Maygott ignored the flash of anger in Wakelin's eyes. *There's no time to waste. You men finish with the scythe. We'll lose some grain this way, but it'll be faster mowing.'

Like an irate army general, du Quesne patrolled on horseback. Growing increasingly impatient, he could be heard complaining almost incessantly.

Late for work, itinerant reapers, who had ridden to The Fat Duck for something colder and stronger to drink, strolled up the field, adding to his wrath.

Heaviness filled the air. Thunder grew close, threatening.

Eppie was half-choked with the corn dust that drifted in the furnace hot air. She lugged yet another sheaf to Wakelin. He was building sheaves into hooded stooks to protect the corn ears from rain.

Tumbling into stubble, Flip screamed as Wilbert, play-acting the killing of the last sheaf cutter, made to stab him through the heart with a branch.

The last sheaf is the corn spirit. He who cuts it kills her. In times past, the last sheaf-cutter was killed on the field to restore life to the spirit.

*That's what it was like for me, the summer before you was born,' Wakelin told Eppie. *Ownee rougher. I'd been gathering stones. Towards the end o' reaping these lads an' me stood in a half-circle, chucking sticks at the corn.'

Using his knees, protected with scraps of sheep's skin, he pressed the corn into position. *We pretended we were the men, who use sickles to cut the last corn.' He rubbed his neck, which was burnt nut-brown by the fiercely glaring sun. *Even though it were only a game to us lads, Thurstan yelled that he'd seen my stick slice the last sheaf. He and his friends beat me up summat rotten.'

Tom took the rubstone strickle from his hugger, the leather pouch at his belt, and sharpened the shaft of his scythe. Seeing his friend idle, he shouted in jest, *Wake, come and do some work for a change.' Despondent, in need of male company, Wakelin made towards him and Edmund.

Eppie's lonely figure was quickly singled out by Maygott, who set her to beating lumps of earth, ready for the seeding of next year's crop.

All around, tempers frayed with the heat and rapid pace of work.

A roll of thunder grumbled, as yet unaccompanied by rain. Tips of trees swayed.

Weary almost beyond endurance, Eppie sighed; thankful that cooling rain and blissful rest were not far off. To her dismay, she spied du Quesne, who had wound himself into an irritable, hot-tempered mood, riding fast towards her.

*Never before, Strawhead, have I known anyone as dilatory as you.'

Intent on punishing her, he set her to collecting stones from amongst the stubble, to be carted away to mend drinking places for cattle.

Massaging her aching back, Martha looked up to see Eppie trudging before du Quesne, her besmirched smock sagging around her filthy knees with the weight of the load. She saw not the peasant and the lord, but the daughter and the father.

Fortunately for Eppie, a distraction in the cornfield averted du Quesne's attention.

Taking yet another trip to the brewery wagon, Bill Hix had used a short-cut through uncut corn when a mouse scampered up the leg of his trousers. *Na! Na!' he yelled in surprise and revulsion. Scampering around like a dizzy dragonfly, he attempted to unbuckle his belt. *Geroff me!'

Glad of a diversion from their labours, harvesters stood around laughing about Bill's misfortune.

Seeing the mouse scuttle across the corn stubble, Sukey grabbed her father's scythe. Bashing the ground as the creature ran past, she unwittingly slashed the blade into a hornets' nest. The looped hazel twig attached to the bottom of the shaft, which laid the cut corn evenly, snapped.

*Now look what you've done!' Bill bellowed. *You've broke me bow.'

Sukey raced around, arms whirling, trying to escape the torment of the wasps. *I never touched yer stupid scythe!'

Reapers guffawed at her blatant lie.

Scowling at Eppie, Sukey cried, *Snigger at me would ya, hey?'

*I'm not,' Eppie answered, startled.

In the girl's eyes, as she hurtled towards her, Eppie saw burning hatred. She backed off and made to run. Sukey was too quick for her.

Knocked to the ground, she tried to fend Sukey off as she tugged at the ribbons under her chin. Her bonnet torn off, her burnt ear and singed locks were exposed for all to see. Some reapers chuckled at her odd appearance. Others turned away, saddened and embarrassed for her.

Fast and furious, Wakelin raced up, cursing Sukey.

Du Quesne sniffed disdainfully. *By the deuce, Dunham, I will be glad when you are muck-man. Then I will no longer have to suffer your rank comportment.'

*Muck-man?' He span around to face du Quesne. *No way. Not me.'

*It is the ideal job for you. No respectable man is prepared to take on the task.'

*I ain't respectable?'

*I am glad to see you recognise the fact,' du Quesne said derisively.

*We've cut the last sheaf!' Edmund shouted. *Let's go a-drowning!'

Wakelin joined the eager crowd of field-farers and ditchers hurrying towards the harvest-wain. Drawn by garlanded horses, it had pulled in at the field entrance.

Maddened by Wakelin's bullishness, du Quesne hitched Ranger's bridle into his left hand and, with his free hand, drew an ivory-handled pistol from his waistcoat.

Eppie recognised it as the pistol he had used to kill Gillow.

*Not another step, Dunham,' du Quesne demanded. *For your mulish attitude you shall labour on until darkness, at the ditches.'

Distressed for Wakelin, Eppie and Martha watched him traverse the field, his head lolling between his broad sloping shoulders as though he were looking for something lost in the stubble.

Although du Quesne and Maygott rode swiftly past him on their way to the manor house, they paid them no heed.

Filled with sadness for Wakelin, Eppie turned her attention to the harvest-wain. Boughs of oak and ash, festooned with flowers, projected over its sides. The wagoners had returned dressed, as tradition would have it, in women's garb. Tiredness forgotten, the villagers and itinerant workers cracked jokes. Hastily, the rake-maker's wife fashioned a corn doll, the female spirit, from the last sheaf.

Seeing Gabriel riding up to the wain, Eppie nearly fainted away with shock. Compared to his sallow complexion when he had left home, he looked the epitome of health, his skin tanned, hair lightened.

She instinctively shrank back, hoping he would not spot her, that she would be lost in the crowd. Though she had not been aware of it, forced to spend such a long time away from him, a reserve had grown in her heart. In childhood they had innocently played together. Now, being older, it seemed extraordinary that the lord's son would even consider continuing a friendship with her. Surely he must see that separation, merited by differences in their social standing, was more important to maintain than their companionship?

Leaping from his horse, Gabriel handed the reins to Paxton Winwood and, speaking to him, pointed in the direction of the manor stables.

Young men leapt onto nags, singing heartily: *We've ploughed, we've sown, we've reaped, we've mown. Harvest home, harvest home! We want water and we can't get none!'

Approaching, Gabriel grinned. So pleased was he to be with her that he chattered on excitedly. *It's so good to see you, Eppie! You, too, Mrs Dunham. It has been a most tiresome journey. At one point, the flies teased my horse so much that it threw me. I rolled under a hedge and nearly died of fright. Beside me lay a masked highwayman, booted, spurred, and shot through the head.'

Eppie thought about Dawkin. When Wakelin had gone to speak to the chimney sweep about Dawkin, a few weeks after Christmas, he had discovered that Mr Crowe had relocated to London, taking the climbing-boys with him.

*Mr Grimley invited me to break my homeward journey by spending a few days at Bridge House. I met Rowan and was quite taken by her charms. She is such a beauty and so gentle. Her parents, relatives of Mr Grimley, are deceased, so she has come to live with him. I've been away longer than I anticipated. After my stay with Doctor Morton, father sent me abroad, to be tutored by a professor. The professor treated his sons and me to a Grand Tour of Europe. Doesn't the harvest-wain look colourful! I thought I'd stop and travel home in style with the reapers.' A dark doubt took hold of him. *Eppie, why will you not look at me?'

Seeing Eppie reluctant to answer, Sukey seized her opportunity, *Her durn't, her's that ugly. Her bruver shoved her inta the fire an' fried off *er ear.'

Cross, Eppie stamped her foot at the girl. *I tripped!'

Gabriel was stupefied by the revelation. Glancing into Martha's anxious eyes, he saw in a flash the horror of that night.

The wain set off to the threshing barn where the Harvest Home would be held. Seated high upon the corn, children blew horns. Men and women sang.

Tightly gripping the dusty ribbons of her bonnet, Eppie told Gabriel. *It was an accident!'

*I know Wakelin better than that,' he answered, scouring the crowd. *Where is he?'

Sukey dashed after the wain, calling back to Gabriel, *Your pa told him he had to be mucky-man. Wakelin said no way would he do it, so he's been sent ditching friz punishment.'

The tale thus recounted, Eppie trembled to see the resolve grow in Gabriel's stony countenance. *Don't get angry with him. He was upset because Twiss was killed.'

*I am truly sorry to hear about Twiss. But what Wakelin has done to you is abominable. He can't hide behind the death of his dog.'

Eppie made to follow him as he strode towards the ditches.

Martha held her back. *No, Eppie, it's between them.'

His mind preoccupied, Wakelin failed to notice the boy draw near.

*Haven't you caused Eppie enough suffering?'

Gabriel's shrill voice sliced through Wakelin. The last thing he wanted was trouble with another du Quesne. Weary and hungry, with muscle spasms from the beer sloshing in his innards, he did not feel in the best of tempers. He made pretence of having neither seen nor heard him.

*To torture Eppie with fire, that is the most loathsome thing imaginable.'

Wakelin wetted his palms by spitting upon them. Using a butterfly blade to scoop clay, he slapped it against the side of the ditch.

*You stand there like a corpse with not the slightest show of emotion, not a flicker of remorse.'

Wakelin surged through the ditch, rather than climb to where Gabriel stood rebuking him. Mud splashed above his knees. Aware of Gabriel closing in, he bolted out and lobbed the shovel at a blackthorn hedge.

*What harm has Eppie ever done to you?'

Trudging away, Wakelin stared grimly at his clayed boots squelching slime at each weighty footfall.

*Don't you realise what a sinful thing you have done?'

Wakelin was increasingly agitated with Gabriel tagging on. Snatching the knife out of his boot, he flicked mud from its blade.

*Don't you care that you have caused your mother grief?'

Wakelin swung round. A blinding flash of white light seared the anvil clouds and rain pounded, battering the parched fields. *Leave my ma outta this. Eppie's got nowt to do with you. Shiz my sister, I'll do what I want with her.' Instantly, realising the implications of his incautious words, he regretted them. He loved Eppie too much to wish her harm. It had been his old-self talking, that dead part of him which he had come to detest. And as to calling Eppie his sister, that was how he truly felt.

*She's not your sister, and well you know it,' Gabriel said without hesitation.

Wakelin scowled. *What rot are you on about now?'

*Eppie said she spotted you beside Genevieve's tomb, just before I arrived at the church to practice for the concert. She said you seemed upset. That's what started me thinking that something odd was going on. Then, when I saw Talia and Eppie together in the garden the resemblance between them was plain to see.'

Wakelin was shaken by the memory of the ghost. *Saw *em, together? So, it's like everyone says, you are raving.'

*It was you who broke into the tomb using the sledgehammer. In it were the remains of your baby sister.'

*For all yer ranting ya can prove nowt. So, do us a favour, leave me be.'

Gabriel thrust his hand into his pocket and fetched something out. He opened his palm. *Remember this? On the night Genevieve was born, I placed it in her cradle. In my childish way I thought it would make the baby become Talia. In the morning I found it on the floor.'

At the sight of the locket, Wakelin's blood chilled. Sweat trickled coldly between his shoulder blades. His crime was so close to being discovered. *Did ya?' he said, trying to stop his voice from shaking. He turned and marched off. *Well, the baby must've knocked it out.'

*She was bound with linen,' Gabriel said, pacing after him. *At first I was confused. I didn't know what to think or do. I resolved that I would let things be. I convinced myself that, in Mrs Dunham, Genevieve has a devoted mother. I thought that was sufficient. Now I realise I was wrong. I'm taking her back with me, back to her real home. That way she will be out of harm's way.'

Wakelin turned on Gabriel. *How can ya imagine she'll be safe in the hands of your father? It's common knowledge that he treated Talia like a prisoner. Eppie loves her freedom. D'ya want to deny *er that? No, I tell ya, du Quesne's heartless. In the cornfields he laughed his boots off when he clapped eyes on Eppie's burns.'

Gabriel was taken aback by Wakelin's emotional torrent of words. *I would never deny that father can be unfeeling. I have felt the sting of his birch too often to say otherwise. But things will be different from now on. I am older. I will be there to protect her.'

*Will ya? That I doubt. You're forever running from home. Besides, he'd never accept her.'

*He has no option. She is his daughter.'

*Look,' Wakelin said, exasperated, *I know I ain't always made things easy for Eppie, but I've changed. From now on, I intend to do right by her.'

Streaming rain poured down Gabriel's face. *These are fine words, Wakelin, though, frankly, I do not trust you.'

*Never will you have her! Never!' Wakelin screamed into Gabriel's face. *I'm warning ya, du Quesne. You're as frail as an eggshell. I could smash ya ta flittericks, so leave things be!'

*I am not afraid of you,' Gabriel cried defiantly. *Genevieve must know her true family.' Turning his back on Wakelin, he headed in the direction of Dank Cottage.

Tearing after him in fear and anger, Wakelin swept the boy round and slammed his fist full into his face. Gabriel had been so surprised by the sudden assault that he had no time to cry out.

Standing over the young man's unconscious body, lying sprawled in the stubble, the dreadful thought came to Wakelin that his strike had been so hard that it had killed him. He knelt down to check, sighing with relief. Gabriel was still breathing.

In the attack the locket had fallen from the boy's pocket. Gaping greedily at the gold, he was overcome by temptation. More than this, though, he was mesmerized by Talia's beauty. This was an opportunity to keep her memory close to him.

Terrified that someone might have witnessed the assault he stared around, warily. He could not leave Gabriel here, so close to the ditches. It would be obvious that he had attacked him. Scanning the field, unsure, he caught sight of the pumping mill.

Gabriel draped over his shoulder, hands trailing and head lolling, Wakelin mounted the ladder to the storeroom at the top of the mill, where he knew lumber and ropes were stowed. Around him the storm crashed, relentless. Vivid lightning flashed.

Laying him on the timber floor, he touched the boy's skin. It felt cold and clammy, not simply wet from the rain.

*I'm sorry, lad,' he said, filled with misgiving, *for what I did in taking Genevieve, for all the pain I've caused ya. Leastwise yu'll be dry up *ere.'

Slicing a length of rope, he tied Gabriel's hands. *I'll be back after I've had summat to eat,' he thought. *Force *im ta say footpads attacked *im. Threaten *im not ta blab about his sister, or else.'