She found a row of small stone houses just off the High Street. A large red-faced buxom woman stood outside one of them in front of a slate-topped table. She caught Quinta’s attention with her bloody fingers and raucous voice. ‘Ox skirt and meat trimmings,’ she yelled. ‘Gotta clear this lot afore nightfall, me ducks.’ She laughed, hacking away with a large knife. ‘Got a fine forequarter hanging in the back yard ready for my slab and another ox beast standing.’
‘Have you baked any pies today?’ Quinta asked. Mother’s dinner had been crushed in her scramble to help, and Quinta had only eaten half of her own.
‘Have I baked? Nonstop night and day! But they’ve all gone by now. Sold the last one hours ago.’
Quinta bought a chunk of ox kidney and suet which the butcher’s wife wrapped up in a generous piece of beef skirt and tied it round with twine. She was pleased with her bargain and cheered by the prospect of meat pudding tomorrow. She placed her precious purchase in the bottom of her basket and slung it over her arm.
Laura sat on the empty sacks as she waited and felt uneasy when she glanced down the alley. A man was looming out of the shadows. She had noticed him earlier in the square with the women who had tried to steal her daughter. He was young and brawny-looking and his presence made her nervous. Oh Lord, he was walking towards her! Where was Quinta?
‘Good evening, missus. A very pleasant one it is, too. ’Ave you ’ad a good day at the market?’
‘Who are you?’ she asked. As she did her hand went automatically to confirm her purse was still there under her skirts in the pocket of her drawers. He smiled at her with fleshy lips and she took an instant dislike to him. He was a thick-set and burly, an ox of a man with a dark swarthy skin and black eyes. But he was well shod and wore a fancy waistcoat with an elaborate necktie. It was the showy kind of dress favoured by the new manufacturing gentry in town. He didn’t sound like them, though. He spoke roughly like one of Farmer Bilton’s itinerant labourers.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing, excepting a bit o’ conversation.’
Laura sat stiffly in silence.
‘’Ave you far ter get ’ome?’ he asked.
‘No. Have you? I’ve not seen you in the marketplace before.’
He smiled at her with his fat lips but not with his glittery dark eyes. They stared at her piercingly and she wished that he’d move on. She wondered why Quinta was taking so long to fetch the meat. His manner was shifty and he had a crooked nose, one that had been broken at some time. In a fight, she didn’t doubt. She had a close view of his boots and saw they were the kind favoured by Sir William himself, black with a natural tanned cuff and dear to buy.Very smart, too, she thought, but the hair escaping from his tall hat was tangled and greasy.
‘I’m new ter town,’ he volunteered. ‘I’m still finding my way around. I saw you selling yer vegetables in the marketplace earlier, with a girl.’
‘Not me,’ she answered shortly.
His eyelids narrowed and his fleshy lips pressed together. ‘Well now, I am sure I did, missus.’
‘What is it you want?’ she demanded shortly. She was beginning to feel uneasy about this fellow and wondered whether to call out for someone. She decided not. He might turn nasty.
‘I know ’ow ’ard it is ter get by these days, what wi’ rents and the price of flour going up all the time. I got work in the town fer yer lass, you know, wi’ proper wages and a decent ’ouse ter live in.’
‘Decent house?’ That’s not what Laura Haig had seen. Ordinary working folk lived squashed together in rows of damp hovels no better than their cowshed.
‘Aye,’ he went on. ‘A big ’ouse ’as ter ’ave a lot o’ lasses to keep it straight fer the folk that live there.’
‘Servants, you mean?’ Like the Hall. Laura Haig only knew of the Hall at Swinborough, which had a lot of maids.
‘That girl of yours would do well fer ’erself, I can tell yer.’
‘Oh yes? How do you know that, then?’
‘Because I do,’ he snapped harshly. He seemed to think better of this reaction and added, ‘I saw ’er with you.’
Laura was glad that Quinta was not present. She didn’t like this man at all. ‘Well, she’s gone. She went off home an hour ago.’
He looked around. ‘Is that ’er over there wi’ the basket?’
‘No. Besides, I know for a fact she’s already suited for work.’
Suddenly he bent over her menacingly and breathed, ‘You’re a liar, old woman.’ He grasped the coils of hair at the back of her head and yanked her head upwards, making her call out in pain. ‘If I can’t ’ave the lass, I’ll ’ave that purse off yer.’
‘I haven’t got a purse,’ she denied. ‘She’s taken it with her!’
‘We’ll see about that, you stubborn old crone,’ he growled and reached under her skirt to the exact spot in her drawers.
‘No,’ she squealed, struggling to throw him off. ‘Help! Help!’
But he pushed her down easily, throwing her sideways and flinging back her skirts, exposing the side of her drawers. He tore at the sagging pocket and grasped the leather pouch of coins. ‘This’ll do fer now. But I’ll be back fer the girl. I know she’s from round these parts somewhere.’
‘No! You can’t take that! It’s for my rent. Give it back to me. Oh! Help me, somebody!’ She raised her voice to a shout. ‘Quinta! Quinta! Help me!’
Quinta was enjoying looking at the shop fronts on the other side of the square. The market stalls had been taken down and the crowds had thinned, but she heard a high-pitched call that she recognised as her mother and turned with a startled cry. She saw the man in his tall hat bending over Laura with her skirts all over the place and shouted, ‘Stop it! Stop it! I’m coming, Mother!’
Hoisting her own skirt clear of the ground, she ran for all she was worth, crying, ‘Get away from her!’ As she approached, the man straightened. He had their purse in his hand but he didn’t run off. He turned towards her and she saw his face, his dark and threatening features, break into a sneering smile. She slowed and looked around for a weapon, picking up a heavy stone and holding it behind her back. He noticed and sniggered. ‘Come on then, lass.’
‘Are you hurt, Mother?’
‘Stay away from him, Quinta. He’s a wrong ’un.’
‘But he’s got our purse,’ she answered and shouted at the man, ‘Give it back!’
He held it in his outstretched hand. ‘Here. Take it.’
‘No, Quinta, don’t!’ her mother yelled. ‘He can keep it!’
But Quinta was not going to let all their hard-earned rent money disappear without a fight and she walked towards him cautiously, testing the weight of the stone in the hand behind her back.
He gestured with his arm. ‘Do you want it or not?’
She stopped well away from him and stretched out her hand. Her fingers closed over the pouch. Before she knew what was happening, his other hand had come round, cuffing her soundly on the side of her head, dazing her and knocking her off balance. She fell to the ground, losing her grip on the stone and within seconds he had scooped her up and hoisted her over one shoulder like a slaughtered pig. She screamed and began pummelling his back with her fists as he broke into a run down the shadowy alley. He held on to her tightly and panted, ‘Shut up and keep still or I’ll cut you. I mean it. I’ve got a knife here.’
She quietened immediately. Where was he taking her? He’d stolen their money so why did he want her as well? For her virtue, as Mother has said? His arms were like metal bands around her legs as he jolted her along. She raised her head and was alarmed to see another man running after him. Dear heaven, were they in this together? Were they were going to take her away, defile her and then leave her to die in a field?
Ignoring the danger she began to scream. ‘Mother! Stop them! Somebody help me!’ Her head, already muzzy from the blow, began to spin. She felt the acid from her stomach working toward her throat, burning her. Saliva ran cop
iously into her mouth and, her head bouncing upside down, she tried to swallow. Bright lights flashed behind her eyes. She squeezed her lids tight shut to stop them but it made no difference.
The other man was catching up and a moment later she was being pulled about by him. He dragged her from her captor’s shoulder, scuffling and shouting, ‘Give it here, you ruffian!’ Dazed, she heard yelps and the sound of coins scattering to the ground. They were fighting over her money - her rent money! She needed every last farthing of it!
Suddenly, it was over. She was free and her attacker was melting into the darkness of the alley. Her rescuer was joined by a plainly dressed lady and her mother, who was taking back her purse. Quinta scrambled to her feet and, as she did, a thin vomit rose in her mouth mixed with her saliva and she was sick on the ground. She retched and retched; her knees buckled and she fell to the ground in a daze until, oh Lord, Mother was there, lifting her head and cradling it in her lap.
‘All right, my love, he’s gone now. You’re safe.’
There was a frightened expression on her mother’s face. She was rubbing the hair on the side of Quinta’s head.
‘Ow! That hurts, Mother. It’s where he hit me.’
‘You’ll have a bruise there tomorrow. But that’s all, thank the Lord.This gentleman saw off that awful man off. He dragged you off him and even saved most of our money. He got away with some of it, though.’
‘He is a very slippery character, madam, if I may say so,’ the gentleman commented. ‘I’ve seen him before, waiting around for young girls and persuading them into all sorts of wicked ways. There are evil folk about these days.’
‘I am much obliged to you for your intervention,’ Laura said.
‘Yes. Thank you, sir,’ Quinta echoed.
The stranger nodded his acknowledgement.‘You have a lovely daughter, madam. I should get her away from here as soon as you can. Trade has been good today and the ale is already flowing copiously.’ When he was satisfied no lasting harm had been done, the gentleman and his lady took their leave.
Laura feverishly counted the coins in her purse. ‘We can’t afford any flour now. What are we going to do?’
‘Make do with oats as we’ve always done. Have we got enough for the rent?’
‘Not quite.’ Laura started to cough.
‘If this is town you can keep it,’ Quinta observed miserably.
‘It never used to be like this. Let’s get back to Top Field as fast as we can.’
Still raw from her tussle, Quinta agreed. ‘I’m as anxious as you to go home. If only Mr Ross would return with our cart we could leave now! Where is he?’ She scanned the marketplace but there was no sign of him. ‘We don’t know anything about him or his father. They could have told us a pack of lies! A sergeant indeed!’
Laura looked sad and replied, ‘Do you think he has gone off with our cart?’
Quinta nodded. ‘And he has our share of the money from the kindling. We shouldn’t have trusted him in the first place. I don’t think his father has a bad leg at all. It was just a ruse to get our sympathy.’
‘Oh no!’ Laura groaned. ‘And we’ve left him at home.’
‘His son is probably with him now, and filling the cart with Father’s tools and furniture.’
‘You locked the cottage door,’ Laura pointed out.
‘And I left the key in the woodshed.’
‘Oh Quinta, what shall we do? I thought they were decent folk.’
‘What else can you expect from travellers, Mother? They get by on their wits. They took us in right and proper, they did. We’d better get back. Come on, Farmer Bilton wants his rent before nightfall.’
They trudged on, leaving the smoke and the grime behind, sometimes overtaken by others hurrying home with their gains or purchases from the market. Quinta was relieved when she saw the crossroads ahead and a rider refreshing his animal at the horse trough.
‘Oh thank the Lord,’ Laura sighed. ‘I must take the weight off my feet. I’m feeling quite weak.’
‘Here, sit on this bank and I’ll fetch you over some water.’
‘Have you anything to carry it in?’
‘I’ll find something. Lie back and rest, Mother. The miller’s cart has gone already. He must have sold all his flour for today. Are you hungry?’
Laura nodded.
‘Me too. A drink will keep us going and it’s not far now.’ Laura sighed again. ‘It’s a pity about Sergeant Ross. I thought he was an honest man. I’m not usually wrong.’
‘He was charming enough but I didn’t trust his son. He was too aloof for my liking. Well, he’s gone now and I’m not sorry.’
‘We couldn’t have got to market without him, dear.’
‘He’s got our cart out of the bargain! Anyway, Farmer Bilton might let us stay now and if I plant more seeds quickly I can earn the rent by next quarter day.’
‘Given a good growing season,’ Laura cautioned. ‘It’s at times like this that I really miss your father.’
Quinta gave her a hug. ‘You’ve got me.’
‘I nearly lost you today, though. If my Joseph had been with us that man would never have dared to drag you off.’
The incident in town had been very frightening for Quinta but she tried to reassure her mother. ‘I got away, didn’t I? I can’t think why he was interested in me in the first place.’
‘I can. You are young and very pretty.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have been much use, I’m sure, because I would have run away from him as soon as I could!’
‘No, you wouldn’t. He would have locked you up.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s time you knew about these things, my love. Evil men like that keep pretty young girls as prisoners in - in - wicked houses, and - and - and then sell their virtue time after time to any man who pays them for it.’
‘What!’
‘It’s true and I don’t want us going into town again. Not on our own. Not ever.’
‘Not ever? How else are we to sell our vegetables?’
‘I don’t know. But I do know that I don’t want to lose you.’
‘We have to get our rent, Mother,’ Quinta argued. It was all very well her mother saying these things but she wasn’t being practical. She would never get enough money by Michaelmas if she didn’t sell what they grew at the market.
She wondered whom she could ask for help. Not Farmer Bilton, that’s for sure! But who else was there?
Chapter 7
‘There you are! Why didn’t you wait for me?’
Laura sat on the edge of the horse trough while Quinta bathed her bruised head in the icy water. She was tired and hungry and her head hurt.The movement of water as it trickled gently from the spring was mesmerising and she had closed her eyes, dreaming longingly of the oat biscuit waiting for her at Top Field.
‘It’s Mr Ross!’ her mother exclaimed.
Startled, Quinta turned sharply. ‘It is you! I thought you had gone for good.’
‘But I had your cart with me.’
Mother and daughter exchanged glances silently.
‘You thought I had stolen it?’ he added tightly.
Quinta faced him defiantly and said, ‘Yes, we did.You didn’t come back to the marketplace for any dinner.’
He looked hot, as though he had been rushing to catch up with them, and his tone was resentful. ‘It took a long time to sell the kindling. I wanted the best price. Then I went to the Dispensary for medicine. That was crowded with folk and I had to wait my turn.’
‘Well, don’t sound so offended! What else would we believe? If you knew what a day we have had in town, you would think the same!’
‘Quinta, do calm down. We have our cart.’
She quietened and asked,‘Did you get something for Mother?’
‘Yes. I had a consultation with the apothecary.’
A frown creased her brow. He would have had to pay extra for that. ‘How much do I owe you?’
‘Nothing. I had money
from the kindling and we agreed to split it.’
‘Is there any left?’ Quinta asked anxiously.
‘Yes. I bought flour from the miller half an hour ago.’
Quinta looked in the cart and, sure enough, there was a sack of flour among other supplies that he had purchased in town.
He lifted both shafts and began to push it.‘Can we get going? I want to get back to my father. I have medicine for him, too.’
‘I’ll take one side,’ Quinta volunteered, stacking their baskets and sacks on top of the flour.
‘Look to your mother, Miss Quinta. She is weary.’ He set off purposefully towards Swinborough village.
The two women linked arms again and Laura whispered, ‘Oh, I am so very pleased to see him, aren’t you?’
‘No.’ Quinta wasn’t at all sure about Patrick Ross. There was something dark and unknown about him and it vexed her.The sergeant was more forthcoming and Mother thought quite highly of him, too. That is, before they believed he was at home robbing them. And they had believed it. The travellers were, after all, strangers and only interested in Top Field because it had an empty cowshed for them.
Refreshed and more cheerful, they were soon over Swinborough hill and through the village.The sun was dipping when the hill track to home rose steeply in front of them. Mother slowed as they climbed and Quinta noticed beads of sweat on Patrick’s brow. But his pace did not ease. He took off his jacket, flung it on the cart and bowed his head, leaning into the incline. On the more difficult parts of the slope, his boots slipped backwards over loose stones.
‘Will you not take a rest, Mr Ross?’ Quinta called.
He shook his head briefly and continued to push.
‘Oh look!’ Laura exclaimed. ‘The sergeant is waiting for us!’
Mr Ross raised his head. His father had walked down as far as the track to Bilton Farm and was sitting on the low stone wall. He quickened his pace, causing him to puff and pant even more.
‘Mother needs to rest now, even if you don’t,’ Quinta said to him as they approached the sergeant. Father and son were already deep in conversation.
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