*She's not well!' Martha cried. *She needs to rest.'

Helped by Coline and Martha, Eibhlin rose, slowly, coughing up fluff. Her ankles swollen from continuous standing, she sank back to her knees.

Crumpton kept a cudgel in his belt as ready punishment for slacking mule operators. Threateningly, he wielded the weapon over Eibhlin's head. *On with your work!'

Staggered by his callous attitude, Eppie stamped her foot at him. *You're a wicked, spiteful man.'

Before Martha could stop her, fearful of further trouble, she had dashed off.

*That's five pence for leaving your place without my say so!' Crumpton yelled after her.

*I couldn't give a hoot!'

Du Quesne was going over orders with the manager. He shot an enraged look at the noisy intruder. *How dare you enter this office in such a manner?'

*Whatever is the matter?' Jeremiah Grimley asked calmly.

Eppie glanced from one stern face to the other. For the first time, she noticed that Mr Grimley's right hand was made of wood. *Coline's mother is sick. I think it's a stupid rule that says she can't rest if she feels poorly.'

*Mrs O'Ruarc,' Mr Grimley said. *Irish. Been unwell some time I believe.'

*She should be discharged. I will have no idlers in my mill. Why was this not brought to my attention beforehand?'

*I have had no cause for complaint about her work.' Hampered by du Quesne's presence, unable to do anything to help Eibhlin, Mr Grimley turned to Eppie and spoke sympathetically. *If she can make it through the next few hours she will be able to look forward to a rest tomorrow.'

*The deuce she will. Have you not comprehended what I've been saying?' Du Quesne jabbed the reckoning book with his finger. *If you have a drop of patriotism in your blood, man, you will appreciate that we have to meet this order. For all I care the French infantry may freeze to death, but I will ensure that we put coats upon the backs of our soldiers. The workers will labour through tomorrow.'

Mr Grimley was flabbergasted. *Tomorrow is Christmas Day. The workers should be allowed a day of respite.'

*Do not presume to preach to me. I am well aware of what day it is.' Seeing Mr Grimley's crestfallen face, du Quesne consented, *Of course, you have my leave to attend the service at Saint Peter's church, and partake of your seasonal victuals. I insist, however, that straight afterwards you return to your desk, in a sober state. As for these workers, never forget that they are brutes, with not a speck of Christian sensitivity. Their only concern is for themselves. They would think nothing of stealing meat from their fellow workers' plates.'

Eppie glared at du Quesne. *That's a load o' drivel. When we arrived in Malstowe, Mrs O'Ruarc shared her meals with us, even though she and her family are half-starved. When Mrs Eibhlin's name is written in the book of misdemeanours, Coline and Fur will have to go without bread and dripping for the whole of Christmas Day, except they won't, we'll go halves with ours.'

Du Quesne was unmoved. *If this woman of whom you speak has not the resourcefulness to save her wages for when times are lean that is her concern.'

*What money has Mrs Eibhlin, or any of us come to that, got to save? We can't even afford proper clothing.'

Du Quesne opened his mouth to reply.

She rushed on. *The tinkers pinched my yellow Sunday frock. I've only got this one.' She lifted her apron, revealing a grey skirt. *It's dirty with oil and fluff from crawling under the machines. I have to wear it every day and sleep in it every night.' She stuffed her nose into the cotton. *It smells worse than Wakelin's sweaty singlet. Take a whiff.'

Du Quesne rose furiously to his feet, his chair crashing back against a cabinet. *I have no desire to smell your disgusting garment! Leave the office, this instance, or I will get Crumpton to beat you until your blood runs black.'

Eppie stuck up her nose and headed towards the door. *He already has.'

Crumpton nowhere in sight, she snatched a moment to enlighten Martha about du Quesne's intention to make the workers labour through Christmas Day. Word spread.

For hours, Eppie worked as a doffer, mounting and taking down bobbins. Frequently she glanced around at Eibhlin, whose movements had become sluggish, her body progressively crooked with the passage of time.

It was whilst gazing at snow drifting as light as thistledown upon the woodland canopy that she became aware of a commotion behind her.

*I will take no more of this nonsense!' Crumpton fumed.

Holding onto the wooden lip of a mule, Eibhlin tried to rise to her feet, Jenufer supporting her by the arm.

Mr Grimley chanced to peer through what the workers called his spy-hole, a tiny window in the wall of his office. He scurried forward. *For pity's sake, Mr Crumpton, give the woman a moment to recover. Someone fetch a chair from my office.'

Du Quesne strode after the manager. *Give into this woman's weakness and you will have all the sick workers demanding time for respite.'

Eppie's distress was so great that she whirled around to the window and hammered with her fists upon the pane. *Stop them! Make them stop!'

The crashing, foaming river glazed over and froze. Crystal spears, like the ice swords of ancient warriors, spiked out from the wooden waterwheel as though thrusting against an unseen enemy. The mill engine halted. The rattling of spinning machines ceased.

Stunned silence amongst the workers lasted for only a moment. Floors thundered as weary workers stamped and cheered, realising that, at least for this Christmas Day, they were freed from the shackles of their labours.

Keen to collect the family wage and be off, children gathered in a disorderly, animated queue outside the office. Others barged one another out of the way in their eagerness for a glimpse through the windows at the magical scene. None other than Eppie could see Talia standing upon the river, its waters contorted into a multitude of rope-like twists. Around the ghost a myriad of water droplets hung suspended in mid-air, like pearls spun from a necklace wrenched apart.

Donning his coat, du Quesne warned the rapturous children, *Advise your fathers to use their wages cautiously or they will come to regret it, for not a farthing will your families receive whilst my mill is at a standstill.'

Eppie went to collect the Dunham and the O'Ruarc's tokens. Afterwards, she joined the long queue at the truck store.

Heading through falling snow towards the marketplace, she hurried past Finagle's. The window was crammed with assorted paupers' paraphernalia, including knee-length coats, crockery, and peg legs. An arm thrust out from the doorway and grasped her by her shawl. Breathless, coming to an abrupt halt, she stared up into Wakelin's severe face.

Tobias dropped coins into the pocket of his corduroy trousers. With a backward wave at Wakelin, he strolled off.

*Let me go!' Eppie cried. *What've you got to pawn?'

*Mind your nose,' Wakelin answered. *It's perishing in that cellar. You're coming with me.' He glanced furtively around, checking that he would not be overheard. *There's no one in the mill office. We need coal.'

Eppie stiffened in abhorrence at the thought. *I will not steal,' she whispered hoarsely, *and certainly not from Mr Grimley.'

*He couldn't care less about the likes of us. What money we make he takes away in fines.'

*Mr Grimley has to do what Lord du Quesne tells him.'

*Don't you believe it. Now come with me.'

With a final struggle and kicks to his shins she tore off, yelling all the way down the lane, *Never! Never! NEVER!'

To her surprise, Mr Grimley was in the cellar. He was talking quietly to Martha. Coline and Fur knelt beside their mother.

Slowly, respectfully, Eppie drew to where Eibhlin lay. The thinnest layer of ivory-toned flesh was stretched tautly across her cheekbones. Cotton fluff clung to her blood-speckled clothes like down. *I'm so sorry, Coline.'

*Don't you go being; her heart is back in Ireland.'

*Fluff and dust,' Mr Grimley muttered mournfully. *They wind around the lungs and poison the workers. Many are the times that I have advised his lordship to fit a filter system. Does he listen?'

*It ain't right, Mr Grimley,' Eppie said passionately. *Why did Mrs Eibhlin have to suffer like she did? She was a good woman. She had so much pain and never complained of it. Lord du Quesne treats us like we're of lesser importance than him when, before God, we're equal. Why can't he understand that the poor have feelings? If workers are sick or injured he throws us onto the streets. We're forgotten and left to die. Why don't he care, Mr Grimley? Why?'

Staring into her blue eyes, huge and hollow with misery, he answered gravely, *Yes, Eppie. Why?'

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE.

PILFERING.

Though Eppie's spirits rose whilst attending the Christmas Day church service, that afternoon they sank.

Lying in their beds to keep warm, the children were scarcely aware of Bellringer nibbling their blankets. Martha stood on the threshold, her eyes blank, staring into nothingness. A few remaining chunks of coal lay scattered beside the cold cooking pot. She lacked the energy and enthusiasm to light the fire or ward off starving rats that sheltered in the cellar.

Striding in, snow thick upon his boots, Tobias murmured a greeting to Martha.

Eppie's pleasure at seeing him was dashed when she saw Jaggery in tow. Though she knew Wakelin and Tobias regularly drank with him, she hoped never to set eyes upon the man again.

The canal iced over for miles, steersmen had abandoned their boats in preference for cosy sojourns at taverns. Leaping at this opportunity, thieves were banding together, pilfering liquor and other goods from stranded boats. Finagle disposed of the stolen items and made pay-outs to gang members.

An empty bottle of ale in his hand, Wakelin lay face down on his sack.

Tobias approached. *Thought you was coming with us?'

Wakelin glanced up, glazed-eyed. *Huh?'

*There are a couple of boats we've got it in mind to do,' Jaggery said. *The steersmen have left dogs on board. We need an extra man to muzzle *em. You game?'

*Yur, yur.' Struggling against his stupor, he stumbled to his feet.

*Do you have to keep stealing, Wakelin?' Martha remonstrated. *There must be a better way?'

*You wanna be trapped in this cellar forever?'

*Don't be ridiculous.'

*Then unless we all wanna sell our teeth, not that any of us have got any what ain't in a rotten state, I've gotta go stealing, an't I? Getting money's the only way we'll be able to dig ourselves outta this hole.'

*You might get caught. What then? Where will I be without you?'

*Never fear, Mrs Dunham,' Jaggery said. *When it comes ta thieving, there's none better than Wake.'

Wakelin's thick lips protruded from his sleep-satiated face. *S'right. Jag sez am good at it.'

Crispin Cornell had been murdered in his bed a few days ago. A new Thief-Taker General ruled in his stead: Thurstan du Quesne.

*It makes no sense,' Martha went on. *Surely knowing Thurstan might catch you is all the more reason not to go thieving?'

*All the more reason to go, don't ya mean? It's my way o' showing I'm better than that scum. He'll never catch me.'

A few days later, the weather being sufficiently warmer, Eibhlin was buried in that part of the graveyard reserved for paupers.

Even though there was no work, none of them felt happy. Fur kicked pebbles as they headed home along the towpath. Coline had hardly said a word since the death of her mother. Lottie sobbed because she had an earache. Wakelin was annoyed because they had been forced to dig into their savings. Added to this, he had nearly being caught pilfering. They were all hungry.

Martha was exasperated with their stock of food acquired from the truck store. *It's almost impossible to make anything with Mr Loomp's pea-flour,' she said as they approached the cellar. When she had fried the oat biscuits that morning they had crumbled like dry porridge. *I so wanted you to have something nice to eat after the funeral.'

Wakelin was the first to spot the cellar door wide open. *That's all I need. *em wretched tinkers are back. I wonder where they've been hiding all Christmas.'

Fur picked up a dead sparrow from a dirty puddle of thawing snow.

Eppie guessed from his expression what he was thinking. *You can't be serious?'

*You'd get more nourishment from boiling a flea,' Wakelin said disparagingly.

Trudging indoors, Martha stood as though transfixed, her fingers fanned across her mouth in consternation. *The frying pan? Stew pot? Kettle? Where've they went?'

Eppie scanned the cellar. *Bellringer?'

A knife had sliced the tethering rope where they had left the goat tied to the grating in the wall.

The junk heap had gone.

*They've cleared out,' Wakelin cried. *Taken what little we had with *em.'

*The kettle was on credit from the truck store,' Martha said. *We'll be months paying Mr Loomp back, and all for nothing.'

Lottie screamed. *Ow, ow!'

*Fiends!' Grabbing a chair, Wakelin smashed it against the wall and stamped upon it until the timbers splintered.

*Wakelin!' Martha cried, aghast. *Whatever are you doing?'

*Waz it look like?' With his bare hands he ripped out the worm-eaten doorframe. *You want dry wood? You've got it.'

*Wakelin, stop! This is senseless!'

Sweating with the effort, he went in search of anything combustible. *I could kill *em tinkers, Ma. Why din't ya let me at *em afore?'

The children watched in bewilderment and trepidation as the pile of firewood grew. Seeing him discard his jerkin, inadvertently stamping upon it, Eppie snatched it out of his way.

He wrenched down boards which had been nailed to the ceiling to stop the plaster from disintegrating. *I'm sick to death of this place. Weeks we've had to put up with stinking wet wood. No more, I tell ya. I only wish there was summat good to eat. The only meat we get is eelworms flapping in Loomp's *taties.'

*If you weren't eternally guzzling and soaking on gin, and getting fined for it, we'd be able to save more,' Martha berated him.

Fur peered in the gap between the floor timbers that Wakelin had ripped up. *Hey, come and look at this, there's a lake under the cellar.'

*Don't go blaming me for it!' Wakelin yelled carelessly. He stared fiercely at his mother. *If anyone drains our savings it's Eppie. Hardly a week goes by when she isn't fined for her lazy ways, or for talking back to Crompton.'