Eppie (58 page)

Ignoring him, Eppie stared bemusedly at Thurstan who, amidst
the grumbling and shouting, was trying to catch what Loomp was telling him. Having
overheard the threat that the truck store manager had made against Mr Grimley
she guessed trouble was brewing.

Skirting the enraged workers, Thurstan and Loomp entered the
office.

Eppie sneaked to the window and witnessed Longbotham being
forced up the stepladder, whereupon he fetched down the secreted copy of the
book of misdemeanours. Thurstan pinned the clerk against the wall. It was clear
from his fierce facial gestures that he was uttering threatening words to
Longbotham.

‘Innovative machinery decreases the cost of production,’ du
Quesne enthused. ‘I am able to supply larger quantities of finished products at
lower prices. You will all be able to buy goods more cheaply.’

Eppie was not convinced. ‘It will take years for these
results, for the drop in prices to follow.’

Du Quesne’s ears were deaf to her reasoning. ‘Reduced prices
will cause such an increase in consumption that those of you who are jobless
today will quickly find full employment in newly-founded factories.’

‘What factories?’ Eppie asked. ‘They haven’t even been
built.’ She peered through the office window.

Seated in du Quesne’s revolving chair, Thurstan was glancing
from one book to the next, engrossed in comparing the entries.

‘Will us women get higher wages to make up for the loss of
our men’s money?’ asked Isabella, one of the women who worked alongside Martha.

‘I intend for there to be a cut in the women’s wages to that
of the rate paid to the children,’ du Quesne answered. ‘The impudence of you
women here today has ensured this. If any of you are not content with the situation
let me assure you that there are hundreds of unemployed women and children
ready and willing to take your places.’

At these final words, the workers knew they were defeated. 

Plucking the head of an ox-eye daisy,
Rowan nervously tugged out its petals. ‘It must be over an hour since Thurstan accosted
my uncle in the study.’ 

It was Sunday afternoon.  She and Eppie were weeding the
flowerbeds.

Eppie felt miserable because Fur had left on a ship bound
for Canada. He had seen little prospect of work in England. Few trusted the
Irish and many ended up doing menial tasks, such as carting muck.

Rowan was in an equally unhappy
mood, tired of Thurstan pestering her because she had not given him a reply to
his offer of marriage. Now he was trying another tactic, wheedling for her
uncle’s permission. ‘Goodness knows why he’s so infatuated with me. Every time
I see him, he complains about my lack of grace and insists that, once we are
wed, I take instruction in etiquette and elocution.’

‘See reason, Grim,’ Thurstan said irritably. ‘You have to
admit that this is no fit place to bring up a handsome woman like Rowan.’ He
ripped a dangling lump of plaster from the wall. ‘The house is riddled with
wood beetles, and falling down around your ears. Everywhere I tread there are
buckets catching drips.’

‘You’re one they missed.’

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing. Anyway, what does it matter where Rowan lives,
when what I give her is infinitely more important.’

‘And pray, what might that be?’

‘Love.’

‘What is the worth of love? I offer her wealth and social
standing. So stop dithering, you peevish man, and give me your word.’ 

‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re after.’

Thurstan laughed, but reservedly. ‘To what do you imply?’

‘I know. That is sufficient.’

‘You
know
? My, we are overflowing with outlandish
suppositions.’

‘I know, I tell you, though I will not speak of it. Not yet.
I stand firm. You shall not marry Rowan, not with my blessing.’        

‘I had hoped to speak with you on cordial terms. Now I see I
will have to twist your arm, though that might prove difficult as you seem to
have mislaid it.’

‘What are you getting at?’

‘Miss Agnes Clopton informs me that you are a regular
visitor to the poorhouse, frequently taking in packages to favoured members of
her establishment.’

‘What of it?’

‘It is a little matter of how you procured the funds to
purchase such niceties. Recently, it has come to my intelligence that you have
been embezzling monies from my uncle’s business. As I also understand it, you have
been pilfering my uncle’s revenue to cram your cellar.’

Mr Grimley averted his eyes from Thurstan’s penetrating
stare. ‘I deny these accusations.’

‘I would not recommend it. A neck is a delicate thing, even
one as flabby as yours.’

Mr Grimley stared through the window.  Grey clouds were massing.

‘What will my sweet Rowan say when she discovers that she
has a dishonest uncle?’

‘I only did it to help those in calamitous circumstances. I
admit that I buy liquor cheaply off smugglers, but I give most of it away to
prisoners like Jim Quips who stole potatoes because he was starving. I am not
dishonest.’

‘I do not think that my uncle will agree when I inform him. So
you see, my waspish fellow, you have no option other than to agree to my
proposal.’

‘I will think what is best to be done,’ Mr Grimley answered
gruffly.

‘Do that, only don’t take forever, I am ravenous, and so
want Miss Grimley to hearken your good news.’

Quitting the house, Mr Grimley passed before the study window. 

Once he was out of sight,
Thurstan methodically opened drawers, drew out papers and scrutinised them. Catching
a fleeting glimpse of the occupants of a cart which rattled below the window,
his malicious grin fell.

Rowan spotted Thurstan stepping along the garden path in
search of her, a glass of Madeira to hand. He looked livid.

Sweeping Turnips off his paws, she and Eppie scurried behind
the shrubbery, and managed to get indoors without Thurstan having noticed them.

Priscilla knelt before the range, her face flushed with the
effort of trying to get the fire to blaze. ‘Where is that girl?  It’s her job
to tend the fire.’

‘Have you seen uncle?’

Priscilla hung up the bellows. ‘He was having a row with Mr
du Quesne. I heard the front door slam. I hope he won’t be long; dinner’s
almost ready.’

‘Thurstan has invited himself to dine with us,’ Rowan told
Eppie. ‘You’ll stay and keep me company, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

Rowan peered into the copper hanging over the fire. ‘Not
mutton stew again?’

‘We have to discourage Mr du Quesne from calling so regular,
that’s what you keep telling me,’ Priscilla said. ‘I’m sure his French cook
prepares him finer fare.’

‘Good thinking.’ Fitful flames burst from the slate-grey
smoke. ‘Why is the fire smoking so?’ 

‘Your uncle refuses to spend a farthing on the house. I
can’t remember the last time the fire was swept. It’s asking for trouble,
especially with this house mostly timber.’

A girl was heard singing the lyrics of
Neptune’s Raging
Fury
: ‘When the mainmast started, it give a dreadful stroke. In our
starboard quarter, a large hole did it broke. The seas came battering in, an’
our guns overflowed-id …’

Loafer drained his glass. ‘I’d have thought Hix would’ve
finished swabbing the decks by now.’

‘That’s not
Sukey
Hix, by any chance,’ Eppie asked, a
sinking feeling in her stomach, recalling her years of bullying by the girl.

‘Why, yes,’ Rowan answered. ‘Do you know her?’

‘She used to live down our lane in Little Lubbock.’

Priscilla set off along the hallway to check on Sukey’s
progress. ‘She’s only been here a few days and already I’ve had so much trouble
with her. But what else can you expect on the wages your uncle pays? Since last
summer I’ve had to dismiss five girls.’ She pushed open the door to the poop
deck and stood with her hands on her hips.

Eppie and Rowan peered around her.

Sukey lay on the window-seat in the sunshine, her face
covered with a duster. Oblivious to her audience, she continued to sing: ‘Haul
in – haul two – haul belay …’
 Beside her stood a pail of water and a
mop, both untouched.

‘Sukey, you idle girl!’ Priscilla upbraided. ‘I told you to
scrub the floor, not sing about it.’

Sukey shrieked, startled at her discovery. She sprang to her
feet and smoothed down her blue and white check dimity. ‘A’m doing me best!

‘And I suppose doing your best includes putting that cheese
cradle in Mr Grimley’s bed instead of his stomach warmer last night, and
ripping up the best linen for dusters? Leave the floor now and come and help me
in the kitchen. Quick about it or we’ll never be done. Mr du Quesne expects to
dine in a few minutes not a few weeks.’

Sukey cast Eppie a sidelong, dour look as she departed,
dragging her feet.

Eppie and Rowan settled on the window-seat, its
daisy-patterned cushions dimmed from past summers’ warmth.

Loafer came to raid the drinks cabinet, and returned to the
kitchen.

Tasting the stew, Priscilla pursed her lips. ‘If Mr du Quesne
isn’t to guess that we’re purposefully giving him a slapdash dish to get rid of
him I’d better put something in it to liven it up.’

‘One of my boots?’ Loafer asked sourly.

Priscilla chuckled at his pert suggestion. ‘Fetch some
garlic, Sukey.’

For Sukey this demand was too good to be true. Stepping into
the larder, she was overcome by the delicious aroma of bake-meat pies. The storeroom
was next to the poop deck and so she easily caught every word spoken between
Eppie and Rowan. Plunging a finger into a meringue pie, she hooked a
strawberry, quickly following this down with a slice of veal pie.

‘Wouldn’t it be simpler to tell Thurstan that you don’t want
to marry him?’ Eppie asked Rowan.

‘I’m afraid of annoying him. What I would really like is to
tell him the truth, that I love Gabriel. Not that he has asked me to marry him.’
Desolately, she added, ‘Eppie, it is so dreadful, even if Gabriel asks me to
marry him I cannot accept.’

‘That doesn’t make sense, surely if you love him …?’

‘Uncle told me not to confide in anyone, even to Priscilla.
Sometimes, though, I feel I will burst from keeping my secret. Gabriel is your
friend, so I know you will understand. Shortly after I was born, I was forsaken.
A note was sent to the poorhouse and a man came to fetch me. He found me, lying
in a basket, beneath a rowan tree.’

Eppie was astonished by Rowan’s words. ‘Don’t you know who
your parents were?’

‘I know nothing about them. My uncle regularly visits those
confined at the poorhouse. That was how I met him. As a young girl I was sent
away to work in a seamstress’s garret. I worked long hours in a cramped room
with other girls, stitching lacy shirts and fine garments for the gentry. One
evening, Mr Grimley turned up. He told me that he had been searching for me,
and brought me here. You must think me a scoundrel for having kept this from
you.’

‘Not at all. Everyone has their secrets … even I. But you
must not be afraid to tell Gabriel about your upbringing.’

‘I would rather maintain his friendship than tell him and
lose him. Nor could I contemplate marrying him under a falsehood. One day he
will inherit Tunnygrave Manor. If I married him and he found out about my past
he would be mortified.’

‘You know that’s not like Gabriel. Only his father is
obsessed about scandal. So, when Gabriel asks you to marry him and you refuse,
what will he think? He’ll be devastated. None of this makes sense.’

‘I couldn’t bear for him to know what I truly am.’

‘What you truly are is a kind-hearted, gentle person. That’s
why Gabriel loves you.’

‘I understand that but, although I am no longer destitute, I
feel shabby, unworthy of him.’

After a moment’s deliberation, Eppie said wistfully, ‘Folk aren’t
always what they appear. That’s probably why we became friends; we can sense
the anguish within one another. You have shown your true friendship by being
honest with me. I, for my part, will share my story with you. You may tell Mr
Grimley, but none other.’

In her astonishment at hearing Eppie’s words, the raspberry
tartlet dropped from Sukey’s gaping mouth.

‘This locket belonged to my sister. That’s a little painting
of her on the front.’

‘She must have felt so hurt, knowing that her father
despised her. But how can you bear to see Lord du Quesne at the mill, knowing that
he’s your father?’

‘I shut him out.’

‘Does Gabriel know you are his sister?’

‘Cilla!’ Loafer cried. ‘You seen this?’

‘You wicked girl, you’re pinching food!’

‘No, I ain’t!’

‘With meringue stuck all over your chin I hardly think you
can deny it. And what about these chew marks on this raspberry tart?’

A look of fear caught between Eppie and Rowan, each thinking
the same thing. Had Sukey overheard them?

‘Look at the maggots wriggling on this shelf!’ Priscilla
exclaimed. ‘I told you to get rid of them last night.’

‘What maggots?’ Sukey asked.

‘You’re not going to tell me that you know nothing about
them? I saw you knock a handful out of that ham you fetched from the truck
store, though I hasten to say that was
after
I’d served a generous
portion to Mr Grimley for his dinner. Thank goodness Miss Rowan took herself
straight off to bed without her meal. For nigh on two hours Mr Grimley sat on
his pavilion-for-his-stools-of-ease, a-cursing with stomach cramps. Stop
sniggering, Loafer. You too, girl.  Here, take these to the kitchen.  I could
swear there was another slice of pie for Mr Grimley’s supper.’

Back in the mill office, Mr
Grimley swept his hand this way and that as if he believed the incriminating
copy of the book of misdemeanours would simply materialise. Dizzy, he clambered
down the stepladder and dropped into his chair. ‘So, you have won, Thurstan du
Quesne. You will take Rowan from me.’