A Mother's Sacrifice (44 page)

Her heart turned over. Oh joy! It really was a possibility! ‘How long will it take?’ she asked.

‘You must be patient, madam. But be assured that everyone involved wishes for a speedy solution and we are making haste with our interventions.’

She could not understand why they were all so anxious to proceed. She thought of writing a letter to Patrick and telling him of his child. He would surely wish to see his son? But she was frightened to do anything for fear of upsetting the delicacy of the negotiations. Mr Wilkins had told her to stay at Top Field and not talk of the matter to anyone. She put her trust in him and hoped he would not let her down.

That night she was exhausted from cleaning the cottage. The chimney smoked and the fire refused to draw. She had barely enough heat to warm her broth. She shovelled the last of the glowing embers into a warming pan to air the bed. Little Patrick seemed so heavy when she carried him up the stairs. She propped herself up with pillows to feed him, sure that she would fall asleep as he suckled. The bed was comfortable. The bed was home. She had shared it with her mother and once, just once, with Patrick; one night of wondrous happiness, of love and of hope for their future together, a future that the misfortune which continued to dog her steps had torn from her grasp.

That night had changed her life in a way she could never have imagined and she feared that she was now living to regret her act of passion. But she was blessed with a son who was a constant delight to her. When he had finished feeding, she placed him carefully beside her and snuggled down to sleep. She did not know what the years ahead held for them but as long as she had little Patrick she could face them.

Yet, again in the dead of the night, she fretted. Life had not been very kind to her so far. Why should it be any different now?

And so the weeks went by.

 

By Michaelmas, little Patrick was five months old and Quinta had given up hope for his father. Seth brought her food and fuel from the farm by horse-drawn cart and took away requests for supplies. She had hoped to visit Beatrice but the vicar advised strongly against any journeys to the village, not even to church on Sunday, which upset her. Mr Wilkins rode up to Top Field infrequently and each time without news. Hopes that were raised when she saw him approach were always dashed.

‘Would Beatrice care to call on me here?’ she suggested.

‘Mrs Bilton, please understand that I am doing all I can for you.’

He said the same every time and it depressed her. She endeavoured to be content as she waited in the cottage. Her garden took shape again and little Patrick thrived. However, the days were shortening and she had not wintered there alone before, or with a child to look after.

It was early November when Sir William arrived on horseback with the thick documents.

‘Good afternoon, Sir William.’ She curtseyed as she opened the door to let him in.

He hesitated on the threshold and stared at her. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Bilton.’ He seemed unsure about coming in yet she thought for a moment he was going to smile at her. Perhaps he did, just for a second. But they were not equals and this was not a social occasion. Quinta stood back and held the door wide open.

‘This is your child?’

Little Patrick was occupying himself on the rug with her kitchen spoons and a metal pot. Quinta smiled proudly and nodded. ‘Will you sit, sir?’ She indicated the couch and he settled there watching her son at play, looking out of place in his grand clothes and fine leather boots, while she read at the kitchen table. It was hard for her to understand the language that lawyers used but the papers had official crests and seals and were duly signed.

‘Your husband has admitted he did not see the shooting.’

‘It was as I said. The deer was in my garden and I shot it by accident. I only meant to frighten it.’

‘Yes, I believe you.’

She brandished the court document. ‘Does this mean that Mr Ross is innocent?’

‘It does.’

She felt a thrill course through her that caused her skin to tingle. ‘Did you hear that, little Patrick,’ she said. ‘Your father will be a free man again.’ She hesitated and looked at Sir William. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘He is in Essex with his regiment, preparing for another posting overseas.’

‘Another one?’

‘He has been in the West Indies until recently.’

‘Where will he go, sir?’

‘India? South America? I cannot tell you, madam.’

Wherever the King sent him, it was likely to be the other side of the world! It was said the country was building an empire over the seas. She asked, ‘Does he know about his pardon?’

‘He will do by now. He will have the choice of staying with the army, or - or not.’ Sir William leaned forward and showed her son his heavy timepiece. He placed it near to little Patrick’s ear and she saw his eyes come alive and his head turn. His small hands dropped the spoons to take hold of the gold case. Quinta started. The timepiece was valuable but Sir William did not seem to mind. He continued speaking without looking at her. ‘You should know that when he returned to Essex from the West Indies he was accompanied by a young lady.’

A cold hand clutched at her heart. It was her worst fear. Patrick had found another. ‘What - what do you know of her?’

‘Very little and I have no authority to demand such information. However, I have been told unofficially that she lives near the garrison and his financial records show he pays for her keep. Ordinary soldiers’ wives do not normally reside with their husbands.’

‘She is his wife?’

‘I do not know whether there has been a ceremony. I have requested that he is informed about his child.’

She gazed at little Patrick and said, ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘May I - may I hold your child for a moment?’

Surprised at such a request, she hardly knew how to reply. Then she remembered that Sir William and his wife had not been blessed with infants. He had a sister with children but she had married a Scottish laird and he saw them rarely. It occurred to her that, in spite of all his wealth and position, Sir William might envy Patrick his son. ‘Of course you may,’ she said.

He hoisted her boy on to his lap and showed him how to open the timepiece case and wind it up. Little Patrick was captivated and Quinta watched fondly until an uneasy feeling stirred in her breast. Her son needed a father and fathers coveted their sons.

Sir William noticed her worried gaze. ‘I’ll give him back, Mrs Bilton,’ he said lightly and then stated firmly, ‘You must sign the annulment.’

Of course she must, but she wondered whether, if she did, her son would now lose everything. Whatever the outcome, Noah would never allow her to stay at Top Field. She said, ‘Will Noah go to gaol for lying to you?’

‘I have reached an agreement with him, by way of compensation to Mr Ross for the miscarriage of justice. Noah will give up the freehold of Top Field.’

‘I don’t understand, sir?’

‘Mr Ross will become the freeholder of the buildings and acreage here.You must be aware that I demanded this recompense before I knew about his lady companion. He may wish to return and settle here with her. He may wish to sell it and travel overseas with his regiment. Either way it does not give you the security you crave. I am sorry.’

Quinta felt her world crumble about her ears. After all her struggling to keep little Patrick with her and to give him a name, a home and a future, was she to lose it all?

Sir William noticed her despair and she detected sympathy in his eyes. But he was here because he had a duty to perform and he did not shrink from it. He placed little Patrick gently down on the rug, leaving the gold timepiece in his small hands, and stood up. ‘You still have to sign, Mrs Bilton.’ He pushed the inkwell nearer and handed her the quill. ‘Your husband must be free to marry Miss Wilkins. She is with child, his child, and I do not want my vicar forced into leaving the village because of this sorry scandal.’

So that was why Mr Wilkins was so willing to help her! Noah had somehow cured his affliction and Beatrice had replaced her at the farmhouse. ‘But what will happen to us now?’ she asked quietly.

‘I do not know, madam, but I assure you I shall not see you homeless. I accept my part in this unfortunate affair as I was too quick to condemn Mr Ross here and in my court. We - I - it was felt that you could do better for yourself than align yourself with a - with Mr Ross. As it turned out I was wrong and I must shoulder some of the blame. But let us see what Mr Ross’s wishes are first. Now sign. I insist.’

She dipped the quill in the inkpot.

‘This outcome is most regrettable for all concerned, my dear,’ Sir William said kindly. ‘I truly believed that Noah Bilton would give you and your mother a good home. He was - is - a gentleman farmer of significant means. I encouraged him because it was a good match for you.’

She allowed the excess ink to drip away. ‘Do you know, sir, if my father really did promise me to him?’

‘It was my father who had that privilege.’

So her mother was right about the meddling old Squire. ‘But why?’

‘Sign the document, Mrs Bilton.’

As she scratched her name on the thick paper, she heard a sigh of relief from Sir William. Little Patrick let the timepiece slip from his grasp and it landed with a clunk on the rug. She glanced at him in alarm, but Sir William did not seem at all concerned about it and, she realised, neither was she.

She had much more important things to worry about now, not least that if Patrick were to acknowledge her child as his, he could take him away from her. By signing this paper she had in effect made herself homeless once again. She had a child and no means of support. His freehold of Top Field, his soldier’s pay and the existence of a wife gave him all the resources he needed to care for his child. If he was not yet wed to his lady companion, little Patrick gave him good reason to bring forward the ceremony.

Where she had once yearned for Patrick’s return to Top Field, she now dreaded his reappearance. What had she done? Would she have to flee again to keep her son?

 

Night-time was the worst, when every tick and creak of timber disturbed her; she would slide her arm beneath little Patrick peacefully asleep beside her and move him closer. One chilly night in December, as Christmastide drew near, something woke her - the cowshed door swinging on its hinges - and she was convinced it was a prowler.

Seth had repaired the henhouse and she was raising chickens again. It was the season for chicken thieves yet she would rather they stole every last fowl than harm her little Patrick. She crept to the window but all was dark and still, the hens were quiet and she guessed she was mistaken.

The following morning she wrapped her wool shawl tightly round her head and shoulders and stepped outside to fetch water. The cowshed door was ajar and she froze to the spot, dropping her pails with a clatter. A dark shape appeared from the gloomy interior. Tall and straight, and with a good growth of dark beard, he walked towards her.

‘Quinta? Is that you?’

She pushed her shawl back from her face. Patrick had not changed at all, except that his dress was newer, smarter, indeed more fashionable, she thought. She glanced behind to the cottage where she had left little Patrick and prepared herself to run inside and bolt the door. Patrick stopped in his tracks, a good distance from her and she recovered.‘I have been half expecting you,’ she said.

She had thought beforehand that she might run into his arms and he would kiss her. But knowing what she did about his companion, it somehow did not seem appropriate, even if she wished it. If he loved another he would reject her, put her to one side, and that would be too much for her to bear.

He seemed as disinclined as she to embrace and she wondered if he too had regrets about their one brief night of love. He would know that she had been married to another until recent weeks. She had not waited for his return. Neither could assume that things between them were the same. They stared at each other wordlessly.

He broke the silence. ‘I - I - I don’t know what to say to you. My letters were returned.’

‘Letters?’

‘Two. I didn’t get them back until I reached England. They said you had gone away.’

She had. She had married. She chewed at her lip and looked beyond him to the open door of the cowshed. ‘Is - is your - your companion with you?’

‘My . . . ? Oh, you mean Faith? You know about her?’

‘Yes.’ She wished she didn’t, for then she could run into his arms and kiss him without shame, and - and, yes, risk his rejection. It would be worth it to feel his lips on hers, his two-day growth of beard rasping at her skin and his arms around her for a few moments, a few precious moments.

‘She has stayed at the inn in town. The post was delayed and it was past midnight when we arrived. I travelled on by livery horse but the cottage was quiet and in darkness and I did not want to disturb you.’

‘I believe I heard you. I was woken in the night.’

‘I am sorry.’ His voice was quiet. He seemed unusually nervous and she wondered how much he had been told of her life since he was taken from her. She remembered how he could suppress his emotions and thought that skill must have served him well as a soldier. Would he go back to soldiering? Would he leave with Faith and his son and not with her? He said, ‘I am so very anxious to see my child.’

Yes, of course you are, she thought. That is why you have journeyed through the night and slept in my cowshed. Do you know of my hardships and think me unfit to mother your firstborn? She glanced over her shoulder again and lied, ‘He is sleeping.’ She needed water, but now she dared not leave little Patrick alone while she fetched it. She picked up the empty pails and turned back to the cottage, leaving them outside.

Her heart was thumping in her ears and she felt shaky. She closed the door and leaned against it, then turned quickly to drop the bar in place. What if Patrick wanted to take her child from her today? She could not bear it! She watched her son stacking wooden animal shapes into a child’s cart. The toys had been sent over from the Hall and were old and worn, but little Patrick adored them. She stood with her back to the door for a long time wondering what to do next. A rap on the wood startled her.