A Mother's Sacrifice (28 page)

‘Don’t you worry about me. I’ll just wash the pots and be off.’

She checked that her mother was asleep before she left.Then she pulled away the muslin from the neckline of her summer gown, tidied her hair and pinched her cheeks. She pulled on a fresh cotton bonnet and tied the ribbon bow just under her left ear. But she did not venture as far as the Hall. She turned off the track to Bilton Farm.

Every day, Quinta had half expected to see Farmer Bilton on his black hunter, inspecting their yard. But since the shooting and the trial he had not been over. No doubt he was busy with harvesting, and he had got what he wanted, she supposed. Patrick and his father were gone, so they would be destitute again and forced to leave his property at Michaelmas. She hoped he would believe her when she told him that her mother had changed her mind.

The farmyard was deserted and she guessed old Seth was in the scullery clearing away after dinner. She lifted the heavy knocker on the front door and let it fall three times against the bleached wood. After she had waited nervously for several minutes, Farmer Bilton answered. He was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat but still wore his boots and gaiters, which were caked with farmyard mud. His face was florid from the ale at dinner and she guessed he had been asleep.

‘Oh, you,’ he growled. ‘What do you want?’

‘I wish to speak with you, sir.’

His sagging features took on a guarded expression and he looked over her head and about his yard.‘Where’s your mother?’

‘She’s not too well these days, which is why I am here alone.’ When he did not reply, she smiled at him and asked, ‘May I come in, sir?’

He hesitated for a second and then she saw his eyes narrow and darken. He looked around again and said, ‘Does she know you’ve come here on your own?’

‘No, sir. Isn’t your manservant inside?’

‘It’s harvest-time. He’s out in the fields with the others.’

‘Oh! Is there no one else here?’ This did not seem such a good idea now and her brightness faltered. But she carried on and stepped over the threshold.

He stood back and waved her down the stone-flagged passage. ‘Go through to the back.’ His voice sounded hoarser and he cleared his throat as he followed her.

The kitchen was dingy and dirty, and looked as if he lived in it all the time. There were fired-clay tiles on the floor that needed a good scrub and a large wooden table with a stained and dirty top littered with old-fashioned metal plates and tankards. A dresser by the wall had china arranged on it, but it looked thick with greasy grime.

A huge cast-iron range took up most of one wall. The fire was going well and she could smell the remains of a stew of sorts in the blackened cauldron. She guessed that Seth never emptied it, but kept adding more meat, vegetables and water when it ran low.

Quinta’s morning sickness had eased but she still felt queasy from time to time and she swallowed her nauseous revulsion at the rancid smell. No wonder he had enjoyed the dinner she had cooked for him at Top Field. It wasn’t that long ago but it seemed a lifetime to Quinta.

At one end of the kitchen was a door to the scullery. She dreaded to think of the state that would be in. At the other end, near to the range, was a motley collection of armchairs that were faded and moth-eaten. She looked up at the grimy window panes and blackened cobwebs hanging from every corner of the low plastered ceiling and her resolution wavered. There must be some other way for them to survive!

‘You’ll have some ale,’ he said and poured from a ewer on the table into a metal tankard. ‘You want to talk, you say?’

She took the drink. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘Sit yourself down then.’ He swallowed from his own tankard and chose the largest armchair for himself.

Quinta picked the newest-looking one, which she found quite comfortable, but she wondered if it would have fleas and her skin itched at the thought.

He leered at her and grunted. ‘Well, Miss Quinta, has your mother changed her mind about my offer now her farmhand has been taken away?’ His tone was derisive but she expected that and did not waver.

She faced him squarely. She didn’t want to do this but it was the only way she could think of to protect her ailing mother and unborn child. ‘No, she hasn’t. But I - I believe I can persuade her.’ She spoke more boldly than she felt and wondered how she would persuade her mother to go along with this folly.

‘So, even though your mother won’t have me, I take it you have no objection?’

‘No, sir,’ she lied and pasted a smile on her face.

‘Well, I might’ve changed my mind after all that business with the gun! Inviting vagrants and poachers and the like on to my land! The Squire would have nothing to say to me if I turned you out now. I’d be within my rights and well you know it.’

Quinta did. She thought that Sir William might have had some sympathy with their plight and found her work in the town, but he wouldn’t if he found out she was with child by a convicted poacher. She couldn’t live in town anyway, not with mother’s cough.

‘This is nice ale, Mr Bilton,’ she said. ‘Does Seth brew it for you?’

‘He fetches it from the alehouse in the village. It’s the best there is around here, I can tell you. Now then, what makes you think you can change your mother’s mind?’

‘She’s poorly. That’s what I’ve come to tell you. The winter will be hard for us with only me to do the work and - and - well, I think I can persuade her to come and . . .’ Quinta glanced around with dismay. ‘. . . and live here as your housekeeper. The thing is, though, she’s not really strong enough.’ Quinta sat up straight and placed her hands lightly folded on her lap. ‘But I am,’ she added. ‘I can take it on. I’ll do it and she can help me with the light work. If - if you still want me as your wife, that is.’

She spoke firmly, wanting him to be quite clear about this. She had made up her mind and she must not falter.

‘You know that’s what I want. I told you right enough.’ He took another gulp of his ale and she noticed that he was sweating slightly. ‘And I said how we could influence your mother.’

‘I remember.’

‘This is definitely what you want, lass?’

‘Yes, Mr Bilton,’ she lied again. Her heart was thumping under her gown. She knew her mother would be really angry with her, but it was the only way. And by the time she told her, the deed would be done. Mother’s dreams and her dreams would be shattered and gone for good. She could weep for their loss but dreams did not feed and clothe you, or buy medicine. Their poverty would be at an end, Mother would be cared for and her child would be protected from the slur of bastard for ever.

Farmer Bilton began to shift about in his chair. He drained his tankard and ran his grimy hands over his face and neck. ‘Let’s be clear about this, lass. You do mean that when you tell her you’ve been over here with me on our own, she’ll let you wed me.’

‘It’s as you have said, sir. She will have no choice.’

He ran his tongue over his lips, but Quinta noticed that they stayed dry. ‘Right then, if you are quite sure about this.’ His voice was low and hoarse and there was surprise and query in his tone.‘Best get on with things.’ He rubbed his hands together slowly and leered at her.

Quinta panicked. Her body tensed in the chair. What was she doing? She almost got up to run away. Had she really just agreed to be a wife, and all that it entailed, to this coarse oaf of a man? Her breath seemed to stick in her chest and she had to make an effort to stay calm. This is what she had planned, hadn’t she?

The chair creaked as he staggered to his feet. ‘I’ll ride over to the vicar this afternoon. Get the banns read on Sunday. We’ll be wed afore harvest festival.’

Oh. Was that what he meant? Yes, of course. There had to be a ceremony, in the village church, so that everyone would know that she was his wife. It was what she wanted, too. A warm, well-fed winter for her mother, a home and a future for Patrick’s child.

Quinta bit her lip. It would be September before she became his wife and that was too long to wait. If she wanted him to believe her child was his, she could not wait another three weeks or more. ‘Must you rush off now, Mr Bilton? When you last visited the cottage you were, as I recall, inclined to linger with me.’

He became more agitated and looked hot. Sweat appeared in drops on his forehead and his eyes were focused on her throat and breasts. ‘Aye.’ He sounded out of breath but he remained standing a couple of yards away from her as though rooted to the spot. ‘The old Squire said you would do for me and I reckon he was right,’ he muttered.

She leaned forward to get out of the chair and he lumbered towards her, bending his head to kiss her chest. He made a groaning, gurgling sound in his throat and when she looked down she saw his hand was clutching at his groin. Then the groaning turned into a hoarse moan and his knees seemed to buckle. He stepped back and half fell into his chair with his eyes closed. His head lolled and his mouth hung open slackly.

Eventually he made a grumbling noise in his throat and moved his hand away from the buttoned flap on his breeches, ‘See what you do to me? You bewitch me with your ways and temptations of the flesh overcome me.’

She stood there mortified, feeling wretched. He had hardly touched her, yet she felt soiled where he had. She said in a small voice, ‘But we are as good as betrothed, Mr Bilton, aren’t we?’

‘You would have me take you in sin before wedlock?’

‘I thought you wanted to . . .’ She swallowed. ‘. . . when you were last at Top Field.’

‘The Lord has given me strength through prayer, and you - you come here and drain it away! Cover yourself, woman. We are not yet wed!’

She blinked, crossed her hands over the exposed part of her chest and bowed her head.

This seemed to calm him and he said, ‘That’s better. Modesty becomes you.’

She kept her head down and bobbed a curtsey. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now, lass,’ he said,‘you had best get off back to your mother. You tell her what you will and I’ll call in to see her after I’ve been to the vicarage.’ He got up and went out through the scullery without another word.

She heard the outside door open and close. His horse whinnied as he led it from the stable. Quinta sat down with a bump. He was riding over to ask the vicar to put up the banns. There was no going back now. What had she done?

She surveyed her dingy, smelly surroundings and lifted her skirt to scratch her leg. In fact her skin felt as though it was crawling with lice and she wanted to scratch her whole body. She was sure this place had fleas in the furniture. Well, it was too late now to change her mind. No matter how distasteful, this had to be a better option than the workhouse.

She was relieved he had not wanted to lie with her because she found the idea repulsive. But she would have to when they were wed and she needed to for her deception to succeed. Farmer Bilton was coarse and ill mannered but he was considered gentry and he was bound to dote on his children for that was all he really wanted. She just had to make sure he believed her firstborn was his.

She got up with a heavy heart and wondered where she could get enough lavender for a house this size.

 

‘I’ve brought you a cup of tea, Mother.’

‘Oh, how thoughtful of you. I do so like tea but when it’s gone, it’s gone. Did you get work?’

‘Yes. No. I mean not at the Hall. Please don’t be alarmed. I went to see Farmer Bilton instead. I’ve been thinking about his offer for me. I could do a lot worse than take him up.’

‘No, you can’t. I’ll not let you. Something will turn up.’

‘It won’t, Mother. Not again. We had a chance with Patrick and then it all went bad on us. I can’t leave you. I can’t go into service anyway with an infant. You won’t survive in the workhouse, or here next winter unless I can buy proper food. I can do all the work at Bilton Farm if I go there.’

‘As his housekeeper, you mean?’

‘He still wants to marry me, Mother, in spite of everything.’

‘Did you tell him you were with child?’

She shook her head and looked away.

‘Well, he won’t want you when he finds out. That’d be too much to ask, even of him.’

‘He needn’t know about my baby.’

Her mother’s eyes widened. ‘You don’t mean . . . ? Quinta, no! You cannot do that!’

‘Why can’t I?’

‘It’s dishonest.’

‘Well, he was dishonest in the court,’ Quintra retaliated petulantly. ‘He deserves to be lied to. Anyway, I have decided.’

‘What have you decided?’

‘That I shall wed him after all.And you have to agree, Mother. It’s our only hope.’

‘Quinta, are you insane!’

‘No, I am desperate! What choice do we have? This is a way out of our despair.’ Quinta saw that her mother was considering her idea.

‘Would you do it, my love? Would you really be his wife? You know what he will want from you in the bedchamber.’

Quinta shrugged and sank on the bed, feeling ill at the thought. But she pushed it to the back of her mind. It was her mother who was truly sick and who needed the shelter of Farmer Bilton’s substantial house and table to survive the winter. Her mother must not know how difficult this decision was for her.

‘I am no longer a maid. It will not be such a hardship for me,’ she lied.

‘You will show too early. He’ll know the child is not his.’

‘That is why I must make haste with a ceremony. I accepted his offer this afternoon, while you were asleep.’

‘You had no right without my permission. It is not what I wish for you.’

‘Nor I, but it will not be so bad when I have my child to cherish. He is coming to see you after he’s spoken with the vicar. If you agree - and you have to do this for me, Mother - we shall be betrothed and, well, if he wishes to take me as his wife before the ceremony, I shall not object.’

Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Take care, my darling. You do not wish him to think ill of your morals.’