Read Online A Mother's Sacrifice by Catherine King - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine King
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asked.
Surprised, Quinta blinked and didn’t reply straightaway.
He explained, as though she did not understand: ‘You must have a sweetheart hidden away somewhere.’
‘No, I haven’t!’ she replied indignantly. ‘And why must I?’
‘You are very pretty.’
‘Oh!’
‘Hasn’t anyone offered for you yet?’
‘As a matter of fact someone has,’ she replied loftily. ‘My mother said no to him.’
‘Did she?’ he replied. ‘Have you said no to him as well?’
‘I - I . . .’ Quinta realised that she might have implied the opposite to Farmer Bilton when she had fetched milk for Mother. And he continued to ride their boundaries, keeping his eye on them. He must have seen Sergeant Ross and his son by now.
‘Did you wish to wed him?’
‘I don’t think that is anything to do with you.’
‘Indeed it is not. But I should like to know all the same. Here, I’ve made this for you.’ He handed her a wooden dibber, fashioned from a solid piece of wood and perfect for sowing her beans and seed potatoes. It was smooth and comfortable to hold.
‘Thank you. This must have taken you a long time to make.’
‘I have little else to fill my days. Would your mother care for a wooden bowl to grace her table?’
‘I’m sure she would.’
As she continued her weeding Quinta couldn’t decide whether the sergeant wanted anything in return for his gifts. She wanted to think not but wasn’t sure. By teatime she was thirsty and her mother brought out barley water to drink. The sergeant called loudly for his son to join them and he did, without pulling on his shirt, and his back and chest glistened with the sweat of his labour. He didn’t sit on the grass with the rest of them but scanned the track down the valley as he drank and said, ‘There’s a rider coming up.’
They had few visitors to Top Field and Quinta stood up beside him to look until the thumping of hooves on sun-baked earth grew closer and she recognised the horse. ‘It’s Farmer Bilton,’ she said.
‘Who’s he?’ Mr Ross asked.
‘Our landlord.’
The horse slowed in a cloud of dust, whinnied and snorted as Farmer Bilton pulled on his reins. ‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded.
Quinta and her mother exchanged glances, but, surprisingly, Mr Ross spoke first. ‘Farming, sir.’
‘And who might you be?’
Quinta thought it was no business of his but she did not want to anger him further. Neither did her mother, who replied, ‘Visitors, sir.’
‘More likely poachers, if you ask me.’
Patrick took a step nearer to the horse. ‘We are not, sir. And we stay by invitation of Mrs Haig.’
Farmer Bilton ignored him and turned to Laura. ‘Travellers, then, and vagrants, invited on to my land by you, madam. Folk in the village are talking already and when Sir William hears about this he’ll back me to get you out.’
‘But we are working the farm!’ Quinta retaliated.
‘That remains to be seen. A bit of hedging and ditching won’t make any difference. I made you an offer and I advise you to take it. I want you out of here by quarter day. All of you.’ He tugged at the reins, turned the horse around and dug his spurs into its flanks. The creature, already foaming at the mouth, flared its nostrils and galloped away.
No one said anything as they watched him leave in a dusty cloud. Quinta glanced at her mother and the sergeant who were both frowning. But it was the look on Mr Ross’s face that startled her. He was furious. His eyes were stormy and his lips set in a contemptuous grimace.
Quinta, too, was angry at Farmer Bilton’s boorish and bullying behaviour and, after he had disappeared down the track, she said, ‘We’ll get him his rent, Mother, even if I do have to scrub floors at the Hall.’
‘It’s not just the money, dear. He’s right. I’ve looked at the agreement and it says I must practise good husbandry, as your father did.’
‘You hold the tenancy, Mrs Haig?’ the sergeant queried.
‘It was
Surprised, Quinta blinked and didn’t reply straightaway.
He explained, as though she did not understand: ‘You must have a sweetheart hidden away somewhere.’
‘No, I haven’t!’ she replied indignantly. ‘And why must I?’
‘You are very pretty.’
‘Oh!’
‘Hasn’t anyone offered for you yet?’
‘As a matter of fact someone has,’ she replied loftily. ‘My mother said no to him.’
‘Did she?’ he replied. ‘Have you said no to him as well?’
‘I - I . . .’ Quinta realised that she might have implied the opposite to Farmer Bilton when she had fetched milk for Mother. And he continued to ride their boundaries, keeping his eye on them. He must have seen Sergeant Ross and his son by now.
‘Did you wish to wed him?’
‘I don’t think that is anything to do with you.’
‘Indeed it is not. But I should like to know all the same. Here, I’ve made this for you.’ He handed her a wooden dibber, fashioned from a solid piece of wood and perfect for sowing her beans and seed potatoes. It was smooth and comfortable to hold.
‘Thank you. This must have taken you a long time to make.’
‘I have little else to fill my days. Would your mother care for a wooden bowl to grace her table?’
‘I’m sure she would.’
As she continued her weeding Quinta couldn’t decide whether the sergeant wanted anything in return for his gifts. She wanted to think not but wasn’t sure. By teatime she was thirsty and her mother brought out barley water to drink. The sergeant called loudly for his son to join them and he did, without pulling on his shirt, and his back and chest glistened with the sweat of his labour. He didn’t sit on the grass with the rest of them but scanned the track down the valley as he drank and said, ‘There’s a rider coming up.’
They had few visitors to Top Field and Quinta stood up beside him to look until the thumping of hooves on sun-baked earth grew closer and she recognised the horse. ‘It’s Farmer Bilton,’ she said.
‘Who’s he?’ Mr Ross asked.
‘Our landlord.’
The horse slowed in a cloud of dust, whinnied and snorted as Farmer Bilton pulled on his reins. ‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded.
Quinta and her mother exchanged glances, but, surprisingly, Mr Ross spoke first. ‘Farming, sir.’
‘And who might you be?’
Quinta thought it was no business of his but she did not want to anger him further. Neither did her mother, who replied, ‘Visitors, sir.’
‘More likely poachers, if you ask me.’
Patrick took a step nearer to the horse. ‘We are not, sir. And we stay by invitation of Mrs Haig.’
Farmer Bilton ignored him and turned to Laura. ‘Travellers, then, and vagrants, invited on to my land by you, madam. Folk in the village are talking already and when Sir William hears about this he’ll back me to get you out.’
‘But we are working the farm!’ Quinta retaliated.
‘That remains to be seen. A bit of hedging and ditching won’t make any difference. I made you an offer and I advise you to take it. I want you out of here by quarter day. All of you.’ He tugged at the reins, turned the horse around and dug his spurs into its flanks. The creature, already foaming at the mouth, flared its nostrils and galloped away.
No one said anything as they watched him leave in a dusty cloud. Quinta glanced at her mother and the sergeant who were both frowning. But it was the look on Mr Ross’s face that startled her. He was furious. His eyes were stormy and his lips set in a contemptuous grimace.
Quinta, too, was angry at Farmer Bilton’s boorish and bullying behaviour and, after he had disappeared down the track, she said, ‘We’ll get him his rent, Mother, even if I do have to scrub floors at the Hall.’
‘It’s not just the money, dear. He’s right. I’ve looked at the agreement and it says I must practise good husbandry, as your father did.’
‘You hold the tenancy, Mrs Haig?’ the sergeant queried.
‘It was
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