A Mother's Sacrifice (16 page)

‘No, I shall not. Go back to my parishioners.’

‘But surely this gentleman is one of your parishioners?’

‘Beatrice!’ the vicar hissed. ‘Do as I say.’

His sister took a lingering look at Mr Ross and turned away reluctantly. In contrast his eyes were stony. Blue flint, thought Quinta, and was glad that Mr Wilkins had sent his sister away.

The vicar nodded briefly to Mr Ross and then addressed her: ‘Miss Haig, you are indeed lucky to have Mr Bilton to watch over you. He told me he has offered - he has offered help.Your mother should know better than to refuse him.You will ask her to reconsider and to - to refrain from encouraging gypsies to my parish.’

‘I am not a gypsy, sir.’

‘You are a vagrant who is taking advantage of a needy widow.’

‘Oh no, sir, you are wrong. Mr Ross has—’

Before she could finish, Mr Ross had bid good day to the vicar and taken her arm. He urged her down the path that led to the back of church. ‘I have had enough of your vicar for today,’ he breathed in her ear.

She shook his hand free and responded swiftly, ‘My mother suggested that I present you and I am sorry he was so rude. I did not expect that; nor did my mother or she would not have advised it.’

‘Well, I am not surprised. His opinion of me was already poisoned by your landlord. Farmer Bilton has the ear of the gentry and he has used it.’

Quinta feared that Mr Ross was correct. ‘Please do not tell Mother about this. In spite of your assistance, she is prone to much fretting these days.’

‘The vicar said your landlord had offered help. Why did you not accept?’

‘I might have, but Mother said no. She was very firm.’

‘You might have? I don’t understand.’

‘I was concerned about Mother and our future. I - we - we were near destitute until you and your father happened by and I did not wish to see her in the workhouse. I told you Mother thought she might become his housekeeper. He said he would employ her. Only . . .’ Quinta hesitated about telling him. ‘Only I had to go, too.’

Mr Ross frowned. ‘Well, your mother could not desert you for him.’

Quinta bowed her head, examined the dust on her boots and said quietly, ‘As his wife.’

‘
His wife?
’ He took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘He wanted
you
as his wife, and not your mother?’

‘He - he said Mother was too old because he wanted children but I would do for him instead.’

‘How dare he treat you in such an unfeeling and cavalier fashion? I am not the one to take advantage of a needy widow. He is.’

‘Mother was furious and I understand why. I have grown up a lot this spring.’ Unaccountably she felt her tears welling. She had looked forward to church so much but the vicar had been unkind and Miss Wilkins had made her envious. She had missed talking to the maids from the Hall, too; they would have made her feel better about her situation.

He searched her eyes with his and his face held a softness she had not seen before. ‘Your mother is wise.’

Her throat closed with emotion. She loved her mother so much and worried about her all the time.

‘You look so unhappy,’ Mr Ross added. ‘The visit to your family grave has saddened you.’

Unable to speak, she shook her head wordlessly. After a pause she swallowed and replied, ‘I take strength from the Lord. It’s just that my mother’s cough is not getting better and I don’t know what to do.’ A tear spilled out and she fell forward to bury her face in his jacket. She felt one of his arms around her and a hand on the back of her bonnet, realised what she was doing and hastily turned away from him, searching for her gown pocket and her handkerchief. ‘Oh, do forgive me, Mr Ross. What must you think?’

He took her handkerchief from her, gently wiped her eyes and brushed a straying strand of hair from her damp cheek. ‘I think you are brave and kind and as honest and as wise as your mother. It pains me to see you in such distress.’

She inhaled deeply and composed herself. ‘I am recovered now. See. I am smiling.’

‘Yes, I do see,’ he replied seriously.

‘There.’ She tucked her handkerchief away and braced her shoulders. ‘I should like to go home now.’

He held out his arm for her. ‘I should like to escort you.’

She hesitated, and then placed her hand on his. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Will you call me Patrick now, Miss Quinta?’

‘I do not think so, not until you have asked my mother to address you so first, and she agrees.’

‘Very well.’

They started their slow ascent of Bilton Hill. This visit to church had shown Quinta a different aspect to Mr Ross. She had felt as angry as he with the vicar’s prejudice. He had shared her worries with sympathy and behaved kindly towards her distress. She had considered him dark and dangerous until now. But today he had shown her that his nature held a gentle compassion, too. She resolved not to follow the vicar’s example and judge him hastily.There was more to know about Mr Ross; much more.

‘I shall tell Mother that we exchanged a few words with Mr Wilkins, but not that he talked of Farmer Bilton. Will you support me in that?’

‘If you wish.’

‘Thank you. Oh, and please would you lower your arm before Mother sees us?’

He did and they returned as they had left, walking side by side, at least one yard apart.

 

After a good dinner of braised stuffed partridges that had been shot in their garden by the sergeant, Quinta wandered from the table and found a patch of grass to lie on her back and gaze at the sky. The weather was mild. A few clouds masked the sun from time to time; butterflies flitted among the meadow flowers and bees buzzed about the blossoms. Quinta imagined there would have been many such family Sabbaths if her sister had lived; at least until her father died, when that dream was lost for ever.The ale she had taken with dinner made her sleepy and she drifted into a doze.

She was roused by the sound of a lively conversation.

‘They use them in Scotland.’ It was the sergeant’s voice.

‘We are not in Scotland, Father.’

‘I witnessed them with soldiers in Spain and France.’

‘But they were meant for harvest-time,’ Laura protested, ‘for men and women who did not know each other well.’

Quinta stood up quickly and returned to the shade of the tree. ‘What were?’

Patrick answered: ‘Lammas Day arrangements.’

‘What are they?’ she asked.

He stood up and drew out a chair for her. ‘Come and sit down, Quinta. Our parents talk about us more than we know.’

Her mother explained: ‘They are binding agreements taken during the early part of the harvest between men and women of marriageable age. A couple made a promise to each other that if they were suited after living together as man and wife during the harvest, they would marry. If the match was not an agreeable one, they parted without ill feeling towards each other.’

‘Well, I’ve never heard of them,’ Quinta stated. She knew what might happen if a woman lived as wife to a man. ‘What if there’s a child?’

‘Quinta! Do not be so outspoken.’

‘Marriage follows, of course,’ Patrick answered quickly.

‘Even if they are not suited?’ Quinta retaliated. ‘It doesn’t sound a very satisfactory arrangement to me.’

The sergeant intervened firmly: ‘If they are not suited, they will not love each other and so there will be no possibility of a child.’ He was looking at his son.

Quinta saw that her mother was embarrassed by the conversation, so she was surprised when Laura said to her, ‘They were considered to be very sensible arrangements, my dear.’

‘You’re not thinking of one for me?’ she asked incredulously. Suddenly the whole day fell into place. The sergeant providing meat for their table, Mr Ross - Patrick - taking her to church and now her mother’s discomfort with her opinions.
‘
You are,’ she stated flatly.

‘Wait,’ the Sergeant said.‘Before we discuss this matter further, there is something I wish to know and you will be kind enough to answer me honestly, Mrs Haig. This is no time to spare my feelings, or those of my son.’ He emphasised the gravity of his question by rising awkwardly at the table. ‘My son never knew me until he was a grown boy because my sweetheart’s father disapproved of me. I will not have history repeat itself. Mrs Haig, do you approve of my son as a fitting suitor for your daughter?’

Quinta knew the answer was no.

‘I do.’

Wide-eyed, Quinta stared at her. ‘
You do?
’ She and Patrick spoke together.

‘You would have me wed to a travelling man?’ Quinta added.

‘I should have you wed to a farmer, and a first-rate one at that, capable of taking on this tenancy and of prospering. I should have that for you, my love.’

‘And you said I should never give myself to any man for gain,’ she breathed angrily.

‘Nor shall you!’ Laura retaliated. ‘That is why I agree with the sergeant on this matter!’

This made Quinta’s fury worse. ‘You agree that we should live as husband and wife outside of wedlock? Really, Mother! Have you gone quite mad?’

‘No,’ the sergeant responded quickly. ‘Of course not; Patrick will continue to live in the cowshed and work on the farm as he does now.’

‘And you will look after the garden, and tend to household matters as befits a farmer’s wife,’ Laura added hastily.

‘Then how is it different from the way we live now?’ Quinta asked irritably. No one answered at first until she prompted, ‘Mother?’

‘I - I shall accompany the sergeant to town and - and seek treatment for my cough.’

Quinta was overjoyed to hear this, and said, ‘Then, of course, I shall come with you.’

‘No, dear. You must look after the summer crops and the hens. I shall stay in town until the sergeant is well enough to return.’

‘You will leave us here alone?’ Patrick asked, staring at her.

Quinta felt as though she had been cornered and turned on him sharply. ‘Are you a party in this conspiracy as well? Is that why you took me to church; to prepare me for this - this charade? She was satisfied that he looked taken aback by her accusation. How could he have behaved so kindly towards her after church whilst he schemed against her like this?

Laura looked hurt. ‘Please do not be so angry, dear. I was opposed to the notion at first, but I am thinking of your future; of safeguarding the farm for you. I am not well.You are young and - and you need protection.’

‘But I can look after myself and you as well, Mother! Why do I need
protection
?’

‘Your landlord,’ Patrick said quietly.

Quinta was silenced. The threat of Farmer Bilton’s actions continued to hover over Top Field.

Laura stretched out her hand towards her daughter. ‘The sergeant has assured me that Patrick will take great care of you.’

Quinta clasped it gratefully. ‘But why do we have to have this - this arrangement?’

‘Think of it as a kind of betrothal, dear, that you may withdraw from without consequence.’

‘I cannot believe you agree to this. You will not be here to be my chaperone.’

‘That is true.’ Her mother frowned at the sergeant. ‘I am indeed concerned for my daughter’s virtue, sir.’

The sergeant answered swiftly. ‘They will not lie together, Mrs Haig.’

‘Lie together?’ Patrick looked angrily at his father.‘Dear God, Father, you make too many presumptions.’

‘Do I?’ The sergeant raised his eyebrows and Patrick fell silent.

‘So nothing is lost if we find we are not suited!’ Quinta observed, and then demanded, ‘What will happen then?’

Eventually Patrick replied, ‘Your mother will return here to you and I shall join my father in town.Your life will continue as if we had not been here.’

‘Impossible!’ she responded scornfully.

Whatever this Lammas Day arrangement brought, Quinta knew she would never be quite the same as before Patrick came into her life. She realised that she had felt more fondly towards him after their visit to church. But she did not love him and was not clear how she would know if she did.

She made another attempt to protest. ‘Patrick, surely you wish to be with your father when he visits the surgeon?’

The look of pain that crossed his brow gave Quinta her answer. He no more wanted this arrangement than she did. It was their parents’ doing and, much as she loved her mother and wished to obey her, there were occasions when she did not care to. This was one of them.

She wondered whether Patrick felt the same towards his father.You could not tell with him.The flashes of emotion that he showed were quickly quashed. But she noticed them. And it was because of that that he intrigued her so. She wanted to get to know him better. She laughed silently to herself. That was what Lammas Day arrangements were about.

When he did not reply, she realised that she was outnumbered in this argument and pursed her lips defiantly. ‘Shall I fetch more ale?’ she suggested crossly, lifting the empty jug.

Patrick stood up. ‘Father and I have things to discuss.’

‘And I must prepare for my journey,’ Laura added. ‘Quinta, will you come inside and help me?’

 

When they had left the table, the sergeant said,‘Well, her mother has given you her blessing.You have to win her yourself now. If she falls in love with you, would you marry her?’

‘Yes,’ Patrick answered. He was a little surprised that he admitted it so readily. But, since he had considered Quinta in that light, his acknowledged lust for her had deepened into a stronger desire, one that only marriage could satisfy. He coveted her. He wanted to own her, all of her, to the exclusion of all others. Was this what love was?

‘You will ask her to wed you before you bed her, son.’

‘But you just made a promise on my behalf that I would not lie with her!’