Quinta frowned and her mouth turned down at the corners. ‘You had to steal food?’
‘I didn’t think it was stealing. They were supposed to feed me.’
‘Where was that?’
‘A hovel in Ireland where I was farmed out when I was born.The English bastard, they called me; fit only for the stables. I slept there, too, in the hayloft. And in winter I had to risk spending the night among the hooves and droppings in the stalls to stop myself freezing to death.’
‘How cruel! And how awful for you! Were you there for long?’
‘Ten years; I only remember about half of them. I remember the guv’nor, though. He was like your Farmer Bilton, coarse, selfish and surly. He always carried a horsewhip and I’d get it across my back or legs for no reason except to remind me what it felt like in case I forgot. I was no better then a slave!’ He stopped suddenly and his voice was quieter when he said,‘Come on, we’d better get moving.’
Quinta jumped down from the wall. ‘I’m sorry. It must have been dreadful, growing up like that.’
He shrugged.‘I knew no other life. But I had a strong instinct for survival and grew cunning. I planned from an early age to run away. I might have become a genuine vagabond if my father hadn’t found me and put me straight. I try to forget it these days, but the way Farmer Bilton behaved just now brought it all back to me.’
‘I haven’t seen him drunk before. He likes his own way but I never thought he’d increase our rent like that. He might change his mind in the morning. I hope so, because Mother can’t afford it as it is.’
‘That won’t stop him. No one can deny that your land is worth a good rent and with the price of food rising, he has a point. He’s not a gentleman, though, even if he is your landlord. And he seemed to have more than a passing interest in you. Does he have a wife?’
‘Mother thinks that nobody will have him in spite of his wealth. Leastways, none of the women around here would live in his squalid farmhouse.’
‘He talked of an offer he’d made to your mother.’
Quinta hesitated, wondering how much more to tell him and eventually added, ‘Mother thought she might housekeep for him at one time.’
‘Seems like a good idea. He might attract a wife then. What happened?’
‘She didn’t like his terms. She’s a proud woman, my mother.’
‘I see.’ He frowned. At least he thought he did and guessed that a brutish man like Farmer Bilton might not bother with a wife and expect more than housekeeping duties from an attractive widow like Mrs Haig. ‘I’m sure that was for the best. She probably knows him better than you do. He’s coarse and selfish. Not gentry either. How did he get the farm in the first place?’
‘It was entailed and the only direct heir was killed in one of the battles in Spain before Waterloo. So it came to him. We’re told he’s a distant cousin through the female line. She married beneath herself and had a son, so he inherited. He comes from Derbyshire, I think. He’s a good farmer though. Everybody says so.’
‘Well, your holding is small in comparison to his. But if it was worked well it would support a decent rent.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. The two of you do your best.’
‘When Father was alive we kept a milking cow and made hay for her winter feed. I remember a bullock once and sheep on the pasture. Father’s beasts always fetched a good price at the market.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll have to find work. There’ll be a hiring fair on Lammas Day when the harvest starts.’
‘And leave your mother here alone?’
‘They’ll have to take both of us. What else can I do? If we don’t give Farmer Bilton his dues, he’ll turn us out.’
‘Your mother isn’t well.’
‘I know. She’s never had a cough that lingered so. If only she could throw it off,’
‘I talked to the apothecary about her. My father asked me to. He learned much about ailments during his soldiering. I have a strong mixture that will help her.’
‘Thank you, Mr Ross. I am grateful to you.’ She meant it. It was the longest conversation she had had with him and she realised that he was articulate and educated, as well as being a good farmer. But he had had a difficult childhood which, by his own admission, had set him on the road to becoming a vagabond and she wondered how much of that cunning remained. She fell silent again until they approached their parents.
‘Please do not speak of Farmer Bilton’s behaviour. Mother worries so,’ Quinta whispered.
‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘You must tell her of the rent increase, though.’
‘Tomorrow, when she is rested,’
‘Will you walk and talk with me, miss? It will make the last stretch home bearable,’ the sergeant asked as he struggled to his feet. ‘If your mother has no objection?’
‘Of course, sir.’ Quinta would rather have stayed by her mother’s side, but as Laura seemed to approve of the arrangement, she felt obliged to agree. They moved slowly as Laura was weary and the sergeant’s leg pained him.
‘It was generous of you to give us all the kindling money, sir,’ she said.
‘Not at all. It is your wood.’
‘And your son’s labour.’
‘Which pays for our rent of your cowshed.’
Quinta did not argue. She understood only too well the value of such a bargain. And she had learned today that townfolk were ready to pay well for all their produce. This had surprised her at first as they could just as easily grow vegetables for themselves, and many did so in their long narrow gardens. But there were lodging houses and inns to supply as well, and she reflected that life in the town was very different from Top Field. She wasn’t sure she agreed with her mother about not going to market any more.
‘Can you read and write, miss?’ the sergeant asked.
‘Oh yes. My father learned how from the vicar when he was a lad. He taught my mother and me. We have a Bible indoors and story books, too. We read them to each other on summer evenings. Then in the winter, when it’s dark, we try and remember the stories and talk about them after the candles have burned down. Father had books on animal husbandry, too, but Mother isn’t interested in that.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yes, I am. I do what I can on the farm. But there is the indoor work as well and Mother can’t do so much these days. When Father was alive, we kept a cow, you know, and made cheese from the milk and grew turnips and barley to feed her.’
‘You have no hankering to live in town?’
‘Not really. Though I did envy one or two of the young ladies I saw there. They wore such pretty bonnets. Like the ladies at the Hall wear to church. I do so like a trimmed bonnet for Sundays.’
Progress was slow. Even Mr Ross slowed down before they reached Top Field. It was dark when they arrived but the night air cooled their tired, heated heads. He helped Quinta to unload their supplies and carry them to the cottage. Mrs Haig picked up a basket and sagged against the cart to gather her strength.
‘I’ll check the hens,’ Quinta yawned.
‘No, I’ll do that tonight,’ Mr Ross volunteered. ‘And see to them in the morning for you. Take your mother indoors, miss.’
‘Thank you kindly, sir.’ Laura turned to his father. ‘You have a fine son there, Sergeant Ross.’
‘Aye, I do that. Good night, ma’am. Miss Quinta.’ He limped towards the cowshed.
In the kitchen, Laura flopped on a chair. ‘Oh, my feet! Light a candle, dear, while I take off my boots. Is there any water?’
‘Plenty. We’ll wash off the dust before bed. Bring the candle to the scullery when you’re ready.’
Quinta poured some cold water into a bowl in the stone sink and splashed it over her hands and face, enjoying the refreshing cold. She dried herself with a square of old bed-linen. ‘Shall I bring the bowl through for you, Mother?’ she called.
‘Oh, would you? I don’t think I can get out of this chair for a minute or two.’
Quinta took some clean linen and h
eld the bowl while her mother washed her hands and face. Then she placed it on the floor and said, ‘Put your feet in there. It’ll cool them off.’
Laura leaned back in her chair and sighed.‘What a gentleman that Sergeant Ross has turned out to be.We were indeed lucky when he happened by our little farm and wanted to stay in the cowshed.’
‘His son is anxious to move on.’
‘He told me they were trying to reach town, but his father’s leg was too swollen.The sergeant has to see the surgeon himself. I believe his knee is very painful now. Too painful.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His son has bought him laudanum from the Dispensary.’
‘He got medicine for your cough too, Mother.’
‘Yes, he explained about it as we walked. There is plenty of work Mr Ross can do round here to pay for their lodging while his father gets well. I might ask him to do more for us. What do you think?’
‘We agreed only until Midsummer to pay our rent. Farmer Bilton does not approve of them. He thinks they’re poachers, or worse.’
‘Well, we’ve paid our dues to him so I don’t care what he thinks,’ Laura responded crossly.
‘Of course you do, Mother! He’s our landlord.’ Quinta washed and dried her mother’s aching feet, massaged her legs and eased on her felt slippers. ‘The sergeant is very charming, I grant you, but he is a stranger and we don’t know anything about him apart from what he has told us. As for his son, well, he - he barely says a word. I don’t think we can trust him.’
‘He suffered hardship as a child.’ Laura told her what the sergeant had said. ‘I believe him, dear. If he was lying he wouldn’t have admitted that his own son was a - a - well, you know.’
‘A bastard?’
‘Quinta! Where on earth did you hear that word?’
‘He - Mr Ross - told me a little about his childhood.’
‘The sergeant said his mother was gentry.’
‘I don’t believe him. They’re travellers, Mother. We shouldn’t let them stay any longer.’
She thought her mother would agree and was surprised when she defended them. ‘But they aren’t gypsies, dear.’
‘They could be footpads or anything.’
‘They would have stolen from us by now if they were.’
‘Well, there’s nothing to steal here and the sergeant is weak. He’s just resting up to gather his strength to move on.Tell them to leave, Mother. I’ll feel safer when they’ve gone.’
‘I feel safer with them here.’
‘Mother?’
‘That ruffian in town was dressed up like a gentleman, but he was a real bad lot, Quinta. If the furnaces and manufactories in town are attracting that sort we need some protection. What if he had followed us home? There’s no constable out here.’
Quinta agreed. ‘I wish Father were here,’ she said.
Laura reached out for her hand. ‘But he isn’t, dear. The sergeant is no deterrent to any roving vagrants, but the sight of Mr Ross about the place might be.’
They stared at each other in silence until Laura said, ‘Was Farmer Bilton pleased to get his rent?’
Quinta was relieved to be talking of something else, but it was not cheering news for her mother. ‘Not really. He says he’s putting it up next quarter day. I think he means it. I’ll have to find work, or he’ll turn us out.’
Her mother heaved a sigh.
‘He said I should talk to you about his offer.’
‘For you? Never!’
Quinta now agreed wholeheartedly with her mother about this and shivered. She could no more wed that dreadful old man than she could paint her face like a young woman she saw in the marketplace.
‘Don’t fret, Mother.The Hall will take me on for the harvest.’ I might even find a sweetheart, she thought. How wonderful, if she were courted by a respectable young man from the village! If Mother approved she could meet his family at church and walk out with him on Sunday afternoon. Mother would make tea and scones for when he visited . . .
She stopped dreaming. The men who came to work on the harvest were itinerant labourers like those at Farmer Bilton’s table earlier that evening. She took her mother’s hands and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on. It’s time for bed. Will you take a little of your new medicine tonight?’
Refreshed and clean, they went upstairs. Although Quinta was tired out, she lay awake thinking of the future. Going out to work might be an answer. But she would not be able to keep the garden going, and the farm would deteriorate further. Even if she could pay him at Michaelmas, Farmer Bilton would have a sound reason to evict them and any countryman would agree. With the price of food rising, it was their duty to get the best out of their land.
Quinta was sure her mother was right to refuse Farmer Bilton’s offer. She was not so sure as her mother about their lodgers in the cowshed. The sergeant was affable enough but his son, by his own admission, was cunning and this made her wary. He was withdrawn and aloof, communicated only when asked and gave the minimum of information.
It was as though he had no feelings. The only time she had seen a spark of real anger was when faced with Farmer Bilton’s uncouth behaviour. Now she knew about his birthright and his childhood she wondered if that was the reason. She did not know what it was like to be treated so cruelly. If he were to be believed, the poor orphans in the workhouse had a better life than the one endured by Mr Ross when he was a child. There was something unknown about him that, Quinta acknowledged to herself again, made her cautious; something dark and dangerous that frightened her.
However, there was no doubt that he could farm and he had some education . . . She stared at the blackness, irritated by the way he intruded into her thoughts.
Chapter 9
When Patrick joined his father in the cowshed, he was sitting on the ground, leaning against a wooden stall. A candle stuck on a log was burning low.
‘Not asleep yet?’
His father held a spirit flask in his hand. ‘I need this to dull the pain first. Come and sit awhile. I want to talk to you.’
Patrick sat on the log and unlaced his boots. ‘One of your serious talks, is this?’
‘It is. Did you sell the pearls?’
He reached under his jacket for a leather pouch of coins. ‘Feel the weight of this. Jewels were easier to carry around.’
‘Aye, that’s why I bought them in the first place.’
‘Well, this amount of gold is heavy.’
‘I’m going to need it, son. This leg of mine is bad. What did they say at the Dispensary?’
‘The town is well provided with medical men. It has a physician and a surgeon. The surgeon will be able to help you. He was an officer in one of the King’s regiments.’
‘Oh? Which one?’
‘The apothecary told me he was with the Sixty-fifth. He saw service in India and Arabia. But his wife died and he came home. He resigned his commission and settled in the Riding to continue his calling.’
‘This is good news. He will know what to do.’
‘The apothecary expected me to bring him to see you.’
‘Not here. I’ll go into town as I planned.’
‘It’s a long way but there’s a carrier cart from the village.’
‘I’ll keep the laudanum for that journey.’
Patrick frowned. ‘He said you shouldn’t delay. You haven’t been honest with me about how bad it is. Is that why you were so keen to rest here?’
‘I’d like to have reached town.’
‘I’ll get you there, Father, even if I have to carry you on my back.’
‘It won’t come to that. And Top Field has much to offer.’
‘They’re decent folk, I grant you. But this place is slowly dying.’
‘You can turn it round for them, son.’
‘There’s no future for them in that. They won’t be able to keep it going when we move on.’
‘Well, I won’t be moving on from the South Riding. That’s what I want to tal
k to you about. This travelling life is too much for me now.’
‘The surgeon said he could help you! It’ll take time to heal but—’
‘Listen to me, son. We’ve had the best of times together since I found you and I am proud of the man you have become. But I have to stop now. You can go on, though, if you want to.’
‘I’m not leaving you. If your roots are in the South Riding then mine are, too. I’ll find work in these parts.’
‘You could stay here.’
‘They can’t afford a hired man. Anyway, the landlord wants them out.’
‘Aye. Mrs Haig was telling me. I can see why. They’re not making the best of it.’
‘Well, be fair, Father. The girl is strong enough but the widow is too old to work the land.’
‘I reckon her bloom had already gone when she bore the child.’
‘She carries herself well, though.’
‘Aye, she does.’
Patrick wondered just how interested his father was in Mrs Haig. ‘She’s sick, Father. That cough of hers ...’
‘Aye, I know, and she only has the one daughter to care for her. A pretty young thing, though, don’t you think?’
Patrick glanced at his father. He agreed but didn’t say so. The short time he’d been in the Riding had shown him that many country girls of her age had a freshness and vitality that attracted him. Not so in the town, he thought. They were worn down by the smoke and the dirt and disease that were prevalent there.
‘Isn’t she?’ his father pressed.
Patrick made a positive sound in his throat and nodded.
‘I - I’ve seen the way you look at her, son.’
He detected a questioning tone in his father’s voice that he took to be a warning. His father always behaved respectfully towards any woman they met on the road, and he expected his son to do the same. ‘She’s safe with me,’ he responded quickly. ‘Miss Quinta is still a maid and a decent, hard-working lass. She’s not like Mary-Ann was when we were on the canals, flaunting herself before me all the time.’
‘Aye, well, Mary-Ann did all the chasing for you. And she should have told you she was already wed.’
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