by Anne Brear
He lifted his gaze to meet hers and for once there was no hostility in him. ‘Yer nothing but a girl.’
She gave him a cheeky smile that hurt the bruising around her eye. ‘I am strong and determined.’
He stared at her as though he was seeing her for the first time. A soft chuckle escaped him. ‘Yer’ve no notion of what it takes to run a farm.’
‘I can learn, besides the situation cannot be worse than it already is.’
‘What’s yer name again?’
‘Isabelle.’
He nodded and looked around the kitchen. ‘This place wasn’t always so dire.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Me mother wouldn’t be impressed to see her kitchen so bare. And I hate to think what me father would say about outside.’
Isabelle poured the tea and passed it to him. ‘How did it get so bad?’
He took the cup from her and cradled it in his hands. ‘I’ll not discuss it.’
Commotion from outside had them both leaping for the back door. Farrell looked out the window and then pushed Isabelle back inside. ‘Stay in here and do not come out.’
Isabelle stepped back as he promptly shut the door in her face. She sighed, annoyed that their first proper conversion had been cut short. She went to the window, but Farrell glared at her as he went past so she hid in the shadows and peeked the best she could.
The richness of the riders’ clothes and magnificent horses at once interested her. She inched towards the window again for a better view. Farrell’s aggressive stance swung her attention to him. Voices rose and the first rider thrust his crop in Farrell’s chest. Isabelle nibbled her fingernail appalled at the scene being played out. The second rider hung back, she picked him out as a steward or something similar. He didn’t have the aura of authority that the first rider did.
Farrell gestured widely, his face crimson in anger. She hunkered below the window and prayed he wouldn’t become violent. Shaking his fist, her husband shouted like a madman. The forefront rider sat back in his saddle as though weary of the argument. Isabelle studied him. What struck her first was that he wore no hat. He had dark, thick chestnut brown hair, much darker than her own. From this distance she couldn’t see the colour of his eyes, but his strong jaw line and arrogant manner revealed that he was a man of consequence. He oozed influence and power. An unidentifiable tingle ran along her skin.
Suddenly, the man looked straight at the window. Isabelle ducked, her heart pounding in her chest. She admonished herself for being so silly. Why did it matter if her saw her or not? Standing, she glanced out the window, but the men whipped their horses about and trotted out of view.
Farrell flung open the door. ‘That bastard!’
Isabelle bit her lip as he threw himself into a chair. ‘Who is he?’
‘The bloody landlord, blast him to hell.’
‘What did he want?’
‘Blood!’ He spat on her clean floor and she shuddered. ‘He wants his rent, which I haven’t got. He can go swim in the midden for it as far as I’m concerned.’
‘He won’t throw us onto the streets will he?’
Farrell banged the table with both hands. ‘Let him try!’ He slammed his chair back and strode outside.
Isabelle gripped the table. Lord, what had she done marrying this fellow? She forced herself to smile as Hughie sidled into the kitchen.
‘You all right, Belle?’
‘Of course. The visitors upset Farrell, that’s all.’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘Did you find many windfalls?’
‘Some, yes. I fed the pig, but I was thinking that it should be let out into the orchard. Its pen stinks awful bad.’
‘Do the best you can, pet.’
Later, they ate their meal in silence silhouetted by one candle stub. Farrell had killed a chicken for her and, after the tedious chore of plucking it, she’d boiled it. She wasn’t good at cooking interesting meals, especially with the limited ingredients they had. So, boiling a chicken was about the best she could do, but at least she knew how to bake bread and pastry pies. That, if nothing else would fill them, just as long as Hughie could catch rabbits or the odd pheasant until the summer when the fruit ripened.
Outside darkness enclosed them like a tomb. Isabelle shivered. She glanced at Farrell and wondered whether he wanted her in his bed tonight. Their marriage hadn’t been consummated, not that she was eager for his touch, quite the opposite in fact. She wasn’t entirely sure what the act involved, but did remember her parents laughing and giggling in the night, so she didn’t think it could be all that bad if you liked the person.
Again, Farrell was in a foul temper. Snarling at her attempts of conversation and totally ignoring Hughie’s stumbling questions about the farm. She hoped the landlord never came again if this was the result.
She and Hughie jumped when Farrell hastily stood. ‘I’m off out.’
‘Out?’
Farrell slapped on his battered hat and turned at the door. ‘That’s what I said.’
‘But where are you going at this hour?’
His gaze pinned her into silence. ‘I need to find the rent for the bastard landlord, don’t I?’
She stared at him, puzzled. ‘How though?’
‘You’d best not know.’ The click of the door closing seemed terribly loud in the quiet of the kitchen.
Chapter Five
Isabelle dug the spade into the soil and turned the sod over. Recent rain made the ground soft and she was thankful for it. She wiped her hair out of her eyes with her forearm and then ploughed the spade in again, moving her way down the vegetable plot. Neglected over time, brambles and nettles crowded over it. However, in some cases the wind had carried the seed of blown vegetables around the plot where they had re-sown. Isabelle had picked self-sown vegetables until there were none left, which was why she now planted new seeds. She knew a little about growing vegetables having spent time in the garden with her grandfather, who had enjoyed the practise.
‘It’s Sunday, Belle, you shouldn’t be working,’ Hughie said, coming up beside her. Grime stained his face while his clothes hung on his lanky frame. In the month living at the farm, he had grown, but not filled out. Hard work and not enough food gave him a haggard beggar’s look.
‘Well, on the way home from church this morning I thought that if we dug this plot, I could perhaps grow something over winter or failing that, we could have the soil ready for spring.’
‘Where’s he gone this time?’
‘Halifax.’
Hughie took the spade from her and resumed the task. ‘Will he be back today?’
‘No, he said not.’ She picked up the bag of broad beans and dropped a seed into the row behind Hughie.
‘I hope he never comes back.’
‘Don’t Hughie. Farrell is trying...’ Isabelle sighed. In truth her husband had tried to be civil, but his social graces lacked considerably. He swung between drunken rages and fits of brooding depression. ‘I know it isn’t easy living like this but there are worse places.’
‘Huh, I’d like to see them.’
Isabelle bit back further comment, too tired to argue with him. A sullen youth had replaced her once cheery brother. She was to blame for this transformation and it hurt.
Arching her throbbing back, she stared at the low clouds that hinted more rain. She dreaded the fast approaching winter. The farmhouse, although cleaner, was still in no better condition and since Farrell had no money to make improvements, it meant them having to face a dismal freezing winter.
‘There, that’s the end of it.’ Hughie knocked the last of the dirt off the spade and gave it back to her. ‘I’ll go check the traps. We might have a rabbit for tonight’s meal. I’m sick of boiled eggs.’
Isabelle watched him walk away; the droop of his shoulders a permanent thing now. Her heart pained at their situation. Getting married was meant to be the answer to their problems. Never had she imagined her decision ruining them. Still, all was not lost. She managed to feed them on the eggs the hens laid so
regularly, plus, they had milk. The odd pheasant and trout made it into her cooking pot and, each time Farrell brought such a thing home, she shied away from asking him where he got it. Soon they would have bacon and ham. Farrell had managed to hire a boar to mate with the sow, and now she carried a belly full of piglets.
The cool November breeze raised goosebumps on her skin. The weather hadn’t been pleasant since they arrived, with showers, storms and grey gloomy days. It was as though Mother Nature was in a rush to bring on winter’s dreariness.
The light wind sprang up sharper, swifter and slammed the kitchen door shut. Above her, the curtains blew in and out through the open bedroom window. To the east ominous dark clouds raced. The cow bellowed and walked faster to the gate wanting the confines of its stall, which, now Hughie had cleaned it out, was the easiest place to milk her.
‘It’s all right, Mayflower, I’m coming.’ Isabelle crossed the yard to the first outbuilding and put away her seeds and spade. Hughie had spent many long hours tiding and cleaning the barns. He had a natural love for the animals and cared for them avidly. Farrell, unconcerned for his beasts’ welfare, gladly left the boy to see to them and if he was surprised by the boy’s enthusiasm he didn’t show it.
Strong wind replaced the breeze, buffeting Isabelle as she left the building. It whipped her hair from its bun and flattened her skirts against her legs making it difficult to walk. Staggering, she unclasped the gate and grabbed Mayflower’s halter, pulling the cow down the yard and into the barn.
A clap of thunder roared over her head, echoing in the cavernous, empty barn. Isabelle ushered Mayflower into her stall and closed the door. Next, she snatched up the feed dish and filled it with grain. Outside once more, she called to the hens, which quickly followed her into the next barn, and she fed them before shutting them up for the night.
The wind howled through the bare trees, tossing them this way and that. She ran around the buildings into the orchard behind and looked for Hughie, but there was no sign of him. The sow, Flossy, as Hughie named her, like as he’d named the cow, pushed her snout against Isabelle’s skirts. ‘Yes, come on then, I’ll put you to bed too.’ Isabelle unlatched the back door of the last outbuilding and Flossy went in without complaint. ‘Hughie will feed you when he gets back,’ she told the grunting pig, closing the door.
Fallen leaves carpeted the orchard and crunched under Isabelle’s boots. With a last look for Hughie, she left the orchard and went across the yard to the washing line. Large fat raindrops landed, hurrying her to work faster. She threw the clothes into the basket, and head down, ran for the house.
Inside, she paused to catch her breath. From the kitchen window, she watched hailstones bounce on the ground and worried for Hughie. Why wasn’t he home? She tossed about the idea of going to look for him, and decided against it for she wasn’t sure which direction he’d taken once entering the wood.
Isabelle stoked the fire and added more logs. She put the kettle on to boil and stirred the watery cabbage soup she’d made earlier. Unwrapping the bread from a clean towel, she grimaced at its hard flatness. Baking bread was a talent she had not mastered and she was sorry for it. Nevertheless, she cut a few thin slices before going to the larder and collecting a jar each of blackberry jam and the pickles she had begged Farrell to buy on his last trip to town.
For a moment, she wondered what kept him away from the farm for days at a time. Whatever it was, it brought in a little money. Most times, he returned supplies to keep them going for a few more days. The rent, she knew had been paid, but how he’d raised the sum she didn’t know. No animals were sold and since the far fields hadn’t been in crop for years, he had no harvest money either.
It crossed her mind that his business might be illegal, but she was afraid to ask him. When he was home, he was usually drunk and fit for nothing. Sometimes, he arrived bruised and bloodied and she cleaned him up as he slept off his ale. She always made sure he could find no fault with her. Living in dread of him telling her to leave and meaning it, kept her in a constant state of anxiety. She did her best to improve the house and farm. He must find no reason to be rid of her and Hughie. So far, she believed it to be working. Even though Farrell said nothing about the changing appearance of the yard and house, she hoped he approved anyway.
She tried not to dwell on her marriage. Her hand stilled on the bread knife. Am I really married? They had not consummated the marriage and although the prospect of committing the act to seal the contract revolted her, she would rather suffer that than live with the fear of him being able to throw them on the streets and get an annulment.
Movement at the window sent her rushing to open the back door. The wind nearly tore it out of her hands as Hughie staggered in and collapsed against her.
‘Oh, Belle.’
‘What took you so long? Are you all right?’
‘I found it.’
‘What?’
‘Farrell’s stash.’
Isabelle blinked. ‘Stash?’ She sat him down, and then walked to the stove to swing the kettle off the heat. ‘What do you mean?’
Hughie, eyes wide, panted, trying to get his breath. ‘In the wood there’s a dug out, it’s not big mind, just wide enough for someone to crawl in sideways. It’s tucked into the bank of the stream. I found it by accident. When the storm started I ran and slipped down the bank, I grabbed a tree root and knocked away some of the bush covering the hole. At first I thought it a fox den, but taking a closer look I saw a tin box had fallen nearer to the opening.’
‘Hughie-’
‘Look, Belle.’ From his pockets Hughie drew out snuffboxes, a pearl necklace and three fob watches. ‘These are only some of the things.’
‘Oh dear heaven!’ Isabelle’s stomach clenched in fear. She blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend what this meant. ‘Hughie, you shouldn’t have touched them.’
The door banged open startling them both. Farrell, his eyes blazing in rage stared at the glittering treasures on the table. ‘How did yer get those?’ He yelled, lunging for Hughie. Despite his big build, Farrell could move quickly when the need arose and within seconds he had Hughie hanging by his shirt collar inches clear off the floor.
‘Farrell!’ Isabelle rushed to him, but he swept her aside.
‘Yer dirty, snivelling little toe-rag!’ Farrell shook Hughie like a limp doll. ‘How dare yer help yerself to me things.’
Isabelle beseeched him from the end of the table. ‘He’s sorry, Farrell. Please, put him down. We’ll talk about it.’
Farrell sneered into Hughie’s face. ‘Want to steal from me do yer? Well I’ll teach yer a lesson yer’ll not forget in a hurry!’ He flung Hughie against the wall with a thump. Cups rattled where they hung from hooks on the dresser.
‘No! Stop!’ Isabelle ran to Hughie. Farrell flung her away with enough force to smash her against the dresser. Plates rocked on the shelf.
Farrell picked Hughie up and smashed his fist into his stomach. Breath exploded from Hughie in a cruel gasp. The boy went down to his knees, an easy target for Farrell’s boots.
‘No!’ Isabelle charged at Farrell and knocked him sideways away from Hughie.
Farrell grabbed the table and spun to face her. ‘Get out of me way! I’ll not have him stealing from me under me very nose!’
She stood between the two of them, conscious of Hughie crying behind her. ‘He didn’t mean to. He was going to put them back, I promise you. Hughie just wanted to show me, that’s all.’
‘Likely story!’ He scorned, red in the face, but his temper was lessening.
Isabelle swallowed. ‘Sit down and we’ll talk. I’ve got your dinner ready. Please sit down.’ When Farrell lowered into the nearest chair, Isabelle swung to Hughie and helped him upright. ‘Come, dearest, I’ll pour you a cup of tea.’
Farrell snorted at her fussing but said nothing as she quickly, shaking so much she spilled some of the soup, gave them their dinner. She sat in her place at the end of the table closest to the range. Hughi
e’s snivelling had eased but he ignored the simple meal before him.
Isabelle, her stomach in knots, couldn’t eat either. ‘Try to eat something, Hughie.’
‘Leave me alone.’
Farrell’s eyes narrowed. ‘Eat! I’ll not have food wasted.’ Abruptly, he too thrust his soup bowl away and bowed his head. ‘It’s the only way I can bring in some money.’
Isabelle looked at him. ‘Pardon?’
He raised his gaze to her. ‘Where do yer think the money comes from? This farm earns nothing. With the flock size reduced, they don’t bring in enough.’
A cold shiver tingled down her spine. ‘If you are caught what will happen then? How will we survive then?’
Farrell hunched his shoulders and looked away.
She rose from her chair and went to the fire, tormented by her situation. How could she have married this stranger, this man who could beat her brother so easily? ‘Things must change. I will not be married to a criminal. If you spent more time working this farm than you did stealing, happen we’d be doing a whole lot better!’
‘Yer so stupid.’ His laugh made her clench her fists.
White-hot fury blinded her for a second. ‘Never call me stupid, do you hear!’ She banged her hands down flat on the table and leaned towards him. ‘I’ll not have you put us in danger. There will be no more stealing. Instead, you’ll work the land. Make this farm pay its way.’
Farrell stood, glaring at her. ‘Farm this land? Are yer mad as well as stupid? There isn’t enough land to make a livin, the bastard landlord saw to that.’
‘Why? Why did he take the land away? Was it because he saw the neglect? The misuse? No doubt he thought he might as well use it then let it go idle.’
Farrell stepped forward, fist raised. ‘Yer dare to defend him. He, who ruined me father and who humiliates me at every turn?’
She grabbed the fire poker and held it high. ‘Hit me or Hughie ever again and you’ll live to regret it.’