A Mother's Sacrifice

by Catherine King

  She reeled from the blow and steadied herself on the wall. The air was chilly and without her chemise she felt exposed to his anger.Why had she ever thought she could deceive him? But she would have got away with it if he didn’t have his affliction. Well, she didn’t have to tell him who her baby’s father was and she wouldn’t! He would as likely kill the child when it was born if he knew the real father.

  ‘Well? Answer me!’

  She remained silent.

  ‘Don’t tell me there were that many you don’t even know!’

  ‘Of course not,’ she retaliated. ‘There was only one.’

  ‘So you admit it then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to tell me who if it happened last summer. It was that poacher, I’ll be bound. A gypsy! My wife has been with a gypsy!’

  ‘His father was from the Riding! And his mother was an Irish lady!’ she protested.

  ‘Not so much a lady if she let that cripple have his way with her!’ He stared at her, his sneer turning into a look of hatred. ‘Aye, it was that poacher right enough. He turned your head and you, you little whore, you let him bed you afore me. Afore me! Me, who you were promised to as a babby!’ The back of his heavy hand came down across her face again, making her head spin.

  ‘Noah!’ She wiped her hand across her brow and looked at the blood on her fingers. ‘Stop it. I am with child.’

  ‘Not my child! I’ll have no poacher’s bastard in my house. Nay! I’ll not have you here as my wife either.’

  Now Quinta was really frightened. Surely he would not turn her out? ‘But this means I am not barren, Noah. Children are all you need from me. I’ll have more and they will be yours. You can have your own sons to work the farm with you and make you even richer.’

  ‘But how do I know they’ll be mine? How do I know who you’ll be going with while I’m out in the fields? If you’ve done it once to me, you’ll do it again. Womenfolk! You can never trust them and I want nowt to do with any of them. They’re harlots, the lot of them.’

  Argument was futile. He was an old-fashioned country man steeped in his traditional beliefs. Ironically, she thought he would have approved of the Lammas Day arrangement if it had been with him. But she dare not tell him about that. She dare not say a word. She picked up her nightgown and put it over her head. Her hands and feet were freezing so she pulled on her stockings and walked around to the bed, intending to climb beneath the blankets.

  ‘Get out of here!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll not have a whore in my bed.’

  She stopped pulling back the covers.

  ‘Go on! Get out of my sight!’ he repeated.

  She gathered up her clothes and boots in silence and did as he demanded. Perhaps he would have calmed down in the morning. Perhaps whatever he had taken would have, like laudanum, worn off. Well, at least he knew about her child now. And she was his legal wife so surely he could not cast her out? He had made the vows, as she had. But she could not deny that she had deceived him most cruelly and he was right to be angry.

  It was pitch black on the landing and she did not have a candle. She felt along the wall to the end window where a cold draught blew in from the gaps in the surrounding woodwork. Next to that was the room her mother had slept in; the chamber where she had nursed her and watched her die.

  She had hoped for more years together before the consumption took her. But mother had been too weak to fight. The years since father had died had taken her strength and, yes, it was true, she had been five and thirty when Quinta was born. Women of that age giving birth were usually more robust, with a growing tribe of children fussing round them. Perhaps Mother had given life to her at the expense of her own wellbeing. That’s what mothers do. Quinta understood that now. She would do anything to protect her unborn child. Anything.

  The bed had not been aired and she climbed reluctantly into the clammy sheets, drawing her knees up to her chest under her nightgown and wrapping her cold fingers in its folds. She didn’t care what Noah thought of her. It was his fault that Patrick had been sent away from her. Her life would have been so different with Patrick by her side and she ached to feel his arms around her, caressing her, kissing her and marvelling at their child growing inside her. He would have been so proud. She was glad that Noah could not do his duty as a husband. She did not want her body and her baby to be tainted by him and she thanked the Lord for his new potion.

  However, she realised that it might wear off by morning and Noah might reconsider his decision to banish her from his bed. She was his wife and men were capable of using the act of procreation as a show of punishment instead of love. It would be worse than hell for her if he forced himself upon her now. She slipped out of bed and turned the key in the door before falling into a restless slumber.

  It was still dark when the cock crowed and the cows sheltering in the barn lowed to be milked. Quinta tensed. Noah’s foot-steps on the landing brought her wide awake.The stairs creaked and she heard him draw the bolts on the front door.The house went quiet again. She washed and dressed quickly, then hurried downstairs to get the kitchen fire going and pump water in the scullery. She had a good heat and was sizzling fat bacon on a skillet when Noah came in through the scullery.

  He brushed straw from his jacket on to the floor. ‘You can stay and housekeep for me until Lady Day.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I’m taking you away to the High Peak.’

  ‘Where you went shooting? You have family there?’

  ‘You know well enough I’ve got nobody.’

  ‘Then what - what will happen to me?’

  ‘You’ll be out of my road.’

  ‘You mean to hide me away?’

  He didn’t reply at first. He just grunted at her and gave a kind of half-laugh. ‘I mean to rid myself of you.’

  ‘But you can’t just cast me aside. I am your wife.’

  ‘Aye, and we have a way of dealing with unfaithful wives where I come from.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘But, Noah, I shall be having my child soon.’

  ‘Aye. The babby’ll be welcome to somebody. There are not many womenfolk up there. The living is too raw for most of ’em.You’d best start getting used to it so when you’ve done in the house, take yourself off to the barn and start plaiting straw.’

  Plaiting straw? She didn’t think any farmer did that these days. ‘What for?’ she demanded.

  ‘For a halter. Have you never heard of a straw halter?’

  ‘No, I have not. There is perfectly good rope and leather strapping in the stable. Please do not make me do this, Noah.’

  ‘You have said enough, madam. I am master in this house and my word is final.’

  But Quinta did not feel inclined to accept his last word. He was a gentleman of the parish. She was his wife and he was treating her as a lowly servant girl. ‘I understand that this is my punishment, sir. Must I do it every day? The barn is cold at this time of year and working wet straw will make my fingers too sore for needlework.’

  He raised his right arm across his body and glared. ‘You will do as I say, woman! Would you have me strike you again to gain your obedience?’

  She squared her shoulders and faced up to his threat. ‘You are no gentleman, sir. I am your wife and I am with child.’

  He did not lower his arm and his eyes glittered with anger. ‘And I am the wronged one here.You are a cheat and a harlot.’

  She noticed his fist was clenched and knew he was capable of beating her. She looked at the floor.

  ‘That’s better,’ he growled. ‘You’ll be silent and serve my breakfast. Then get out of my sight.’

  That afternoon, as she put straw to soak in a bucket of ice-cold water, she thought that he could have given her worse punishments. It was a small price to pay if she did not have to be a wife to him, although she was fearful of the future. Did he mean to abandon her and her child in the isolation of the High Peak? Or woul
d he make her leave her baby behind when she returned? Well, she would never do that. She would refuse to be parted from him and Noah could not force her. But she wondered bleakly where he was taking her and whether other Peak dwellers were as pitiless as Noah.

  The light failed early and he came out to the barn with a lantern to inspect her work, grunting wordlessly at her progress.

  ‘When do you plan to leave?’ she asked nervously.

  ‘We’ll set off just as soon as I’ve turned round here. Seth can run the farm as well as me, now.’

  ‘I should like to come indoors now.’

  ‘You can return tomorrow, at dawn, to light the range and do your chores.’

  ‘Surely you are not expecting me to sleep out here?’

  ‘It is good enough for my labourers at harvest-time.’

  This was too much for Quinta to take. She stood up and brushed the straw from her skirt. ‘I am not a labourer and the nights are cold. I shall not stay.’

  Her response surprised him and he blinked in the glow from the lantern. ‘Where’ll you go then?’ he scorned.

  ‘Miss Wilkins will take me in. She was very kind to Mother.’

  He gripped her arm roughly. ‘You will not leave this farm until I take you away.’

  ‘Then treat me like your wife until then!’

  ‘You are no wife of mine!’ He pushed her away.

  She stumbled and retaliated angrily, ‘And you have not been a husband to me!’

  He was still for a moment and she went on quickly, ‘What will Seth say in the village when I tell him you have banished me to the barn?’

  ‘He is a loyal servant, which is more than you are.’

  ‘Does his loyalty extend to the alehouse on Saturday night?’

  ‘You are a witch! You will not poison his mind against me!’

  ‘I do not have to. Your actions do it for me.’

  He was silent for a moment. Then he snarled, ‘I shall be well rid of you, madam.’ He grabbed her arm again and pushed her roughly towards the barn door. ‘Get inside and make sure I catch no sight or sound of you except at mealtimes.’

  She retreated to her mother’s chamber and was thankful that it was away from Noah. Its warmth was welcome after an afternoon in the damp and draughty barn. It gave her time alone to think and she became anxious about her baby’s future. She recalled what the sergeant had told her mother about Patrick’s birth. His mother had been sent away. The child, when it was born, had been taken from her and farmed out.

  Not many womenfolk up in the High Peak, Noah had said. It followed then that there would not be many babies either, not many children to labour on the land or in the farmhouses. Horrified, she realised that Noah meant to give her child away! No, not give, but sell. Her baby, once born, would be sold to some childless farmer for a lifetime of hardship and labour like his father before him. Of course! That was what Noah was planning for her. She could not let him do that! She would not. It was her child and she would not let anyone take him from her.

  The ensuing nights were restless, for her baby was growing and soon her belly would become cumbersome. She took a lamp with her and kept it alight beside her for most of the night as she talked to her child, stroking her little bulge and repeating how much she loved him. Or her, she acknowledged. Alone in the small bedchamber when she heard Noah’s snoring through the walls, she took off her nightgown by the yellow glow and traced the blue veins in her white skin.

  ‘I won’t let anyone take you from me.You are my life now and I shall find a way to keep you,’ she promised.

  She did not know how. She thought of running away, but she was too large to get any distance before she would be found and brought back. If Noah meant to sell her child he would not let her go until he had his payment. And if he didn’t drag her back she would as likely perish in the cold without shelter.

  But, throughout all her despair, one thought kept her going. Patrick. Patrick was with her and part of her as his child in her womb. It did not matter where she went or what she did as long as she had Patrick’s child and that knowledge gave her strength, although she feared for the future and the unknown.

  After the snows melted, the ground underfoot was slushy and muddy and no one ventured far. But Noah walked to church on Sunday and she wondered what he told them, for as the weather improved neither the vicar nor his sister called on her.

  In Noah’s more approachable moods, when the work for the day was done and he had taken a little ale, but not enough to make him maudlin, she tried to find out more about his plans for her.

  ‘How shall we travel to the Peaks?’ she ventured. ‘It will be too long a journey on horseback in my circumstance.’

  ‘Aye, I’ve thought of that. I’ll be taking one of my fat stock to the innkeeper at Crosswell, so I’ll need the cart for his fodder ’til we get there. You can ride in the back with that.’

  ‘Shall I be staying at the inn?’ Quinta imagined the bullock might be payment for her keep, but Noah did not answer her. She poured him more ale and went out to the scullery. The journey would take much longer with a beast in tow but it would be more comfortable for her.

  She went upstairs to finish packing her box with garments she had prepared for her baby and herself. The fresh aroma of clean linen after a blowing on the washing line cheered her. The days were growing longer and the sun’s rays had warmth in them at last.

  Noah had insisted that she finish her plaited straw halter and he threw it on top of her box as they left in the cart. He took the Sheffield road that skirted the town and rose steeply towards the moors. The track climbed steadily, leaving behind furrowed fields and budding trees for the bleak heights of granite and scrub. The air became misty and damp and Noah had to get down from the cart to read the guideposts. They passed few houses and even fewer hamlets and spent the first night sheltering in an isolated barn with no hot food to warm them.

  Quinta felt tired and cold the next day as soon as she woke. She had only spring water, oat biscuit and cold bacon for breakfast. The cart slithered and slipped down a steep incline until, quite suddenly, they were below the mist and the sun’s rays lit up the moors. Quinta turned her face to its warmth. She saw other carts and people on foot and shepherds with small flocks heading in the same direction. They were nearing their destination.

  Crosswell did not sprawl in the way the town she knew in the South Riding did, but it was just as busy. She thought he would want to sell the beast first and maybe she could disappear into the throng while he was distracted, but her condition was noticeable and burdensome. He went directly to the inn and sent in a lad to fetch out the innkeeper. After a long wait he appeared, smartly dressed like a prosperous farmer, accompanied by a butcher who examined the beast.

  ‘Good stock, Noah.’

  ‘I sell to them that thinks they’re gentry in the South Riding. Mill owners and the like who don’t have the land like proper gentry. I’ve got some fodder left that you can take.’

  ‘Are you not putting him in the auction?’

  ‘I said I’d bring you one of my beasts next time I was round these parts and here he is.’

  ‘How much are you asking?’

  Noah named his price, adding, ‘I want coin though, none of your fancy banknotes.’

  ‘I’ll have him. Townfolk hereabouts eat mostly sheep meat and they’re partial to a bit o’ beef.’

  ‘Aye, well, you can’t fatten beef like this on moorland.’

  The butcher looked in the back of the cart. ‘Who’s the wench, Noah?’

  ‘She’s for the hiring fair.’

  ‘She looks in calf to me.’

  ‘Some passing gypsy had her. That’s why I want rid.’

  ‘How much are you asking for her?’

  ‘Five guineas.’

  ‘That’s a bit steep for a servant.’

  ‘I reckon Miss Banks’ll pay it for a wife for her Davey.’

  Chapter 22

  The butcher raised his eyebrows and glanced
in her direction. ‘A wife? You wouldn’t do that to her, would you?’ He looked more closely. ‘Are you sure you want to sell her, Noah? She’s right bonny.’

  ‘Aye. She’d have been better for me if she weren’t.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Buy me a jug of ale and I’ll tell you.’

  The butcher seemed interested in this prospect.‘Come inside, then.’

  ‘Just let me tie this one to the wagon and I’ll be with you.’

  Quinta listened to this conversation in astonishment. She’d thought he was bringing her here to farm out her child and until now that had been her greatest fear. But he meant to be rid of her completely! She struggled to stop him binding her wrists with rope. ‘Noah! You can’t sell me like one of your beasts. I am not a servant. I’m your wife.’

  ‘Not after today, you’re not.You’ll be somebody else’s.You’ll not be deceiving me again. I’ll see to that.’

  The two men continued their conversation as though she were not present.

  ‘Has Miss Banks come into town today?’ Noah asked.

  ‘She’s at the auction getting rid of her barren ewes.’

  ‘Is Davey with her?’

  ‘I’ve not seen him. He might have stayed on the moor with the early lambs. If he is here he’ll be with Amos. Amos lost most of his breeding ewes in that bad snow and he’s selling what’s left of his flock.’

  ‘Amos’ll be for hire, then?’

  ‘I think he’s fixed up.’

  She sat huddled in the corner of Noah’s cart, her wrists burning from the rasp of the rope as she tried to free herself. Surely he was not really going to sell her at the hiring fair? And ask such a high price? No one around here could afford that anyway. Perhaps he only meant to frighten her? To show her that he could, and would, do this to her if she strayed again?