Eppie by Janice Robertson Page B

a
fool, I fell into his trap.’
    Eppie drew to his side. ‘What happened?’
    Sam’s gentle eyes met Martha’s. ‘I was shown into her
grandfather’s study. There was another gentleman there whom I had never seen
before. Her grandfather told me that she had died in childbirth. I felt sick, cold,
sure it was a lie. I told him so. In my heart, though, I knew he spoke the
truth, for in his eyes was more than hatred for me. I saw a grave sadness. The
magistrate’s men burst in and I was carried off to jail.’
    ‘You hadn’t done o’t really naughty,’ Eppie said. ‘Not like
murdering someone.’
    ‘It is against the law for a man to get a woman with child
unless they are in, or propose wedlock,’ Sam answered. ‘Under such
circumstances a man must either marry the woman or indemnify the parish. If the
man cannot pay the parish he is imprisoned. Her grandfather maintained that I had
never intended to marry. He has influential friends. In the eyes of the Justice
of the Peace the crime still stood. I had to be punished.’
    ‘What became of the baby?’ Martha asked.
    ‘Lewis visits me in jail, to bring in food and a little
money. A few years back I asked him to find out what he could about the child. The
grandfather flew into a rage. He told Lewis that he would never reveal where
they were buried.’
    Martha was surprised. ‘There were twins?’
    Sam turned to Eppie. ‘They would’ve been about your age if
they’d lived.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Martha said softly. ‘I see how silly I was
accepting what Jaggery told us about the nature of your crime.’
    ‘The man has a way of poisoning minds. Now, I will take my
leave. I have encroached too much upon your hospitality.’
    ‘I
have committed a sin in pre-judging a man,’ Gillow said. In a stronger voice, he
added,‘It was wrong of me. I beg your
forgiveness.’
    ‘There is nothing to forgive.’
    ‘Stay, at least for a meal?’ Martha asked.
    ‘We’d be honoured if you would,’ Gillow said.   
    Eppie grinned. ‘It’s bacon roll n’ treacle pud.’
    ‘How can I refuse so many kind invitations?’ Sam answered,
smiling.
    Martha headed to the larder, whilst Gillow went to unload
the cart. Manoeuvring the jenny this way and that he tried, with Sam’s help, to
shove it through the low, narrow doorway, to no avail. ‘I never thought about
this,’ Gillow said.
    Martha was pleased. ‘There’s not a lot of room. Your loom
takes up half the parlour.’
    Eppie frowned. ‘I wonder how it goes.’
    Gillow grabbed a handful of fibres. ‘I’ll show you.’ He
looked odd, perched on the stool in the garden. When he span the wheel a clamp pulled
away from the spindles, stretching the roving into thread. The faller wire
dropped. The spun thread wound onto the spindles. ‘In the future it’s reckoned machines
in spinning mills will work over a hundred threads at a time.’ The wheel
seized, the clamp shivered. ‘Ah, maybe not such a bargain. I’ll go and throw it
in the woodshed.’
    Eppie helped Martha to chop vegetables. ‘Why did pa want to
get the spinning jenny?  Don’t he know you already do enough work?’
    ‘Your pa hardly notices how much work I do because, unlike
him, I don’t get myself noticed by going around looking for praise or sympathy
for every task I do.’
    Sam stepped into the parlour and lightly touched Martha’s
elbow. ‘Thank you.’  
    There was a slight tremor in her voice, her smile shaky. ‘Whatever
for?’
    ‘For listening,’ he said tenderly. ‘For understanding.’
    ‘Why ya crying, Mam?’
    Martha broke off her gaze upon Sam. ‘Sting o’ onions,’ she
replied in a flurry, dabbing her eyes with her apron as Gillow strode in, carrying
the long-forgotten muffin-pike.  

CHAPTER TWELVE
ARSON IN THE
POORHOUSE
     
    Sam contentedly rubbed his stomach. ‘Those
were the biggest dumplings I’ve ever eaten.’
    ‘Eppie has a way of making them on the large side,’ Martha
said.
    ‘Pa calls ‘em horse-leg