Twiss was slumped on the rug, shattered after his disturbed night.

Lucy, Betsy's black cat, crept in and glared warily at the dog.

Betsy roused herself to be cheerful for Eppie's sake. *Remember that painful swelling I had on my eyelid? When I rubbed Lucy's tail on it, the boil disappeared.'

Gazing at Betsy's warty parsnip chin, Eppie wondered whether Wakelin was right, that Betsy really was a witch.

Gillow stooped beneath the low threshold with a basket of logs.

*You'll stay for something to eat?' Betsy asked.

*That's mighty kind of you, Mrs P. I appreciate all yer doings.'

*Sit yersen down.'

Betsy sopped bread into her potage. *Will Eppie soon be able to see her mam?'

Eppie stared hopefully at Gillow over the rim of her bowl.

*I don't think so. She's too badly.'

Eppie bit her lower lip, forcing back tears.

*I tried to stay Doctor Burndread on his way to learn Master Gabriel, to ask him about Martha. He didn't so much as look my way.'

*Don't *e fret, Gillow. Claire lost her two bairns before they were born, so she'll know how to care for Martha. After losing a child, the most important thing is that the clots and tissues come loose, else the rot sets in.'

Lethargically, Eppie stirred slithers of cabbage and prodded bacon.

*Try and eat your meat,' Betsy said, adding, as a bribe, *then I'll give you a cake as a copsy. Take a look at Twiss begging with his paw up!' She placed a bowlful of stew on the floor for the dog. *How are your beasts, Gillow?'

*The geese had a jolly time, though the pigs were up to their necks. I've lost a lot of vegetables.'

*Bring any *taties over afore they go bad. Grated down, they'll be fine in garlic soup.'

Standing in the doorway, Betsy watched him trudge across the lane. The sun shone between racing white clouds in a heavenly blue sky. *It's as though there'd never been a storm. What about an amble, though you'll need summat on your feet.'

Rummaging in a cobwebby corner, she fetched out a pair of goatskin shoes, and exclaimed in dismay at the sight of a pair of worn stockings. *I'll stilt these.' She set to the repair, knitting needles clattered in her skilful fingers. *These belonged to Anne. Most of my children died before they were seven. Pox took *em. Always grumbling about the coverlets rubbing their sores the poor mites were.

*We lived in Pear Tree Cottage, just past the church. It borders onto his lordship's orchard and looks lovely in spring with the blossom. After I buried my last child, my husband fell ill. Daily I dosed him with tartar and brimstone, but he died of the fever. An impotent pauper his lordship called me when he turned me out of the cottage.

*To earn a few pennies I helped at the manor when Hannah, the cook, was busy. In the years before Talia died the master and his lady used to hold splendid balls.

*My mouth fair waters recalling the sumptuous meals Hannah prepared for the banquets: turtle, caviar, swan and cygnet. His lordship loves his food and eats enough for a battalion at one sitting. I especially remember the last ball. Folk were dressed in their finery and musicians played. There were fireworks with odd names like skyrockets and mines.

*I was carrying a tray of brandy cherries into the dining hall when I saw his lordship at the bottom of the grand stairs, bemoaning to Lord and Lady Wexcombe about the disgraceful antics of the children's aunt. She had disturbed the quadrille by running in and cursing his lordship for his arrogant ways.

*Talia crept down with this ghastly dried-up thing, a vampire bat Hannah later told me it was, from the Americas, and hung it on the back of her father's tailcoat. His lordship was ashamed of Talia on account of her being born a mute. He never permitted her to go beyond the house or garden, and told her she would not be allowed to attend the balls when she was older, so I suppose she did the bat thing to ridicule him in front of his guests.'

She passed the darned stockings to Eppie.

Wearing Anne's moth-eaten funeral frock and shawl, Eppie stood in the lane, staring longingly at Claire's cottage.

*Hold fast of my hand,' Betsy said, leading her away.

With the help of other villagers, Gillow had been busy in the morning, washing everything in the cottage that was muddy. It seemed odd to see the familiar furniture ranged alongside the lane to dry.

Broken branches bowled along the brown river. Braving the foaming spray, wagtails searched for drowned insects beneath the packhorse bridge.

Betsy shivered. *Let's mog on; it'll keep us warm.'

In silence they ambled along the riverside lane. Drifts of wild daffodils and purple saffron edging the common lay battered. A hornbeam had fallen beside the stocks.

The Fat Duck, the whitewashed stone tavern, was suffering the same fate as the medieval granary, sinking into the soft ground. None of its gable windows were level.

*A little further?' Betsy asked.

Lost in her sad thoughts, Eppie trudged on. Twiss's tail thumped her legs as he trotted alongside. Occasionally, he nudged her hand for a stroke. Gradually, she became aware that, the cottages left behind, they were passing through bleak hilly lands littered with isolated boulders. Trees grew at tortured angles, bent from bitter winds.

Betsy's footsteps faltered. *Deary, why've we come this far? Best turn back.'

Twiss growled deep in his throat. Hackles raised, he bolted across the wet, hillocky ground, heading toward the river. Eppie charged after him, Betsy's plea for her to stop ignored.

The dog disappeared from view. Eppie pelted in pursuit along narrow, sheep-beaten paths. Wind tore at her billowing shawl and moaned in the skeletal branches of stunted hawthorns.

Leaping into a rain-washed gully, Twiss barked frenziedly. On the opposite bank, Miller's Stream tumbled in a dramatic torrent over the steep rocky face. Here the thundering waters cut deeper and faster. Stones dislodged by the dog's paws plummeted into the ravine.

Catching up, Betsy chided breathlessly, *What's your mam forever telling you? No running off.'

Eppie trembled uncontrollably. By the stern look on the old lady's face, she guessed that she had not seen Talia's ghostly body buffeted upon rocks in the ravine.

Head lowered, Twiss whimpered.

*Whatever is the matter with him?' Betsy asked, her voice shaking. *Why'd he run off?'

At Twiss's paws lay a bird. Eppie picked it up. In her cupped hands its body felt cold, its feathers damp.

Betsy frowned. *How odd. It looks like a white robin. Toss it in the river or a cat might chew it.'

The instant the bird touched the heaving waters, its wings opened. They watched in amazement as it rose towards the ragged, racing clouds.

*Well I never!' Betsy said. *I could've sworn it were dead.'

Relieved to be back in her cottage, Betsy fretted. *I must've been barmy taking you so far. Now my ankle looks more bruised than one of yer pa's soaked *taties.'

Thinking about the bird, soaring like an angel to the skies, lent wings to Eppie's feet.

Parson Lowford, Gillow and Claire were seated at the bedside, gazing mournfully upon Martha's blue-tinged face. The parson spoke quietly, his palms pressed together in prayer. *O Almighty Lord God let it be thy pleasure to restore Martha to her former health. If thou hast decreed it otherwise, let not my will but thine be done.'

Sobbing out her heart, Eppie raced in and pressed her cheek against Martha's neck. *Don't die, Mammy!'

Betsy appeared, puffing and distraught. *I couldn't stop her!'

Upon hearing the commotion, Martha's eyes flickered open. She smiled weakly, though her voice was filled with pain. *Eppie! For once I'm glad you got to wandering, leastwise as far as the parlour.'

CHAPTER NINE.

CRUSADER OAK.

Eppie slopped whey into the trough. *Uncle Henry says that Mister Lord's prize pig is nine feet long and eight feet round its belly. You've both got to grow bigger than that.'

Though she tried to interest the cow in a handful of chopped root vegetables, Celandine lethargically lowered her head.

Fetching the wicker basket that Haggard the hurdle-maker had made for her, she sprang across the stepping stones that spanned the stream.

Gillow tied the outer leaves over the curd of a cauliflower, shielding it from the sun so that it would not run to seed. *Don't eat them all afore you get back,' he called, guessing she was off to collect more blackberries from beside Shivering Falls. *And don't be long; I could do with some help.'

Skirting the wood, she came to the open glade. Gushing over a stone lip, the waterfall glistened in the morning sun. Fragrant petals of wild rose swirled in knotted confusion with blackberry briars. Careful not to scratch herself with the thorns, she plucked the firmest berries and placed them in the basket.

Twiss soon lost interest. A pheasant fled, squawking, at his homeward dash.

Uncomfortably hot and sticky, she knelt beside the pool and splashed her face.

Last night being the hottest of summer, she had slept only fitfully. Overcome with tiredness, she lay in the shade beneath a white willow. Above her head, skeins of midges hung in shafts of light.

A myriad of sunlight and shadows played upon her face, flickering, lulling her into an ocean of dreams.

Around her a fey princess, apple blossom sprinkled in her golden hair, danced to the haunting lilt of a flute, which played as happily and brightly as the chirping birds.

Abruptly the quivering trill died.

A boy, of noble appearance and attire, squatted on a boulder above the pool. His flaxen hair was caught back in a ponytail.

*Don't stop!' Eppie cried, seeing him lay the flute upon his knees.

*I don't feel like it anymore.'

Scrambling up the rocks, she plonked herself beside him.

Around his blue eyes was a red-rimmed soreness.

*You're Gabriel, ain't ya?'

Crushing the tails of his scarlet jacket in his hands, the boy stared transfixed into the pool.

*I see you in church. I'm Eppie. I live in the cottage beside Miller's Bridge. Twiss came with me. He's Wakelin's dog. Tipsy was from Aunty Claire's cat. Have you gorra dog?'

He let out a shaky sigh. *I have a brown and white Angora cat called Prince Ferdinand. Father says my cat is a drawing-room-pet-only, but I smuggle him into my bed at night. I chose his name from Shakespeare's plays.'

*Wakelin's supposed to learn his letters. Mr Strutt, the master cropper, slaps him when he won't think. Pa wants to learn Wakelin the accordion so he can play in the church concert. Wakelin told him he'd rather go blobbing for eels.'

In silence, they watched grey wagtails dart from rock to rock at the poolside. Red admiral butterflies flitted among the yellow petals of marsh Saint John's wort.

*I'll be off. Pa told me to give him a hand with his caulis.'

*Don't go!' he implored. *It's just,' he faltered, *you see, I'm not used to other children. Mother likes me to talk to her, though she's sickly.'

*My mam was sick a year ago. She skidded and squashed my baby brother. I've not seen you at the Falls before.'

*Father says I'm to keep away from the cottagers. He says they're ill-disposed, though I think Samuel Cobbett is friendly.'

*He's my Grumps.'

*Your what?'

*My grandfather. I'm supposed to call him Gramps. When I was little I called him Grumps. It sort of stuck. If you're not meant to talk to villagers, why didn't you pelt off scared when you saw me?'

*It seemed all right because Talia wasn't frightened of you.'

*The girl dancing?'

*You saw her? I thought only mother and I could see her. She used to be my sister. I mean she still is.'

*How come she melts away like that?'

*She just does. I used to sleep in the nursery. Now I'm in the bedchamber next door. There's a secret panel in the wall. When I'm lonely I crawl through to be with her. She rides on Spellbound, her rocking pony. Mother visits Talia in the nursery. We call it the Swan Chamber because mother, Talia and I used to like standing together at the window to watch a flock of mute swans fly over. I still watch them - on my own. Their snowy feathers look a beautiful blue against the setting sun.' He hesitated, unsure whether it was safe to develop a friendship with this village girl, knowing his father would be enraged if he found out what he was up to. *If you like, I'll show you some mushrooms called faerie clubs.'

*I'd love that!'

Although still early, the sun's rays beat so fiercely that the children were relieved to run beneath the shady canopies. The green depths of elm, ash and field maple seemed to stretch to the end of the world.

*Here!' he cried.

*What a great ring!'

Not far off was a leaning tower, crosses etched into its stonework. Its arched windows were like those in church, although some were boarded over.

Skirting around brambles, Eppie headed towards it. *What's this place?'

*It's my grandfather's folly. He had it built to resemble medieval ruins. He sometimes had poachers locked in here as their punishment.'

Crumbling walls abutted the tower. Inside, pigeon droppings daubed a large metal star which was attached to a heavy iron pole.