*Why would this General write to you, making it clear what he's planning?' Eppie asked, bemused. *By doing so, he has lost the element of surprise.'

*Leave everything to me, Jeremiah,' the judge said, making a swift exit. *I only hope there is time.'

CHAPTER SEVENTY.

THE WRECKERS.

In the mill yard, a wagoner untied the holding ropes from the pikes and axes that had been sent from the armoury store at Litcombe Castle. Seamen of the royal navy ship The Conquest swelled the ranks of redcoat soldiers.

Eppie felt driven to protest. *Judge Baulke should never have ordered this. People might be killed.'

*That's the general idea, isn't it?' Crumpton enthused, chewing on a toffee.

Solemnly, Eppie and Mr Grimley made their way to the flat-topped roof to join others, who were keeping an eye on the streets. Sweating it out, sailors hauled cannon into position overlooking and directed into the yard, the only possible entrance for the wreckers to storm the mill. A surgeon set out the contents of his black leather bag: a chisel, miniature saw, scalpel, pliers and curved needles.

*Is there need for so many of your men?' Mr Grimley asked Colonel Cudbert Catesby. *This whole affair is ludicrous.'

*My men have orders to take out only the leader and those who raise weapons against us.' Catesby turned his attention to Eppie. *I am given to understand that you are to be transported into high society. Knowing a comfortable fortune awaits you must be a solace after your atrocious experience of the low life.'

*I haven't given it much thought.' Now that she did reflect upon it, she felt an impatience to return to her true home, to step into a world of luxury. She would adorn herself in extravagant frocks, dine to her fill, and sleep the day long if she so desired. She recalled the times when she had played house in the loft of Dank Cottage, make-believing that Elizabeth was a grand lady at Tunnygrave Manor. Nothing would hold her back from living the life of opulence that rightfully was hers.

*Rest assured that the villain who stole you will be hunted down and slain,' Catesby said.

*Neither I nor my brother desire Wakelin Dunham to come to any harm,' she said, horror-stricken at his words. *He is absolved from his crime.'

*I rather think that the matter is in the hands of the authorities. Dunham's revolutionary tendencies make him a dangerous man to roam at liberty.'

Eppie had told Martha that Wakelin must have left Malstowe by now, though she could not bring herself to reveal to her his involvement with the Resurrectionists. Now it was imperative that she find out where he had gone and send word to him that his life was in danger. Not only from Thurstan.

*I have my doubts as to the credentials of those in authority if, by that, you refer to yourself,' Eppie said. *Furthermore, as a friend of Thurstan du Quesne, I would hardly consider you to be the ideal person to lead a hunt for the ringleader of the Resurrectionists.'

*Thurstan and I parted company many years ago. I admit that in my youth I was an avid follower of his. With age and experience, however, I came to abhor his devil's humour.'

There was something about Catesby that made her wary, like the way he did not meet her eyes when he spoke of his contempt for Thurstan.

*What is Crumpton about?' Mr Grimley asked.

Amongst boxes of cannon balls, the overseer had discovered a crate containing a suit of armour. Whether packed inadvertently or not was anyone's guess. With the help of a pig-tailed cabin boy, Crumpton had kitted himself out in the guise of a knight.

*The day is getting late,' Redgy Dipper said. Though he had scouted around town all morning, seeking information about the identity of the leader of the wreckers, he was none the wiser. Nor did any of the workers he spoke to admit to having any knowledge about a revolt. *The letter must have been a hoax.'

*Possibly,' the judge answered, *or maybe the wreckers' spies, seeing such stiff opposition, have advised the rebels to turn tail. We should call it off?'

*Good idea,' Mr Grimley said. *This heat is unbearable.'

A rousing cry went up amongst a gang of sailors, *They're coming!'

Dashing to their weapons, men wielded tampons and rammed wads of gunpowder cloth into cannons.

Men, women and children, many faces familiar to Eppie, swept up the road like a ragged army advancing to war, those with malformed ankles or dislocated knees hobbling on sticks. Some carried stones; others held blazing torches of cotton waste dipped in tar.

All eyes turned to the forbidding knight. A rooftop crammed with sailors as though fighting a man-o'-war ship was difficult enough to comprehend, but this sword-wielding knight, his armour silver against the darkening clouds, was bizarre.

Boldly, workers and sacked men marched into the courtyard.

On his head the man leading the workers wore a sack, through which eyeholes had been cut. *Mr Grimley!' he shouted above the clatter of clog feet.

*Able Loomp, Purveyor of Quality Foods,' Mr Grimley said. *I should have guessed.'

*You know the man?' Catesby asked.

*He ran the truck store. Consequent upon his lordship's death, I dismissed him. For years he had been adulterating the workers' food.'

*Then this campaign would appear to be the result of a personal grudge?'

*I cannot think it otherwise.' Raising his voice, Mr Grimley cried, *Mr Loomp, what are you about?'

Furious that his identity had been so easily detected, the truck store manager ripped off his disguise. Stood upon a cart he looked like a priest on a pulpit, surrounded by his enraptured congregation. Written on his face was the belief that he, Able Loomp, the workers' honourable leader, would propel the destitute to victory. *This is a revolt against the dominion of machines which are ruining the lives of these downtrodden people!'

Eppie recalled the time when Thurstan and the truck store manager had forced Longbotham to reveal the incriminating copy of the book of misdemeanours. *It's my guess that Thurstan is behind this. He will be angry knowing that the cotton mill and weaving shed belong to Gabriel and so he has got Loomp to incite the workers. Thurstan would delight in seeing Gabriel's property destroyed, regardless of the cost of life to the workers.'

*I have a feeling that you are right,' Mr Grimley answered. *Heed me!' he shouted to the workers. *Gabriel du Quesne will be a kinder owner than his father. Safety in the mills is his paramount objective. Your children will work fewer hours.'

Loomp was not to be diverted from his mission. *Do not listen to Grimley. He says nothing about re-employing the men.'

*I implore you to stop this hasty action!' Mr Grimley cried. *I know each one of you. I will come down and speak to you, on equal terms.'

Moments later, Eppie gazed upon the top of Mr Grimley's black hat as he, Judge Baulke and Colonel Catesby emerged into the yard.

*You must not follow this man to your deaths!' Mr Grimley's booming voice rang out. *He is not fit to be the leader of any man. For years he adulterated your food so that he and Robert du Quesne might rake in the profits. Your flour he mixed with powdered chalk. Potted meat was horseflesh. Cheese he coloured with red lead. Seriously dangerous, would you not agree, Mr Loomp?'

At Mr Grimley's revelation, *Your gin he flavoured with turpentine,' Eppie's thoughts fled to the vast quantity of cheap bottles Wakelin had downed from the truck store.

Shillelaghs raised, some of the workers pressed around the truck store manager. Loomp's composure crumbled.

*Everything I have said is true,' Mr Grimley said, a note of victory in his voice, knowing that he would soon win the workers over. *Even your confectionery was tainted. Young Pratchett, the trucky boy I put in as my spy, informed me that Loomp regularly sent him to grocers' stores to purchase sugar sweepings off the floors. Sweepings mixed with fungi, flies and phlegm, even droppings from dogs. He boiled the stuff until it went hard and sticky, and broke it to sell as toffees. Extremely popular they were.' He gazed at the rooftop, a glint in his eye. *Would you not agree, Mr Crumpton?'

Raising his visor the overseer spat a toffee out of his close helm. *Pah! You're a dirty, low down miser, Loomp.'

*Mr Grimley is the only rogue here,' Loomp yelled, making a final attempt to rouse the workers. *I know what you workers do not, that Gabriel du Quesne plans to sack the women and children and bring in the Irish to take your jobs.'

At this, the workers sent up a cry of outrage.

*It is all lies!' Mr Grimley exclaimed.

Unheeding, a gang of men broke off from the crowd, weapons raised. Shouts rang out: *Death to the machines!'

Warning shots from muskets were fired from the rooftop.

Running forwards, some workers hurled bricks and stones through windows. Others cast flaring torches into the mill.

A group of soldiers raced into the weaving shed, pursuing rebels. Pistol shots rang out.

*Go home, or you may be killed!' Eppie yelled as workers, many unwillingly forced forward by those behind, flooded into the courtyard.

Knowing that she cared about their plight, most of the workers turned and began pushing back. The streets came alive with scampering, scattering figures running for their lives. Cannon fire burst over the fleeing crowd, deafening.

Eppie chanced to glance round at Bridge House. Between the piers men moved furtively, dumping kegs of explosives. In a flash she saw it; the distraction of the wreckers was a guise to draw attention away from Thurstan's true intent to murder Gabriel.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE.

SPELLBOUND THROUGH THE STORM.

Racing to the end of the roof, Eppie yelled and waved for all she was worth. Nothing she did could make Martha, Gabriel and the others understand. They simply stood before the window on the poop deck, their faces waxen with anguish. At any moment the house would be blown to pieces and her loved ones also.

Jaggery lingered long enough to cast Eppie a smug look of satisfaction. Fuses lit, Thurstan's gang took to their heels.

Abruptly, the air was charged with an uncanny creaking, like ice floes pressing against the unyielding timbers of a narrowboat. As though an invisible hand were patterning them with the scales of a thousand leaping fish, the glinting windowpanes of Bridge House fretted over with frost.

Hailstones, iced bullets, crashed from the mushrooming clouds, beating relentlessly upon the men and their weapons. Heads bowed, taking cover, soldiers and sailors barged one another in their hurry to escape the onslaught.

Standing her ground against the freezing blast, Eppie raised her hands to protect her head.

Wings like those of an immense swan upon his back, his hide sparkling with stars, Spellbound soared through the storm towards her.

With not a moment to consider the peril to her life, Eppie leapt from the rooftop.

Spellbound beneath her, every muscle in the animal stretched to its full, pulsating to an icy beat. In the speed of their passing, Eppie's fingers sank into Talia's diaphanous waist, which felt as soft and insubstantial as powdery snow.

Priscilla scurried down the hallway.

*Careful, *cilla,' Loafer called after her, *it might be them wreckers trying to break in.'

Turnips in her arms, Priscilla peered cautiously into the kitchen. She was startled to see Eppie sprawled on the floor. Around her, giant hailstones plummeted through holes in the ceiling, bouncing in and out of pails. *Lovey! Are you all right? I could've sworn a hailstone had cracked a pane. No, not even a scratch. Mr Grimley would not have been happy about paying out for more repairs.'

Priscilla grumbling about everyday problems confused Eppie when, to her, everything seemed so extraordinary. It was easier to lie here and forget that their lives were in danger. She pushed herself up by her elbows and in the strangled, unreal scream of a sleeper experiencing a nightmare, cried, *Get out!'

Loafer dashed in, a ratting truncheon to hand. *Why, Miss Eppie, how did you get off the roof so quick with those soldiers surrounding the mill?'

She was beginning to wonder the same. It had not been a dream, she knew that. Spellbound had flown straight at the house, his enormous wings creating a powerful thudding like a rug being beaten outdoors with a wicker beater. At the moment when she had expected an impact with the house she had shut her eyes tight, only to find herself, the next moment, lying unhurt on the floor.

The others looked in.

*Is Mr Grimley with you?' Gabriel asked.

*Are you hurt?' Martha asked. *Why are you sitting on the floor?'

Quaking with fear, Lottie pressed close against Martha, frightened by the uproar in the streets, the sky lit with cannon fire.

Eppie stumbled to her feet. Hastening to the door, she tugged on Martha's arm to make her follow. *Jaggery has set a barrel of gunpowder under the bridge! We need to get out!'

A violent blast ripped through the house.

Loafer flinched against the blinding light, the screams of the women, and the howls of the dogs. A fragment of plaster dropped onto his head. *I think Miss Eppie might have a point there.'

In the hallway, patches of the long, thin rug were on fire, smouldering at the edges. Pressing their backs against the panelling, they warily made their way out. Smoke blackened and swirled. Shattered timbers beneath their feet creaked ominously.

Passing the poop deck, Eppie shot a glance into the room. The hole, once covered by a rug, had widened somewhat, the floor having vanished into the thundering river, taking with it the window-seat and most of the furnishings. Splinters hung like stalactites from the ceiling.

Priscilla had thoughtfully locked and secured the front door against intruders.

She fumbled with the key.

The flames intensified, lifting the hair from their petrified faces.

*Quickly!' Martha cried.

Beside them the staircase collapsed as though it were a pack of playing cards, setting the women to screaming again. Flames crackled, leapt and roared. Paint swelled into boils.

Loafer coughed with the stinging dust. *Typical woman. We're about to fry and all you're concerned about is finding a key. What ya need's a boot.' With a mighty kick he sent the door flying from its hinges.

Reeling in the flickering glare, they stumbled across the bridge, Jack enthusiastically pursuing rats as they spurted past his paws.

Banners, caps and shawls lay strewn across the street, trampled and torn.

A further deafening blast was heard from behind. They span around in time to see the house shudder in its death throes, walls bulging, chimneys toppling. With an almighty crash, the roof sank and Bridge House keeled into the river.

All upon the mill rooftop had sought refuge, save one. Madness in his voice, Crumpton stabbed his sword through the tempest. *Slay them, every one! Men, women and children!'

A flaring torch ignited the barrels of oil stored on the floor beneath him. In the ensuing explosion, the crate of Mining Corporation Dynamite, upon which he was mounted, like an exhibit, was blown sky high. The bloodthirsty overseer was no more.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO.