This mention of their landlord made Patrick hesitate. He’d noticed the way the old farmer looked at Quinta. He coveted her and if Patrick married her he was quite sure Farmer Bilton would make life difficult for him. This match-making of his father’s might not be such a good idea after all.
Chapter 11
‘Do you think you will be able to manage church tomorrow, Mother?’
Laura coughed and shook her head. ‘The medicine helps but I have not the strength for the climb afterwards.’
‘We haven’t been for weeks! We must take fresh flowers to the grave.’
Her mother passed a hand over her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry. I wish we still had Darby. He would carry me up the hill.’
‘I could go without you,’ Quinta suggested tentatively.
‘No, dear. Farmer Bilton will be there.’
‘But I’d give Mr Wilkins news of you. I am surprised neither he nor his sister has called to see you.’
‘Farmer Bilton is doing that parish duty for him. You have seen him! Snooping around every day on that new horse of his. He’s like a buzzard, hovering, waiting to swoop down on his prey.’
‘Well, he’ll have seen the improvements Mr Ross has made. My new garden is ready for seedlings. He has been advising me on the planting.’
‘You have been speaking to him?’
‘A little, as we worked. Please don’t be alarmed. He has been very civil, always, and he knows a great deal about farming. He asked me about the village church in the valley.’
‘I imagined he was of the Catholic persuasion.’
‘He said he was as a child, but worships as his father does now, with the Church of England.’
‘You have been conversing of things other than farming, then?’
‘Not really. Well, he did ask if he might escort us both to church. And the grave will need tending. What would Father think?’
Laura groaned. ‘It is so difficult for me to do these things now.’
‘But not for me! Please say I can go.’
‘Very well. I shall walk with you to the brow and meet you there on your return.’
‘You may trust him if we are in church, Mother. Mr Ross is gracious towards me and very civil.’
The next morning, Quinta rushed through her early morning chores and then changed into her Sunday-best gown. It had been her mother’s, fashioned from a Hall cast-off, and was of good quality blue-striped silk. The bottom edge was faded and worn, but it had ribbon and pleating on the bodice and full petticoats.
‘Will you stand still for a minute while I brush down your skirt?’ Laura complained good-humouredly.
‘Ooh, you have laced my corset tight this morning.’
‘No, ’tis just right. Tuck this muslin in your neckline at the front. I’ve brought down your Sunday bonnet.’
‘Oh! You’ve trimmed it with a blue ribbon. How pretty!’
Her mother stepped back and smiled. ‘You really are very lovely, my dear. Remember what I have told you. And don’t forget to curtsey when spoken to by your betters or elders.’
‘Even Farmer Bilton?’
‘Especially him. But avoid him if you can.’ Laura looked out of the front window. ‘Mr Ross is waiting. He has made himself look smart.’
Quinta agreed. His jacket and trousers were spruce and his boots polished. He had shaved and - and - the sergeant must have cut his hair! It no longer curled around his collar. He wore a red necktie but no hat. She guessed he didn’t have a proper one, only the cap he wore when digging.When she approached him, he did not offer his arm and they set off a yard apart. Her mother and the sergeant followed to the brow of the hill, sat on a bank and watched them until they were out of sight.
‘You have such a fine view of the valley, Mrs Haig.’
‘Yes indeed. This is when I forget the hardship of my life on this farm, and the cold of winter, and know why I never want to leave.’
‘I’ll walk a little further. Would you be so kind, ma’am?’ Laura heaved on the sergeant’s arm as he struggled to his feet with the aid of his crutch. The effort made her cough. ‘Excuse me.’ Her words were lost in her handkerchief.
‘Does the medicine not give you ease?’
‘At night. I do not take it in the day as it makes me sleepy.’
‘My son said there was a physician in town as well as the apothecary. You would benefit from his counsel.’
‘It is too far for me to go there and back in one day.’
‘He will visit you here.’
Laura did not respond.
‘You are sick, Mrs Haig. You should see a medical man.’
‘I cannot afford it!’
‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to anger you.’
‘I worry about my daughter, sir, if anything should happen to me.’
‘Well, my son would take care of us all if you would allow him.’
‘Yes. I believe that is why you stay. He covets my tenancy, sir.’
‘It will not be yours for much longer, ma’am, if your landlord has his way. Do you not think it would belong as well to him? He is a farmer.’
Laura saw the sense in that. ‘But he must also win the affections of my daughter, sir. She does not like him. And - and I shall not encourage her.’
‘You do not approve of him?’
‘No, sir. That is I - I ...’
‘You want better for her. He is the daughter of a gentle-woman, ma’am. Tell me, if Miss Quinta loved him would you give your permission to their union?’
Laura thought about this and replied, ‘If he loved and wanted her, too. Yes I would.’
‘Then I have a proposition for you, ma’am. I must visit the surgeon soon and I shall need lodgings in town and a - a companion.’
‘I am aware that you and your son will be leaving us.’
‘I’d like him to stay here and farm while you travel by carrier with me to town.’
‘And lodge with you, sir?’
‘Yes, but only as my lady companion as if you were in my employ. Nothing more, I assure you, ma’am, except perhaps for you to see the physician.’
‘With my daughter?’
‘Ah. No.’
‘You cannot mean that I should leave her here with your son?’
‘It will allow them to explore their feelings for each other.’
‘And more besides!’ Laura was astounded.‘Your son, no doubt, has experience in these matters,’ she added shortly. ‘I have told you, sir, my daughter does not like him.’
‘Forgive me, Mrs Haig, your daughter does not know him. A proper arrangement would remedy that. I suggest a Lammas Day agreement.’
Laura’s eyes widened. ‘Certainly not, sir! They have fallen from fashion in the Riding.’
‘I am sure that is because our young folk do not stay in the countryside as they used to.They journey to town for employment. Who knows how they behave when they lodge with strangers?’
‘I know my Quinta.’
‘A Lammas agreement is more than a betrothal, ma’am. In remote areas it was considered as binding as any church marriage.’
‘But a marriage that lasted only through the harvest! They were free to separate by Michaelmas.’
‘If they found they were not suited, yes,’ the sergeant argued. ‘That is precisely why I suggest it for our children.’
Laura shook her head and murmured, ‘She is too young.’
‘Do not be hasty, Mrs Haig. Reflect on the benefits for everyone of such a match. Times are hard and this is a way through for us all.’ There was an awkward silence. He reached into his pocket for his flask. ‘Will you take a little spirit?’
Laura took a sip of the brandy. She was shocked by the sergeant’s suggestion. Lammas Day arrangements used to be popular when a whole village of men were supported by labouring on the farms. Now most of them had moved to the town for pit or furnace work, and to choose their brides. And she had heard tales of men and women there not even bothering with a church service to bless their union.
It was wrong. The gentry were to blame; the old Regent and the King had set such bad examples for their subjects. She had always seen the sense of Lammas Day matches, but not for her Quinta.Yet she could not ignore the fact that she was ailing and she wished to see her daughter safely wed.
‘Thank you for the flowers. It was kind of you to pick them for me. How did you know I would be visiting my father’s grave?’
‘I didn’t. But I guessed he was buried in this churchyard.’
‘My sister, too.’
‘You had a sister?’
‘She was much older than me.’
‘I’m sorry you lost her.’
He sounded as though he really meant it. She would have liked a sister or brother to alleviate the loneliness of Top Field. She quickened her step, looking forward to church, to the hymns and to the conversations afterwards. A path led off the track to the back of the church burial ground and Quinta led the way so she could tend the grave and lay her flowers.
Eliza Haig. Joseph Haig
.
‘Eliza was your sister?’
‘Yes. She died the year I was born. I think that is why Mother is so protective towards me. I am all she has.’
‘I assumed you were the fifth child as your name suggests.’
‘Five-acre Wood,’ she explained. ‘I was born in Five-acre Wood.’
‘I see.’
‘Let us go in. Mother said to sit at the back.’
The small church was full and a whole family crowded in after them, squashing Quinta against the stone wall at the end of the pew. They knelt to say a prayer and found there was little room to sit when they got up.
‘Excuse me,’ he whispered as they were squashed together. Through her skirts she could feel the firmness of his thigh pushing against hers and his arm was pressing on her shoulder. He leaned forward to give her more room, and then lifted his arm over her head to rest it along the back of the pew. She could feel it across her back and his fingers curled gently round the curve of her shoulder to ease it away from the rough stone.
There was no room to move away from him and she did not wish to protest and cause a scene in the church. She turned to face him, frowned and raised her eyebrows. But he was smiling. His eyes crinkled at the corners and lit up his handsome features, giving them a warmth she had not seen before. Surprised and totally disarmed of her objection, she resumed her concentration on the hymn book.
Quinta was disappointed that hardly anyone from the village noticed her. Two brief nods were all she received, from kitchen maids at the Hall whose gaze wandered when they became bored with the sermon. There was a baptism at the end of the service, which accounted for the full congregation. Mr Wilkins moved to the font and the parents carried their sleeping infant to join him. The family next to Mr Ross also crowded around the font and he moved nearer the aisle so they both had a view of the proceedings.
The cheerful family seemed to have so many children already, the older ones ushering the smallest and urging them to be quiet. The father was a labouring man, less smartly dressed than Mr Ross, she thought, and the mother looked almost as old as Laura. The young ones were as clean and neat as could be expected from one of the poorer families in the village. But they all smiled fondly at the babe and were obviously delighted by this new addition to their numbers.
When the cold water on the child’s head woke her and she cried, there was a surge forward to comfort her and a murmur of sympathy rippled around the church. Quinta watched with interest and felt a tiny pang of envy. For the first time she understood her mother’s sadness at not bearing more children. This family was poor but they had each other. She glanced sideways at Mr Ross. He, like her, had had a lonely childhood too and she wondered what he was thinking.
When the baptism was over, the congregation stood dutifully and waited for Sir William and his Lady to leave. Quinta thought she wasn’t plain at all and looked very lovely in her gown and bonnet. Farmer Bilton followed them. He walked out stiffly looking straight ahead at the back of Sir William’s neck and, thankfully, did not acknowledge her or Mr Ross.
Then she became aware of nudges and whispers from some village folk as they filed out past her. She rehearsed her mother’s instructions and stood quietly until everyone had left.
‘Wait here, Mr Ross,’ she whispered, ‘until the vicar is free to meet you.’
Quinta emerged from the church porch into the sunlight.
‘Mr Wilkins, sir.’ She curtseyed. ‘My mother sends her apologies for missing your services of late. She is not in the best of health. We had hoped for improvement with the coming of summer but sadly this has not been so.’
‘I am sorry to hear that, Miss Haig. Your landlord has kept me informed, and I have to say that I am quite disturbed by what he tells me.’
‘But we have help on the farm, sir. May I present Mr Ross?’ She turned and stretched an arm into the darkness of the porch.
‘You have brought the ruffian to my church?’
Quinta’s eyes widened. He wasn’t a ruffian! And even if he was, he was one of God’s children, too. She saw Mr Ross’s face darken with anger as he stepped into the light. He held his head high, stood squarely in front of the vicar and bowed stiffly. His annoyance seemed to have disappeared when he looked up. ‘I am your servant, sir,’ he said formally. ‘And the Lord’s servant, too.’
Mr Wilkins seemed lost for words for a moment and was rescued by his sister, who had detached herself from conversation with Lady Swinborough’s personal maid.
‘Mr Wilkins! I see you have a new addition to your flock!’
Quinta stared at her in awe. She had a sallow complexion and was past thirty years of age, but she wore a light summer gown of a delicate lilac colour, with a matching bonnet and parasol that made Quinta forget her mother’s counsel not to covet what other ladies wore. She felt dull and dowdy in comparison and looked around for acquaintances of her own age, but, delayed by the baptism, they had gone speedily home to their dinners. She had waited inside for too long.
‘Will you introduce me, brother dearest?’ Miss Wilkins asked with her eyes on Mr Ross.