A Mother's Sacrifice (11 page)

The juices ran down the blade and it smelled delicious. She was hungry but feared the way Farmer Bilton was brandishing his knife and her mouth became dry. She wished she had listened to Mr Ross and kept away from the table. The knife blade was very close to her chin and he kept moving it towards her in short jabs that were unfriendly and intimidating. He was a horrid man and she wanted to be as far away from him as she could. She put up both her hands as though to protect herself from the blade but did not know how to take the meat without cutting her fingers.

Her left hand grasped his knuckles to still his hand and it did. Quite suddenly. He leaned forward in the light and Quinta saw that his dark eyes were bloodshot. She had not seen him behave this way before. He was sober and deferential in church and always bowed his head to the ladies and his betters. Now he was drunk and demanding and he frightened her.

Hesitatingly, she wrestled the meat from the knife point with her other hand and bit off a small amount. She grimaced as she tried to chew it without saliva. But it was, as he said, juicy and tender. She swallowed hastily to push it down her throat as fast as she could and felt it move through every inch of her gullet until it sat like a lump of stone in her stomach.

He smiled at her, but to Quinta it was more of a sneer, a triumphant sneer. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from. Think on it, lass. Meat and drink on the table every day. You talk to that mother of yours about my offer.’

‘She won’t change her mind.’

‘Won’t she?’ he scoffed. ‘Well, you tell that high and mighty madam her rent goes up from Michaelmas.’

‘You can’t do that!’

‘Can’t? Who says I can’t? It’s my land and I can increase the rent when I like.’ He slid the coins into his pocket and shoved the pouch towards her. ‘Don’t you forget that when you talk to her. I will have my way. You see if I don’t.’ He tipped back his head to swallow the last of his ale and then slumped forward on to the table. His silent companions stared at her. She shivered. To think she had seriously considered his offer. She felt a tug on her sleeve.

‘Come along, miss. It’s getting late.’ Mr Ross was actually pulling her away.

‘Good night, sir,’ she said politely.

Farmer Bilton raised his head and lifted his tankard. ‘More ale, Seth,’ he growled.

‘Hurry, miss.’ Mr Ross was striding quickly and she stumbled to keep up. But he held her arm firmly, so she had to. ‘He’s drunk. Couldn’t you see that?’

‘Well, yes, but he is our landlord.’

‘I don’t care who he is. Didn’t your mother teach you to keep away from drunken men?’

‘Yes,’ she muttered. ‘Can you please slow down?’

‘Not yet,’ he snapped.

But he did, eventually, and Quinta was quite out of breath.

‘Sit here a while.’ He gestured to a dry-stone wall.

‘Why are you so angry with me?’

‘I’m not.’

‘You’re clenching your fists.’

He opened his fingers immediately. ‘I’m angry with him.’ He tossed his head in the direction of Bilton Farm. ‘Did you see those poor wretches at his table?’

‘You mean the ones sharing his mutton?’ she challenged.

He laughed harshly. ‘Well, they’re grown men so he can’t get away with starving them. If he beats them they could beat him back.’

‘Why would he beat them?’

‘His sort doesn’t need a reason, but stealing food would be enough.’

‘Stealing anything, I should think. Were you beaten as a child?’

He didn’t answer at first, until she asked, ‘Were you in the workhouse?’

He laughed again, without humour. ‘That would have been preferable for me. Do you know what fresh baked bread smells like to a starving boy who had been up since dawn lifting well water and mucking out horses? I was only allowed leftover bread. If there were no stale crusts I starved, so I used to eat the horse’s oat mash because if I took anything from the kitchen, I was whipped.’

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 held 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.’