A Mother's Sacrifice (42 page)

Quinta stood still and the woman tugged at her arm. ‘You’re coming wi’ me, you are. A strong young lass like you can work fer her keep. And the babby’s.’ She lowered her voice and went on, ‘Unless you’d rather I took you over there to him?’

‘Who? Where?’ And then she saw him, leaning in the shade of a tavern and watching. The lank-haired, thick-set bear of a man who had tried to steal her at the marketplace last year, his top hat pushed to the back of his head as he drew on a cigar.

‘He’ll give me gold fer you, with or without the babby, and no questions asked. He’ll dress you in silks and satins and give you strong drink. Then he’ll sell you ter any gentleman who pays ter take you fer his pleasure and when you can’t stand it any more he’ll give you laudanum, as much as you like, fer you ter keep on pleasuring his friends. And what’ll happen ter yer babby then, my lass? Eh? You’re better off in the workhouse, I can tell you.’

Quinta clutched Patrick tightly with her free arm and shook off the woman’s grip. The woman was strong, but she had no puff left and when Quinta increased her pace she could only lumber in her wake for a few steps before her grip lessened and Quinta was free to run. She saw the man push himself away from the wall and walk towards her.

She had been in this part of the town before.The Dispensary was the other side of the road. She ran across the rutted track towards it. Little Patrick jolted and jostled in her aching arms but she continued to run, the woman’s beseeching calls fading in her ears. Quinta slowed as she approached a small group of coughing, wheezing town folk waiting outside the Dispensary. She turned, looked behind and paused to catch her breath. The woman had not chased after her, her size had prevented it, and the man had melted way. At least, she could not see him.

A sob of desperation threatened and she choked it back as she recalled the unhappy events that surrounded her last visit. But she remembered the housekeeper at the surgeon’s house nearby. She followed the path to the back of the building to find the tradesmen’s entrance.

‘Good morning, madam.Are you looking for the Dispensary?’

Quinta shook her head. The housekeeper did not remember her. ‘I am looking for work,’ she answered hastily.

The older woman stared at her. ‘You have a child to care for. Go back home.’

‘I have no home.’ Her eyes were pleading, but she saw that the housekeeper was hardened to beggars and started to close the door.

‘They want to put me in the workhouse.’ Her voice cracked as she half sobbed. ‘Please help me.’

‘It’s not so bad in there. They will look after you.’

‘But they’ll take my baby away from me! He needs me.’ She pushed her straggling hair away from her eyes. ‘Please.You were so kind before - to - to my mother.’

The woman looked more closely at her face. ‘Who is your mother?’

‘She came here with Sergeant Ross about a year ago. The surgeon took off his leg and . . .’ The sobbing threatened to overtake her.

‘He died. I remember. Are you the widow Haig’s daughter?’

Quinta swallowed hard to suppress her sobs and nodded.

‘A genteel lady, as I recall. She gave the sergeant much support in his last days in spite of her own sickness.’ A guarded look came into the housekeeper’s eyes. ‘How is her cough?’

‘She - she passed away at the end of last year.’ The tears welled again.

‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.The sergeant thought very highly of her.’

Little Patrick was restless and wriggled in her aching arms. She pulled herself together and cooed at him to calm him, but he would have none of it. His bare toes pushed against her skirts. He would need shoes for those tiny feet before the autumn.

‘He’s a lively one,’ the housekeeper commented.

Quinta nodded and smiled in spite of her distress.

‘You have a wedding band on your finger. Are you widowed yourself?’

‘No.’

‘Where is your husband?’

She had not been wholly truthful with the vicar and regretted it so she stayed silent. The older woman waited patiently for her to continue. When she did not, the housekeeper added, ‘Your husband may have treated you ill but I am sure he does not wish to be rid of you.You have a child and the child needs his father. Take your child back to your husband. He will take care of you both, I am sure.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Can’t?’

‘He - he . . .’ How much to say? ‘I - I have made mistakes that I now regret.’ She gazed at her son. Was he one of them? The notion tore at her heart. Surely she was not sorry for loving his father? Or that this love had given her little Patrick? ‘My husband cast me out.’

‘What did you do to upset him so? It is a wife’s duty to do her husband’s bidding, you know. And it is a husband’s duty to look after his family.You just say you have repented and show remorse, and he will take you back.’

‘No, he won’t. I deceived him in a most cruel way.’

The older woman was taken aback but rallied. ‘Well, I’m sure that would not have happened if your poor mother were still here, God rest her soul. She would not have let that happen.’

Quinta bowed her head in silence. Her mother had counselled against her marriage to Noah and she had been right.

‘I have no work to give you but I may be able to offer advice. Step into my kitchen and tell me what you did.’

In spite of her embarrassment Quinta told her. ‘He’s the sergeant’s grandson.’ She had not even thought of little Patrick as such before, let alone said it. But he was. And she was so wrapped up in her own woes that she had walked past the graveyard where her son’s grandfather was buried without even thinking of paying her respects to his memory.

‘But his son—’ The housekeeper bit back her words.

‘He was innocent. I shot the deer. It was an accident.’ It was an argument that was ingrained on her mind and she said it without thinking. But it was the truth.

‘He went to be a soldier,’ the older woman continued slowly. ‘You must have been with child by him at his trial.’

‘I did not know and neither did he. I married Far—, I mean I married my husband because my mother was dying and I was destitute. He found out that my child was not his and - and - he took me away - to the High Peak and - and left me there.’ She swallowed and blushed at the memory of her humiliation.

‘Were you married before God?’

She nodded. ‘But he won’t have me back, I know he won’t.’

‘He must. Holy wedlock is for better or for worse. You are his wife and you have a child. It is his duty to look after you.’

‘Even though the child is not his?’

‘It will be hard for your husband to accept him but he wed you willingly and may be regretting his behaviour towards you. You must return to him and beg his forgiveness. It is your only choice. Perhaps the vicar who married you will help?’

Mr Wilkins? He had been very sympathetic about arrangements for her mother. But she wasn’t sure. The housekeeper took a tin caddy down from the mantelshelf over the range and prised open the lid. ‘Take these with my blessing. Make haste for your home and see what can be done to mend your marriage. I am sure all is not lost.’

Quinta clutched gratefully at the coins. ‘I don’t know when I can give this back.’

‘There is no need. Patients who can afford to pay the surgeon are always very generous.’ The older woman smiled. ‘It helps us with those who cannot.’

Quinta took the money and the advice, but not in the spirit that the surgeon’s housekeeper intended. She accepted that it was her only option if she was to keep her son with her. Noah had wanted her son’s father out of his way so he could marry her and he had succeeded. Well, now it was time for him to pay for his lies! She was his wife and she had borne a child within wedlock. Her child was not going to suffer any more, even if she had to sit in the middle of the village green and demand that Noah give her a home.

Her son was going to have a future and a name. He was going to be baptised in the church and she was going to hold her head high in the parish where she was born. And if Noah Bilton objected she would tell the villagers just what he had done with her in the time she had been away and see what that did for his reputation with the vicar . . . She wavered a little. Noah had been very angry with her. Well, she was angry with him! But perhaps she should talk to Mr Wilkins first?

She bought flowers from the market with one of the coins and laid half of them at Sergeant Ross’s headstone in the town churchyard. George Ross, Beloved Father of Patrick’, it said. Yet again she wondered if Patrick were still alive. It was possible that he had been killed for he had not written to her as he promised.

Unless, she realised, a letter had been taken to Top Field after she and Mother had left? The postmistress in town, like the surgeon’s housekeeper, would not know that she had wed and gone to live at Bilton Farm. Perhaps she had delayed delivery until after the winter snows and then sent it back to Patrick? Perhaps he thought she had died?

Her mind in turmoil, Quinta breathed deeply to calm herself. Patrick had asked her not to give up hope and, for the sake of his son, she would not. His son would be called Bilton and she regretted that. It was the price she had to pay for little Patrick’s respectability and she would explain it to him one day. She pondered on this as she gave up the rest of her coins for a seat on the carrier and jolted her way, clutching her remaining flowers, up and down the hills to Swinborough.

Chapter 28

‘Good afternoon, ma’am.’

Quinta placed the flowers at the base of her mother’s headstone and straightened. She turned as Mr Wilkins approached and was taken aback by the shock on his face. He went quite pale.

‘You!’

She had planned to call on the vicar anyway and looked forward to seeing Beatrice again, though she was becoming increasingly nervous about what she would say to both of them. If she was to resume her place as Noah’s wife it was her duty to maintain his good reputation. She wondered what he had told them about her absence.

‘Sir?’ She did not understand why he was so surprised.

‘Mrs Bilton? But you are dead!’

Dead? She had never considered that Noah would say that about her. No wonder Mr Wilkins was shaken. He must think he had seen a ghost! She held out her arm and said, ‘Indeed, I am not.You may touch me if you do not believe it. My flesh is real.’

He shook his head slowly as he stared at her and whispered, ‘He said you had died.’

‘Who? Who said that to you, sir?’ She knew the answer, of course.

‘Mr Bilton. He told me you were unwell and he had taken you to the waters in Derbyshire for your health and - and, later, that you had died of the same affliction as your dear mother.’

Well, thought Quinta, he really did want rid of me for good. Her resolve to maintain his reputation ran away. ‘As you can see, sir, he lied. He is practisced in that art.’

‘But we prayed for you in church.’ The vicar appeared to be truly shocked and rested his body against a stone vault. He looked down at little Patrick sitting quietly on the dry grass and his lower jaw dropped slackly.‘Your husband does not know that you are alive, madam,’ he said hoarsely.

‘I believe he does, sir. When he left me in the High Peak I was very much alive.’

‘You were not sick?’

‘I was with child, sir, this child. He is Patrick Bilton. I am Mrs Bilton. I am a respectable married woman and I wish to have my child baptised in the church where I was wed.’

She actually thought he was going to faint. His eyes closed and his shoulders sagged beneath their fine linen jacket. He had begun to perspire slightly in spite of the cool churchyard shade. ‘I must speak with him immediately,’ he muttered suddenly. ‘Excuse me, madam. Good day to you.’

‘Good day, sir.’ But Quinta was talking to the open air for he had disappeared around the back of the church and moments later emerged on horseback to gallop in the direction of Bilton Hill.

 

Percival Wilkins arrived in a sweat, hurriedly secured his horse and rapped on the front door. His sister answered, smiled broadly and opened her arms to embrace him, but he pushed past her into the hall and demanded, ‘Where is he?’

‘Noah is in the fields, dearest. What on earth is the matter?’

‘Beatrice, I have distressing news. Send a servant for him this minute.’

‘Seth is with a calving cow.’

‘But he has a girl for the kitchen now, doesn’t he?
Tell her to fetch Noah; immediately.
’

‘Very well.’

He paced about the gracious drawing room, accepting brandy while they waited. Beatrice, with his blessing, had continued to encourage improvements to Bilton Farm and it was, indeed, very acceptable to genteel visitors now.

‘Can you not tell me anything?’

‘Not until Noah is present. Ah, I hear his horse now.’ He moved to the window and then to the newly painted door. As soon as Noah entered he pushed a glass of brandy in his hand. ‘Sit down, Noah.You, too, my dear. This is - is truly a dreadful affair.’ He remained standing and turned to Beatrice. ‘My dear, you must prepare yourself for the worst of news.’

‘What on earth is going on, Percy old fellow?’ Noah asked. ‘You seem very agitated.’

‘That is because I am! Noah, your wife did not die. She is alive and she is well.’

‘Nonsense. She ailed the same as her mother. The waters could not cure her. It was as I told you.’

‘You have lied to me, Noah. More than that, you have cruelly deceived my dear sister.’

Beatrice sat rigidly in her chair, her face as pallid as sun-bleached linen. ‘But Noah, she cannot be alive,’ she whispered. ‘I am to be your wife.The ceremony is to be within the month.’

‘And it will be, my love. Percy, who told you of this lie? They must speak of another, an impostor from the High Peak, who has heard of my recent wealth.
My wife is dead, I say!
’