10

Crockers Lane was a road I knew blindfolded. Yet when it came to it, I needed the help of two people to stay on my feet. Mercy kept on my left side, Peg on my right, each holding me firmly by the hand. Halfway down the lane Mercy suggested we walk over the fields instead.

‘It’ll be quieter, Lizzie. You can take your time,’ she said.

I think she saw how jumpy I was. All those weeks in bed, I’d felt safe. Hidden. Now I had to face the world and it terrified me. What if I got lost or fell down or made an idiot of myself? I knew what happened to piglets born blind, or to horses too old to see right. If Mam was here, I’d feel stronger. But she was now just a body in the ground – and I needed to pay my respects.

‘I’d like to walk on to the churchyard. It’s not far,’ I said.

Mercy hesitated. ‘Oh … erm … very well, if you think you can manage it.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘Nothing at all. Honest.’

Last time I’d been on Crockers Lane, it was a bitter, cold winter’s day. Even today the wind still had an icy bite to it, and the dullness of the light told me there wasn’t any sun. But it was spring, according to the calendar. And I tried hard not to think of the budding hedgerows and all the other glorious things I couldn’t see. It wasn’t easy. Nor was walking past our field where the accident had happened. I knew we’d reached it when Peg suddenly said, ‘Da sold the cattle to Mr Henderson, you know.’

‘Oh.’ It didn’t shock me, not really. But it still hurt to hear it for it made things more real, more final.

By the time we’d turned left towards the village green, I was beginning to get my bearings. To people who didn’t know, we probably looked like any other girls on a morning stroll.

Which, of course, we weren’t.

This was Sweepfield. Everyone would know what had happened to Mam and me. We were bound to run into someone who’d say how sorry they were, and I’d feel frightful and want to cry. I began to wonder if I could face this, after all.

It was too late to turn back. Up ahead, I heard the clip clop of horses, and the jangle of a shop bell. There were voices too, people greeting each other in the street. Mercy’s hand tensed up on my arm.

‘Are you ready?’ she said.

‘I … I don’t know.’ Suddenly, I saw myself as Peg and Mercy had seen me – a girl with strange red scars and eyes that didn’t work. My frock covered most of the marks, but even a bonnet brim couldn’t hide what had happened to my sight. Babies might cry on seeing me. Horses might leap sideways. It made my mouth turn dry.

‘Don’t worry, that was only Mr Henderson going into the post office,’ Mercy said. ‘Married a year and his wife still works in there. My mam says it’s all very modern.’

Which instantly made me think of that stupid blindfold game, and how Mr Henderson had met his future wife playing it. One person I prayed we wouldn’t meet today was Isaac Blake. The thought made me shrivel up with shame.

‘There isn’t anyone else up ahead, not even a dog,’ said Peg.

I sighed in relief. ‘Good. Onwards, then.’

In the main village street, Mercy grew more forceful in her guiding. ‘Watch the pothole to your left,’ then, ‘Stop! Horse coming!’ and ‘Step up onto the grass.’

Beneath my feet, the road turned to springy turf as we crossed the village green. From here it wasn’t far to the churchyard. Church Path lay before us, and beyond that the place itself. The walk hadn’t been too taxing, after all. It was good to smell spring grass and hear the birds again. Yet just when I relaxed a bit, Mercy stiffened at my side.

‘Uh-oh, bellringers up ahead,’ she muttered under her breath.

I braced myself. There’d be condolences now, questions after my health. I’d be polite, of course – they’d only mean well by asking. Then we’d move quickly on.

Except as we got closer, the men fell silent. There were no greetings, no enquiries after my health. In the end it was Mercy who spoke as we went by. ‘Morning, Mr Cleave! And to you, Mr Strawbridge and Mr Passmore! Isn’t it cold today?’

I didn’t hear a reply.

‘Why are those men staring?’ asked Peg, once we were out of earshot.

‘Don’t know,’ Mercy said.

‘They’re pointing at us. Look!’

‘Keep walking!’ said Mercy. ‘Don’t worry, Lizzie. I’m certain they weren’t pointing at you.’

Which, I sensed, meant they were.

Once we’d reached the churchyard, I told Peg to run on ahead to Mam’s grave.

‘Those bellringers,’ I said, once she’d gone. ‘It was me they were staring at, weren’t it?’

Mercy didn’t answer.

‘I feared it would be like this,’ I said, tears springing into my eyes. ‘I should’ve stayed at home.’

Mercy patted my arm. ‘You know what people are like when there’s been a tragedy. It’ll pass. They’ll be gossiping about Eden Court again by teatime.’

Sniffing back my tears, I hoped she was right. But it stung to be called a tragedy. I was just about to say so too, when Peg slid to a breathless halt in front of us.

‘It isn’t fair!’ she cried. ‘I hoped it’d be just us today but someone else is already at Mam’s grave!’

‘Who is it?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. They’ve got a long dark cloak on with shiny buttons down the front and they’re proper tall, too.’

The person didn’t sound familiar. Forgetting my own troubles for a moment, I fumbled for Peg’s hand. ‘You’d better show us.’

We followed the path that led to the far corner of the churchyard, where the yew trees grew dark and glossy green. The air here was cold, winter air. Beneath our feet damp grass soaked into our skirt hems.

‘There, that’s the person,’ said Peg, stopping sharp.

‘Oooooh,’ breathed Mercy.

I’d no idea which direction we were facing. Or how far away from the stranger we were. Or, more importantly, what they’d seen.

‘Describe them, can’t you?’ I hissed.

Mercy breathed deep. ‘Well, it’s a man … no, wait … it might be a woman … no, maybe it’s …’

‘Which is it?’ I said, frustrated that I couldn’t see for myself. ‘It can’t be that hard to tell.’

‘It’s a man,’ said Peg. ‘And he’s got dark hair combed forward.’

I wondered if she’d made that last bit up. Especially when Mercy said, ‘No he hasn’t. He’s wearing a curled wig.’

‘Never mind that now, Mercy,’ I said. ‘Tell me what he’s doing.’

‘Umm.’ I pictured her peering with her eyes all screwed up. ‘He’s writing something down.’

‘Can you see what?’

‘It looks like he’s copying from your mam’s headstone.’

‘Are you sure?’

Peg cried ‘Shh!’

Then came the crackle of paper, the swoosh of a cloak. Footsteps thudded across the grass, away from us to the front of the church and the village green. A blackbird shrieked before the quiet settled heavily around us again.

‘Phew! He’s gone,’ said Mercy.

‘Back to Eden Court, I expect,’ I said, because it was dawning on me who this stranger probably was. There weren’t many in Sweepfield whose cloaks made that expensive, silken sound.

Mercy gasped. ‘You think he’s the scientist?’

‘He might be,’ Peg agreed. ‘He looks like a city sort.’

Mercy was keen to discuss it some more. But the episode had left me confused. Why on earth would a scientist be visiting my mother’s grave? I’d no idea. No idea at all. And right now my mind was too full to take it in.

Holding my hand, Peg led me across the grass to the spot where Mam lay.

‘It’s a small grave, but it’s proper nice. It’s got angel’s wings on it, see?’ said Peg, placing my fingers on the headstone.

Slowly, I traced the curved lines. I tried to think of how pretty they must look, but all I felt was cold, rough stone. The churchyard smelled of rotting leaves, and from the dull light, I supposed we were right under trees. Poor Mam shouldn’t have been left somewhere this bleak; she should’ve been laid to rest in the sun.

Tears rolling down my face, I dropped to my knees. Peg knelt beside me, her elbow and hip pressed comfortingly against mine. We stayed like that until our legs ached and our skirts grew even damper.

‘All right?’ Peg asked me.

I sniffed. ‘Just about.’

Putting my hand out to push myself up, I felt something lying on the grass. It was a heavy, round, button-sized thing.

‘What’s this?’ I asked, holding it for the others to see.

‘That’s a brass button.’ Mercy breathed in sharply. ‘Or maybe it’s a gold one.’

‘Cor! Let me see!’ Peg said, leaning in close. ‘It’s got a shape on it, like a crest or something. It looks right expensive.’

‘I bet it belongs to that scientist man. It probably came off his cloak,’ I said, closing my fist around it.

‘He might come back for it,’ Mercy warned. ‘Or say he finds out you’ve got it and comes after you?’

The crying had worked loose something knotted up inside of me, and I felt bolder because of it. The worst had already happened: we’d lost our mam. There wasn’t much left in the world to be scared of, and that included scientists and bellringers.

‘I want to know why he was visiting Mam’s grave,’ I said, dropping the button into my pocket for safekeeping. ‘So we’re going after him.’