He glanced into the cottage. An oil lamp stood upon the table. Its glow picked out Betsy's relieved-looking face. *That's kind of you, Mrs Dunham. Thank you, but no. Eppie, may I speak with you?'

Grabbing her shawl, she followed him to the garden gate. The wind had picked up and whistled in the darkness. *Won't your father be angry if he finds out you're here?'

*He's staying in Malstowe. Thurstan owns a coaching inn called The Wolf and Child in the town, and provides father with lodgings when business affairs take him there.'

*Come and see the badger cub. Dawkin and I rescued it from baiting. We've called it Wicker. Dawkin's made her a straw bed. I told Twiss not to go near her because he might scare her. He kept looking at me, pleading, with his eyebrows twitching like pa's. Now Wicker thinks Twiss is her pa and they're nestling together.'

*I would like to stop, but I have much packing to do.'

*They'll tax our teeth next!' Claire sang out as she and Betsy tarried beneath the porch.

*That's all right, I've only got a few left,' Betsy said, chuckling.

The women kissed Eppie on the cheek, wished Gabriel a goodnight, and stepped homeward.

*Are you off somewhere?' Eppie asked Gabriel.

*I am going to stay at the home of mother's old friend, Doctor Morton, in Bath.' Unbuckling Wayward's saddlebags, he drew out some brown paper packages. *These are to make up for me not seeing you recently. I've felt guilty about that. There's a pair of kid gloves for Mrs Dunham. They belonged to mother. I thought Dawkin might like this.'

Eppie tore impetuously at the wrapping. *This is the jacket you wore when we first met at Shivering Falls.'

*I've out-grown it.'

Gabriel fetched out the flute. *I thought you'd be missing the practice.'

Her eyes shone with delight. *For me! Are you sure?'

Footsteps approached. Whistling.

*Pa! Gabriel's going away. He's brought us some presents.'

*I hope you don't disapprove, sir?' Gabriel said, embarrassed. *They're nothing special.'

*Why'd I mind, Master Gabriel? It's mighty kind of you. I wish you a safe journey.' He passed indoors.

*How are you managing?' Eppie asked. *Without your mam, I mean?'

*I miss her dreadfully. Father has always considered me to be a worthless wretch. What started off as my frustration, knowing that he demands so much of me, has taken a bitter turn. I now find myself assailed by terror attacks. They are so debilitating that I have scarce set foot outside the house since mother's death. Doctor Morton is a family friend. He has asked me to stay with him and his son for a few months, to recuperate.'

Made anxious by his troubled face, she stepped close to him and put her hand upon his elbow. Gently, he rubbed his chin against the top of her head. He was trembling and she could sense the tears that he was trying hard to hold back.

In a merry mood, Gillow could be heard in the cottage, playing his accordion.

Reeking of gin, Wakelin stumbled towards them. *Oy, war ya think yer doing?' Spinning Gabriel round, he made a fist and pulled back his arm, ready to strike him. *Tek yer lily-white paws off me sister.' Tottering backwards, he fell.

Gabriel went to his aid.

*I don't need no help from no stupid du Quesne.' He slapped the boy's hand away. *I can hold me drink.' Rising, he rammed Gabriel against his horse's flank. Startled, the beast side-stepped.

*Keep the hell away from *er, you hear?' Wakelin warned. *Or else.'

*All right, all right! I hear!' Gabriel backed off. He swung into the saddle. Riding away, he cast a sorrowful glance back at Eppie.

Miserable, she listened to the tramp, tramp of Wayward's hooves until all that could be heard was Wakelin's swearing and cursing. Vomiting, he slumped over the hedge, twigs cracking under his weight.

*What's them?' Dawkin asked eagerly as Eppie hastened indoors and laid the parcels on the table. Rapidly, she hid the flute and books beneath the dresser, where Wakelin would be unlikely to find them. *They're from Gabriel.'

Wakelin lurched in, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He pulled a sour face, watching his father gleefully untying his gift of tobacco.

Eppie passed Dawkin the scarlet jacket. *This is for you; it grew too small for Gabriel.'

Palms pressed against the chimney beam, Wakelin straddled his legs before the feeble warmth of the dying flames. Glaring around, he watched his mother try on the exquisite gloves, his torpid mind awash with suspicion.

Dawkin dragged the jacket over his grey, threadbare shirt. *I reckon I'd look a clod going around in this. It's too fine for the likes of me.'

Martha stroked the lush material. *You're only just over your cough. It'd keep you snug through winter.'

Incensed by his mother's enthusiasm, Wakelin imitated her voice, raising it several pitches. *Dawkin, huggle up warm! What a dandy ya look!' In a growling voice, he added, *More like a scarecrow dressed up as a prince.'

*That'll do,' Gillow said.

*How can you lower yourself to take cast-offs, Ma?'

*How can you be so narrow-minded?' she reproached. *They are gifts.'

He glared at her with loathing eyes. *What d'ya reckon du Quesne's gonna think when he sees Dawkin prancing around in his son's clothes? He'll have him hung for theft, for starters.'

*He's got a point there,' Dawkin said. *Gabriel probably never gave it a thought.'

*You wanna know why?' Wakelin asked. *'Cos *e ain't gorra straight thought in *im. His aunt's lunacy runs in his veins.'

Eppie stamped her foot in anger. *It is evil to speak of Gabriel like that. Besides, Aunt Zelda wasn't a blood relation.'

Wakelin was consumed with the notion that Gabriel would never be familiar with the Dunham's unless Martha had prattled on to him that Wakelin had stolen Genevieve. *Giving us hand-outs is Gabriel's way of wiping his hands clean of us,' he thought. *After all, why'd Gabriel want a pest like Eppie for a sister?' But, in disclosing the truth, his mother was playing with fire and more than their fingers might get hurt. Snatching up the pewter candlestick, he lurched towards her. *Yuv gone an' blabbed, ain't ya?'

*Wakelin!' Gillow cried. *Put that down.'

Fearful for Martha's safety, Eppie grabbed a potato and lobbed it.

Unbalanced as the potato smote him on the temple, the hefty candlestick slipped from his grasp. *Fiend!' Fists clenched, he made towards her, the veins on his sweating forehead standing proud and pulsating.

She shrank back in fear.

Gillow made to stand. *That will do, I say! Back off, Wakelin.'

With a strength magnified by the adrenaline roaring around his veins, he gripped his father by the shoulders and thrust him back into the chair, punching his weight downwards. *As for you, you din't lift a finger when du Quesne tore up our yard. You preach on to Eppie and me about turning the other cheek. Ya can't fool me. You're scared to stand up to du Quesne. And now you let his lad swan around here, treating us like beggars. You ain't gorra ounce of pride in ya.' He turned his back on his father.

Gillow flew to his feet. *Master Gabriel acted out of kind-heartedness. That's something you don't know a thing about. You might as well be Robert du Quesne for all your malice and spite.'

Bending his wrath upon his father, Wakelin lashed out and sent him reeling. *You ain't as tough as you think.' He gloated at the sight of his father lying sprawled on the pitching stones. *That'll learn you for likening me to that scum. For years I've put up with you being in control. Every day you rant on about what a useless wretch I am. I've had me fill. I'll show you how tough I am.' Reaching above the chimney beam, he unlashed the maple wood fowling piece and, from a drawer in the dresser, grabbed the leather pouch containing buckshot.

*What do you think you're doing?' Martha cried. *Put that gun back, someone might get hurt.'

*You're not being tough, just foolish,' Gillow cried.

Wakelin threw the gun into firing position. Steadying it against his shoulder, he aimed the barrel at his father's head.

Eppie screamed. The blast she expected never came.

Instead, Wakelin spoke low, threatening. *You're right, Ma. Someone is gonna get hurt. Day after day the du Quesnes have made me suffer. Now it's their turn.'

Eppie saw in his eyes the cold resolve to carry out his threat. She made a grab for the gun, intent on wrestling it from him. Martha restrained her.

Wakelin ran from the cottage and disappeared into the churning shadows.

*For pity's sake, Wakelin!' his mother called after him. *You'll not rid yourself of pain this way. Hatred only hurts itself.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN.

THE ARSENIC PIT.

Leaving Martha to mop Gillow's bleeding nose, Eppie took the oil lantern and went to check on Twiss and Wicker.

Twiss sleepily opened an eye at the sound of the door creaking open. He and the cub were curled together on a heap of straw in the corner. The cub was chewing the splint on her broken leg.

*I wonder why Wakelin called ma a blabbermouth,' Dawkin said, creeping in after her.

*He's fond of calling folk names. His latest one for me is sap head.'

*He's the idiot going off like that. I think you were brave trying to snatch the gun.' Thrusting out his chin he imitated Wakelin's brusque voice. *The only reason you've been brung into this world is to wood-ash bairns' bottoms an' serve black pudding to your husband. That's if anyone's silly enough to want to marry you with your nosy ways.' He kissed her fondly on the cheek. *Though, I'd marry you if you don't mind having a grubby climbing-boy.'

She was suddenly shy of him, knowing that she loved him for his kind, dependable character, his even-temperedness, and his knack of making her laugh.

From the direction of Tunnygrave Manor the discharge of a gun rent the air. Eppie looked around, startled.

*Most likely the gamekeeper,' Dawkin said. *Or, if it is Wakelin, he probably took a shot at a pheasant roosting in a tree to get the anger out of him.'

Neither of the children was convinced.

Her face etched with worry, Martha knelt beside Eppie to kiss her a goodnight. *I'll turn in, too. I felt shattered long before Betsy and Claire dropped by.'

*Last time Wakelin came home late I was in the middle of a dream about that scary man-skull Grumps keeps stuffed up his rafters to protect his cottage. When Wakelin clattered into the fire shovel I thought it was jangling bits of the dead man coming to get me. Wakelin won't really hurt Gabriel, will he?'

*Wakelin has always been wilful. Gillow would never admit it, but now Wakelin's grown he doesn't have any authority over him. Don't fret; I'm sure his fury will blow over soon enough.' Glancing at the space where the gun ought to be, she wondered if what she said was true.

Groggy, Dawkin wondered what had roused him for his sleep. Rough and matted, the sheepskin beneath him reminded him of Twiss. Inclining his head, he listened. Yes, the dog was howling.

It was a chilly night. Shivering, he dragged on his breeches and drew his shirt over his head.

Martha had left the lantern beside the door in readiness for Wakelin's return so that he would not disturb the sleepers. Strewn upon the table were the presents, returned to their wrappings. In response to Wakelin's valid point about the risk of keeping them, Martha had insisted that the presents be returned to their wrappers until she could think what was best to be done with them - though Gillow had refused to hand over his tobacco.

Stealthily, Dawkin crept outdoors. In his over-active imagination he pictured Wakelin sneaking up behind him and clubbing him to death with the butt of the gun. By the light of the moon, a shadow swooped on the wall. He jumped out of his skin, and then sighed with relief, realising it was only the rolling pin that he held in his upraised hand.

Not wanting to disturb Eppie, he had not bothered tugging on his boots, which he now regretted. Tiptoeing across the vegetable plot, his bare toes felt painfully icy. Clouds covered the moon, throwing everything into darkness.

Twiss presented him with a welcoming lick on the nose.

*A late-night slobber, just what I need!'

Because Wicker was unable to shift around, her limbs had become numb. That must have been why Twiss was howling, to alert him to her distress.

Settling on the straw, Dawkin gently took the cub onto his lap. Dipping a finger into a bowl of goat's milk, he let her suckle. Occasionally, he tempted her with the worms and woodlice that he fetched out of a tin.

Around the boy's body crept the dampness of the autumn night. Although he was determined to shut out thoughts of Wakelin, his mind filled with visions of him skulking around. As though reading the boy's mind, Twiss sat up and whined.

*What's up, guv'nor?' He blew out the lantern and returned the cub to the straw. A furtive tread was heard coming along the grit path from the direction of Shivering Falls. It was unmistakeably that of a man, a man who breathed deep, sharp, as though labouring under a heavy weight.

*Quiet!' Dawkin whispered. *Good dog!'

Eppie's training, rewarding Twiss with crimps of pastry off Martha's pies, paid off. The dog sank his head to his outstretched paws, eyes glinting in the shrouding gloom.

Taking care not to disturb the animals stabled in the shed - the cart being left outside - Dawkin mounted the steps to the loft. Thrusting aside strings of onions and marrows suspended in nets, he peered out the stone slit that let in air. He saw nothing, heard only the patter of rain. Wait! Someone was sneaking to the rear of the cottage, a curved bulk, exactly like a human body, carried in a sack upon his back. The man was Wakelin, for sure. Dawkin recognised his slouching gait.

*He's done it,' he thought. *He's actually killed Gabriel!' He was afraid to draw breath, fearful that Wakelin might catch the sound and cast a suspicious glance towards the shed. Fingering the ghost of a button long since torn from his shirt, he watched in stunned silence.

Having dragged up the old door that covered the arsenic pit, Wakelin strode to the stream. He soon returned, stooped over, carrying a heavy stone. Stowing it in the sack alongside the body, he thrust it into the pit. With a sickening glug, the grim contents sank.

Dawkin slumped against the cold stone, stunned.

He waited. All was quiet. Anxiety struck. *He'll have gone to the loft and discovered that I'm not in my sack. He'll be there, waiting to get me.'

It was with a sense of relief that he heard the sound of paper rustling and spotted Wakelin skulking back to the arsenic pit. *Now what's he up to?' he wondered. *What does it matter?'

Hearing him return to the stream, most likely for another stone, Dawkin took his chance. He clambered cautiously down and patted Twiss on the head. *Not a woof!'

It seemed to take forever trying to scurry quietly back through the garden.

Curled like a dormouse beneath the twisted blankets, Eppie was still fast asleep in the truckle bed beside the hearth, her tussled and looped flaxen tresses sweeping the pillow.

Having crept back up to the loft, Dawkin dived beneath the coverlet.

Almost immediately, cautious steps followed.