‘What else will they want for all that work?’ Mother exclaimed.
‘Don’t fret yourself. They’ll be gone in two days.’
‘After they’ve stolen everything we have!’
Quinta chewed on her lip. Their cart was in the cowshed along with wood that father had stored to season and make furniture from. ‘Don’t fret so, Mother, it makes you cough.’ She peered out of the window. ‘He’s started work already.’ She stood for a few minutes watching him as he dragged her father’s ladder out of the cowshed and leaned it against the stone wall. He checked all the joints before he climbed, steadily, testing each rung with his foot until he reached the top and surveyed the broken, gaping roof tiles. ‘Sit down and try and eat some of this porridge, Mother. You need to get well.’
Quinta gutted and skinned both rabbits and was soaking them in a bowl of brine when her mother came into the scullery with her empty bowl and said, ‘There are two of them. The other one is a cripple.’
‘It’s his father.’
‘Well, I don’t like the look of him.’
‘He’s resting his leg.That’s why he wants to stay in our shed.’
‘He’s a vagrant. I’ll tell him to leave now.’
Quinta put a hand on her arm. ‘Don’t go out there. His father has a gun. I saw him crossing the pasture earlier.’
‘A gun? And you said they could stay? Oh my heaven, what were you thinking of?’
You, she thought, but kept quiet as her mother continued: ‘We’ll be murdered in our beds!’
Anxious herself, Quinta tried to calm her. ‘The gentry have guns. They are not murderers.’
‘These men are not gentry. Look at them.They’re vagabonds.’
Quinta had to agree and a locked and barred door was no defence against a gun. She said, ‘The son was civil to me when we talked.’
‘I’ll speak to him this time and tell them to leave.’ Laura went across to the front window and opened it. ‘Mr Ross. A word with you, if you please.’
He looked around from the cowshed roof. His father had disappeared again. He climbed carefully down the ladder and came over to the cottage. ‘Good morning, ma’am.You must be Mrs Haig?’
‘That’s right. What’s this I hear about a gun?’
‘It’s my father’s, ma’am. He uses it for hunting.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Inside there.’ He gestured towards the cowshed.
‘It’s in my cowshed?’
‘You are quite safe, ma’am. We are honest travellers seeking honest work.’
Quinta had followed her mother from the scullery with blood on her hands. She stood behind her and listened.
‘I want to talk to your father,’ Laura said. ‘Bring out the gun first and put it by the fallen tree where I can see it. Then ask him to step outside.’
Mr Ross did as her mother asked and his father limped towards them leaning heavily on his crutch. Quinta held her breath and hoped they would not turn nasty towards them.
‘That’s far enough,’ Mother said. ‘Who are you and where are you from?’
‘George Ross, ma’am. I hail from the South Riding.’
‘You have kin in these parts?’
‘Orphaned as a child, ma’am, and sent out as a gamekeeper’s lad when I was ten.’
The mention of a respectable trade impressed Quinta. Her mother, too, she guessed, for Laura did not reply immediately. A gamekeeper was trusted; unless he turned poacher, of course.
‘That’s not a gamekeeper’s gun.’
‘No, ma’am. I was a rifleman in the Duke of Wellington’s army.’
‘A soldier?’
‘A sergeant, ma’am. I fought at Waterloo.’ He put a hand on his thigh. ‘Where I got this.’
Quinta saw her mother’s eyes widen. A sergeant! And a war hero! It was before Quinta was born but folk still talked of England’s victory over Old Boney in France.
‘Will your son mend our roof?’
‘He will, ma’am. And fill your woodshed and be pleased to.’
Quinta saw Patrick Ross frown and guessed he wasn’t exactly ‘pleased’ about their arrangement. She began to feel proud of her side of the bargain. ‘There are tiles in the cowshed,’ she said.
‘Yes, I found them,’ he replied briefly.
‘Two nights?’ Laura asked.
‘If you please, ma’am,’ the sergeant replied. ‘I should be much obliged to you.’
‘Have you food?’ Quinta blinked in surprise at her mother’s change of tone.
‘A brace of partridge, ma’am.’
Partridge! Quinta hadn’t tasted that since her father had died.
‘Where did they come from?’
‘The moor. But I see one or two have a taste for your garden greens,’ Sergeant Ross answered.
‘Yes, they do.’
‘May I ask who owns the woodland?’
‘Belongs to the Hall on the other side of the stream. I hope our rabbit isn’t from there. I want nothing to do with any poaching.’
‘We took it from the moorland.’
‘Well, that’s allowed. Anything this side of the stream is ours.’
His son, who had been standing quietly by his side until now, said, ‘You have snares in your cowshed. Why do you not set them?’
‘Father used to do that for us.’ As she spoke, Quinta remembered how he put them down to keep rabbits off their garden as much as to give them dinners. But she didn’t know how to snare a rabbit, only how to how to skin and gut them on the kitchen slab. She looked at the blood drying on her fingers and added impulsively, ‘I’m sure I could do that, Mother, if someone showed me how.’
Mother cast an impatient glance in her direction. ‘You may take wood for a fire,’ she said shortly.
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Sergeant Ross passed a gnarled hand over his unkempt beard. ‘I am in need of hot water.’
‘Two nights,’ Laura repeated. ‘Good evening to you.’
‘Good evening, ma’am. Miss.’ He bowed his head, turned and limped back into the cowshed. His son followed silently, and was soon at work again on the cowshed roof.
‘Make sure you keep the door barred, Quinta. And don’t let either of them inside for anything. Do you hear me?’
Chapter 5
The following morning Quinta went out at daybreak to fetch water from the stream. She hoped to be safely back indoors before Sergeant Ross and his son stirred from their sleep.
‘Good morning, Miss Haig.’
‘Oh!’ Quinta thought she was early enough to avoid the travellers, but Mr Ross was already by the water with an old bucket from the cowshed.
‘This rock is the best spot,’ she advised, stepping on to the flat boulder. She dipped an empty bucket into the fast-flowing water. When she straightened he had straddled the gap between bank and stones and was stretching out his hand for her bucket.
‘Give it here,’ he said.
She hesitated at first then handed it over. He did not seem so threatening in the morning sun. She dipped another bucket into the water and handed it up to him. ‘Pass me yours and I’ll fill it for you while I’m here.’
‘Thank you. My father likes a dish of tea in the mornings.’
Quinta had watched him light a fire and set up a wooden trivet at the side of the cowshed last evening. He had mended the roof until nightfall the previous day and his father never came out to lend a hand; neither did he tend to the fire, or the partridge as it roasted on its makeshift wooden spit.
‘Is your father’s leg improved this morning?’ she asked.
Mr Ross frowned and nodded. ‘He should rest it more.’
‘Did he really fight at Waterloo?’
‘He nearly died there.’
‘Were you with him?’
He half laughed; scornfully, she thought. ‘I wasn’t born then. How old do you think I am?’
She shrugged and didn’t answer. It was hard to tell, but apparently he was younger than she’d realised. Waterloo was twenty years ago.
He turned and stared at their cowshed and his face darkened as he said, ‘I didn’t even know I had a father until he came to find me afterwards.’ He sounded angry, almost bitter.
‘Has his leg troubled him ever since?’
He lifted two of the heavy buckets, leaving her with one. ‘He should have a surgeon to look at it.’
‘There isn’t one here. He has to come out from town for folk who can pay him. There’s a Dispensary in town, though, for the labourers in the manufactories. Your father would be better off in the town. You can take a carrier cart from the village in the valley.’
‘I see.’
Good, thought Quinta. Mother would be pleased to hear they would be moving on soon.
They walked slowly to the cottage, carrying the buckets of water.
‘When did you last use that donkey cart in your shed?’ he asked.
‘One of the shafts is broken.’
‘I can see that. I could mend it for you.’
‘We haven’t got a donkey any more.’
‘You could push it yourself. You look strong enough.’
Maybe I could, she thought. I could push it to market and sell our vegetables. ‘Mother says it needs a new piece of wood.’
‘There’s some across the rafters in there.’ He tossed his head to indicate the cowshed. ‘Have you got any nails?’
They had some upstairs in her father’s tool box. ‘We can’t pay you,’ she said.
‘I’ll fix it if your mother will let us stay a few more nights.’
She didn’t think it was a good idea to encourage strangers. But they needed the cart fixing. ‘I’ll ask her,’ she said.
They parted at the cowshed door and Mr Ross went inside to his father.
Quinta placed the heavy buckets of water outside the scullery door and straightened her back, taking a few minutes to enjoy the clean fresh air. She felt his presence before she saw him, astride his horse beyond their cottage on the track up to the moor. What was Farmer Bilton doing there at this hour of the morning? Angrily, she marched towards him.
‘You have no right to spy on us like this!’
‘I’m looking out for my property. I’ve heard there are vagrants about.’
She wondered if he had seen the sergeant and his son. ‘Well, this is our land, not yours!’
‘Only while you pay me rent.’
‘We’ll get your money.’
He sneered and swung down off his horse, leaving the reins trailing. ‘Why hasn’t your ma been to see me about you yet?’
‘She - she’s poorly.’
‘She’s stubborn, you mean!’ He grabbed her arm roughly and yanked her towards him. ‘My patience is running out.’
‘Let go! You’re hurting me!’
He ignored her plea and shook her as if to emphasise his strength. ‘I will have my way. If you don’t want to end up with no home you’ll make that clear to her.’
‘You can’t make us do what you want!’
‘Can’t I? I have the vicar on my side.’ His fingers bit painfully into her flesh.
‘He won’t be if I tell him about this!’
He relaxed his hold on her and replied, ‘You would try the patience of a saint.’
She broke free, rubbing her bruised arm vigorously. ‘And you can get off our farm!’
His mouth turned down in a grimace, but he gathered the reins and remounted. Quinta watched him ride away, taking the time to calm down. They were well away from the cottage but she hoped Mother hadn’t heard any of this conversation; they needed their cart mended more than ever now and she went indoors to tell her about Mr Ross’s offer.
Laura was suspicious. ‘Why does he want to help us?’
‘He’s asked to stay a few more days in our cowshed,’ Quinta explained. If he doesn’t go off with the cart when he’s fixed it, she thought suddenly.‘He said his father had to see a surgeon.’ She realised that was why he had offered to mend the cart. Not for them but to take his father to town. She had thought it was a good idea at first, but now she wasn’t sure and added, ‘You are right, Mother, he wants the cart for himself and not for us.’
‘I knew it! They’ll steal everything from us and you as well!’
‘Do be calm, Mother. Who would want to steal me?’
‘Farmer Bilton wanted to take you from me, my love.’
He still does, she thought, but said, ‘The garden is growing well now. If we took a cartload of crops to market we might manage the rest of the rent at Midsummer.’
‘What? Sell all our young vegetables?’
‘They’ll fetch a good price this year and we can buy flour and sugar.’
‘And scented soap and beeswax candles,’ her mother breathed.
‘Well, don’t forget we’ll have to save some seed for me to plant as well,’ Quinta countered. ‘Oh Mother, do let Mr Ross mend our cart. We haven’t been to town for ages.’
‘It’s a long way, my love. And a cartload of vegetables will be heavy to push.’
‘Seth might help, Mother. It’s mostly downhill until we get to the Hall. And it won’t have as much in it on the way back.’
‘Well, I’m not much use these days.’
‘Nonsense! I’ll go to the Dispensary for more of your cough mixture.’ Quinta felt excited by their plans. ‘Oh, Mother, you were right. Something has turned up for us.’
But her mother was still dreaming. ‘We’ll buy meat pies for our dinner and - and - and an orange, an orange each. We must go to the draper too, and buy ribbons.’
‘And pay Farmer Bilton his rent?’ They both went quiet as they pondered on this. Then Quinta added, ‘Even if we do, Mother, he doesn’t want us here any more. What if he turns us out?’
‘Your father was a legal tenant. Besides, the Squire will have something to say if he does.’
‘What’s he got to do with it?’
‘He - he - his father arranged the tenancy in the first place.’
‘You’ve never told me why, Mother. What did my father do for him?’
‘He was a good servant,’ Laura said in a rush.
‘Why did the old Squire let him go, then?’
‘Do stop quizzing me! It’s all in the past now.’
‘Quite so, and the new Squire is all for changing things. He’ll side with Farmer Bilton and say I should wed him.’
Her mother looked away and did not answer, which made Quinta think that she was right about this. ‘We ought to find somewhere else to live,’ she suggested gently.