*Blots?'

*You can't have forgotten how bad his work is?'

*Of course I haven't forgotten, you idiot boy. Do you take me for a fool?'

Edging her way towards the door, she said chirpily, *Let's nip to the Brown Room. You can give Gabriel a sound thrashing.' She placed her hand upon the latch.

He grabbed her by the elbow. *Not so fast, Cousin Genevieve!'

When she turned to face him, she saw that the vacant look in his eyes had vanished.

*Living close to the earth has made you as cunning as a fox, but what you should know by now is that no one outwits me.' He thrust her towards the table. Ready to intercept should she attempt to flee, he took his place on the comb-back chair opposite her.

Bubbling with anger and frustration, she asked, *Why have you come here? What do you want?'

*Talia.'

*Talia is dead. I don't know what you mean.'

*When I was a boy, my father told me tales about supernatural beings. The stories enthralled me. My mother and father regularly held plays at our house in London. They and their friends dressed as ghosts. Guests sat around the entrance hall, petrified. Ever since, I have believed a soul is capable of survival outside of flesh and bone.'

Eagerness flickered in his bloodshot eyes. *Talia has never haunted me, but she comes to you, does she not? At the cotton mill, when I took hold of the locket, I saw her leading the ghosts. I know you saw her also for I saw your look of astonishment.' A flash of anger hardened his expression. *Even Dung Heap has seen her ghost. After he stole you from the manor, I saw him standing before Shivering Falls. He looked up at the stone bridge and shouted, "You won't regret this, Talia. My ma will love her." '

*Wakelin has seen Talia's ghost?' Eppie said, stunned. *He never told me.'

*How dare she haunt that village idiot and not me?'

*Why would you want her to haunt you? After all, you killed her because she did not return your affection. My mother told me so, shortly before her own death.'

*I loved Talia!' he declared vehemently.

*If you did, that was a fine way to show your love, making her life miserable by pestering her.'

*No matter how hostile Talia was towards me I never wished her any harm. I only wished to be close to her so that I might protect her.'

*Why would she need your protection?'

He drew off his hat and slowly began to unburden himself of his disguise. It was as though he needed her to see the solemnity in his face. *The night my uncle went to drown the kittens I was there, in the woods. A short while earlier my mother had disturbed my aunt and uncle whilst they were entertaining the Bulwars. She had run into the garden, shrieking and laughing in a crazed manner. Before I could lay my hands upon her and drag her back to her bedchamber, she raced off, heading towards the bothy.

*One of the gardener's boys said my mother had startled them by bursting upon them, screaming Ghostie! Ghostie! She said she intended to thump on all the cottage doors. How I loathed my mother for her idiocy!

*I went in search of her, to threaten her to keep her peace. As I was approaching Shivering Falls, I saw your father. In his hands he clutched my cousins' kittens. I watched him kneel beside the pool at Shivering Falls and dunk the creatures beneath the water. After he left, I was about to take a look when I saw Dung Heap skulking about. He grabbed a stick and dragged out one of the kittens. He was speaking to it, so I guessed it was still alive.

*Talia must have gone down the tunnel which leads from the nursery because I saw her clambering down the rocks. Dung Heap saw her also and hid behind a bush. She did not see me squatting beside the flooded stream as she ran past. By then Dung Heap was making off, presumably homeward. I heard him sniggering about my mother. How dare he? I would not tolerate his amusement at my mother's shameful state of mind.

*It was then that I spotted the other kitten, caught amongst the roots of a willow which dipped into the stream. I did not want to touch the repulsive thing. I thought, though, that if I fished it out, Talia would look upon me with favour.

*After I had given her the kitten, I would go to Dung Heap and demand that he hand over the other creature. I hated to think of him bragging to Talia about how clever he had been in rescuing it; I did not want her to have any reason to think about that simpleton with kindness.

*I followed Talia to the ravine. I had not realised that, although the kitten was alive when I freed it, it was dead when I placed it in her hands. I tried to comfort Talia, to take her into my arms. She thrust me off.'

The last of the bindings fell from his face.

Eppie was shocked by the change in him, his hair almost all fallen away.

Hands shaking, he tugged out remaining eyelashes and rubbed them across his lips as though the tingling sensation would bring relief. *In misery, I walked away. I had not gone far when I heard my mother cackling. She was jealous of my love for your sister and had often told me that she intended to murder her.

*I knew this was the moment when, believing she had found Talia alone, my mother would take her revenge. Before she could attack, I raced back and hit her with a stone. And I, I who loved Talia so dearly, I who had come to her rescue, was so furious with her clawing at my arm, urging me to stop striking my mother, that I span around and thrust her away. I had not realised we were so close to the cliff edge.'

Eppie shuddered, recalling the time she had chased Twiss to the ravine and seen her sister's ghostly body buffeted by the battering waters.

*Your father kept a theatre of insects which he displayed in a Cabinet of Curiosities alongside other natural wonders. I often saw Talia gazing upon the creatures in the cabinet. She was especially fascinated by the insects. Amongst them I discovered a cicada which had been trapped in a slither of amber. The cicada is imbued with the mystical quality of life everlasting. I took the insect and paid a London jeweller to execute intricate ornamentation work upon Talia's locket. I considered it highly likely that, although Talia would be amazed to discover the insect fixed into her locket, she would still wish to wear it. If my mother carried out her dreadful deed then, by keeping the cicada close to her heart, Talia's soul would never rest.'

He was quiet for a moment, recalling the horrific time of Talia's death. When he spoke again it was in a despairing voice. *She was barely alive when I drew her from the river. As she lay dying in my arms, I pleaded with her not to leave me, to haunt me.'

Eppie was moved greatly, both to sympathy and to an appreciation of Thurstan's tormented spirit, to learn of the strength of his love for her sister, a love so intense that it breached the boundaries of life and death. However, she could not condone what he had done in tricking her sister. *It is a terrible thing to wish eternal existence upon someone you love. Whilst Talia stays fixed in time, she will see all her loved ones die, one by one, until, finally, she walks this earth alone.'

*Don't you see? By giving Talia a token of everlasting life I gave her the freedom in death that she never had in life. Always, though, she has shunned me.'

*Surely you can understand why?'

Scarred by suffering, he spoke listlessly. *I know why. She is repulsed by my vicious nature. In death, she continues to hate me. But I will no longer stand for her wilfulness. You must make her submit to my demands!'

*I can't make Talia do anything!' Eppie would not voice her thought that, even if she could make her sister appear just by wishing this, she would not. She could think of nothing worse than haunting someone as brutal as her cousin.

*You have to, before it is too late! I am not thinking about myself, I am thinking about her. Surely you can see that I am dying? She must have the chance to rid herself of the cicada, the bond which holds her to her earthly existence, if she is to have the chance to go to heaven.'

In anguish, he fell to his knees and scrabbled with a clutter of tools which Dawkin had left beside the dresser: a poleaxe, meat cleaver and turnip snagger. *I caught this snivelling pustule making off with these manorial church treasures.'

Bemused by the abrupt shift in her cousin's train of thoughts and his erratic behaviour, she coaxed, *Why don't you rest? Have something to eat?'

From an ample pocket of his coat he fetched out a periwig and placed it upon his head. *Never underestimate a sheep, Obadiah.'

The wig looked exactly like Robert du Quesne's; the one Talia had blasted into a prickly bush.

She must have shown something of her wonder in her face.

*I am not a pleasant sight, I grant you. Daily I crawl out of a filthy cellar in River View House to scrape a living on the streets. My hogs are the largest you would ever wish to set eyes upon, with immense hocks and bellies.'

Eppie vividly recalled the ice market and hearing these same words uttered by her father to Squire Bulwar. *You are ill. Let me help.'

His face creased in loathing. *I want no help from you, swine!' Almost at the same moment as he uttered these words, he turned his head sharply towards the door.

Eppie had also caught the sound of Dawkin whistling some out-of-tune swashbuckling ballad as he sauntered up the garden path. The door opened and he strode in. Catching sight of Thurstan's gaunt face topped by du Quesne's grimy wig, his smile fell. *Eppie?'

Thurstan pushed past him, and ran.

Dawkin enfolded Eppie and Martha in his arms. *Has he hurt you?'

*We're fine,' she replied, shaken.

*It's Thurstan du Quesne!' The shouts of other men quickly echoed that of the first man. These were followed by the sound of running steps as farm labourers gave chase.

Dawkin, too, tore out of the cottage.

Eppie could not stem the flood of hatred towards Thurstan. However, she felt a sense of sorrow for her cousin. Whatever their differing life's circumstances, there existed between them that strange pull of kinship. How frightening he had seemed in his power, how pitiful he appeared in defeat. Acutely, she sensed the grave injustices in his life, the traumas that had tripped him into a state of madness. He was a victim of circumstances, a misunderstood monster. He at least deserved the dignity of a natural death, not to dangle at the end of a rope. Moreover, Talia must have the chance to relinquish the cicada. Hastily, she stepped beneath the porch.

Trying to reach his cart, Thurstan made a desperate bid to avoid the open arms of men as they made to grab him.

*Careful!' Tom shouted. *He's bound to have a knife.'

At these words, several women and children ran to the safety of their cottages, screaming.

Thurstan's way was blocked further along the lane as more labourers emerged from the entrance to a field. He tore back across Miller's Bridge.

A potato fork in his hands, its prongs pointed forwards, Jacob courageously advanced like a wasp bent on stinging its victim. Though the sight of the harmless old man would not scare a sparrow and, moreover, the prongs were topped with iron bobbles, to protect the potatoes during digging, it was too much for Thurstan. Emitting a cry of despair, he raced off alongside the stream.

By now even more men had joined the chase.

*After the scum!' Wakelin bawled. *Some of you go over the packhorse bridge and cut him off in the woodland.'

Women and children re-emerged and stood huddled on the lane, chattering excitedly, their eyes wide with anticipation.

*Perhaps I could reach Thurstan before the men do,' Eppie pondered frantically. *I could lead him to a place of sanctuary.' Hurrying towards Kizzie, she passed Martha into her arms, and ran.

By the time she reached Shivering Falls, the villagers were nowhere in sight. Enlivened by never-ending streaks of silver arrows the cascade, tumbling over the precipice, would have made the woodland sleepy with its rhythmical pulse were it not for the cries of men cutting through the undergrowth.

Thurstan's only chance would be to shake them off, to strike away from the well-trodden trails. Knowing that was what she must also do, she ran swiftly, skirting around bushes, kicking through dead bracken and twisting past trees.

Imagining Thurstan to be sheltering in the scrub, waiting for an opportunity to hurtle away from the hunters when their backs were turned, Bill and Edmund were amongst a group of men thwacking the undergrowth with sticks. Amis Lodge joined the hunt, a gun clutched in his hands.

*Hey, guess what I've found!' shouted Paxton Winwood. *A slimy wig!' He held aloft the wig as though it were the guillotined head of a French aristocrat.

The further Eppie ran, skinning the woodland for any trace of Thurstan, the darker and colder it became beneath the trees.

There was Wakelin, in the distance, his nose to the ground like some feverish bloodhound.

A flurry of startled pigeons stirred from perches, clapping their wings as they rose into the sky. What had disturbed them? She could see none of the labourers searching hereabouts, so it was a good guess that Thurstan had run to the folly to hide.

She pressed forward, towards its crumbling walls. Thrusting through thickets and tangled branches, she came across the hillocky tussocks of a rabbit warren. Glancing back, she trod on, desperate that no one should see her. Something snapped around her foot with a clang. Crying of out in surprise, she tumbled sideways.

To discover the source of her agony, she pushed herself up by her hands. She instantly recognised the flap of goat leather tied around the metal to distinguish the trap from those used by other villagers. *Oh, Wakelin!' she whimpered. *Why do you have to leave your stupid snares everywhere?'

Although the cottagers, herself included, relied on the meat of trapped birds and animals, she frequently berated Wakelin, much to his chagrin, about the cruelty of snares. Often, lying in bed at night, she would hear the squeal of a rabbit, its paw caught in the vicious-toothed jaws of a trap. The sound lingered in her mind, particularly so because rabbits were, otherwise, such silent creatures.

The vice-like grip of the trap was crushing the blood out of her toes. Fortunately, the teeth had not yet penetrated the robust leather of her boot. She grasped her heel in a frantic bid to pull free. It was useless; the trap was clamped tight.

Gabriel rode to join the chase. *Thurstan's dangerous! Don't any of you tackle him on your own.'

Truculently, Wakelin yelled back, *Ya can count me outta that!'

An anchoring spike, attached to a chain, secured the trap in the earth. With a wrench, she hoisted it out and made to stagger away. Gripped by a shooting pain, she cried out in misery, realising she must have twisted her ankle when she fell. Wretchedly, she thudded back on top of the burrow.

From the corner of her eye she saw a man dash forward. The next thing she knew, Thurstan was beside her.

*Remain still.' Thrusting his fingers between the jaws, he carefully prised open the spring. *Pull.'

Grabbing hold of her leg beneath the knee, she dragged her foot out of the jaws.

*There he is!' Leaping over a fallen log, Tom hurtled towards them.

In Thurstan's face, as he glanced down at her, she saw the terror of a wild beast that knows its hunters are drawing closer in a circle of vengeance. She also thought she saw a look of repentance. *Run!' she implored, consumed with sorrow at his plight. *You must run!'

Struggling to stand, she grabbed a sturdy branch and limped after him.

Seeing her hobbling forwards, Dawkin dashed up and took her by the arm so that she might lean upon him. By the distracted look on her face he knew that this was not the best time to ask what had befallen her.

By now, almost all of the men had gathered around the Crusader Oak.

Gabriel vaulted from his horse and joined them.

Above the villagers, the parched branches of the oak dripped like an oversized clump of roots. The rancid stench of black mould emanating from the tree was overpowering, like leaves rotting in a vase of stagnant water.

Thurstan stood with his back to the tree, staring into the men's harsh, uncompromising faces. Though his ugly, sour countenance reviled the villagers, he no longer had the power to frighten them.

Bill worked his mouth as if chewing tobacco and spat onto the ground. Brandishing a fearful-looking dock lifter, with which he had been toiling, he made towards Thurstan.

Turning, Thurstan frenziedly tore away a dank lump of wood at the entrance to the tree and scuttled inside. It was an action so swift and so unexpected that Eppie was filled with a sense of relief.

The watchers listened to him climbing inside the hollow. Breathing heavily, he sought firm handholds on the decaying timbers, and cursed as he tripped on the gnarled floor.

Not about to relinquish his desire for vengeance, Thurstan thrust his arm through the shattered-edged window, pointing reproachfully at the villagers. *I will be the lord over all men!' Everything obnoxious about him, every evil thought, every arrogant belief and selfish act seemed distilled in his facial expression. He turned his outstretched palm towards the sky. *You will do my bidding!'

It swiftly dawned upon Eppie that Thurstan believed the locket would simply materialise in his palm. He sought the token of immortality for himself, not for any compassionate feelings towards Talia. Not content that his malevolence should die with him, he wanted it to go on, perpetually. A wraithlike lord, he would sweep through the world, poisoning the lives of all men for eternity.

The villagers glanced about, terrified, as an inexplicable battering storm whipped around.

Branches swayed and clashed violently as if, with its dying breath, the Crusader Oak were rebelling against Thurstan's malice.

The sky darkened, filled like a giant cloud, blackening against his wrath.

Cries of foreboding escaped the men, who were doing all they could to keep their footing and not be swept away. *He's summoning the devil!' shouted Edmund.

Their heads bowed against churning grit and dust, the villagers ran for their lives. Around their feet, dead leaves, caught in the vortex, swirled. Deer bones, littered around half-buried boulders, soared.

Gabriel grabbed his horse's reins and sought to calm the shying beast.

The last of the fleeing men disappearing from sight, the storm died as rapidly as it had whipped up.