A Mother's Sacrifice (17 page)

‘And I know it is one you will not keep if she falls in love with you. So, you will ask her to be your wife and you will wait for her answer.’

‘And if she says no?’

‘She won’t.’

‘You sound very sure of that.’

 

‘You cannot mean this, Mother. I want to be with you,’ Quinta insisted.

‘I have to think about what will happen to you when I am gone,’ Laura answered seriously.

‘So you have agreed to this only to secure my future.’

‘I could have secured your future as a wife to Farmer Bilton. Of course I have concerns about leaving you! I am your mother. You must tell me now if you are not willing to do this.’

‘Well, he is handsome and strong. He has wisdom and manners.’

‘Do you trust him?’

Quinta thought about this and was sure of her answer. ‘Yes. He is a man of principle.’

‘Then my mind is easier. If he is half the man his father is I shall be very happy for you. This way, you will know for sure whether you can love each other.’

‘How shall I know that I love him, Mother?’ she asked.

‘You will want him, my love, you will want him to hold you and kiss you and possess you in a way that no other can. You will know. God willing, when the sergeant and I return, we shall announce the banns and have the ceremony before Michaelmas. There will be much to celebrate.’

Quinta knew better than to argue further and asked, ‘How long will you be away?’

‘No more than a fortnight.’

‘Where will you stay in town, Mother?’

‘We shall lodge at an inn near to the Dispensary.’

‘You will need your best gown, then.’

‘Yes. Fetch my box from the store room. Patrick will carry it to the village and we shall take the carrier into town.’

‘I shall miss you.’

‘And I you, my love.We have been happy here, but we cannot work this farm alone. If you can make a match with Patrick I shall no longer fret about your future.’

Quinta placed the travelling box on the bedchamber floorboards and laid out her mother’s clothes on the bed.

That night, she lay awake feeling an uneasy excitement about her future. She no longer feared Patrick Ross. But could she love him? And surely he would have to love her, too? She doubted that he would. Farmer Bilton had not loved her, only desired the use of her body, so why should Patrick Ross be any different?

Chapter 12

Her mother hugged her tightly. ‘My little girl, you are so grown up now.’

Quinta smiled falteringly. She thought she had grown up years ago, but she knew her mother meant more than running the farm. ‘Two weeks only, Mother. Not a day longer.’

‘Patrick will look after you, dear.’ She turned to him. ‘Your father has promised me that I can trust you with her. Do not let me down.’

‘You can be sure of that, ma’am.’

Quinta glanced at him quickly. His face was serious and so dark that she would have thought him quite menacing if he were still a stranger to her. But she had revised her opinion of him and wondered if, perhaps, he had doubts about this agreement.

Patrick loaded the box on to the early-morning carrier and paid the carter as Mrs Haig squeezed her daughter’s hands and said goodbye.Then he took his father’s pack and crutch and helped him climb awkwardly into his seat.

‘Remember what I told you, son,’ Sergeant Ross whispered in his ear. ‘If you do bed her—’

‘I shall not.’

‘Listen to me! I am your father and I have more knowledge of these affairs - and of you, Patrick. She has her mother’s approval. If she takes a mind to tempt you—’

‘Were I so lucky . . .’ he retaliated swiftly.

‘If you bed her you must wed her,’ his father insisted softly.

Patrick blinked. ‘You really believe I shall?’

‘I do. So promise me that if you do you will make her your wife. Promise me.’

‘I promise.’ His father relaxed and nodded to him with satisfaction in his eyes.

Patrick added ruefully, ‘But I should be better going with you to the surgeon.’

‘Your future is here with Miss Quinta. Begin it now.’

Patrick handed him his crutch. ‘I’ve put more sheep’s wool in the padding.’ He adjusted the strapping on his father’s hunting bag slung across his chest. ‘Send word if you need me.’

The sergeant smiled wryly but did not answer as he watched his son assist Mrs Haig into the cart and settle her beside him before jumping nimbly over the side. They jolted against each other as the horses began to move. He did not look back. He dared not. Mrs Haig was sure to return to her daughter within the fortnight. But his absence was likely to be prolonged. The laudanum helped with his pain, but he feared the worst for his leg. He hoped he would not be limping with a peg leg when he did come back to Top Field.

He hoped, also, that the young folk would make a go of it. It was a sensible arrangement for both of them. They needed each other in equal measures, and his instinct told him they were right for each other. Mrs Haig, too, had accepted the good sense of it. But she was a woman of romantic inclination and wanted a love match for her daughter, and Miss Quinta, God bless her innocence, didn’t really know what she wanted except to please her mother.

His son had voiced reservations. But Sergeant Ross had none. He knew he was right. He had seen many a young soldier in his life follow their lusts only to find their hearts ensnared. He knew his son’s heart better than the lad did himself.

 

Patrick watched the carrier cart with his father’s retreating figure for a long time.

‘This is a difficult time for your father,’ Quinta said quietly. ‘I am sure you would prefer to be with him.’ He didn’t reply, but Quinta thought she was right. She added,‘Mother will send for you if - if he asks her. She will look out for him.’

‘As I shall look out for you in return,’ he replied briefly.

‘I shall not be a burden to you, I assure you.’

He didn’t respond and this irritated her. He did not deny it. Did his silence mean that he did not agree with her? He laboured hard but he said little, and how were you to know a person if he did not converse? At that moment, she felt lonely and trapped in this arrangement. Without her mother she had no one to turn to for counsel or assistance, not even a friendly neighbour.

Quinta waited until the slow-moving carrier had disappeared and then went on briskly, ‘Well, I have much work to do in the house and garden.’

Patrick inhaled deeply. ‘You go on ahead. I’ll call at the farrier. You have a plough in your cowshed. If I can hire a beast, I’ll turn the pasture ready to sow grain next spring.’

She climbed the hill alone, absorbing his words. Next spring? Had he already decided to stay? Had they all decided he would stay? She pondered this thought as she chased a rabbit out of her rows of peas and set to work in her garden.

She did not hear his approach and he must have stood watching her for several minutes before she straightened, stretched and saw him. ‘Did you get a beast?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘None to be had. They are all taken by the harvest.’ He was carrying a parcel wrapped in sacking and he held it high. ‘Venison. There are too many young deer this season and they’re eating crops so the Hall is culling them. The farrier’s wife had set up a butcher’s slab outside her home.’

‘Venison? Oh, show me.’ She hurried towards him.

It was part of the foreleg, fresh killed for the blood had soaked into its wrapping. ‘This will feed us for days,’ she marvelled. ‘I’ll take it indoors now.’ He handed it over. ‘Thank you. What will you do if you cannot plough?’

‘I’ll start clearing the sluices and drain that swampy patch.’

‘The pond?’ Quinta had forgotten about it. It was on the edge of their land, downhill from the cottage. Father had dug it out and diverted the stream to keep fish but it was full of reeds now and the surrounding ground was boggy so she never ventured near it.

‘Yes. Before that, though, I’ll show you how to lay rabbit snares to keep them off your greens.’

‘Oh, there’s no need.’

‘But there is,’ he argued. ‘You will increase your yields. Look, I know you don’t want this arrangement and you agreed only to please your mother, but we’re stuck with each other for nigh on two weeks and we have to make the best of it.’

So that is what he thought! ‘I - I - Yes, of course.’ She retreated to the cottage with the venison.

He waited patiently with the snares for her return. He showed her where to place them in a brisk, matter-of-fact manner. When he had finished she said, ‘Thank you. I’ll check and reset them when they need it.Will you eat your dinner in the kitchen with me?’

‘If you wish.’

‘The hare that your father shot on the moor will be ready by noon.’

 

It felt awkward at first, having a hulking great man sitting at the dinner table instead of her mother. His hair was wet and slicked down where he had washed before coming indoors. He had kicked the caking mud from his boots and used the boot-scraper, too. He was hungry and her bread disappeared twice as fast as usual. She was aware that he watched her for much of the time, but, reassuringly, he smiled more.

Without the frown that frequently furrowed his brow, he was remarkably handsome. She realised how different it was to be living with a man in such proximity. Her mother knew that, of course, but she had to learn it. Quinta thought that even though she didn’t approve of this arrangement she was finding it an intriguing experience.

As soon as he’d finished he stood up and thanked her. She had made oat biscuits with dripping and he pocketed some to take with him to the pond.

‘I’ll make venison pies tomorrow,’ she said as he left, and went to look for herbs to season them.

The afternoon was hot and she walked upstream to collect water running directly off the moor. It was the coldest clearest nectar and worth the climb. She carried her bucket carefully, enjoying the warm summer sunshine. He came to meet her, scooping out a ladleful and swallowing thirstily.

‘I thought I heard a rabbit in one of your snares. He may need finishing off.’ He bent to pick up a large flat pebble. ‘Shall I?’

‘I can do it. The garden is my responsibility and I must learn how to protect it.’ She left the bucket in the yard and took the stone from him. ‘Where is he?’

‘Follow the squeak. Best look sharp and put him out of his misery.’

She nodded and hurried away with her head bent.

She knelt beside the dying animal, distressed as he tried to jump away and then squealed at the pain. He was weakening. The wire had tightened on his hind leg. Already it had shaved bare his fur and blood was running. Her father had often despatched rabbits in his snares. It couldn’t be so very difficult. You just hit the creature hard at the side of the head; very hard.

She raised her right arm and tested the weight of the stone. Good and heavy. She pressed her lips together, closed her eyes tightly and dropped her hand.The creature squealed and began to twitch. She brought the stone down again. Then again and again until she was sure it would not squeak or twitch any more. Then she dropped the bloodied stone as if were red hot and found she was breathing heavily.

‘I think he’s dead now.’

‘Oh! You startled me.’

‘I thought you said you could do this,’ he said, picking up the stone. ‘One hit should be enough.’ He released the rabbit’s leg and reset the snare. ‘You haven’t killed before, have you?’

She shook her head. ‘My father used to do it.’

‘You miss him, don’t you?’

‘Yes. Don’t you miss your mother?’

‘You don’t miss what you’ve never had.’

‘You had foster parents, though?’

‘You mean the couple who took me in? They were a cussed old pair who were only interested in how hard I could work for them. They kept me alive as cheaply as they could and didn’t care how harsh they made my existence. I was just another Englishman’s bast—’ He stopped and shrugged. ‘Sorry, but I do feel bitter about the way they treated me.’

She knew what he had been going to say. It was a slur on his character and Quinta felt the injustice of it. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

‘No. But I suffered the disgrace.’

Perhaps that was why his father had searched so diligently to find him and then kept him moving about the country. She thought of the baptism in church. Even though the family was poor and ill shod, it was respectable.

He gazed past her at the pasture. ‘Your father farmed Top Field well. How did he come by it in the first place?’

Quinta shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. My mother said it was just after I was born. He did a favour for the old Squire at the Hall and in return he persuaded Farmer Bilton to issue the lease. The old Squire gave him three years’ rent in advance.’

‘He must have saved his life or something.’

‘I guess so. He’s dead now so I don’t suppose anybody will ever know.’

‘Not even your mother?’

‘I think she does. But I’ve asked her and she won’t tell me.’

‘Well, it is in the past now, though if your father was a hero she would not want it forgotten.’

Quinta had not considered this before and wondered whether she should probe further.

‘Are you angry with your mother?’ she queried.

‘She was a dutiful daughter, but I should have liked a different childhood.’

‘Life must have been hard for you as a traveller without a home.’

‘Quite the opposite. I’d rather be with my father on the road than treated as an animal by some rancid old farmer.’

Like Farmer Bilton’s itinerant labourers, thought Quinta. Patrick sounded angry and she bit at her lower lip. She picked up the flaccid rabbit, still warm and soft. ‘I should go back.’

‘No, don’t go. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘I’m not upset. You are.’