Martha exclaimed.
‘Don’t worry, they’ll be well guarded,’ Claire said reassuringly.
‘Who’s paying for it?’ Samuel asked. ‘That’s what I’d like
to know. The likes of us can’t.’
‘It’ll be paid for by members of the Turnpike Trust,’ Henry
answered. ‘Those who subscribe the capital to the Trust are predominantly major
landowners along the route. Du Quesne’s putting in two thousand pounds.’
Samuel whistled. ‘That’s a mite o’ coinage, no denying.’
‘His lordship intends making his money back through charges,’
Henry explained. ‘Jacob has agreed to act as the toll officer. The plan is to
build a tollgate across the lane, in front of your cottage, Samuel.’
‘Ho! I don’t like the sound of strange folk staring in on
me,’ he said nervously.
‘I hope it won’t be too busy; the little ones play in the
lane,’ Martha fretted.
‘Apart from the usual carts, I’d reckon on at least a couple
of express carriages passing through each day,’ Henry said. ‘Like Claire says, though,
there’s no need to worry, they won’t reach our stretch for months.’
‘I don’t hold with all these changes,’ Samuel said. ‘There’s
been potholes in this lane right back to the sixteenth century. I know every
squad hole from ‘ere to Litcombe. This ‘ere Trust barging about filling them in
ain’t in the natural order of things.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
FIRST LOSS
That evening the clouds joined and
rain fell noisily and steadily. Water dripped from the thatched eaves.
Playing marbles with pebbles at the hearthside, Eppie
stroked Twiss’s thick fur, warm from the fire.
Martha rushed indoors. Behind her the dull thud of the gale
roared through bare-branched canopies. ‘That’s the fowl shut up.’ Grabbing a
cloth, she roughed it through her damp hair as though she were scrubbing the
table. ‘Your hair looks all of a caffle. I’d best give it a brushing.’
Eppie pulled a face of repulsion. ‘I don’t like being
combed.’
‘Pretend you’re one of Gramp’s ewes.’ Martha fetched the
thatching shears to chop out a particularly difficult knot.
‘How old is Twiss?’ Eppie asked. ‘He’s going white like
Jacob. He’s got one sticky-up ear and one floppy one. And he’s always
dribbling.’
‘Are you talking about Jacob or Twiss?’ Martha asked,
laughing.
‘Twiss!’
‘Eight years we’ve had him. By, your neck’s the colour of
coal and your ears are none too clean. When the weather’s warm, I’ll scrub you
in the stream.’
Eppie yelped as Martha accidentally tugged her hair with the
comb. ‘I hate being washed!’
‘You might like swimming in Shivering Falls. Wakelin learnt
to swim there. He could teach you.’
Eppie grinned at Twiss, woofing in his sleep on the hearth
rug. ‘I’ll learn Twiss to swim.’
‘Can’t you sit still? The way you’re going, I’ll chop your
snout off. Twiss has a dread of water. The other day I slopped a pail of water
over his paws by mistake whilst he was asleep. He shot off quicker than a
chestnut exploding on the fire. There, finished. Your pa will be back soon.
I’ll check the bacon.’
‘I know the first thing he’ll say when he comes in. What’s
to eat? A chap needs more than ale sloshing around his innards.’
Gillow burst in, dripping. ‘I’ve never known a night like
it.’ He threw off his jacket and rubbed his palms together. ‘What’s to eat? A
chap needs more than ale sloshing around his innards.’
Bouncing on the horsehair armchair, Eppie giggled in
delight.
‘And what might you be finding so funny, my little maid?’ He
grabbed her by her stomach and twisted her upside down. Twiss bounded around,
barking madly.
Martha served the stew. ‘Tack’s up!’ she cried above their merriment.
Eppie’s eyes opened wide in alarm as a terrific blast of
wind taunted the cottage.‘It’s scary!’
‘It’ll dacker down by morning,’ Martha soothed. Secretly,
she also was afraid of the intermittent
‘Don’t worry, they’ll be well guarded,’ Claire said reassuringly.
‘Who’s paying for it?’ Samuel asked. ‘That’s what I’d like
to know. The likes of us can’t.’
‘It’ll be paid for by members of the Turnpike Trust,’ Henry
answered. ‘Those who subscribe the capital to the Trust are predominantly major
landowners along the route. Du Quesne’s putting in two thousand pounds.’
Samuel whistled. ‘That’s a mite o’ coinage, no denying.’
‘His lordship intends making his money back through charges,’
Henry explained. ‘Jacob has agreed to act as the toll officer. The plan is to
build a tollgate across the lane, in front of your cottage, Samuel.’
‘Ho! I don’t like the sound of strange folk staring in on
me,’ he said nervously.
‘I hope it won’t be too busy; the little ones play in the
lane,’ Martha fretted.
‘Apart from the usual carts, I’d reckon on at least a couple
of express carriages passing through each day,’ Henry said. ‘Like Claire says, though,
there’s no need to worry, they won’t reach our stretch for months.’
‘I don’t hold with all these changes,’ Samuel said. ‘There’s
been potholes in this lane right back to the sixteenth century. I know every
squad hole from ‘ere to Litcombe. This ‘ere Trust barging about filling them in
ain’t in the natural order of things.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
FIRST LOSS
That evening the clouds joined and
rain fell noisily and steadily. Water dripped from the thatched eaves.
Playing marbles with pebbles at the hearthside, Eppie
stroked Twiss’s thick fur, warm from the fire.
Martha rushed indoors. Behind her the dull thud of the gale
roared through bare-branched canopies. ‘That’s the fowl shut up.’ Grabbing a
cloth, she roughed it through her damp hair as though she were scrubbing the
table. ‘Your hair looks all of a caffle. I’d best give it a brushing.’
Eppie pulled a face of repulsion. ‘I don’t like being
combed.’
‘Pretend you’re one of Gramp’s ewes.’ Martha fetched the
thatching shears to chop out a particularly difficult knot.
‘How old is Twiss?’ Eppie asked. ‘He’s going white like
Jacob. He’s got one sticky-up ear and one floppy one. And he’s always
dribbling.’
‘Are you talking about Jacob or Twiss?’ Martha asked,
laughing.
‘Twiss!’
‘Eight years we’ve had him. By, your neck’s the colour of
coal and your ears are none too clean. When the weather’s warm, I’ll scrub you
in the stream.’
Eppie yelped as Martha accidentally tugged her hair with the
comb. ‘I hate being washed!’
‘You might like swimming in Shivering Falls. Wakelin learnt
to swim there. He could teach you.’
Eppie grinned at Twiss, woofing in his sleep on the hearth
rug. ‘I’ll learn Twiss to swim.’
‘Can’t you sit still? The way you’re going, I’ll chop your
snout off. Twiss has a dread of water. The other day I slopped a pail of water
over his paws by mistake whilst he was asleep. He shot off quicker than a
chestnut exploding on the fire. There, finished. Your pa will be back soon.
I’ll check the bacon.’
‘I know the first thing he’ll say when he comes in. What’s
to eat? A chap needs more than ale sloshing around his innards.’
Gillow burst in, dripping. ‘I’ve never known a night like
it.’ He threw off his jacket and rubbed his palms together. ‘What’s to eat? A
chap needs more than ale sloshing around his innards.’
Bouncing on the horsehair armchair, Eppie giggled in
delight.
‘And what might you be finding so funny, my little maid?’ He
grabbed her by her stomach and twisted her upside down. Twiss bounded around,
barking madly.
Martha served the stew. ‘Tack’s up!’ she cried above their merriment.
Eppie’s eyes opened wide in alarm as a terrific blast of
wind taunted the cottage.‘It’s scary!’
‘It’ll dacker down by morning,’ Martha soothed. Secretly,
she also was afraid of the intermittent
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