Well aware of the negative attitude of some of the children towards Eppie, Wakelin was doing everything in his power to protect her. That he had played a role in bringing about her mental torment he would never forget. In a positive light, however, the catastrophe had brought them close. Though Eppie could not surmise the reason for his sporadic dark moods, each acutely sensed the other's suffering.

Together, they left the vestry, the oatmeal loaf wrapped in a cloth that Eppie had brought from home.

*What's the betting the parson gets loaves made from the best white flour?' Wakelin said. *It's only the likes of us what gets this horse fodder.' Cantering on the spot he neighed until he was rewarded by Eppie's embarrassed grin.

In the middle of the cornfield stood a crab apple tree which provided shade for the reapers whilst partaking of their meal. Beneath it, Eppie helped Edmund upturn sheep cages and fill them with new-mown hay to form makeshift cradles where Sally and other field-faring women could lay their babies in the cool green shade. Today, it was Pip's turn to watch over the infants.

On horseback, du Quesne glared at the tracks sunk by the passage of wheels as wains traversed the fields. Between the two outside ruts was a third, beaten in by hooves. It was the children's task to fill the ruts with loose stone. *I'm not happy with this track,' he told Maygott. *Picking up stones hither and thither, the children aren't repairing it quickly enough.' The hurdle-maker turned into the field in his wagon. *Haggard!' du Quesne shouted. *Take some of these children with you to the stack-yard so that they can fetch stones from the ditchers' heap.'

Soon the wagon crossed the plank bridge that spanned a dyke. Men stood ankle-deep in the trench, their trousers filthy from dipping into the black, oozing mud.

*We've had a fortnight of fine weather, McCloskey,' du Quesne shouted to Dan, the ditching gang leader, who was dredging with a scoop. *It's bound to breed a thunderstorm. Make sure your men put their backs into it today.'

Flat tracts of land skirting the northern hills, where du Quesne intended to grow more corn, were often waterlogged. He could see that simply digging ditches to drain the land was inefficient. A more effective, long-term means of reclaiming the marshy land was needed. Having spotted the model of a pumping mill at the ice market he had had one constructed on his land last spring, though the wind being sporadic in its original setting, he planned to have it moved to an alternative site tomorrow.

Before leaving the field the previous evening, Eppie had helped Wakelin soak straw in the ditch to soften it. Hot and thirsty from lugging stones and tossing them into Haggard's wagon, she dawdled to watch Wakelin spread the straw over the top of a stack. He smoothed it with a comb and secured it with a spar. With the threat of encroaching rain there was no time to add the decorative finials.

Already numerous stacks had been neatly finished and raised off the ground on staddle stones to prevent vermin from raiding the corn.

Another cartload of corn drew into the yard. The men deliberated what was to be done. Short of staddle-stones, there seemed no choice other than to build the next stacks on the ground, though they needed lifting to stop damp setting in. The children were ordered to fetch straw, lay it in circles and arrange a ring of stones on top. Labourers threw down timber battens, thus providing an extra tier.

Wakelin shouted down to Eppie, *When we came to thresh the sheaves last autumn, nigh on a thousand mice shot out of one of them ground ricks.'

Eppie pictured the amazing sight.

The work completed, Haggard set off back to the cornfield, children sitting on the open tailboard of the wagon, swinging their legs.

Depressed at the thought of the work ahead, Eppie wandered back alone, kicking dust.

Hours of toil followed.

Sukey stamped another bunch of twigs into a furrow. *I'm sick to death o' this.' Seeing no interfering estate manager around to hassle them, she and her friends slunk aimlessly away.

Eppie set about searching out the few remaining blackberries. Many were maggoty and so squashy that she ended up with a sticky palm. Persevering, she found enough fruit to fill the bottom of her basket. Contented, knowing that Martha would be pleased with her effort, she settled behind a hawthorn hedge.

Though weary from her labours, she never slept well and constantly suffered nagging pains in her back and neck from bending. Gathering up the hem of her smock, she stared at her scratched legs, at bruises in varying stages; brown turning to yellow, and purple to green.

Du Quesne and Maygott rode up. She remained perfectly still, fearful of detection, observing the men through ragged holes in the hedge.

*We'll count ourselves fortunate if we get this lot in before the storm, Robert. It's far more than we need on the farm and should fetch a good price on the home market, though the competition will be against us. No doubt Bulwar's done well.'

*Obadiah's already got his crop in. I've invited him and his wife to dine with us tonight. In spite of this miserable war, I've managed to procure some pomegranates; they will make a delectable dessert.'

*I heartily look forward to that; it is long since I have tasted such delicacies.'

*We'll dine in the west wing, out of earshot of the reapers' ridiculous revelry. I suggest we make this the last Harvest Home. Abolish it and give the reapers a small sum of money instead. I would welcome the peace.'

*No doubt the labourers will grumble at the change, preferring the bacon and beer, and the unrestrained license.'

*Let them grumble. As things have gone so well this year, we might consider converting those tracts of rough grazing, south of Ferret's Farm, into cornfields. There are innumerable problems to be thought through at the outset. If it were to be converted, the cornfields would be remote, far from the manor. Terrain is another difficulty. It would not be practical to bring the straw inwards to the existing stock-yard, and send back cart loads of manure.'

*If there was a muck-yard with a barn over there that would solve the problem,' Maygott suggested. *In-wintered cattle would tread the straw into manure, ready to fertilize the land. That way, there'd be no undue carriage problems. There's a cottage in the vicinity.'

Eppie knew the place. It was no more than a ramshackle hut. Most of the thatch was off, the saturated walls thick with grey, furry mould.

*The difficulty is finding a muck-man to take on the job,' du Quesne said. *Few are willing; it's a lonely, dirty task. I will give the matter some consideration.' He glanced skyward. *The clouds are thickening. Have some stack-men sent back to reap. I don't want to lose a single ear. If necessary we'll store some sheaves in the threshing barn. Isn't that Hix's lad? What's he up to?'

Eppie peered over the hedge. Wilbert was dashing madly about with a faggot tucked under his arm, imitating the gamekeeper who was shooting scuttling rabbits as their cover of corn progressively vanished.

*You boy!' du Quesne shouted. *Resume your work this instant.'

Snatching at the reins, he was about to return to his study to secrete himself away from the intense heat, when he spotted a tired-eyed, ogling face. *Strawhead, I do not pay your mother good money for you to go skulking behind hedges.' He indicated to a pile of stubble tied with straw rope. *Gather those and carry them to the ditchers.'

The idea crossed her mind that she would rather gather the scarlet pimpernel that sprawled, mat-like around her feet.

*Look lively, you idiot child!' he barked. Riding away, he ordered Maygott, *See to it that some of the other children do the same. Get the older boys to help their fathers.'

Faces grim, children massed around Eppie. Quiet and withdrawn, she was an easy target for their frustration, a scapegoat.

Sukey prodded her with a bundle of stubble. *This is your fault, Dunham. Hey, someone else is looking for trouble.'

*Lottie, go back!' Eppie cried, afraid that the child might also become a victim of Sukey's bullying.

Maygott was chiding reapers for their leisurely work. Hearing Eppie's shout, he glared around and saw the children dawdling. *Get a move on, you lot, or I'll deny you a respite.'

Crossing the field, Eppie slowed to Lottie's snail pace. She delayed further at the ditches when the child stopped to fill a wooden beaker with muddied water.

Sure her tactic had worked, that the others would have already reached the cornfield, she was sorely disappointed when, sauntering back, they came upon the gang, concealed behind a blackthorn hedge, waiting in ambush.

Taking Lottie's bedabbled hand in hers, Eppie encouraged her to a quicker pace.

Sukey skipped on their heels. *That fooled ya. Figured we'd went, hey? Reckon when yer brother burnt yer head last Christmas he fancied roast pig's ear friz supper?' She dropped an earwig on Eppie's bonnet. *That battle-twig's gonna make a nest in yer deaf head.'

Eppie tramped on, eager to widen the distance between her and the gang.

Boys dashed in front, thwacking stubble with sticks.

A stone smacked into Lottie's back. She squealed in pain.

Eppie came to an abrupt halt and protectively pressed Lottie's sun-bonneted head against her stomach. The child wrapped her arms around Eppie, sobbing.

*Leave us be!' Eppie cried.

*Where's the fun in that, hey?' Sukey retorted, delighted that Eppie was responding to her taunting. Scrabbling in the dirt, encouraging others, she grabbed a handful of stones. Though some children hung back, Sukey's gang was like a pack of wolves going after its prey, whooping victorious as stones hit their mark.

*Oy!' Wakelin was returning with a gang of stackers. He crashed through the bullies. *Leave off, Hix, else I'll slice yer guts with me sickle.'

*Ooo, I'm that scared, big boy,' Sukey cried brazenly. *You ain't even got one.'

Tom strode towards Sukey, his sickle glinting in the sunlight. *Want me to do it for ya, Wake?' Watching Sukey shoot off, pursued by her gang, his laughter rang through the stifling air.

Eppie and Lottie returned in the wagon with the men. Eppie felt immensely grateful to Tom for scaring their aggressors. *I'm sorry about what happened,' she said, somewhat shyly. *About the badgers, I mean.'

*'s all right.' He grinned hugely. *It was the tar what caused me the most trouble. I couldn't get the wretched stuff outta me beard.'

He cocked his head, delighted to see the rare ghost of a smile creep across her lips. *I used to see you and that lad about with the badger. What happened to it, dead?'

*She ran off.'

He tied twine below the knees of his trousers in preparation for harvesting. *Wild, see. You can't train badgers like dogs.'

Not far away, Bill, labouring alongside Percy and Edmund, was instructing Wilbert on how to handle a reaping hook, using a deliberate chopping action.

Some children were playing hood-man-blind. Blindfolded, Sukey span around, attempting to tig the others.

Jumping from the wagon, Eppie led Lottie over to Pip. Anxious about being sent on a mission working alongside Sukey, she raced over to where Martha and some other women toiled. *May I do some, Mam?'

*I'm glad to see you making yourself useful for a change,' Maygott shouted, seeing Eppie raking corn and pitch-forking it onto a horse-drawn cart, ready to be carried away. Rising in the saddle, he bawled up the field, *Sukey Hix, stop messing about. Follow Eppie Dunham's good example.'

Eppie kept her eyes lowered, guessing Maygott's demand would have riled Sukey.

Not long after, the cheapjack's cart drew up at the field entrance. Du Quesne and Maygott safely out of sight, the women's backs straightened in an instant. Eagerly trailed by their children, they scurried away.

Martha threw down her fork and peeled off the leather gloves that protected her hands. *Let's take a breather. Besides, we're short of this an' that.'

Harvey was elated to see the mass of exhausted women rambling towards him. Within seconds, revelling in his chirpy banter, the spirits of the women lifted. So absorbed was Eppie in rummaging through the tailgate of the brimming cart and so loud was the chatter and laughter around her that she failed to hear a wagon rattling towards them.

*Poor Betsy,' Martha said. *If only there'd been something we could've done to stop it.'

Instantly, several heads turned.

Never one to mince his words, du Quesne had declared Betsy and other elderly people in the village, unsupported by family, to be beggars, and ordered that they be hauled off to the poorhouse where, he declared, *You may rot, for all I care.'

Betsy's words to Eppie the previous evening flooded back to her. *I won't be seeing you again, m'dear. I'll miss our card games.'

Though the cart had travelled on some distance, Eppie tore after it, crying her friend's name. To her consternation she saw not the face of the Betsy she knew and loved, the jovial lady who always made light of life's difficulties. Rather, it was a face of impassive resignation. Drawing her shawl close around her face, Betsy turned away.

Riding back, du Quesne was so angry that he seemed to foam at the mouth like his horse. *What the deuce do you women think you're doing?'

Harvey was off in a trice.

*Strawhead, how dare you sneak away the moment Mr Maygott is not here to supervise you?'

Beholding the dreadful transformation in Betsy, Eppie felt weak with the onset of nausea. Ranger became several spinning horses, his grey spots whirling before her eyes. Involuntarily, she reeled towards the beast, her stomach hard and pained.

Seeing vomit splatter upon the hem of her smock, a look of disgust fell upon his lordship's face and he rode away, rapidly.

Taking Eppie by the hand, Martha led her back to the field and uncorked an earthenware jug. *Try and drink some of this. It'll take the nasty taste away.'

Eppie gratefully sipped the lukewarm small-beer, though it did nothing to relieve the stabbing pain in her aching temples.

Martha stroked Eppie's dry, bronze-hued cheeks. *It upset you, didn't it, seeing Betsy? What a dreadful thing it is to be poor. Look out, more trouble.'

*You there, Mrs Dunham, on your feet or I'll cut your pay,' Maygott yelled.

A look of frustration flashed dangerously into Martha's eyes.

The peal of church bells clanged through the fierce air.

*Lowsing time!' Tom hollered. *Come an' grab yer belly-timber.'

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR.

FIELD OF BOULDERS.

As part payment for the workers' labours, du Quesne daily supplied crates overflowing with lettuces, onions and radishes. These salads made an agreeable addition to the bread and bacon that were the reapers' staple mid-day meal. The crop cost his lordship next to nothing and indicated an element of goodwill between him and the reapers. Even beer formed part of the deal, each man being apportioned seventeen pints of liquor daily.

Women chatted and sopped bread into tin cans of weak tea, taken with a little brown sugar. An itinerant worker was bemoaning to some of the villagers about how his son had run off to join the naval battle against the French. One reaper fetched out his tin whistle and played a merry tune.

*Why can't Maygott leave folk be?' Martha remonstrated, swatting insects that gyrated around her head.

Wakelin bit into a raw onion. *Ignore the maggot. He's nubbut a crumbling mass o' flesh.'

Lottie joined Sissy and other children who were bashing apples out of the tree for use in jelly-making, though, by this method, most would be so bruised as to be useless.

Stretched on the grass, Tom laughed as single women wove flowers into his black spade-beard.

Lottie poked Wakelin in the stomach with her stick. *Froggy-back, Wakey.'

*Nay, I'm done in.' Eyeing her miserable face, he changed his mind.

He was on all fours, Lottie giggling and slapping him on the shoulder, when a cart drew into the field. Kizzie had arrived with a cheese from the dairy and a milking-pail brimming with cider.

Edmund swirled her to the ground. *You gonna give me a kiss when we Drown the Harvest?'

Eppie imagined the fun and frolic of the Drowning. When reaping was at an end, a man would plait a tuft of corn. Fast as he could ride, he would make off to the brewhouse, where the stillroom maid waited at the threshold with a bucket of water. If the man could hotfoot it past her, without getting a drenching, and reach the kitchen table with the tuft dry, he claimed the right to kiss her.

Wakelin grabbed the quart pint mug tied to the handle of the pail and drank heartily. *Stop romping about Ed. Come and have some o' this. It'll put back yer sweat.'

Maygott rode up. *Back to your work!'

Wakelin pushed through the knot of disgruntled workers who rose, reluctantly. *We ain't half way through.'