She carried on raking her soil.
He persevered. ‘Your pasture is well drained.’
She glanced sideways at him. ‘We are on a hill, Mr Ross.’
‘If we are to work alongside each other, will you not call me Patrick?’
‘No, sir!’ she replied quickly. ‘What if Mother heard me?’ She carried on heaping the soil into mounds around the potato stems.
He suppressed a sigh. ‘The rain will help your potato yield.’
‘I hope so.’
He picked up a handful of dirt and tested the texture in his hand. ‘The soil under your pasture is as fertile as this.’
‘Mother will be pleased.’
‘Yes,’ he answered ineffectually, and wondered what to say next.
She stopped and straightened. There was a smudge of mud on her brow where she had pushed a straying strand of hair under her cap. ‘Did you want anything else, Mr Ross?’
‘Would you care to take a walk with me this evening? The sunsets are beautiful to behold.’
Her eyes widened and he thought he must have shocked her. ‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘I - I mean, thank you, Mr Ross, I cannot. I must help Mother with the chores.’ She bent to carry on with her gardening.
Patrick shook his head in exasperation and turned away. Miss Quinta was a dutiful daughter and very close to her mother, who had no doubt warned her against him. But she knew her own mind and clearly it didn’t include a friendship with him. Perhaps she thought as most others did, and viewed him as a vagrant or poacher. He was aware of a rising annoyance that this should be so, and returned to his digging to attack the soil with more vigour.
At the end of the day, after stripping to the waist and sluicing himself at the water butt, he shared one of Mrs Haig’s meat puddings with his father by their camp fire outside the cowshed.
‘You’ve made a good start on the new plot.’
‘The soil is easy to dig. Fertile, too.’
‘You can make a go of this farm, son. It’s been well run until recent times and it is worth the extra rent. Show that brute of a farmer what you can do with his land.’
‘And wed Miss Quinta,’ Patrick commented.
‘Is that such a hardship for you?’
Patrick recalled watching her at work in her garden with the gentle breeze riffling her skirts and thought that it would not be. He said, ‘No. I think the burden would be with her.’
‘I saw you talking together earlier today.’
‘I opened a conversation with her. She closed it.’
‘Try again. Give her time to get used to the idea.’
He shook his head emphatically. ‘She is not interested in me, even as an acquaintance. I am a traveller not to be trusted and nothing will change that.’
‘She is young, and a little frightened of you, I think.’
‘Frightened of me? Surely not?’
‘Have patience with her. She is not Mary-Ann.’
Patrick let out an impatient cry. ‘How can you talk of the two in the same breath? She is nothing like that trollop. Quinta is - is - young but . . . Oh, I don’t know, the responsibilities here make her seem older than her years.’
‘Indeed. She can run this farm as well as her mother.’
‘Yet she is innocent of - of so many things.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Her mother has guarded her virtue to the point of isolation. I am not sure she knows how to be courted, let alone be loved by a man, but—’ He stopped suddenly.
‘But what?’
He lowered his voice. ‘I should dearly like to show her, Father.’
His father laughed gently. ‘It is as I thought. Oh Patrick, were I your age again! She has the body of a woman and does think as one yet ...’
‘It is not something to jest about, Father. I think we should move on before this becomes too embarrassing for all of us.’
‘You want to leave her for some country ruffian to woo and wed?’
‘No! Of course I don’t. But she has formed an unfavourable opinion of me and I fear I cannot persuade her otherwise.’
‘You do not think she is worth fighting for?’
‘Quite the opposite. But I cannot force myself on her if she will not have me. Accept it, Father. We do not suit each other and that is an end to the matter.’
‘An end? You are giving up on her so soon?’
‘She has made it clear that—’
‘That she is a young girl and naturally wary of strangers.’
‘She is wary of travelling people. I cannot change what I am.’
‘You are not a gypsy.’
‘I might as well be as far as Quinta is concerned,’ Patrick responded irritably.
‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’
‘Perhaps it is her mother who objects to me?’
‘Aye, you may be right. I’ll talk to her.’ He took a sip of his laudanum mixture. ‘Before this addles my brain completely.’
Patrick grimaced. The medicine was necessary but he had seen its debilitating effects on others. He said, ‘You’ve meddled enough, Father.You have opened my eyes to a future here and I am persuaded. Now leave me to my task. If I am to court Miss Quinta, I’ll speak to her mother myself.’
Quinta took off her dusty gown to wash in the scullery before tea. She had eaten only bread and soup for dinner and was hungry. Mother had a pudding with some vegetables boiling for tea and was resting upstairs until they were ready. She struggled into her bodice, leaving the buttons undone as she hurried to the fire to check on dinner. She wandered to the front window and saw Mr Ross at the water butt sluicing away the grime from his digging. Embarrassed, she shrank back, pulling together the front of her gown and hurriedly fastening the buttons.
He could not see her. Indeed he was too intent on his own task to even notice her, but she felt his presence in their yard. Cautiously she approached the glass and stared. His back was bare and his black hair was wet, slicked down and glossy. He was drying his chest with a towel and she could not take her eyes off him.
‘Quinta?’
‘Oh, I didn’t hear you come downstairs.’
‘What are you staring at?’
‘Nothing.’
Her mother was standing beside her at the window. She took her arm. ‘Come away, dear.’
Quinta was aware of a heat rising in her cheeks, heightened by the intensity of her mother’s scrutiny. ‘I - I - I know it’s rude to stare. I didn’t mean to. He didn’t see me.’
‘He is a very handsome man, my dear.’
‘Mother, I - he - that is, Mr Ross asked me to walk with him after tea.’
‘Did he? Well, a little company and conversation will do you no harm, as long as you stay in sight of the cottage. What did you say to him?’
‘I said no, of course. He’s a stranger, Mother!’ she answered with surprise.‘We were both frightened of him when he arrived.’
‘I did not know his father then. Sergeant Ross is honourable. He has a respectable manner and has brought his son up to behave the same.’
‘Do you mean you approve of the way they live?’
‘Well, no.Though Mr Ross seems to be a hard-working young man.’
‘So you think I should walk with him?’
‘I did not say that. Do you want to?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then do not. If you wanted to, you would know.’
‘How would I know?’
‘You would look forward to being in his company.’
‘Even though he is a traveller?’
Exasperated, her mother responded: ‘He is not a vagrant! His father has means and they travel here for the Dispensary in town. Do you wish to spend an hour in his son’s company?’
Quinta thought that she might and glanced sideways at her mother. When she saw her pained expression, she hurriedly changed her mind. ‘No.’
Mrs Haig gave a small smile and nodded as though satisfied with this response. ‘You are wise beyond your years and I am proud of you, my dear.’
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The next day Quinta was up at dawn in her garden and after her breakfast of porridge and honey she slung a wooden yoke across her shoulders and tested its weight. She had two milk pails full of fresh vegetables for the Hall kitchen. The cook there always said she never had enough for the servants’ hall and she would give her cheese to carry back in return.
Patrick watched her set off with her load across the fields and frowned. She was pretty enough. Healthy and strong, too, and he relished the prospect of bedding her. But that would come after he wed her and he still wasn’t so sure about marriage. The kitchen door stood open and he rapped his knuckles on the bleached wood.
Mrs Haig dried her hands and stepped outside. ‘What is it?’
‘I wish to speak with you, ma’am.’
‘What about?’
‘Your daughter, ma’am.’
She gestured towards the old furniture nestling in the shade of the walnut tree and settled herself in a carver chair. ‘Well, you are a man of few words so you’d better get on with it.’
Patrick remained standing. ‘I should like your permission to walk out with her, ma’am.’
‘Walk out with her? Do you mean you wish to court her?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Is my daughter aware of your wishes?’
‘I have approached her but she has not responded to me.’
‘Then perhaps she does not like you.’
‘She does not know me, ma’am. And will not, unless you will allow me to court her.’
‘And why should I? What have you got to offer her?’
He felt uncomfortable. He had no home, no prospects, no way of earning a living except by his wits and the sweat of his back. But since his austere childhood in Ireland he had known that he could think faster than most others, even the gentry who were supposed to be educated. He was confident that, given the chance, he could support Quinta and her mother. And his father would be content.
‘I can provide a future here for your daughter and your good self, ma’am. Given your leave I can turn in a healthy profit from this land and you - both of you - will be secure in your home.
Yes, Laura reflected. That is why I have not sent you on your way. She said, ‘You are a handsome fellow, sir, tall and strong, and I believe you can restore my little farm. But you are not what I want for my Quinta. You must have caught the eye of many a young maid on your travels.What is special to you about her?’
‘She is very pretty, ma’am.’
‘Is that all?’
‘If you give your blessing, ma’am, I should like to know her more.’
‘Would you indeed? Then it is not the prospect of my tenancy after I am gone?’
He was taken aback by her frankness. Clearly she thought as his father did, but Mrs Haig was not quite right about him and he answered honestly. ‘I had not thought as far as that, ma’am. I considered only that with my knowledge and toil and the determination of your daughter, there is a living here, a living for all of us.’ He was surprised himself with this response. But it was not a lie and the more he thought about it, the more he believed it. He scanned the land around him and added, ‘It is perfect for a growing family.’
He didn’t know why he said that, except that an image had flashed across his mind as he thought about this smallholding in the future. He saw it alive and thriving. In the picture was his wife churning butter under the shade of this very tree, with children playing around her skirts; his children. He blinked back the scene. He was not even sure that Quinta had been the wife in his vision and he wondered what had caused him to conjure up such an ideal. It was the addition of children, of course. If he did marry, children would follow. Children? The notion alarmed him. He was not ready for such responsibility yet. He was not ready for marriage and all that it entailed. What was he doing even thinking about it? This was an insane idea of his father’s!
But as he regretted his impulsive words, Laura Haig’s heart leaped. A family! Children! Yes, a whole brood of them. Babies! Top Field would have the babies that she had longed for herself as a young woman and never been blessed with. Her dreams took over her thoughts. Quinta would have those joys that she had been denied and, God willing, she would be spared for a few more years to share them, too.
If she could be sure that Mr Ross would be half the father to his children that the sergeant was to him she would look on him more kindly. But, in spite of his young years, he had seen much more of life than her daughter had and she wondered if he was a man who was easily distracted by pretty women, and whether his eye would wander when her darling Quinta was swollen with child.
To his credit, all his contacts with ladies that she had seen had been well mannered. She recalled that he was even respectful to the occasional street woman who had approached him on their way to market, fending off ribaldry with gentle wit rather than the bawdy jest and foul language of others.
‘A growing family,’ Mrs Haig repeated slowly. ‘Do you love my daughter, sir?’
‘Love her?’ He was caught off balance again, not expecting such a direct question. But he answered honestly. ‘I cannot say that I do, ma’am. Her countenance attracts me as no other has before, but I cannot know if I love her unless I court her. And without your leave I will not approach her. Neither would she let me, ma’am.’
‘Quite so. She is young and rightly cautious of you. You are well versed in the ways of the world, more than your years would indicate, if I may be so bold, and you have more experience of life than she. I should not wish you to take advantage of that.’
‘Indeed, ma’am, I should not. You may be assured that I would guard and protect her virtue.’
‘I am not sure I believe you, sir. I have seen you stare at her as she works in our garden.’
‘I do not deny her beauty. I am sure others have noticed it too.’
Laura was reminded of the unfortunate incidents on market day and of the sergeant’s counsel regarding her daughter’s future.
He went on, ‘You have my word that I have not so much as touched her hand, ma’am, nor shall I without your permission.’
She was not reassured and replied, ‘You are a travelling man, sir. How do I know that you will not tire of stability and resume your wanderings?’
‘I have travelled only with my father. I have led this life because he is my father. He served his country well. He searched for me and found me, and now he has come home to the Riding, he wishes to stay here.’
‘I do not doubt he is a hero. But he did not marry your mother.’
‘It was not his fault, ma’am. He would have, after the victory at Waterloo, but her parents disapproved of him. They took her back to Ireland and told her he had perished on the battlefield. When he found her, he was too late. She was already a Bride of Christ.’
‘Yes, he told me.’
‘It was the greatest day of my life when he took me away from my foster parents and their cruelty and squalor. I have never, ever wanted to go back.’
‘Well, you have shown yourself to be civil and hard-working, sir. But this counts for nothing if my Quinta does not like you. And I believe she does not.’
Patrick felt a coldness creep around his heart, and then a spark of anger. Mrs Haig was a good mother and her daughter obeyed her. But Patrick thought that sometimes this was against Miss Quinta’s own wishes. He wondered if this might be the case now; if, given an opportunity, her daughter might enjoy a little freedom to express herself more openly towards him. He wanted that. He wanted to know more about Mrs Haig’s bright and beautiful daughter.
‘I believe she does not know me, ma’am,’ he countered and thought, She cannot if you do not let me court her.
He hoped Mrs Haig did not realise how uncertain he felt about this conversation. But he could not ignore his father’s deteriorating condition, or the fact that he had kept so quiet about it through the long cold winter. If he could do this one last thing for his father and bring him some contentment, then he would. But neither
could he ignore a mounting excitement as he anticipated Miss Quinta as his sweetheart. He wanted to win her and to do that he needed to win her mother’s approval first. He said lightly, ‘Perhaps you will speak with your daughter on my behalf, ma’am.’
‘Indeed I shall not. You must win her good opinion for yourself, if you can.’ Mrs Haig stood up to indicate the end of their interview. She sounded quite haughty to Patrick, as though he would be wasting his time. She went on, ‘If you do you will have my blessing and, with Farmer Bilton’s permission, this tenancy too. That would be good news for all of us, I’m sure.’
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.’
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