*Ah, ha, wouldn't you like to know!' He saw Sukey staring hatefully at Eppie. *This is like home from home. The same old sour-tempered folk.'

*After she lost her job at Bridge House, Sukey came to work at the mill,' Eppie said. *She glares at me like that the day long.' A far-away look came into her eyes. *She frightens me. It's like she's waiting for the opportune moment, waiting to pounce.'

*Whatever can you mean?'

She laughed away her nervousness. *Oh, nothing.'

Sacked textile workers raised their voices in discontent. It was the same grievance that Eppie, coming along here for a warm meal, heard almost nightly.

*Loss of earnings is one thing,' said Pinkerton, an unwaged man, *but it ain't natural a man should hang onto his missus's apron strings, expecting her to come home with the wage. It's about time we fought back to regain our manhood.'

*What do you reckon, Wake?' Ezra asked. *You think we ought to demand to go back to hand-teasing?'

Ezra's task as a shearsman was simply one of supervising the cropping process. Powered by steam, a pulley operated shears attached to the shearing machine.

*What do I care?' Wakelin answered. *I'm outta it.'

*Dunham don't think about no one except himself,' Wilbert said.

*Button it, Hix,' growled Redgy Dipper. He had grown to detest Wilbert's mean, slothful ways.

*Du Quesne won't never listen to us,' Brandon, a sacked Irish worker argued. *He told me that the Irish are all drunkards, off to the tavern as quick as we can earn a penny.'

Wakelin's head swam in ale. *Sen-sible lot, the Oyrish.'

*I say we smash the looms,' put in Hedley, a weaver who had lost his job due to the introduction of power looms. *See what du Quesne thinks to that.'

*Burn the cotton mill while we're at it,' agreed Bow, his friend. *This very night. No one will recognise us in the dark.'

*Why should any of you be afraid to show your faces?' Jaggery asked. *If anyone ought to hide them faces in shame it's Robert du Quesne.'

*Who's in?' Hedley asked. *Anyone can band up with us, be *em joiners, nail-makers, boot-makers, or whatever.'

*Me for one,' Ezra said. *If it hadn't been for du Quesne working us so long and hard my family would still be alive.'

Jaggery spoke low to Wakelin.

Wakelin's thick lips hardened to a sneer. *Yur, let's have done with du Quesne. We'll sup on his ...' His conviction did not hold fast because he forgot what he was about to say.

*... blood,' Jaggery prompted.

*Yur, that were it, bud.'

Jaggery clapped Wakelin on the back. *That's fighting talk, Wake. And don't forget what he did in the graveyard.'

*Yur, *e shot my pa. Now's the time ta kill du Quesne.'

*Wakelin, you surely can't mean what you say?' Eppie said, appalled.

*'e deserves it for what he done to my Molly. An' what about old Salty? *e got rid of *er so's *e wun't have to prop her up on the poor rates.'

*I agree he was callous towards Molly and Betsy, but that doesn't mean you should seek to kill in retribution.'

*Your clever sister, she has an answer for everything,' Jaggery said sneeringly.

*Yur, you tell us what we should do, my clever sister. Here we is, our lives crushed by that heartless villain and you say we should do nowt.'

*I didn't say that.'

Dawkin joined in the argument, in his voice an underlying pitch of anger. *If you ask me, it's people like Squire Bulwar who ought to be made to suffer for the way they've ruined the lives of others.'

Eppie was disturbed by his passionate outburst. *What's Squire Bulwar got to do with anything?'

*You know how bad life was for us, Ep. Nowadays things are worse on the land. On the way to Malstowe I passed through Little Lubbock and got talking to your grandfather. He said a lad was scaring crows in Pasture Old Field when he fell down and died. He had had nowt in his stomach for days. So, I say let's have done with the rich. It's high time that the poor made the rules.'

*Simply because someone is born into a prosperous family doesn't make them wicked,' she reasoned. *There are many fine people of noble birth. Gabriel, for instance.'

*Gabriel is an exception, but drive men into a corner and their only defence is to attack,' Dawkin said heatedly.

*There's not much chance of Dunham killing anyone,' Wilbert said. *After his pa were shot I heard him bragging to Tom and Edmund at the Harvest Home that he was gonna murder Lord du Quesne. He's done nowt. Yer spineless, Dunham.'

Wakelin rose swiftly, ready to knock Wilbert's tongue through the back of his head.

Ezra stayed him. *He isn't worth getting into a tussle with.'

Queasy, Wakelin sank back. Glaring into his ale, he relived his feelings of hatred for du Quesne following the death of his father. *I said I'd get even with the scum,' he thought. *I ain't.' He knew why, but loathed thinking about it. *I ain't got the guts.' Despite his reservations, his resolve grew. Du Quesne's heartless treatment of his family and the mill workers left him feeling that he must now act no matter what consequences awaited him.

*Wilbert's right,' Eppie said. *You could never take a person's life.'

*Why are you siding with him?' Wakelin asked, taken aback.

*I'm siding with no one.'

*Wake, you gonna sit there and let your loud-mouthed sister insult you?' Jaggery asked. *If you was any sort o' brother, with pluck, you'd squash her nose.'

Dawkin raised his fist to Wakelin. *You lift a finger to Ep and I'll lay you out flat.'

Hedley slammed his empty tankard upon the table. *Enough of talking. We've put this off too long. I enjoy me ale as much as the next man, but now's the time to lay it aside. I say we finish du Quesne, tonight!'

Jaggery mumbled words of encouragement to Wakelin.

*Yur, Crumpton an' all. Grimley won't get off easy, neither.'

*You can't do that!' Eppie cried.

*You got to agree?' Wakelin asked. *That donkey-mouthed overseer beat you to pulp.'

*Ep, is this true?' Dawkin cried, aghast.

*What we need is someone to lead us,' Bow said. *Someone with mettle.'

Jaggery clapped Wakelin on the back. *Wake's suffered most. I say he deserves the honour.'

Wakelin, not wanting to be seen lacking nerve, nodded his compliance, though Eppie noticed a barely perceptible look of alarm flit across his face. He hid it by taking a substantial swig of ale, froth dribbling down his whiskery chin.

Consumed by an appalling vision of Mr Grimley slain at the hands of the workers for whom he cared so much, Eppie leapt to her feet and faced the feverous men. *Each of us here knows there is nothing worse than being constrained to do some one thing every day, for years, against our will. Though I agree we must try to change the order of things, I believe that we must not seek our freedom through using violence.'

Her voice was lost in bursts of laughter and rude remarks about nagging women.

In her mind, Gillow spoke as she remembered him reasoning with Bill, the day she and Dawkin had released the badgers: "When you believe something is wrong you must fight to achieve your aims. Not with bludgeons and pickaxes, but with peaceful, passionate protest. That alone will secure your objective."

She held her head high. *Look at it from du Quesne's perspective. A violent protest would make workers seem like unthinking monsters. The only thing it would achieve is to get the rest of the workers sacked. Rational argument and non-violent methods are the only sure means by which to bring about our objectives.'

*A peaceable protest?' Jaggery scoffed. *There ain't no such a thing. It'll only end up in the massacre of the workers.'

Aware of the dour faces around her, Eppie's courage began to fail. She knew she must not give up, not now; Mr Grimley's life depended upon it. She spoke in a voice as confident as she could muster, aware of Martha gazing proudly upon her. *My father died in the cause of peace. It is in his memory that I beseech you all to follow me. Du Quesne and others like him would have us believe that we are sinners simply because we are poor, that being underprivileged is a fault of our making. We have punishment inflicted upon us because we are impoverished and for no other reason. Dawkin says we need an uprising. I agree. However, it must be a revolution in thinking, not using weapons. With moral force and persuasion we can change the social order. We must ensure that there will always be work for men, decent wages for all. Join me in a crusade. Together we shall march against du Quesne's pitiless rule.'

Though many grumbled, others shouted in agreement.

The door crashed back and in strode Thurstan, followed by three yeomanry soldiers.

The banging of mugs on tables ceased abruptly.

Eppie stood alone.

Thurstan's fierce eyes bored into her. His voice was smooth and menacing. *I hope you are not leading a Combination, Dunham? You know the punishment.'

Hands clasped behind his back, he strutted about the dimly-lit tavern, eyeing the guilty-looking men. *Last night, Squire Obadiah Bulwar was murdered. Gunned down beside his burning haystacks.' There were mutterings of disbelief. *A man disguised as a highwayman, with a coal-blackened face, was spotted running away from the scene.'

An odd, knowing glance passed between Wilbert and Thurstan, and Eppie wondered. Though she could not think why she did it, she glanced at Dawkin. Upon his face was a look of repentance as if he bitterly felt the consequences of something he wished undone.

*Might that have been why he had failed to come to the tavern last night?' she pondered. *Had he gone to Garn Hall to murder Squire Bulwar?' She was angry with herself for even considering that Dawkin might have been involved.

Thurstan must also have wondered at the chimney sweep's expression. *Mrs Bulwar is offering a substantial reward of two hundred pounds for information resulting in,' he placed his hand upon Dawkin's shoulder, *the capture of the villain.'

Thurstan was leaving when Wakelin broke the silence of the stunned inn-goers. *Enjoyed your rat cheese did ya, magistrate?'

Eppie was gripped by a wave of fear, tinged with humility. Though Thurstan momentarily stood still and his shoulders tightened, he did not look back.

Relieved that they had not been caught plotting, the men settled back into their noisy ways, gossiping about the colossal reward.

Unnoticed by Eppie, Dawkin, finding the tavern claustrophobic, left the parlour, intending to head back to his lodgings.

Wilbert stepped after him. *From what you was saying about Bulwar it wouldn't surprise me if you had a hand in butchering the big fella. Huge reward, hey?'

It was pouring.

Staying undercover of the doorway, Eppie cast around a worried look for Dawkin. Cold hands seemed to clutch at her. Something was wrong.

Horses blustered and restlessly stamped their shoes in the stables across the yard.

A carriage raced away, its wheels spinning on the lane.

Wakelin pursued Eppie to make it clear how angry he was with her. *You made me look a right dullard in front o' everyone, saying I had no guts.'

*I never said that. Things got difficult. I don't want anything awful to happen to Mr Grimley, that's all. Why would Dawkin leave without a word of farewell?'

*How should I know?' His head lolling in wretchedness, he made to return to the parlour. On second thoughts, gone was his desire for companionship.

*Are you going to do it?' she asked. *Lead the men?'

Halting in the middle of the cobbled yard, he turned and stared back at her, his face gashed by the sickly ray cast by a hanging lantern. *Feeling important weren't summat pa ever made me feel. That's what I've always wanted; to know I'd done summat good, then me life would've been worth living.'

Seeing him standing there, so pitiful, rain streaming down his face, her heart went out to him.

He pictured men and boys swarming behind as they stormed the mill, venerating him as their hero. Drained by exhaustion and despair, there was a terrible lassitude about him. A hero was one thing he knew he would never be. *You know I ain't got it in me to lead the wreckers. I know it. I ain't got nuffin in me no more.'

Turning, he walked with a slouching gait into the mournful gloom of the grim town.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO.

A FAITH UNWAVERING.

Where is Dawkin? Fearful for his safety, Eppie hurried in search of him.

The door to his lodgings ajar she stepped inside, warily.

Never could she have been prepared for the ghastly sight that met her eyes.

As she backed, shouts came from the lane, accompanied by the sound of running footsteps.

It was impossible to leave the way she had entered. Discovered amongst the carnage would spell her fate; she would be accused of having had a hand in this most grizzly of deeds. So she slipped out of a back window, across a yard, and clambered over a wall to safety.

Most condemning of Dawkin was the highwayman's eye-mask in the bloodied hand of one of the climbing-boys, a pistol at his feet.

Had the boys alighted upon Dawkin's secret? Had Dawkin killed them to conceal his act?

If he had used the weapon to shoot Bulwar and bludgeon the boys, why did he not have the common sense to rid himself of the incriminating evidence?

None of this made sense.

It was beyond belief that Dawkin would have killed the boys he cared so much about.