*It won't be like that.'

*Maybe, but like as not. I'm telling ya, Ma, I don't want to hear another word about it.'

*Wakelin!' Martha watched him trudge off, presumably to his usual haunt, The Leaking Barrel.

Her head lowered, in deep thought, she trod towards Eppie at a fast pace as though hurrying to work.

Eppie held out a wisp of hair.

*What's this?' Martha asked sharply, too absorbed by Wakelin's words to concentrate on anything else.

*A snippet of hair. Keep it. It*ll remind you of Eppie.'

*Of Eppie?' She caught her breath in fear, realising what she was hearing. *How ... how did you come to know?'

*I didn't, not for certain. You just told me.'

*Oh, Eppie, you tricked me!'

*It is you, you who have tricked me! All these years, you led me on to believe that I'm Eppie Dunham when I'm not, am I? I am Genevieve du Quesne. Tell me? I need to know.'

Martha trembled visibly from fear of the enlightenment she was about to divulge. She was also guiltily relieved that Eppie had guessed the truth. Calming her nerves, she said, *I only found out that time when Wakelin was locked in the stocks. He said he'd found my Eppie dead. He swapped the babies.'

*Why didn't you tell me when you first found out? You could have told me when we were alone in The Little Owl, floating on Lynmere.'

*For years I've agonised whether to tell you. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wanted us to go on as before.'

*Tell me it isn't true!' Eppie cried jerkily through her tears. *Tell me I'm Eppie. Your Eppie! How can I be Genevieve? I can't be someone I don't know, can I?'

Martha rubbed her aching head, becoming equally muddled. *I don't suppose so.'

*No wonder Wakelin once told me I was a nowter. I am a nowter.'

Martha's eyes filled with mournful sorrow. Lovingly, she stroked Eppie's hair. *You're not a nowter, Eppie. To me you're a very special someone and always will be.'

*Have you thought what you've done to Wakelin?'

*Me? What?'

*If you'd told me, he needn't have suffered all these years. I'd have chosen to stay as Eppie. Now I understand why he wanted to kill me. Not knowing why he hated the du Quesne family has spoilt so much between Wakelin and me. We could've been closer.'

*It's Wakelin who told me not to tell you. A million times I asked myself back at Dank Cottage whether, if the du Quesnes had taken you back, you would have been content.'

*I'd have got to know my real ma.'

*That's what I've found hardest to bear, stealing away a mother's love. If Lady Constance had had you beside her it would've given her a reason to live. In a way, I caused her early death.'

*The daftest thing is that, if you'd told me, Gabriel and Wakelin needn't have fought over me. Lord du Quesne wouldn't have thrown us out of our cottage. We'd never have come to this dreadful mill in the first place. We'd have stayed at home, happy.'

*I see it all now. So much is my fault.'

*Don't blame yourself, Mam.'

*But how could I have known how you'd take it? Even if you decided to remain as Eppie, in telling you I'd have passed the burden on to you. Knowing Gabriel was your brother would have pained you, seeing the sorrowful life he led with your father. Gabriel is so miserable, I've often formed the impression that he would prefer to live with our family.'

Eppie chuckled through her tears. *Wakelin should have stolen him an' all.'

*Can you imagine them two rubbing along, as brothers?'

*Not really! But if Gabriel knows I'm his sister why hasn't he said as much to me? Why would he want to keep it a secret?'

*I think he felt the same way as me, especially after your mother died. He wanted you and me to be together, always, to share our love. What he didn't know, none of us could, was that things would turn out like this, coming here. You don't feel badly towards Wakelin do you? He only did it for me.'

*He hasn't been easy to live with, but now I understand why, and what he's been through.'

*I've been terrified of you finding out. I don't want to lose you. Listen to me! I despise myself for keeping this from you for all these years. Now I loathe myself for my selfish desire of longing to hold on to you. It's only right that you should go away from me and become the fine lady you were born to be.'

*The funny thing is, Mam, that now I've found out I have the chance of a different way of life, I'd rather stay with you. You are part of me. I am part of you. In my heart I am one of the poor. I don't care what befalls me as long as I have you beside me. Sometimes I wish there was only you and me in the world, then we could hug and hug, forever, like this.'

*Wakelin is bound to think I blabbed,' Martha fretted.

*There's no need for him to know. We'll keep quiet about it.'

Kneeling at Coline's grave, Martha dug a hole. Laying the lock within, she covered it with earth. *You are my daughter, Eppie. You always will be, no matter what. Some memories are best left buried.'

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT.

ROWAN.

All week Eppie thought with excitement about the picnic. Now here they were, on this blisteringly hot summer's day, in the woodland just beyond Bridge House. It was the perfect place. Dappled light sprinkled through branches. The restful sound of rushing water eased their tension.

Lazing upon a grassy slope, tiredness crept through Martha. *This is blissful.'

Singing snatches of Gillow's made-up songs, Eppie cooked sausages over larch twigs which blazed within a wheel-like heap of stones.

Fur clambered out of the river like an ungainly frog. *Lottie, do you want to see that dead goat rotting up-river?'

*Yes, yes!' Off they set.

Wakelin resurfaced, beads of water glistening on his shining skin. *Fancy a dip, Eppie?'

*I'll do some paddling later.'

*A paddle'll not cool ya.' He swept his hand through the icy water.

Seeing the wicked glint in his eyes, she sprang away, shrieking.

*Oh, you rotter!' Martha cried as the wave drenched her.

The white robin flitted back and forth before Eppie.

*You've got a real way with the wild things,' Wakelin told her warmly.

Martha cast a look of wonder upon the bird, Eppie having told her that it was not a live creature but the spirit of Talia.

Eppie realised the robin meant her to follow it. Biting into a sausage stuck on a twig, she strolled off, passing other mill workers who were also having fun in the river.

The bird led her to Bridge House garden.

*Oh no!' Eppie turned back. *You may go where you like. I can't.' Secretly, she had always longed to wander around the garden.

Snatching a tangle of Eppie's flaxen hair in its beak, the robin tugged.

*Ouch! All right. If it'll please you, I'll take a peek.' She glanced uneasily at the side windows of Bridge House, checking no one was looking, and tried the latch. The door was locked. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The robin flitted to the other side of the door. There was a grating sound as a key turned. The gate swung open. Once more, Eppie nervously checked the house, before entering.

Beside an apple tree, its leaves an amorphous mass of green, stood a statue of a Greek goddess, upon its head Mr Grimley's straw hat. Eppie trod gingerly along the path, gravel shifting beneath her feet. *I really shouldn't be in here,' she thought, gripped by a wave of shame.

When she glanced about to see where the robin had gone she was startled to see Rowan. Her back to Eppie, she was painting a picture of fuchsias, delphiniums, and lily heads so heavy that their stems straggled the path. So engrossed was she in applying colour to a canvas in an attempt to capture the relaxed, tumbling effect of the flowers that she failed to hear Eppie, charmed and delighted by the painting, creeping close.

Eppie was amused to see that, although Talia was seated directly before Rowan, on the curved wall surrounding the pond, Ophelia snoozing upon her lap, the ghosts were entirely absent from the canvas.

There was a movement in the bushes nearby. Yapping shrilly, a small brown dog with a long body, crook-legs and a head shaped like a lamb chop, bounded towards Eppie, his drooping ears flapping.

*Turnips!' Eppie cried in surprise, recognising the turnspit dog she had seen in the kitchen at Tunnygrave Manor. Enthused with the delight he heard in her voice the dog span in circles around her feet. Eppie laughed for joy.

*Who are you?' Rowan asked, panic evident in her voice. *How do you know my dog?'

*I didn't mean to scare you.' As ever, Eppie was struck by Rowan's natural, earthy loveliness. Nothing in her pretty, heart-shaped face, shaded beneath a lilac bonnet trimmed with tufts of pink roses, gave the slightest hint of false, cultured beauty.

By Rowan's startled expression it was obvious that she imagined the intruder to be one of the poor children who played in the rubbish heaps in the streets. *How did you get in? The wall's too high to climb and the gate's locked.' She gazed at the cuts and scabs upon Eppie's stick-like arms, and at her bare feet. Noticing her burnt ear behind the long, matted hair, Rowan's voice changed from a tone of quandary to one of relief. *Of course, you're Eppie Dunham. Uncle said Gabriel is your friend. Ever since I've seen you in chapel I've longed to speak with you.' Without fail, Rowan always smiled shyly at Eppie as she and Mr Grimley left the mill chapel each Sunday.

Sunlight flooded into a glass and timber summerhouse beside the pond. Its roof was covered in pigeon droppings. Rusty chairs were set around a metal table, heaped with mildewed books. Eppie was startled to see her book of pressed flowers amongst those jumbled on the table. She stepped into the cobweb-veiled interior of the summerhouse and flipped open the cover of Robinson Crusoe. There was the sketch Gabriel had made of Spellbound. *These books were mine!'

*My uncle bought them off some tinkers in the marketplace. I'm supposed to read them, but I must admit to finding learning most trying.'

Eppie glanced at the girl, surprised to hear that someone as gentile as Rowan was not already well versed in the art of reading.

Turnips circled around Eppie's legs. *He's so funny!'

*He does that because he used to whirl around in a turnspit wheel,' Rowan said. *Before Gabriel left for London he rescued Turnips and Parsnips, who has now passed away, and brought them to me, to release them from their harsh lives - and to keep me company.'

*That's so like Gabriel, he has such a soft heart.' Eppie broke the remaining meat into pieces. *I think he can smell the sausage. Here, good doggy. Sit.'

*How clever!' Rowan exclaimed, seeing Turnips begging with a front paw raised.

*I used to train Twiss, our old dog, with crimps off mam's pies. Here, take some sausage. Let's play hidie-whoop behind the bushes and take it in turns to howl like a wolf. When Turnips comes, give him a treat.'

They were playing hide-and-seek with Turnips when a ghostly white and brown cat sprang from the pond, scattering fish with its batting paws. Talia glanced round, as startled as Eppie to see Prince Ferdinand.

*Whatever is happening?' Rowan ran to scoop a gasping blue and white fish from the grass before Turnips could reach it. *Pirate Fin!' As she grasped it, another fish was tossed from the tempestuous waters.

Eppie raced about attempting to grasp Prince Ferdinand, to stop him wreaking further havoc, not even sure whether it was possible to catch a phantom cat. Vanishing, he reappeared, as dry as a sugared bun, contentedly curled beside the kitten. Talia cupped her hand to her mouth in silent laughter.

*I knew I should never have followed you, nuisance!'

Rowan glanced in the same direction as Eppie, as though expecting another child to jump from behind the shrubbery. *Is there someone else with you?'

Shrugging, Eppie answered noncommittally, *Yes - and no.'

Watching Rowan release a flapping, yellow-speckled fish into the pond, Eppie asked, *Have you heard from Gabriel recently?' Though she longed to see her brother she was fearful of their meeting. *What would he think of me now, forced to live the wretched way I do?' she wondered.

Rowan settled on the pond wall beside Eppie. *I saw him a few weeks ago when my uncle and I journeyed to London. He is studying to be a physician, but his heart isn't in it. I am so worried about him; he is almost penniless and lives in shabby rooms in the poorest area. Though his father offered him an annuity he refused it, saying he preferred to live by his own means rather than be shackled by his father's money. Sometimes I think he cares more about where his cat's next meal is coming from than his own.'

*That's one less worry for him, then,' Eppie thought.

*Would you care to come indoors for a glass of lemonade?' Rowan offered.

It was a relief to step inside the cool house.

Mr Grimley's study had one side window, facing towards The Wolf and Child. Sunlight flickered on the threadbare rug. Dampness had caused the floral-patterned damask wallpaper to flop and fall away. In places it had been reattached, bobbled and botched.

One of Thurstan's flying coaches, driven by Fulke Clopton, trundled noisily over the bridge. Eppie watched it turn in at the inn yard.

Rowan must also have been thinking about Thurstan. *Turnips snaps at Thurstan du Quesne whenever he visits. I'm tired of him calling here. Uncle is afraid of aggravating him, so we have to endure his presence.'

*I can't see how Mr Grimley could irritate anyone,' Eppie said, *apart from Lord du Quesne.'

She trailed Rowan up the narrow stairs, to her bedchamber high above the river.

The narrowness of the room reminded Eppie of the interior of a canal boat that Tobias had shown her.

Rowan laid her pine-cone patterned cashmere shawl and her bonnet on the dressing table. Standing before the pier-glass, she tucked stray wisps of wavy hair beneath her scarlet hair-band.

*Why has your uncle got a wooden hand?'

*It's his whole arm.' Rowan fetched out a bottle of lavender water from a damp-smelling drawer and dabbed some behind her ears. *He comes from a wealthy family. He was disowned by his father after he told him he felt a calling to improve the lives of the poor. My uncle lost his arm at the cotton mill when he tried to rescue a girl who was caught by a machine. That was after Lord du Quesne became the owner and had the safety guards removed.'

The dog sniffed and scratched at the bottom of the door.

*Priscilla must be preparing something tasty,' Rowan said. *Shall we go and see what it is?'