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transferred to me when my husband died.’
    ‘Well, the land here is in good heart,’ Mr Ross commented.
    ‘My son knows more about farming than I do,’ the sergeant explained.
    ‘It will take a year or two to bring it back to profit,’ his son added.
    ‘We haven’t got a year or two,’ Quinta responded.
    ‘Then I’d best get on,’ Mr Ross said briskly and set off back to his work.
     
    Farmer Bilton did not call again to speak to them but Quinta saw him frequently from her garden, riding his black hunter around the edge of their land. She knew he meant what he said about turning them out and he had influential people to support him. But they had a chance for reprieve with Mr Ross’s help and as Midsummer approached she became excited by the prospect of going to town. Her young crops had thrived and she worked from dawn until dusk harvesting and preparing them for market.
    They set off shortly after daybreak. Laura inhaled the morning air and said, ‘Quinta, lock the door for me, dear, and take the key round to the woodshed. Mr Ross is ready to leave.’
    ‘I see he has brushed his jacket and found a clean neckerchief for his throat,’ Quinta observed as she obeyed.
    ‘He’s shaved his beard, too.’ Laura put her head on one side. When Quinta came back she added,‘He has handsome features, don’t you think? The same strong jaw as his father, but his lips are more defined.’
    ‘Lower your voice, Mother. He will hear you.’
    ‘Nonsense, dear, he is already moving away with the cart. His face is less rugged than the sergeant’s and his skin has a finer texture.’
    ‘From his mother, I expect. I wonder who she was.’ Quinta was reminded how little she knew about Mr Ross and his father. ‘Mother, do you think this is wise to leave the sergeant here alone?’
    ‘You have secured the cottage, dear, and he cannot journey with us. What else can we do?’
    Sergeant Ross was able to walk with them as far as the track to Bilton Farm, about halfway down the steep descent to the village. As they set off down the hill Mr Ross had to put all his weight in front of the cart to prevent it rolling away. Laura followed behind with the sergeant.
    As they approached the track for Bilton Farm, Quinta saw a familiar rider approaching. She had been looking forward to a break from her labours in the garden, but now she groaned, ‘Oh no.’
    Farmer Bilton dismounted and walked his black hunter towards them. ‘So, Mrs Haig, you’ve decided to leave after all?’ His eyes strayed towards Quinta.
    She answered, ‘No sir. We are going to market.’
    ‘What’s in the cart?’ he demanded.
    ‘Our garden produce and kindling for market.You will have your rent on our return, sir.’
    ‘We’ll see about that. Bring it to me at the farmhouse.’
    Quinta didn’t want her mother to trudge all that way and intervened, ‘Will you not meet us here? You can see our approach.’
    ‘I said bring it to the house. And I want all of it before nightfall.’
    ‘Of course, sir.’
    Farmer Bilton led his horse away.
    ‘He’s a harsh landlord,’ Mr Ross commented. ‘I remember his sort from when I was a boy.’
    Quinta waited for him to say more, but he didn’t, so she simply said, ‘He wants us out.’
    Laura, who had caught up with them, added sourly,‘He wants more than that.’
    They said goodbye to the sergeant and he sat on a dry-stone wall in the rays of a rising sun until they had disappeared from view. As they trudged through Swinborough, they passed a few villagers who were gathering early, waiting for kin to walk to market, or for the morning carrier to take them into town. One or two nodded in their direction and Quinta was aware of whispering as they moved on. It reminded her that Patrick Ross was a stranger and she knew very little about him or his father. As she walked beside him she experienced, again, a fearfulness that sent a shiver down her back.
    After the village, the road climbed Potters Hill past the Hall.