and spat out the sickly taste. She gave a thin, frightened moan. *What've I done wrong? I don't want you to be cruel and hate me.'

As though a thunderstorm brewed inside him, he reached down and swept her off her feet.

*No!' she screamed, her stomach seemingly left behind as he whirled her around.

Teeth gritted, he leapt to the precipice, ready to hurl her in.

Dizzy, helpless, she clung tightly onto the back of his jacket.

Mighty, the roar of the brimming river mingled with the throbbing terror in her heart.

Consumed by abhorrence at his power over life and death he recoiled and dropped her to her feet. *I can't! I won't do it! If I did, I'd be no better than that scum, Thurstan.'

Desperately sobbing, she encircled her arms about his waist, petrified lest he have a change of heart.

Vaguely, she was aware of barking.

His frozen feelings of love thawed and he thrust his fingers through her tangled hair. *I'm sorry, Eppie. I should never have brung ya here. It seemed the easiest way at the time. I see now, no matter how much I long to be free, I'm trapped. Not by them but by you, *cos of me love for you. It digs down, real deep.'

*Let's go home? I promise not to tell mam what you've done.'

*Aye. We'll go home, together.'

Fixed on getting them away from this raw, windswept ravine, he took her hand in his. A blue tinge swept his cheeks.

A spasm of pain twisting inside his body, he doubled over, crying out in agony.

*What is it?' Eppie asked, guessing, though, that he was about to have one of his fits.

Falling awkwardly, he tumbled against her.

Caught off-balance, she stumbled towards the cliff edge.

Squealing, frantic, she swept with her arms, seeking anything to clutch at, anything to stop her plummeting into the gorge. Found nothing. Nothing! Only air.

Gabriel reached out and grasped her by the hand.