Authors: Janice Robertson
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.
To Eppie’s relief, some of the men swung themselves into
their saddles and followed.
As the drumming of hooves faded into the distance, Jaggery
headed back to the church.
Thurstan was nowhere to be seen.
Tiptoeing steadily forwards, she stared cautiously about and
was passing the stone pillars at the gateway when someone thudded into her from
behind and a hand clapped over her mouth.
‘Don’t make a sound!’ the man warned.
Pressed against his body, she was dragged to the rear of the
carriage.
It was with a sense of solace that she stared into Dick
Pebbleton’s face.
‘What you doing here?’ he whispered. ‘If Jag catches you,
he’ll slit your gizzards.’
The coachman shifted in his box. ‘Who ya talking to?’
‘Only Pryce. Finish your ale.’
‘Wretched job this,’ Fulke grumbled. ‘I need me bed.’
Dick led Eppie further away from the coach so that they
might talk without being overheard.
She knew she could trust Dick. ‘I’ve come to rescue
Gabriel.’
‘Du Quesne? Thurstan said he was dead.’
Quickly she explained what had happened.
He glanced in the direction taken by the wagon. ‘He might’ve
been on that one.’
She wrung her hands in misery. ‘I must look, anyway, else
there’s a chance they’ll take him with the next lot.’
The honeycomb moon sailed behind bruised clouds, providing
her with the perfect opportunity to dart to the pit.
Staring down, she trembled at the thought of what must be
done. She never imagined there would be so many bodies and felt loath to search
amongst them.
Figures emerged from the church, their lanterns stabbing into
the darkness. She could delay no longer.
The worst thing, she found, was losing her footing. Stumbling
upon the bodies she instinctively threw out her hands to steady herself, only
to fall to her knees. Hunched over, she pushed herself upright, aware that she
was touching legs or arms. ‘Gabriel!’ she whispered desperately, longing to
find him and be away from this abysmal place. ‘Where are you? It’s me.’
A slight movement at the far side of the pit caught her
attention. Though she could not see his face, she sensed that the man was glaring
at her. He slunk away. She panicked, wondering whether he had heard her and
gone to tell the others.
Cartwheels rumbled. The gravediggers were back! Her
anticipation that the bodysnatchers would be scared off was thwarted once again,
realising they were in conspiracy with the gravediggers. ‘Is that the last load
for the night, Flynn?’ Jaggery asked, pacing past the pit. ‘We’ll take ‘em
straight off the cart.’
Wheezing, so low that it was scarcely audible, came from a sack
nearby. Eppie’s relief in locating the sack in which Gabriel was sewn was
immense. In haste, revolted at having to crawl over the bodies of men, women,
and children, she slunk towards the sound. To her utter dismay, she discovered
that the sack was sewn tight. Bitterly annoyed with herself for not thinking to
bring a knife, she clawed at the rough cloth. ‘I’m gonna rip you open.’
With a final wrench the hessian fell apart.
Before she had time to react, a hand shot up through the
darkness like some gruesome slug. Realising her mistake, she desperately
wrenched at the man’s knotted fingers. Harder and harder they tightened around
her throat. She felt her cheeks flush with an alarming pulse of blood, her body
twitch uncontrollably. She had not the strength to fight the man off.
Leaping beside her, someone punched the prisoner on the nose.
Uttering a guttural roar, the prisoner released his grip and
Eppie was flung onto her back.
Jaggery stepped towards the crater. ‘What’s going on down
there?’
Her liberator positioned his body so that he screened her. ‘There
were some scum in a sack trying to escape. I’ve given him a stinger to quieten
‘im.’
‘We’ve done in there anyway.’ Jaggery headed off. ‘The last
wagon was bursting.’
The flames of the fire cast upon the face of Eppie’s rescuer
as he stared down at her. He looked even more dishevelled than usual, his hair
as rough as the coat of a wintering horse.
Though overjoyed to see him, she was filled with doubts. ‘Wakelin!’
she croaked, rubbing her throat. ‘Why are you here?’ Drawing herself into a
crouching position, she tried to shut out thoughts about the bodies lying
beneath her.
He took a swig from his pocket pistol. ‘The night air suits
me.’
‘I mean, doing this wicked work.’
‘I can’t help that. Some rat let on to Thurstan that I was gonna
smash the mills. Jag fetched me outta the slash house and said he’d hide me.’
‘It was Jaggery who encouraged you to lead the wreckers. It
must’ve been he who told Thurstan.’
‘Jag’s me friend, ‘e wun’t do that.’
‘Jaggery’s beastly; he threw Twiss into the pool at Shivering
Falls.’
‘You’re only saying that cos’ ya hate Jag. ‘sides, ma
would’ve let on if he had.’
‘Thurstan’s the leader of the bodysnatchers.’
‘Yur, very funny. That scum couldn’t lead a worn-out horse
to the knacker’s yard. I gorra go, else Jag will be back and find ya.’ He made
to leave.
She struggled to her feet and clutched the rope around his
jerkin. ‘No! Help me!’
‘’elp ya what? Come to that what are
you
doing down
‘ere? I know you like wandering, but you surely an’t got some kind of macabre fascination
about going to watch gravediggers in the middle of the night?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve come to find Gabriel. He’s alive,
somewhere in this pit. Thurstan accused him of killing Lord du Quesne when he
didn’t.’
‘I’d heard about du Quesne. And Gabriel’s in one of these ‘ere
sacks?’ He was silent, trying to take everything in.
‘Have you got your jack-knife?’
‘Me knife?’ he repeated, as though slow-witted.
‘The bags are stitched.’
Having made his decision he snatched at the nearest sack.
‘Where is he? Which one?’
She grabbed his arm. Too easily she had read his mind. ‘Killing
Gabriel won’t make you free. I’ve found out. Worse, Thurstan has.’
The blade of his knife glinted in the dying firelight. He
drew close, in his eyes a wild look. ‘Yuv found out what?’
Fear froze every muscle in her body. He was seriously drunk
and, down here, he might as easily murder her as Gabriel.
She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, not knowing
what his reaction might be. ‘That I am Genevieve du Quesne.’
‘So,’ he drawled, ‘ma told ya, the blabbermouth.’
‘I overheard you, that time you shredded our cellar. After
that I figured everything out.’
‘Why did you never let on?’
‘Why would I want things to change? You, me, mam and Lottie,
we’re a family. That’s what you said at Dank Cottage, remember? That rainy
night we left for Malstowe. And you were right, we are a family.’
He was staggered, realising the depth of her love for him.
A bond of misery and hopelessness drew them together. Both
saw the righteousness of acting together as a means to release their torment.
Working rapidly, he slashed sack after sack.
‘Why doesn’t he answer?’ she said. ‘You don’t think he’s
caught the sickness and died?’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me. What’s more, we might. There’s all
this stuff oozing around me boots, an’ I don’t reckon its water.’ He stopped
and stared at a mother with a baby.
‘Emily Standfield!’ Eppie said, grief-stricken. ‘I paid the
governor for her discharge.’
He stroked the baby’s fist. ‘This feels like our Eppie’s
hand, before I laid her in the cradle at the manor.’ He gazed at Eppie’s sad
expression, her eyes glittering with tears. ‘You was born to be a lady and I’ve
ruined all that.’
Stones skittered onto sacks. Dick swiftly stepped into the
pit.
Wakelin wielded his knife.
‘It’s all right,’ Eppie said. ‘I’ve told Dick about Gabriel.’
‘Gabriel was taken from the last cartload,’ Dick said
hastily. ‘Before Jaggery went to the church to check on the men he told me to
help the gravediggers throw the bodies onto the wagon. Luckily I’m the only one
not wearing gloves; I felt the warmth of Gabriel’s body. When the diggers left,
I knifed the sack open and helped him to hide in the carriage. He’s in a bad
way and can hardly walk. I didn’t know what else to do with him. Now I’m
thinking that was the dumbest place to hide him as he’ll be lugged off anyway.’
One by one they scrambled over the edge of the pit and ran
for cover behind a yew.
Peering around the trunk, Eppie saw Jaggery and Fulke
standing beside the open door of the coach, talking. ‘Now what do we do?’ she
asked bleakly.
‘I’ll lure ‘em away,’ Wakelin answered.
‘But you have to escape. Thurstan mustn’t find you.’
‘Yur, yur.’ He shoved their backs. ‘Go!’
Stooped over, Eppie and Dick dived behind gravestones,
gradually getting closer to the gates. Hearing thudding footsteps, she glanced
around to see Wakelin racing straight at one of the two men who were
approaching the carriage with Lord Wexcombe’s shrouded body slung between them.
‘What’s he up to?’ she whispered.
Seeing Wakelin charging at him like a mad bull, the man at
the rear cried out in astonishment at this curious attack from one of their own
men. He lost his grip on the corpse and it thudded to the ground.
Jaggery made towards the commotion. ‘Hey, what’s going on,
Pryce?’
Huffing with irritation at the further delay, Fulke
remounted and swilled from his bottle. The horses stamped and shook their heads
impatiently.
Dick scurried to the coach, to check it was safe for Eppie
to follow, and waved her on.
Her heart in her mouth, terrified that Fulke might glance
down and see her, she ran as fleetingly and as quietly as she could. It
reminded her of the time she raced across the stock-yard when her father was
raging with Fulke about her and Martha for trespassing in his house. This time,
though, she raised the hem of her frock so that she would not trip over it.
Calming her breathing, she stepped into the carriage as
gently as possible so that Fulke would not know she was inside. Though it was shadowy
within, she made out planks that spanned the seats. She knew she ought to
whisper Gabriel’s name, but knew Fulke was bound to hear.
‘Wake, stop it ya stupid limmack!’ Jaggery cried.
Eppie looked around. Men sprang back as Wakelin attempted to
punch any face within striking distance. It was quite a dizzying spectacle to
witness.
Clambering on top of the planks, she frantically shifted a
couple of the boards apart.
‘What’s got into you?’ Jaggery asked. ‘Stop shovin’.’
‘It ain’t right we should be stealing Wexcombe’s body,’
Wakelin said hotly. ‘Judge Baulke will have the yeomanry on us.’
His caution was greeted by guffaws amongst the men.
‘Quiet, Kenelm!’ Jaggery warned. ‘Wake, take yer hands off
Wexcombe.’
Eppie dropped beside Gabriel. Though she could scarcely see
his face in the gloom, she felt the clammy warmth of his sturdy body. ‘We have
to go.’
He did not answer.
‘At The Barrel you led me on to lead the wreckers,’ Wakelin
said. ‘Then ya went and snitched to Thurstan du Quesne.’
‘What rot are you talking?’ Jaggery asked. ‘I don’t even
know the man.’
Eppie tugged on Gabriel’s elbow. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m stuck,’ he whimpered.
‘You can’t mean it! They’ll be here at any moment.’
‘I think it is time that Dung Heap is enlightened.’
Eppie glanced through the small gap beneath the planks, into
the graveyard.
Thurstan rode stealthily through the curtain of darkness. ‘Get
Wexcombe on board. Although he is not likely to be recognised in London, I
don’t want to take the risk. Before you crate him mislay his head, like you did
after I killed Bulwar.’
‘So, it was Thurstan,’ Eppie said under her breath, utterly
relieved that Dawkin was proven innocent of the crime.
Humming to drown out his warning, Dick rapped gently on the carriage,
hurrying Eppie.
Once more, she tugged on Gabriel’s elbow.
‘It’s no use,’ he said weakly. ‘I can’t get my legs to go.’
The gravediggers approached the carriage.
‘Drat!’ Dick clambered into the carriage.
Lantern light swept the interior.
Eppie squirmed at the sickening thud overhead as the body
was hurled onto the planks.