Too raw to keep folk. Only the sheep for company. Noah had said that, or something similar, and been accurate on both counts. But the spring days were already lengthening and the sun, surely, was becoming warmer in the sky. By Lammas Day this year her baby would be more than three months grown and she would be lighter and agile again. She would be able to flee with her child. All she had to do was survive this austere house until then. And somehow please Miss Banks. She dozed again before daylight and was woken by sounds from the kitchen as the household stirred.
She was staring through the grimy scullery window at the inhospitable landscape behind the farmhouse when Miss Banks came for her. ‘You’ll look after indoors and the table. I brew the ale. I’ve done the fire and made the porridge today but from tomorrow I expect Davey’s breakfast ready for half past six and his dinner by half past eleven.’
Quinta wanted to ask about Davey but dare not. She kneaded bread dough and set it to rise by the fire. The peat smoke was already hurting her eyes so she was glad to escape to the scullery to wash and prepare vegetables that appeared on the table. Miss Banks came in and out but Quinta knew when she was near because her keys jangled on the chatelaine at her waist. She wondered why everything was so securely locked in a place where no one ever ventured and came to the conclusion that Miss Banks had employed staff before who had stolen from her. Quinta half laughed to herself. Perhaps Miss Banks thought she would have more loyalty if her servant were thought of as her Davey’s wife?
The table was laid, the mutton stew cooked and the bread baked by eleven o’clock. Miss Banks drew a ewer of ale from the brew house next to the scullery and Quinta stood patiently by the fire while Miss Banks yelled Davey’s name from the yard. When he came in the kitchen door he filled the frame, blocking out the light, and Quinta blinked. He was a hefty grown man, dressed in a smock similar to that of the shepherd.
‘Davey, come over here and look what I fetched you from the town.’ He stood there gazing at her. ‘It’s Sally,’ Miss Banks added.
‘My name is—’ Quinta began but then snapped her mouth shut. She was looking at the expression on Davey’s face. His head was rolling gently from side to side and his eyes were wide and staring: vacant-looking. His mouth dropped open in a lopsided grin and he repeated the name. ‘Sally, Sally, Sally.’
Chapter 23
Quinta thought she was going to faint. Davey was an idiot, an imbecile who had survived to manhood. Noah must have known this when he sold her to Miss Banks. How could he have been so cruel? All of Crosswell must know about Davey and no one would willingly wed him. No wonder Miss Banks was prepared to pay Noah’s price.
He walked quickly across the kitchen saying, ‘Mine, mine, mine.’
Quinta shrank back from his touch. ‘Dinner’s ready, Davey,’ she squeaked.
‘Dinner, dinner, dinner,’ he repeated and went to sit at the table.
Quinta hardly remembered that first meal except that Davey ate his dinner noisily and hungrily with a spoon. Miss Banks was silent except for the occasional sharp word to Quinta as she served and cleared. Lord help her! This situation was worse than anything she had ever dreamed of! She had to get away from here and her mind raced as she rehearsed the conversation she would have with Miss Banks when Davey went outside again.
He swallowed the last of his ale and belched loudly, then appeared to notice Quinta again. His eyes remained vacant but a slow grin spread across his face. ‘Sally mine,’ he said. ‘Sally mine.’
‘Yes, Davey,’ Miss Banks agreed. Quinta thought she sounded kindly towards him and her horror mounted. Miss Banks was serious about her being his wife!
Later, when Quinta was washing the pots in the scullery, Miss Banks called, ‘Hurry up with those. Bring your box and we’ll take it up to Davey’s chamber.’
Quinta walked through to the kitchen slowly. ‘You don’t really expect me to be his wife, do you? He is a child inside his head.’
‘He’s a grown man and he has what it takes.’
Quinta’s revulsion and anxiety mounted. Miss Banks was serious about her role here. Dear heaven, she was to be his wife in every sense of the word!
‘You cannot ask this of me.’
‘Ask you? You will do as you’re told. My Davey needs a wife and I bought you fair and square as my Davey’s wife.’
Quinta thought she was going to be sick and breathed deeply to quell her nervousness. ‘But, Miss Banks, idiots beget idiots. Would you have more like Davey?’
‘You’re new blood. Not related to us afore you wed. The babby, too, is new blood. That’s why I bought you.’
Quinta was in despair. She would have to get away from here. But how? She wondered where the shepherd had gone. He must help her. He must! Until then, she would refuse to move into Davey’s chamber, even if it did mean a horsewhipping.
‘Miss Banks, I am big with child,’ she pleaded.
Miss Banks stared crossly at her. Quinta realised that this woman was not used to argument. Davey, despite his affliction, appeared to obey her and she probably used her horsewhip to persuade others who did not. Quinta wondered what had happened to Sally and feared for herself and her child.
She cast her mind around for more reasoning. ‘He is a large man and clumsy. He will cause injury to my child. Good heavens, you do not even take your ewes for tupping until they have lambed, do you?’
‘That’s different.’
‘My condition is extremely delicate.You cannot know that if you have not borne a child yourself.’ What if Davey was her son? She held her breath, wondering if she had said too much. Her mind raced. She guessed that Miss Banks might want a child as much as, if not more than, she wanted a wife for Davey. ‘Your family needs a newborn so much. You want a new life with new blood. You must not put my child at risk.’
When the older woman did not reply, she added, ‘Davey will only be a few more weeks without his Sally.’ Quinta did not know who Sally was, or indeed if she had ever really existed, but she knew that, even if she did stall Miss Banks’s plan until her baby was born, she would have to flee from here immediately afterwards. She didn’t know how, but she would. The days would be longer and the weather improved by then.Where was that shepherd?
‘I’ve already said you’re his Sally.’
‘You must talk to him,’ she pleaded. ‘Tell him anything he’ll believe, but let me sleep in the scullery, for my baby’s sake.’
‘He knows you’re here and he can be wild when he’s angry.’
Quinta was preparing herself to run out of the farmhouse that minute. To take her chances on the High Peak moors. Dark Peak, some called them, and she shivered. She looked at the door. It was slightly open and, as she stared, it swung back with a creak.
‘I’ll take him.’ The shepherd stepped inside and repeated, ‘I’ll take Davey up the hillside to my hut until after the baby’s born. He likes it out there.’
‘What about the work he does here in the stables?’
‘I’ll bring him down to do his chores for you. We can have dinner all together if you like. Then I’ll take him back for the night to watch the sheep.’
Quinta’s heart leaped. He was going to help her! Perhaps he would even help her escape . . . She thought Miss Banks was persuaded and pressed, ‘I’ll sleep down here just in case he comes back. I’ll need bedding.’ When Miss Banks gave her a brief nod she breathed a huge sigh of relief. She flashed a grateful smile at the shepherd, saw his eyes darken and remembered how he had offered for her at the market in Crosswell. He, too, had been ready to buy her as a child-bearing wife. She said, ‘I’m much obliged, Mr . . . ?’
‘Amos,’ he volunteered. ‘I had my own flock until I lost them this past winter. Now I look after Davey’s sheep for him.’
‘And don’t you forget it’s my Davey’s land you’re on, now you don’t pay rent,’ Miss Banks added sharply.
Amos bowed his head deferentially to Miss Banks and retreated from the kitchen. Quinta wondered whether he could be rel
ied on to betray his employer and help her to flee.
Over the next few weeks Quinta did everything she could to make daily life more comfortable for Miss Banks and ensure they all ate a good dinner every day. In spite of her cumbersome bulge she cooked, cleaned and mended clothes. She carried water from the spring, milked goats and tended the small garden. The soil was thin and poor and the vegetables struggled, but she did her best to win the good opinion of Miss Banks. The older woman was very possessive about the sheep farm and ‘her Davey’ but her behaviour was unreasonable and harsh and Quinta wondered if idiocy ran in the family.
Davey seemed to have accepted whatever Miss Banks had told him about Quinta. He spent most of the day outside with the animals. Indeed, he seemed cheerful doing just that and coming indoors with Amos to eat his dinner. But he approached her frequently and ran his large hands over her bulge repeating, ‘Baby, baby, baby,’ and then adding, ‘Mine, mine, mine.’
Quinta tried not to shrink from his touch. When he was calm he was gentle enough but he angered at the least provocation and on those occasions she was pleased that Amos was there to distract him.
‘Thank you,’ she said to Amos when he had suggested that Davey show Miss Banks the stables. ‘Is Davey her son?’
‘He’s her nephew.The farm belonged to her cousin and Miss Banks’s sister wed him. Miss Banks came to housekeep for them after he was born.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘Well, the cousin was a lot older than the sisters and he passed on years ago. He left the farm to Davey as long as Miss Banks took care of him and helped him run it.’
‘Miss Banks? What happened to Davey’s mother?’
‘She - she—’ He stopped and shook his head.
‘She - what?’ Quinta pressed.
His eyes pleaded with her. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes, it does. I want to know.’
Amos grimaced. ‘She died when she had him.’
‘Oh!’ Quinta closed her eyes at the thought of this happening to her.
‘They were a sickly lot, miss,’ he went on quickly. ‘They were never healthy and strong like you. But, you see, Miss Banks has looked after Davey all his life. That’s why she’s so protective of him.’
After this conversation, Quinta could not think beyond a safe delivery for her and her child. But she knew she would have to flee soon afterwards and prayed that her labour would not be too exhausting.
The hill farm was so isolated. No one came this way. The only track led down the hillside in full view of the house, so she would have to steal away in the dead of night, carrying her newborn. She wondered how far she could get without money.
There was no pathway behind the farm, only rock and scrubby pasture rising steeply into the mist. On clear days it was beautiful to behold, but it offered no escape route for Quinta. It was on such a bright sunny day when clouds danced across the blue sky that she felt hot liquid stream down the inside of her legs and she knew Patrick’s baby was ready for the world. She went indoors.
‘Best get you upstairs and into the bed,’ Miss Banks commented when she told her.
‘No.’ There were only two chambers and a grain store on the first floor. ‘The couch down here will do. The arms let down and it is near the fire.’
She took off her gown, corset and drawers. She was prepared for the ebb and flow of pain but not for the long hours of agony she had to endure. She lay back on the couch and bit on a rope but could not stop herself from crying out. It was after dinner and Amos had gone off to mend a section of dry-stone walling that marked one of the farm boundaries. Davey should have followed him but apparently had not for he came indoors to investigate. Her cries agitated him and he began crying out and jumping about, shouting, ‘Sally die, Sally die, Sally die.’
Miss Banks tried to calm him without success. Between her pains Quinta cried desperately, ‘He is making me worse. Send him away. Outside, anywhere.’ Another contraction doubled her up and she yelled, ‘Get rid of him!’ When the pain subsided she turned angrily to Miss Banks and demanded,‘Do you know what to do to help me?’
‘Not me.’ Quinta could see fear on her face.
‘Have you delivered any lambs, then?’
‘The menfolk do that,’ Miss Banks said nervously.
Oh Lord! What use was a frightened old spinster to her? In her exhaustion from the pains, Quinta forgot her situation and the need to be subservient to Miss Banks. She cared only for the safe delivery of her child and yelled angrily, ‘Is there no other woman on this Godforsaken Peak?’
‘There’s Amos.’
A man! Dear heaven, no! But she couldn’t do this alone and at least he would have delivered sheep.
‘Fetch him,’ she ordered. ‘Send Davey, but for pity’s sake get someone here who can help me! And make sure the water boiler is full, then fetch me more linen. Do as I say!’
She half expected a whipping for her insolence, but her contractions were coming closer together now and she was past caring about how Miss Banks would react to her questions and orders. In fact she was even becoming cross with her baby and began to talk firmly to him instead of the gentle whispering of before. ‘I’ve carried you long enough now,’ she said loudly. ‘It is time you were out of there, so would you please hurry up and get on with it.’
The kitchen was empty. Miss Banks had hustled Davey outside and gone with him. She lay back uncomfortably on the couch, drained of energy, suddenly realising that she was alone, and waited for the next pain. In this quiet moment she tried to remember all the things her mother had said about the births she had known about or seen. Oh, how she wished Laura were here to care for her now!
First babies always take an age to come.Well she knew that now! Your milk might not be there straightaway. Not so, she thought, because her heavy breasts had been leaking for days now. But her silent musings were interrupted by another pain, stronger and longer and - yes - her baby was moving at last. She put her hands on her swollen belly and bore down hard with all her might. ‘Come on, will you,’ she yelled. ‘I’m doing all I can. Help me here!’ She lifted her head and upper body in an attempt to peer between her legs. ‘Where are you?’ she pleaded desperately.
She had no idea how long she lay there alone, at first urging, then pushing, then subsiding into languor until the next onslaught of pain. She had discarded the rope hours ago. The fire in the range, banked up to boil water, still belted out heat and sweat oozed from her face and chest. She undid the tape at the neck of her chemise and pulled it aside, running a piece of linen over her skin. Her breasts had grown with her belly and she wiped the cloth underneath and around them. She closed her eyes. She was beginning to feel weak from her efforts but knew she must not fail. ‘Do try,’ she pleaded to her baby.
She was aware of Miss Banks hovering about the couch, piling linen on a chair and bringing her water to drink. It crossed her mind that the woman did really, truly want her to have this baby as much as she did. Davey had been gone for - for how long? The sun had moved round. What time was it? How long had she been labouring here and still no sign of her child? Another contraction gathered. ‘I can’t do it,’ she moaned softly. ‘I can’t help you. I’ve had enough. I can’t push you out any more. You’ll have to do it yourself.’
She was fainting away with exhaustion when she realised that someone else was there. The darkly bearded man dressed in a thick calico smock. Not Davey, thank God. Amos bent over her, pushed apart her thighs and looked between her legs. Dear Lord! She had been offended when he saw her stockinged legs in the marketplace! But suddenly she felt alert again. She turned her head and followed his movements as he poured hot water from the kettle into a bowl and placed it on the table with a piece of soap and folded linen. Then he pulled the rug from in front of the fire and put it by her couch, covering it with more linen. ‘Help me, please,’ she croaked.
‘Roll off the couch, Sally, on to your hands and knees. Easy now, I’ve got you.’
He smel
led of sheep. But then everything and everyone in these parts did. She didn’t care any more. Her arms were weak and flabby and she collapsed on to her elbows, her breasts and belly drooping to the floor.
‘Does that feel better?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she answered, surprised that it did.
She felt his fingers part her buttocks and he said, ‘Keep your knees apart. You’re nearly there.’
When the next pain threatened she had renewed her desire to push.
‘This is the one, Sally,’ Amos said. ‘I can see the head.’
Where did her extra strength come from? She would never know. She thought that she had used it all hours ago. But she raised herself on to her hands, let her head drop forward and pushed for all she was worth. And yelled and pushed. And pushed and yelled. And yes, she could feel her baby coming at last, slipping and sliding from her. She wanted to see. She twisted her neck but could not. Amos was fumbling with her baby. What was he doing?
And then came the wail, the long plaintive whine that turned into the heart-rending screech of her baby’s distress at being born into this harsh and cruel world and it was the sweetest sound she had ever heard. She cried. She laughed. She fell flat on her face on the floor. She had done it! She and her baby had done it together!
‘It’s a boy, Sally,’ she heard Amos say.
A boy. She cried some more. She laughed some more. A boy. ‘Patrick,’ she shouted. ‘It’s a boy.’
‘Patrick. That’s a nice name, Sally.’
Yes it was. She was too tired to argue with Amos about names, her own or her baby’s. Her baby! Her little Patrick! She struggled to a sitting position with her back against the couch. ‘Give him to me. Give my little Patrick to me,’ she breathed.
Amos handed her a wailing bundle wrapped tightly in linen and she held him close to her breast. Her baby. Hers. She could hardly believe she had done it. ‘Hush now,’ she whispered. ‘You’re safe with me. I’ll always keep you safe. I promise.’
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