Free Eppie by Janice Robertson

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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 turnedme 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 andmines. 
    ‘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