*Leave?' Martha cried.

*You can't shove us out!' Eppie cried.

*By the deuce I can. What is more, I am.'

*But where shall we go?' Martha asked. *This is our home.'

*You may go to the far ends of the world for all I care. I have been lenient this far. However, I warn you, if you are still here by nightfall I will personally see every member of your family go to the gallows.'

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN.

LOST IN THE DARKNESS.

Having rested throughout the afternoon, Wakelin headed off with Edmund to The Fat Duck.

Already, neighbours had called to bid their farewells.

Though they had spoken with some urgency of what must come, Eppie and Martha drifted into silence, neither daring to make the first move towards packing.

Sheeting rain sounded louder than the racing stream. Raindrops sputtered down the chimney like teardrops, adding to Eppie's depression. In a daze, she picked up the poker and mechanically stirred the damp embers.

All afternoon she and Martha had busied themselves with little chores: scrubbed the floor, peeled vegetables, collected windfall apples and stowed them in the loft.

It was into early evening when Wakelin returned, with Tom in tow, their jackets soaked. Having forgotten to take his hat, runnels of rain plastered Wakelin's hair.

*Are you both mad?' Wakelin cried. *You should be ready to go by now.'

*I wouldn't send a dog out in this weather,' Martha answered grimly.

*Besides, this is our home,' Eppie said defiantly. *Lord du Quesne has no right to push us out.'

*It's du Quesne's cottage!' Wakelin replied, exasperated. *We pay him rent.'

*That's only money,' Eppie said. *It's not the same as where we live. What about Twiss? If we leave, somebody new might dig him up. What if Dawkin escapes and comes looking for us? He won't know where we've gone. I won't go.'

Martha sounded breathless, as if she might faint away, entirely unlike her usual self. *Eppie's right. His lordship's anger will fade away. He'll forget what he said to us. He'll give us another chance.'

Wakelin looked anxiously at his mother's defeated, weary expression, the end of everything she had ever known bitterly reflected in her eyes. *There's no softness in du Quesne,' he said blankly. *He means what he says, Ma. We have to go.'

With a deep sigh, she spoke almost to herself. *Whatever shall we do? Where will we go? I've never travelled further than Litcombe. I'm scared.'

*I know, Ma, but I'll be there to look after you and the girls. Pa always got mad with me for being a tough-head. Now I'll need all my guts to tackle what's out there. What d'ya say, Eppie? We gonna stick together, as a family?' He drew them close, so that they rested with their arms about one another. Quietness fell upon them like a warm, soft cloak.

A sense of deadness pressed upon Eppie and Martha as they traipsed to and fro, shawls draped over their heads, stowing as much as they could beneath the oilcloth on the cart. At least the torrential rain had eased off.

The dresser looked strange, empty of tankards and platters. From its nail beside the door, Martha fetched Gillow's felt hat with its magpie feathers. Summoning all her willpower, she kept cheerful for the girls' sakes, chattering as if they were simply going out for a jaunt. *The only things I'm not sad to leave are the larder beetles.'

Lottie was curled in Gillow's armchair.

*This is foolish,' Martha said, seeing Lottie yawn. *I should be tucking you into bed.'

Samuel picked up a blanket. *She'll want something extra around her, it's a miserable night.'

Eppie reached for Dawkin's basket containing his collection of pebbles, which she kept on the shelf above the chimney beam. She pictured him paddling along the stream and recalled his ecstatic face upon discovering each stone: one the blue of speedwell petals, one that glittered gold, another imprinted with a shell creature. Carefully, she stowed it in the blanket chest, alongside clothes and other things much thought of.

Wakelin lumbered up the path with an armful of tools. *Why've you tethered that donkey to the cart?'

*I'm not leaving Dusty.'

*If we take her, we take her for meat, like the hogs.'

*I'll look after Dusty if you like,' Tom offered. *She'll be a friend for Dodgy and now she's discovered a taste for beer, I'll see she don't go short.'

Wakelin slapped up the tail of the cart. His final task was to light the cart lamp. *Everyone in.'

With the heel of her boot, Eppie kicked Gabriel's books, carefully sewn into soft leather, beneath the seat to protect them from the rain. Here, Tipsy was lodged in a basket, beside those containing chicken and geese.

*Where's Ed?' Wakelin asked, glancing around. *He was gonna see me off.'

*I had to send him on an urgent errand,' Samuel apologised. In his hands he held Gillow's accordion, which Martha had given him as a keepsake.

Taking a last lingering look at the cottage, Eppie saw it as an image frozen in time. Upon everything, the willow with her swing, the rows of potato leaves and fruit bushes, was a hypnotic quietude as though they existed in another world.

*Wait, I forgot to say goodbye!' She leapt from the cart.

*Eppie!' Wakelin yelled. *We've got no time!'

She dashed to the sacred plot of earth beside the stream. The stone urn she had set there had tumbled in the storm, the harebells battered by the rain. *I'm sorry Twiss; I won't be able to bring you flowers no more.' A sense of utter desolation swept over her and she wept, utterly abandoned in grief.

*Eppie! It's well past nightfall. We can't hang about or du Quesne will do for us.'

Samuel kissed Martha and the girls a fond farewell. *Send word when you're settled,' he murmured in a dry tone of melancholy.

Wheels rumbled. The load swayed. Crockery rattled. The horse's head rose and fell rhythmically.

*Poor Jenny, this is far too much for her to pull,' Martha fretted.

*We'll take it easy, Ma,' Wakelin reassured her. *Only a few miles a day.'

Puddles on the lane shone in the lamplight.

The goat struggled against the holding rope, the brass bell around its neck tinkling.

*Eppie, you'll have to walk behind,' Wakelin said exhaustedly. *Them beasts will never come along unless ya keep proddin' *em.'

*Do I have to? I'm tired.'

*Ain't we all?'

Glumly pacing behind the cart, she listened to water racing in the ditch, recalling the time when Samuel's cart had overturned. She thought about Talia and the magical garden. It was funny how things changed. There was a time when Talia's haunting seemed unreal. She had come to accept the ghost's presence. Now this journey seemed unreal.

Overwhelmed by the desire for sleep, she trudged past the church.

Somewhere nearby a horse snorted.

In an instant she was alert, fearful. Was it someone sent by du Quesne because they were late leaving? Were they going to be dragged off to jail?

The bleak wind whipped and moaned around the gravestones. Two people on horseback lay in wait beside the lychgate.

Recognising them, Eppie raced forward, elated. *I thought I'd never see you again!'

Gabriel dismounted, painfully. *Edmund came to tell Kizzie that you were about to leave. She let me know. Hannah has rustled up some provisions for you: honey cake and a joint of venison.'

Edmund led his horse over to where Wakelin stood.

Gabriel approached Martha. *I am sorry about what happened to your husband, truly I am. He was a fine, upstanding man.' Mournfully, he glanced back to where Eppie stood, raiding his saddlebags. *None of this should have come about.'

Despite the warmth of her mantle, Martha shivered. *You know, don't you?' she forced herself to say.

Gazing into her eyes, Gabriel felt as if his heart was being wrenched from his body. He managed the glimmer of a smile. *I think we have an understanding, you and I.'

*I never meant for it to happen,' she said desperately. *I can see no way out of it.'

*Sometimes things are best left as they are. Take care of her?'

*I love her,' she replied so vehemently that he was filled with a desire to run away, to share in her motherly love. He stepped back.

Acutely mindful of Wakelin's mood of despondency, Gabriel trod towards him and offered him a handshake in friendship. In the man's earnest eyes, as he clutched his hand, Gabriel saw the respect Wakelin felt for him saving his life.

Too distressed to hang around, Wakelin set the cart into motion.

Edmund doffed his hat to Martha and made his way homeward.

Eppie and Gabriel stood together, darkness circling around them, dead leaves swirling about their feet.

Delicately, he fingered the edge of her bonnet. *Does the burn cause you much discomfort?'

*In the cornfield, with the sun, the skin around my bit of ear what's left felt horribly tight and achy. I'm thankful mam stopped the flames before they set all of my hair on fire.'

He rested his hands upon her shoulders, his warm breath touching her tenderly on her forehead. *Will you be all right?'

*I don't know. Where I ought to be there's nothing. I feel like a no-one.' She glanced up the lane, to unknown places. *Out there another world waits for me. I want none of it.' She gulped, fighting to hold back tears, unsuccessfully. *All I want is to go home.'

Wakelin's irritated voice came from a distance. *Eppie! Stop shilly-shallying! You'll get left behind.'

*Remember me?' Gabriel asked.

*Always.' Blinking through her tears, she reluctantly took a few steps away from him.

*Eppie!' Wakelin bellowed.

*All right! I'm coming!' Turning, she fled after the glimmer of the lantern swinging on the cart, her only guide into the unknown.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT.

THE PITS.

Jenny lay on the ground, her head on Eppie's lap. Travelling had been slow with only a short passage possible each day. For miles the horse had clumped valiantly along. The flight had proved too much.

Speaking soothingly, Eppie stroked Jenny's hard cheek.

The horse's lashes were flat and gummy. Her nostrils blew gently and irregularly.

*It'd be kindest to put her out of her misery,' Wakelin said. *I'll slit her throat.' He unsheathed his knife.

Concern for the horse made Eppie scowl anxiously. *She might recover if we bought her some medicine.'

*Don't be a sap head. She's dying.'

Eppie's eyes filled with tears. *No!'

Wakelin tugged Eppie to her feet. As he did, the horse's head lolled heavily away.

Martha shared Eppie's relief at the horse's natural demise. *It's a blessing she's gone from us.'

*Yur,' Wakelin retorted, *such a blessing that now we ain't got no way o' shiftin' our stuff. I'll have summat to eat, and then we'd better take what we can and get walking.'

*What about Jenny?' Eppie asked.

*What about *er?' Wakelin rifled a wicker basket and drew out a hunk of stale bread.

*We can't leave her, not like this.'

*It'd be sad,' Martha agreed.

Eppie crouched over Jenny and kissed the velvety diamond between her eyes. *Can't we bury her? Wakelin?'