circle. In the light of Fanny’s lamp, he carefully arranged a ring of rags on the damp earth. Then he poured out his salt and removed the gooseberry pie from its basket.
After placing the pie in the centre of the circle, he moved away again. But he didn’t join his three companions. Instead he positioned himself by a rusty washtub that had been dumped near the well, his salt in one hand and his spear in the other.
Watching him, Birdie felt deeply uncomfortable. She should have been out there in the circle, not cowering behind a woodpile. Alfred had given her his dark lantern to mind, just in case. (He always made sure that they had an alternative source of light during night jobs, and the dark lantern, with its hinged shutter, could be transformed instantly from a little black box into a shining beacon.) But this wasn’t enough for Birdie. It was as if she’d been demoted. Excluded.
And it was all the fault of Miss Eames.
Not that her silly pie plan was going to work. Birdie kept telling herself this. If the bogle liked pies, it would have been raiding the workhouse kitchen, not picking off children in the dark. The pie was going to fail, and then Birdie would be restored to her proper place at Alfred’s side.
In the meantime, however, she had to put up with Fanny. It was hard to concentrate while Fanny was around, because she was fidgety and restless. For all her faults, Miss Eames remained perfectly still as they waited for the bogle. Fanny, on the other hand, kept scratching and sighing and shifting about until Birdie was tempted to jab her in the ribs. But they weren’t supposed to be making any noise, and Fanny would probably yelp or squeak if she felt the sharp point of an elbow. Birdie couldn’t even say anything – not with a bogle listening in. For she had no doubt whatsoever that there was a bogle nearby. She could sense it. She could feel its dark weight in the air. She could smell a faint odour of fish and rotten eggs.
So she tried to stay alert, even though, as the minutes dragged on, nothing happened. The bogle refused to show itself.
At last the workhouse clock struck twelve. Hearing it, Birdie realised that they had been waiting by the laundry for more than an hour. She saw Alfred’s head swivel in her direction. Then he jerked his chin. As Birdie rose, Miss Eames couldn’t suppress a murmur of protest.
But Birdie’s furious scowl quickly silenced her.
Since two of the pauper children had been taken with candle stubs in their hands, Alfred had decreed that Birdie could safely carry a light. Without one, she wouldn’t be able to see the bogle coming. So before stepping into the ring of salt, Birdie exchanged her dark lantern for Fanny’s lamp. And once she’d entered the magic circle, she set the lamp down beside the cooling gooseberry pie.
Then she raised her mirror, checked Alfred’s position, and softly began to sing.
The Lord said to the Lady, afore he went out,
‘Beware o’ false Lamkin, he’s a-walking about.’
The gates they was locked both outside and in
But for one little hole that let Lamkin creep in.
Suddenly Birdie saw the well-cap move. One half of it rose a little, hovering an inch or two above the ground, before it slipped sideways to expose a wedge of darkness. Though the shadows were dense and her view was partly blocked by weeds, Birdie could just make out that a spiky-looking hand, or claw, had lifted the stone cover like a basket lid.
But if the slab made any kind of noise as it settled onto its bed of weeds, Birdie didn’t hear it. Her own voice was ringing in her ears.
He took out a pen-knife both pointed and sharp
And stabbed the wee baby three times in the heart.
‘ O Nursemaid! O Nursemaid! How sound you do sleep;
Can’t you hear them poor children a-trying to weep? ’
Gradually the hole in the ground began to extrude something shiny and black and very long, with limbs that kept unfolding from beneath its belly. Birdie couldn’t tell if the
After placing the pie in the centre of the circle, he moved away again. But he didn’t join his three companions. Instead he positioned himself by a rusty washtub that had been dumped near the well, his salt in one hand and his spear in the other.
Watching him, Birdie felt deeply uncomfortable. She should have been out there in the circle, not cowering behind a woodpile. Alfred had given her his dark lantern to mind, just in case. (He always made sure that they had an alternative source of light during night jobs, and the dark lantern, with its hinged shutter, could be transformed instantly from a little black box into a shining beacon.) But this wasn’t enough for Birdie. It was as if she’d been demoted. Excluded.
And it was all the fault of Miss Eames.
Not that her silly pie plan was going to work. Birdie kept telling herself this. If the bogle liked pies, it would have been raiding the workhouse kitchen, not picking off children in the dark. The pie was going to fail, and then Birdie would be restored to her proper place at Alfred’s side.
In the meantime, however, she had to put up with Fanny. It was hard to concentrate while Fanny was around, because she was fidgety and restless. For all her faults, Miss Eames remained perfectly still as they waited for the bogle. Fanny, on the other hand, kept scratching and sighing and shifting about until Birdie was tempted to jab her in the ribs. But they weren’t supposed to be making any noise, and Fanny would probably yelp or squeak if she felt the sharp point of an elbow. Birdie couldn’t even say anything – not with a bogle listening in. For she had no doubt whatsoever that there was a bogle nearby. She could sense it. She could feel its dark weight in the air. She could smell a faint odour of fish and rotten eggs.
So she tried to stay alert, even though, as the minutes dragged on, nothing happened. The bogle refused to show itself.
At last the workhouse clock struck twelve. Hearing it, Birdie realised that they had been waiting by the laundry for more than an hour. She saw Alfred’s head swivel in her direction. Then he jerked his chin. As Birdie rose, Miss Eames couldn’t suppress a murmur of protest.
But Birdie’s furious scowl quickly silenced her.
Since two of the pauper children had been taken with candle stubs in their hands, Alfred had decreed that Birdie could safely carry a light. Without one, she wouldn’t be able to see the bogle coming. So before stepping into the ring of salt, Birdie exchanged her dark lantern for Fanny’s lamp. And once she’d entered the magic circle, she set the lamp down beside the cooling gooseberry pie.
Then she raised her mirror, checked Alfred’s position, and softly began to sing.
The Lord said to the Lady, afore he went out,
‘Beware o’ false Lamkin, he’s a-walking about.’
The gates they was locked both outside and in
But for one little hole that let Lamkin creep in.
Suddenly Birdie saw the well-cap move. One half of it rose a little, hovering an inch or two above the ground, before it slipped sideways to expose a wedge of darkness. Though the shadows were dense and her view was partly blocked by weeds, Birdie could just make out that a spiky-looking hand, or claw, had lifted the stone cover like a basket lid.
But if the slab made any kind of noise as it settled onto its bed of weeds, Birdie didn’t hear it. Her own voice was ringing in her ears.
He took out a pen-knife both pointed and sharp
And stabbed the wee baby three times in the heart.
‘ O Nursemaid! O Nursemaid! How sound you do sleep;
Can’t you hear them poor children a-trying to weep? ’
Gradually the hole in the ground began to extrude something shiny and black and very long, with limbs that kept unfolding from beneath its belly. Birdie couldn’t tell if the
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