The narrow lane was deserted.

Sobbing, Rowan made her way to the gig.

A carriage, driven by Fulke, drew alongside. Thurstan threw back the door and stepped down. *If it isn't my vacillating Miss Grimley.'

She cast him a startled look.

*Grim not around to chaperon you? From your sodden appearance, I presume that you have bid farewell to my murderous cousin.'

*I have nothing to say to you, Mr du Quesne. Please leave me alone.'

*On the contrary, I believe that you have something of utmost importance to say.' He took her firmly by the arm. *So far you have denied me the courtesy of a reply to my proposal of marriage. I give you one last opportunity.'

She tried to pull out of his grasp. *If you were the last man on earth I would not marry you.'

*You extol me to the heavens with your accolade! What you fail to grasp, however, is that I let nothing and no one impede my plans.'

*Release me!'

*I think not, unless you yearn for your uncle to suffer the same fate as Gabriel.'

Forcefully, he thrust her into the coach. Jaggery waited inside.

*I almost forgot to offer my condolences,' Thurstan said. *I paid a visit to your great-grandmother this morning. She had a most unfortunate tumble over the banisters. As heiress to the Bulwar estate you will make me a wealthy wife.'

Knowing that time was against them, Eppie spoke quickly. *Wilbert was the only witness to my father's death. We must persuade him to speak the truth.'

*Hix has no scruples,' Mr Grimley answered. *If you ask me, he's in this with Thurstan and more than willing to lie for his ale money. That's why I urgently need to speak with my lawyer. He'll tear Hix's evidence to shreds.'

In Gabriel's eyes was a numbed acceptance of his fate. *Nothing can be done to save me. Thurstan has made sure of that.'

Gazing upon the man whom the quack had unsuccessfully treated, the germ of an idea formed in Eppie's mind. She spoke in a hushed voice. *What happens to the dead?'

Boyle looked puzzled. *The dead?'

*When they're taken from here?'

*After a spell in the Dead House, where they're laid out in sacks, they're carted out for burial and tossed into the churchyard pits by the dozen, no ceremony.'

*What if?' She drew the men close and whispered. *Gabriel hid in a body sack?'

*What you getting at?' Boyle asked, reservedly.

*If Thurstan asks, you could say Gabriel died all of a sudden. Tell him it was punishment from God.'

Boyle shook his head, doubtfully. *I'll do it, though it won't be easy. You'll have to get past the gravediggers.'

*It's Gabriel's only chance,' she answered. *He needs time to prove his innocence. This way you won't be implicated. If I know Thurstan, he'll not wish to dirty his hands by checking on Gabriel's body for fear of catching the sickness.' She turned to Gabriel. *Will you do it? I'll rescue you from the pit. You look as white as a corpse anyway. I'm sure you'd fool anyone.'

Despite his suffering, a twinkle came into his eyes. They were the playful eyes she remembered from childhood, when he had teased her. *Thanks, you've made me feel much better. I'll do it. Only, don't forget me.'

Lovingly, she squeezed his hand. *How could I ever forget you?'

Gabriel feigned a swift death. Such an event was clearly commonplace; no one paid him the slightest attention.

Boyle loaded Gabriel onto the barrow, and trundled him along a series of corridors.

Eppie and Mr Grimley followed, past the doleful sight of prisoners suffering behind bars. Racked with cramp, a man vomited fluid tinged with blood.

Coming to a square cut out of a timber floor, Boyle tipped the barrow by its t-shaped handle and Gabriel landed a few feet below. Eppie winced, thinking about his bruises. At least he had the gumption not to cry out in shock and pain.

They followed Boyle down a flight of stone steps to a cellar-like room, where they nervously waited outside whilst he busied himself, sewing Gabriel into a sack.

The door of the Dead House clanged shut behind Boyle. *I've stuck him out of the way in a corner, hoping bodies won't be piled upon him. With a mountain of corpses in there already and more after the trials, there's no knowing when he'll be thrown into a pit.'

At this devastating news the blood seemed to drain from Eppie's body. *What've I done?' she thought fearfully. *Gabriel could be lying in there for days.'

The distress in Talia's eyes mirrored Eppie's.

In her mind, Eppie spoke the words she knew her sister would understand. *You are our only hope.'

With a nod of her head, showing that she understood, Talia turned and melted through the wall, into the House of the Dead, her ghostly skirts rustling like parched leaves blowing in a breeze.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX.

MESSAGE IN A WATER PITCHER.

Eppie, Martha and Lottie were afraid to stay at their rented room, where they might be easy prey for Thurstan, and so they came to stay at Bridge House.

Two days had passed since Rowan's disappearance and everyone at Bridge House was gravely disturbed about what had happened to her.

Although Colonel Cudbert Catesby and his soldiers had scoured the town, their search for her had proved futile.

It was plain to Eppie and the others that Thurstan was behind Rowan's disappearance. When questioned at Tunnygrave Manor, where he had lost no time in taking up residence, he was adamant that he knew nothing about her whereabouts.

Sat on the window-seat on the poop deck, Eppie gazed at the full moon, pondering Gabriel's peril, and recalling her father's horrific death. She glanced at Martha, who was seated on the sofa beside Lottie, both of them sewing. *Betsy once told me that since Lord du Quesne drowned a kitten he would suffer a violent death. Now he's gone I regret not having the chance to get close to my father, to understand him. In a way he was like one of pa's prize beetroots; his best side lay buried and needed unearthing. Only, for my father, that moment came too late.'

Mr Grimley attempted to lighten the atmosphere by reminiscing about the previous summer's peace revelries.

To mark the end of the Napoleonic War, Grinling and Agnes Clopton had been invited by Robert du Quesne to a social gathering at the manor house.

As a guardian of the poorhouse, Mr Grimley was left in charge of the inmates. Drawing upon the fines money embezzled from the cotton mill, he had provided a sumptuous meal for the poor folk.

Eppie, Martha, Lottie and Priscilla had helped Betsy serve steaming cups of tea, a novelty for the poor people who usually drank watered down gruel or small-beer. Loafer had a relative there and, much to Betsy's delight, he had brought in packs of cards.

Upon her return, Agnes was none too thrilled to find that the poorhouse had been turned into a gambling den, with Betsy and some of her elderly friends enthusiastically involved in a round of loo, betting and playing for the much-drooled-over-stakes - slices of Priscilla's fruit cake.

Despite the entertaining evening and the comfort of the feather-filled mattress, Eppie could not rest easy in Rowan's bed. When she did finally drop off, Martha and Lottie, who slept beside her, awakened her.

*That leak is driving me to distraction,' Lottie moaned.

*It reminds me of the time our cottage flooded,' Martha said. She pulled the coverlet over their heads so that they would not have to listen to it.

*What leak?' Eppie asked woozily.

*Don't say you can't hear it?' Martha asked. *Even Rotten Yard was drier than this place when it rains.'

*The whole house smells of damp mice,' Lottie reflected.

*It's not raining,' Eppie said. *Leastwise it weren't when we came to bed; the sky was clear.' She peeled back the bedclothes. Padding over to the window, she drew back the curtains.

Moonlight spilt into the room, casting upon a water pitcher that stood upon a washstand. Approaching it, she held out her cupped palm to catch the drips. She felt nothing. Picking up the pitcher, she placed it on the opposite side of the washstand. Still the drip plinked into the jug.

The shadowy water transformed and shone like a sparkling, clear pool. As Eppie watched, the rings ebbed, to be replaced by the image of prisoners' corpses being tipped from a cart, like infected cattle, into a mass grave.

*How long has this drip been going on?' She snatched up her clothing from a chair, tumbling Martha and Lottie's dresses onto the floor in the process.

*Ages,' Martha answered. *Why? What's the matter?'

Nerves jangling, Eppie hurriedly slipped into her frock. *It's now! I have to rescue Gabriel.'

Wearing his nightshirt and cap, Mr Grimley groped downstairs in the gloom to join the others, who were huddled in the doorway.

*What if something happens to you?' Martha wailed. *What if you never come back?'

Eppie could not let herself think about that possibility.

The bridge was so riddled with holes that, in the darkness, she stumbled a few times.

Twisting through alleys, she was forever fearful, expecting to be jumped upon by villains whose haunts were the murky, dreary lanes. All she came across were destitute children, sleeping rough in groups or singly.

A sudden realisation hit her. The sacks into which the corpses were sewn were all the same. How would she know which one Gabriel was in? It was all she could do not to weep in torment at what might befall him. He would be buried alive.

Heading towards the remote, wind-swept outskirts of town the air grew fresher. Fields cloaked in darkness spanned to the distant hills. This was a place where people, in the belief of evil spirits, were afraid to venture at night.

Fighting for breath, she crouched before the railings.

Talking loudly, one of the gravediggers even whistling a jolly tune, the men led their horse away, the cart empty. Seeing them heading back to the jail, she drew a sigh of relief.

Spades stood beside the glowing fire at the side of the grave. The diggers clearly intended to return with more bodies.

Boyle had told her that, once the last of the bodies had been tossed in, they were loosely covered with lime and soil. A few days later, the grave was reopened and the recently-dead forced in. A terrible picture flared in her mind, recalling Boyle words: *If the pit's too full the diggers jump on the bodies to squash more in.'

She was creeping away when, from the direction of the countryside, came the rasping snort of a weary horse and the smack of iron-hooves.

*Keep *em horses quiet,' a man hissed above the rattle of bridles and stirrups.

Hastily, she drew her shawl over her head, praying she would not be spotted. Through holes in the wool she watched two wagons and a carriage, their wheels wrapped in straw and cloth to aid their silent approach, draw level with the gates. Riders followed.

Turned about, the wagons were made ready for departure.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN.

THE BODYSNATCHERS.

No longer did the graveyard seem a place of sanctity. Rather, it had become a rough, desolate place where evil-minded men roamed. Shovels and sheets upon their shoulders, men passed through the gates, the graveyard whispering with their furtive movements.

Despairing, Eppie watched, hoping frantically for a moment to reach the pit. It was not long before the grave-robbers returned with a macabre loot of freshly-buried corpses.

A familiar figure paced towards men who waited at the gate.

Eppie's moment of optimism, thinking he would frighten off the men was dashed.

*This way, come quick,' Reverend Clinch said. *I'll unlock the door of the church. Make sure you bring my money to the rectory, Kenelm.'

Quivering shafts of light swept the stained-glass windows; grave-robbers had entered the church.

A man was rubbing straw on the neck of a carriage horse. Fulke, slumped in the driver's box of the carriage, was swigging from a bottle.

*There's a shortage of wholesome bodies.'

Eppie shuddered at hearing that familiar voice. It was Jaggery.

*Take some from the pit,' replied a man on horseback.

It came as no surprise to hear Thurstan's voice.

*They're diseased,' Jaggery answered. *No surgeon would want *em.'

*There are ways of hoodwinking surgeons. As long as the bodies are moderately unsullied we can cut out the bad. How are things going with Lord Wexcombe?'

*That stone will take some shifting. I'm not sure he's worth the bother.'

*Knowing the vile little man did not always see eye-to-eye with my uncle, I have a certain fondness for Wexcombe. I do not believe he deserves the indignity of travelling with commoners. That is why I had one of my coaches brought along, so that he may make his final journey with panache.'

The first wagon moved off.